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ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA
SEVENTH EDITION.
THE
ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA
OR
DICTIONARY
OF
ARTS, SCIENCES, AND GENERAL LITERATURE.
SEVENTH EDITION,
WITH PRELIMINARY DISSERTATIONS ON THE HISTORY OF THE SCIENCES,
AND
OTHER EXTENSIVE IMPROVEMENTS AND ADDITIONS;
INCLUDING THE LATE SUPPLEMENT,
A GENERAL INDEX,
AND NUMEROUS ENGRAVINGS.
VOLUME VIIL
ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK, EDINBURGH;
M.DCCC.XLII.
ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA.
D I A
Dialogism Tl|IALOGISiVI, in Rhetoric, is used for the soliloquies of
II persons deliberating with themselves.
2^!^; DIALOGUE, in literature and in common life, a con-
versation between two or more persons, and either written
or oral.
As the end of speech is conversation, no kind of writing
can tee more natural than dialogue, which represents this.
Accordingly we find it was introduced at a very early
period; for there are several instances of it in the Mosaic
history. The ancient Greek writers, especially the phi¬
losophers, also fell very much into dialogue, as the most
convenient and agreeable method of communicating their
sentiments and instructions to mankind. And indeed it
seems to be attended with very considerable advantages,
if well and judiciously managed; for it is capable of ren¬
dering the driest subjects entertaining and pleasant, by
its variety, and by the different characters of the speakers.
Besides, things may be canvassed more minutely, and
many lesser matters, which serve to clear up a subject,
may be introduced with better grace, by means of ques¬
tions and answers, objections and replies, than can be con¬
veniently done in a continued discourse. There is likewise
a further advantage in this way of writing, that the author
is at liberty to choose his speakers; and therefore, as Ci¬
cero has w'ell observed, that when we imagine that we
have persons of an established reputation for wisdom and
knowledge talking together, this circumstance necessarily
adds a weight and authority to the discourse, and more
closely engages the attention. The subject-matter of dia¬
logue is very extensive ; for whatever is a proper argument
of discourse, public or private, serious or jocose—whatever
is fit for wise and ingenious men to talk upon, either for
improvement or diversion—is suitable for a dialogue.
From this general account of the nature of dialogue, it
is easy to perceive what kind of style best suits it. Its
affinity with epistles shows there ought to be no great
difference between them in this respect. Indeed, some
have been of opinion that it ought rather to sink below
the style of an epistle, because dialogues should in all re¬
spects represent the freedom of conversation, whereas epis¬
tles ought sometimes to be composed with care and accu-
VOL. VIII.
D I A
racy, especially when written to superiors. But there seems Dialogue,
to be little weight in this argument, since the design of an
epistle is to say the same things, and in the same manner,
as the writer judges would be most fit and proper for him
to speak if present; and in a dialogue the design is simi¬
lar with respect to the several persons concerned in it.
Upon the whole, therefore, a plain, easy, and simple style,
suited to the nature of the subject, and the particular cha¬
racters of the persons concerned, seems to be alike suit¬
able to both.
But as greater skill is required in writing dialogues than
letters, we shall give a more particular account of the
priqcipal things necessary to be regarded in their compo¬
sition, and illustrate them chiefly from Cicero’s excellent
dialogues concerning an orator. A dialogue then consists
of two parts ; an introduction, and the body of the discourse.
The introduction acquaints us with the place, time, per¬
sons, and occasion of the conversation. Thus Cicero
places the scene of his dialogues at the country seat of
Crassus; a very proper retreat, both for such a debate
and the parties engaged in it. And as they were persons
of the first rank, employed in the greatest affairs of the
state, and as the discourse occupied them for two days, he
represents it to have happened at the time of a festival,
when no business was done at Rome, and an opportunity
wras thus afforded them of being absent.
And because the greatest regard should be had in the
choice of the persons, who ought to be such as are well
acquainted with the subject upon which they discourse,
in these dialogues of Cicero the two principal disputants
are Crassus and Antony, the greatest orators of that age,
and therefore the most proper persons to dispute respecting
the qualifications essential for their art. One would think
it scarcely necessary to observe that the corfference should
be held by persons who lived at the time, and thus were ca¬
pable of conversing together. But yet some good writers
have run into the impropriety of feigning dialogues between
persons who had lived at distant times. Plato adopted this
method, in which he has been followed by Macrobius. But
others, who have been willing to bring persons to discourse
together who lived in different ages, without such incon-
A
9
D I A
Dialogue, sistency, have written dialogues of the dead. Lucian has
made himself most remarkable in this way. As to the
number of persons in a dialogue, they may be more or
fewer; so many as can conveniently carry on a conversa¬
tion without disorder or confusion, or they may be only
two. Some of Cicero’s dialogues have but two, others
three or more, and those concerning an orator seven. But
it is convenient in some respects that they should all be
persons of different characters and abilities; a circumstance
which contributes both to the variety and beauty of the
discourse, like the different attitudes of figures in a picture.
Thus, in Cicero’s dialogues last mentioned, Crassus excel¬
led in art, Antony principally by the force of his genius,
Catullus by the purity of his style, Scevola by his skill in
the law, Caesar by wit and humour; and Sulpitius and
Cotta, though young men, were both excellent orators,
yet they differed in their manner. But there should be
always one principal person, having the main part of the
conversation ; like the hero in an epic poem or a tragedy,
who excels the rest in action, or the principal figure in a
picture, which is always made the most conspicuous. In
Plato’s dialogues this is Socrates, and Crassus in those
of Cicero above mentioned.
It is usual likewise, in the introductions, to acquaint us
with the occasion of the discourse. Indeed this is not
always mentioned ; as in Cicero’s dialogue concerning the
parts of oratory, where the son begins immediately with
desiring his father to instruct him in the art. But it is
generally taken notice of, and most commonly represent¬
ed as accidental; the reason of which may be, that such
discourses appear most natural, and may likewise afford
some kind of apology for the writer in managing his differ¬
ent characters, since the greatest men may be supposed
not always to speak with the utmost exactness in an ac¬
cidental conversation. Thus Cicero, in his dialogues con¬
cerning an orator, makes Crassus occasionally fall upon
the subject of oratory, in order to divert the company
from the melancholy thoughts of what they had been dis¬
coursing of before, with relation to the public disorders,
and the dangers which threatened their common country.
But the introduction ought not to be too long and tedious.
Mr Addison complains of this fault in some authors who
employ dialogue. “ For though,” as he says, “ some of
the finest treatises of the most polite Latin and Greek
writers are in dialogue, as many very valuable pieces of
French, Italian, and English, appear in the same dress; yet
in some of them there is so much time taken up in cere¬
mony, that, before they enter on their subject, the dia¬
logue is half over.”
We come now to the body of the discourse, in which
some things relating to the persons, and others to the sub¬
ject, are proper to be remarked.
And as to the persons, the principal thing to be attend¬
ed to is to keep up a justness and consistency of charac¬
ter throughout the whole. And the distinct characters
ought to be so perfectly observed, that even from the very
words it may be always known who is the speaker. This
renders dialogue more difficult than single description, by
reason of the number and variety of characters which are
to be drawn at the same time, and each of them managed
with the greatest propriety. The principal speaker should
appear to be a person of great sense and wisdom, and best
acquainted with the subject. No question ought to be
asked him, nor objection started, but what he should fairly
answer ; and all that is said by the rest should principally
tend to promote his discourse, and carry it through in the
most artful and agreeable manner. YVhen the argument
is attended with difficulties, one other person or more, of
equal reputation, or nearly so, but of different sentiments,
should be introduced to oppose him, and maintain the
D i A
contrary side of the question. This affords an opportunity Dialogue,
for a thorough examination of the point on both sides,
and for answering all objections. But if the combatants
are not pretty equally matched, and masters of the sub¬
ject, they will treat it but superficially. Through the
whole debate, however, there ought not to be the least
wrangling, peevishness, or obstinacy; nothing indeed but
the appearance of good humour and good breeding, toge¬
ther with a readiness to submit to conviction and the force
of truth, according as the evidence shall appear to be on
one side or the other. In Cicero, these two characters
are Crassus and Antony; and from them Mr Addison
seemS to have taken his Philander and Cynthio in his
Dialogues upon the Usefulness of Ancient Medals, which are
formed pretty much upon Cicero’s plan. When younger
persons are introduced, or such as are not equally acquaint¬
ed with the subject, they should rather be inquisitive than
disputative ; and the questions they ask should be neither
too long nor too frequent, in order that they may not too
much interrupt the debate, nor appear over talkative be¬
fore wiser and more experienced persons. Sulpitius and
Cotta sustain this character in Cicero, and Eugenius in
Mr Addison. It is very convenient, however, that there
should be one person of a witty and jocose humour, to en¬
liven the discourse at proper seasons, and render it the
more entertaining, especially when the dialogue is drawn
out to any considerable length. Caesar performs this part
in Cicero; and in Mr Addison, Cynthio, a person of a si¬
milar turn, opposes Philander in a humorous way. Mr
Addison’s subject admitted of this; but the seriousness
and gravity of Cicero’s argument required a different
speaker for the jocose part. Many persens ought not to
speak immediately after one another; though Scaliger and
others think a fourth person may sometimes be permitted
to speak in the same scene without confusion. However,
if this is not commonly allowed upon the stage, where the
actors are present, and may be distinguished by their voice
and habit; much less should it be so in a dialogue, where
we have only their names to distinguish them.
With regard to the subject, all the arguments should ap¬
pear probable at least, and nothing should be advanced
which may seem weak or trivial. There ought also to be
an union in dialogue, in order that the discourse may not
ramble, but keep up to the main design. Indeed, short
and pleasant digressions are sometimes allowable, for the
ease and entertainment of the reader; but every thing
should be so managed that he may still be able to carry on
the thread of the discourse in his mind, and keep the main
argument in view, till the whole be finished. The writers
of dialogue have not confined their discourses to any cer¬
tain space of time, but either concluded them with the
day, or broken off when their speakers have been tired,
and resumed them again the next day. Thus Cicero al¬
lows two days for his three dialogues concerning an orator;
but Mr Addison extends his to three days, allowing a day
for each. But the same method has not always been ob¬
served in composing dialogues ; for sometimes the writer,
by way of narrative, relates a discourse which passed be¬
tween other persons. Such are the dialogues of Cicero
and Mr Addison last mentioned, and many others both of
the ancients and moderns. But at other times the speakers
are introduced in person as talking to each other. This, as
Cicero observes, prevents the frequent repetition of those
words, “ he said,” and “ he replied;” and by placing the
hearer, as it were, in the conversation, gives him a more
lively representation of the discourse, and thus makes it the
more affecting. In this manner, therefore, Cicero wrote
his Dialogue of Old Age, in which Cato, who was then
advanced in years, recounts the satisfaction of life which
may be enjoyed in old age; and, in fact, he tells his friend
D I A
Bialthaea Atticus he was himself so affected with that discourse,
II that when he reviewed it, he sometimes fancied they were
Diamond. not ^ own wor(js, but Cato’s. There are some other dia-
logues of Cicero written in the same way ; and both Plato
and Lucian generally chose this method.
DIALTHiEA, in Pharmacy, an unguent formerly much
used as a resolvent, and so called from Althcca, or marsh¬
mallows, which is the principal ingredient in it.
DIALYSIS, in Grammar, a mark or character, consist¬
ing of two points placed over two vowels of a word, in
order to separate them, because otherwise they would make
them a diphthong, as Mosaic, &c.
DIAMASTIGOSIS, a festival at Sparta in honour of
Diana Orthia, which received that name anro ro-j yaanyouv,
from whipping, because boys were whipped before the
altar of the goddess. These boys, called Bomonicae, were
originally free-born Spartans, but in the more delicate ages
they were of mean birth, and generally of a servile origin.
This operation was performed by an officer, in a severe
and unfeeling manner; and, that no compassion should be
raised, the priest stood near the altar with a small light
statue of the goddess, which suddenly became heavy and
insupportable if the lash of the whip was more lenient or
less rigorous than necessary. The parents of the children
attended the solemnity, and exhorted them not to commit
any thing, either by fear or groans, that might be unwor¬
thy of Laconian education. These flagellations were so
severe that the blood gushed profusely, and many expired
under the lash, without uttering a groan or betraying any
marks of fear. Such a death was reckoned very honour¬
able; and the corpse was buried with much solemnity, with
a garland of flowers on its head. The origin of this festi¬
val is unknown. Some suppose that Lycurgus first insti¬
tuted it in order to inure the youth of Lacedaemon to bear
labour and fatigue, and to render them insensible to pain
and wounds. Others maintain that it is a mitigation of
an oracle, which ordered that human blood should be
shed on Diana’s altar; and, according to their opinion,
Orestes first introduced this barbarous custom, after he
had brought the statue of Diana Taurica into Greece.
There is/another tradition which mentions that Pausanias,
as he was offering up prayers and sacrifices to the gods
before he engaged with Mardonius, was suddenly attack¬
ed by a number of Lydians, who disturbed the sacrifice,
and were at last repelled with staves and stones, the only
weapons with which the Lacedaemonians were provided
at that moment. In commemoration of this, therefore,
the whipping of boys was instituted at Sparta, and there¬
after the Lydian procession.
DIAMETER, in Geometry, a right line passing through
the centre of a circle, and terminated at each side by the
circumference. See Geometry.
DIAMOND, adamas of the ancients, almas of Persia,
and heera of Hindustan, is the most brilliant of gems ; and
although known from the remotest times, if we may judge
by the casual notice made of it in Scripture, it had in the
earlier periods of history obtained little more than a name.
Pliny states that it bore a price above all things in the world,
and was known to very few except princes and crowned
heads. His meagre remarks on this gem are even less
satisfactory than those upon almost any other; which
affords another reason to conclude that the diamond still
remained in his time an object of great rarity. The loca¬
lities quoted by Pliny appear to be quite erroneous, at least
subsequent observations give us reason to think so.
Up to the commencement of the eighteenth century dia¬
monds were wholly derived from India, where they were
found in detached crystals, accompanied with grains of
gold, amongst metallic sand washed down from surround¬
ing mountains. In 1728 a similar territory, loaded with
D I A 3
the two most valuable substances in nature, was discover- Diamond,
ed on the southern continent of the New World. When
in pursuit of gold, crystals of diamond were often found;
but the labourers being ignorant of their value, laid them
aside as curiosities. A miner, who is said to have ar¬
rived in Brazil at this time, first directed attention to¬
wards them; and, without attempting to appropriate his
discovery to his own aggrandisement, he led his comrades
to turn their pursuit to the more engaging object. It
soon, therefore, attracted the notice of the government,
and was shortly afterwards taken possession of in name
of the sovereign.
Hitherto the supply of diamonds was entirely confined
to Hindustan and the island of Borneo; and, as might
reasonably be expected, the opening of a new field, the
extent of which was as yet wholly unknown, could not
fail to affect the market. The discredit which was at
first thrown upon the accounts from Brazil, as also on the
purity and perfection of the stones, repressed the fears
of the Asiatic dealers, and the increased demand after
the purchase of the Pitt diamond, a circumstance which
no doubt rendered that gem far more recherche at the gay
and luxurious court of France, all tended to increase the
demand, and keep it more upon an equilibrium with the
increased supply than could possibly have been expected.
At a subsequent period, no doubt, the revolution of France
interfered with the value of jewels; but the surplus thus
produced was soon absorbed by the wealth of Britain, and
diamonds of the first water for a long time maintained
their ground.
At the present day this perhaps cannot be said to hold
good. As a commercial commodity, diamonds must have
suffered depression like all others, and may perhaps be
valued at from twenty-five to thirty per cent, particu¬
larly those beyond the smallest sizes, under the prices
which they bore in the times of Tavernier; although Mawe
appears to have been anxious to inculcate a different doc¬
trine. After his examination of the Brazilian district, he
says there would be no difficulty in calculating the period
requisite to work out the whole of the diamond ground in
that country ; and as many of the mines of Hindustan are
considered as exhausted, the period must come sooner or
later when diamonds will be no longer to be had.
In both countries the gem is confined within the limits
of the tropics. In India, Golconda has always been cit¬
ed as one of its principal repositories, although none was
ever found in the immediate vicinity of that fortress, from
the circumstance perhaps of the geological character of
the neighbourhood, which is entirely syenitic. It may
have arisen, however, from the fact, that the diamond mines
of Raolconda and Ganee Purteeal were situated in the
territory of the Kootub Shahee kings of Golconda. When
that dynasty was overthrown, and their country occupied
by the officers of the Mogul emperors, Golconda ceased to
be the capital, and Hyderabad, which is only a few miles
distant, became the occasional seat of the new government.
The territory in which the mines are situated has since
been ceded to the East India Company. It lies near Con-
dapilly, on the northern bank of the Kistna, about fifty
miles from the sea, and near the Pass of Bezoara, where
the river appears at some period to have forced its way
through a chain of hills, and to have emptied an extensive
lake which had existed to the westward of them. All at¬
tempts to work them have been abandoned, as the pro¬
duce has ceased to refund the expense of labour. The
localities of the diamond in Hindustan are so various that
it would be almost endless to enumerate them. Those on
the Mahanuddy, with those on the Kistna and at Malla-
villy, north-west of Ellore, may be mentioned as probably
the most productive of this beautiful gem. The island of
DIAMOND.
Diamond. Borneo is the only other eastern locality which can boast
of its production. It occurs at Pontiana, in that island,
directly under the line, and at Benjarmassin, about three
degrees south of the equator. Here it is said to be of a
quality superior to that of the gems found in the other
Indian localities, and to be distinguished in consequence
by the name of Landak, the place they are found in..
Here also the diamond occurs in alluvial soil, accompa¬
nied with gold. One diamond was found about a cen¬
tury ago, of 367 carats, supposed to be now in the hands
of the chief of Pontiana.
From Heyne’s account of the working of diamond mines
in Hindustan, it seems to afford a very miserable liveli¬
hood. He states that the diamond has hitherto been found
only in alluvial soil, or in the most recent rocks; and that
the stones are not scattered through the whole of these
beds, but confined to one rather harder than the rest.
The upper stratum, of eighteen inches, consists of sand,
gravel, and loam; next there is a deposit of stiff black
clay or mud, of about four feet; and next the diamond
bed, which is distinguished by a mixture of large round¬
ed stones. It is from two to two and a half feet thick,
closely cemented together with clay. Sometimes this
stratum is covered with calcareous tuffo. Here shallow
pits are excavated, of a few feet in diameter, in such
spots as the practice of the workman may induce him to
select; he sinks to a depth of a few feet, and searches the
bed which he considers most promising for his purposes,
and if he meets with little encouragement, he shifts his
situation, and proceeds elsewhere. Thus a great deal of
the country may be turned to waste and neglected, and,
when it comes to be again wrought over more carefully,
may give ris& to the absurd fancy of regeneration.
The miners, M. Voysey {Asiatic Researches, vol. xv. p.
120) says, are of opinion all over India, that the chips and
small rejected pieces of former searchers actually increase
in size, and in process of time become large diamonds ; and
he finishes his paper, by hoping that some future minera¬
logist would ascertain whether there were any foundation
for the vulgar opinion of the continual growth of the dia¬
mond; particularly as he hoped at some future period to
produce undeniable proof of the re-crystallization of ame¬
thyst, zeolite, and felspar, in alluvial soil. This respect¬
able gentleman did not live to bring forward his proofs;
but bad he been doomed to arrive at the age of the pa¬
triarchs of old, we are of opinion he would have been puz¬
zled to produce them.
In Brazil, the diamond is more confined to one spot
than in India. The district of Minas Geraes compre¬
hends, as far as we yet know, the whole of the diamond
grounds hitherto discovered in the New World. There the
workings appear to be carried on more systematically than
in India. The operations at the Serra do Frio we have al¬
ready described in the article Brazil (vol. v. p. 199). The
Serra do Frio, or cold mountain, is a mountainous platform,
having an elevation of from sixteen to eighteen hundred
metres. The district over which the diamonds are search¬
ed for, extends about sixteen leagues from north to south,
by about eight from east to west. It is situated twelve
leagues north of Tejuco, on the river Tigitouhonha, which
falls into the river San Francisco. By the decomposition
of the granite, an agglomerate is formed, composed of
rounded white quartz pebbles, and light-coloured sand, to
which the natives give the name of cascalho; and it is in
this substance that the diamonds are found, along with
gold, which is sometimes crystallized. It is exactly
similar to some of the samples of the diamond deposits
of Hindustan sent to the Royal Society of Edinburgh
by Mr Swinton, but differs considerably from others,
where a conglomerated sandstone of considerable tenacity
has in several instances been sent, as the matrix of the Diamond,
diamond.
From any thing we are yet able to judge, it does not
appear that the diamond has ever yet been seen in a matrix
which could be esteemed its original position. Heyne
has given two coloured engravings of diamonds in the ma¬
trix, and they have the merit of representing very faith¬
fully specimens of this description we have seen at home ;
but they are in all probability only diamonds accidentally
agglutinated in ferruginous matter having no character of
a rock. The Musnuddy, which joins the Mahanuddy,
is mentioned as affording an indication which might lead
to a favourable result in such an investigation. At its con¬
fluence with the Maund River, near Chunderpoor, and not
farther down than Sonpoor, it is only on the left bank of
the river that diamonds are found. Hence the Maund is
the point at which the examination should commence;
and if the country can be effectually penetrated, it would
be well worthy the attention of some enterprising mine¬
ralogist.
We have no satisfactory geological account of any of
the diamond countries; a slight sketch by Voysey, in the
article above quoted, is the best that we can refer to. He
particularly alludes to a range of hills, called the Nalla
Malla, or Blue Mountains, about Cummum, on the Gun-
lacummum river, which are composed of schistose rocks,
of all varieties, from clay-slate to pure limestone, accom¬
panied with quartz rock, sandstone, sandstone brescia,
flinty slate, hornstone slate, and a tuffaceous limestone,
containing imbedded, rounded, and angular masses of all
these rocks. These are bounded on all sides by granite,
which appears to pass under and form the base. The
only rock of this formation on which the diamond is found
is the sandstone brescia. “ I have as yet,” says he, “ only
visited the rich mines of Banaganpilly (lying in Heyne’s
map in 78° 4' by 15° 4'), where the brescia is found under
a compact sandstone rock, differing in no respect from
that which is found under other parts of the main range.
It is composed of a beautiful mixture of red and yellow
jasper, quartz, calcedony, and hornstone, cemented toge¬
ther by a quartz paste. It passes into puddingstone, com¬
posed of rounded pebbles of quartz, &c. cemented by an
argillo-calcareous earth, of a loose friable nature, in which
the diamonds are most frequently found.”
Heyne states, that in some of the mines in India the
diamonds are found entirely broken or crushed, and only
of value for pounding; but at the same time thinks it must
be owing to carelessness. He mentions also that the dia¬
monds of Cuddapah are carried to Madras to be used for
the same-purpose, and the price he quotes for a carat of
stones fit for brilliants is only seven rupees.
No crystal in nature is more beautiful than that of the
diamond. It is sometimes so pure and so pellucid, with
its angles and faces so perfectly symmetrical, as to shine
like a dew-drop in the rays of the sun. Its primitive form
is that of the equilateral octahedron. It passes into the
dodecahedron and the cube, presenting modifications in
each. The colourless diamond of the first water is the
most valuable ; but very fine diamonds sometimes pre¬
sent a deep red tinge, also yellow, orange, green, blue, and
black. Those which have a slight tint of yellow are of¬
ten remarkably brilliant, and are said to be of a superior
hardness.
The value of diamonds is always calculated in carats,
which consists of four grains ; but it must be remembered,
that the diamond grain differs from the Troy grain, as it
takes five of the former to weigh four of the latter, or more
exactly one carat = 3*174 gr. Troy.
In valuing diamonds, either rough or cut, the practice
is to take the weight in carats, to square that weight, and
DIAMOND.
Diamond, then to multiply the product by such a rate of price as
may correspond to the state and quality of the stone ;
thus, if a natural crystal of diamond be clear, without flaws,
and of a favourable shape, the price by which the square
of its weight should be multiplied is L.2; so that it the
stone weigh one carat, its value will be L.2, if two carats,
2 X 2 == L and 4 X 2 = 8, or a stone of two carats is
worth L.8. A stone of ten carats, in the same way, will
give 10 X 10 = 100, and 100 X 2 = L.200, the value
of a perfect rough diamond of this weight.
If the diamond has been worked into a brilliant of just
proportions, the same rule is observed of squaring the
weight in carats; but a much higher price is used as the
multiplier of the product; as L.8 is considered to be the
proper multiplier when the stone is perfect in water and
shape. Thus a diamond of 5^ carats gives 301 as its
square, and this multiplied by 8 makes L.242 as its price.
If the stone has been worked into the form which is
termed a rose, L.6 is used as the multiplier; and if it be
of the form termed table-cut, it is still lower.
Considerable modifications, however, must be made in
these multipliers, according to the quality of the diamonds
and the state of the market. If a brilliant be what is
termed “ off colour,” that is, not absolutely colourless,
or if it be in any other way imperfect in shape or purity,
a corresponding diminution must be made in the multi¬
plier. Thus a brilliant with a yellow or a milky hue, or
with a small speck or flaw, may not be multiplied by more
than L.4, L.5, or L.6, according to the nature or extent
of the imperfection. The state of the demand in the mar¬
ket must likewise have great influence. At present the
demand for good brilliants of one carat and under is
greater in proportion to the supply than for heavier stones,
and such stones will therefore sometimes cost L.10 the
carat; whilst there being fewer purchases for the larger
sizes, they may often be had in commerce at a lower rate
than has been mentioned above.
The finest known diamonds are as follow:
That of the crown of France (Pitt diamond), weighing
136f carats, the value of which, taken according to the
above tde, WOuld be L. 141,058. The dimensions of
this fine stone are stated to be,
Length 1-2437 inches.
Breadth 1-177
Depth  -859
Weight in Troy grains, 434.
That of the Grand Duke of Tuscany (now Austrian),
weighing 139| carats, valued as above at L.153,682.
That of the Emperor of Russia, weighing 195 carats. This
diamond is rose cut.
That of the Great Mogul, weighing 279^- carats, also rose
cut.
That of the King of Portugal, weighing 1680 carats, being
rough, not less than L.5,644,800.
It is consequently quite evident that this rule can ob¬
tain only among diamonds of moderate size; and if it
should establish something by which a price may be named,
all else must be left to subsequent arrangement.
Of the remarkable diamonds we have enumerated, the
first is that known by the name of the Regent or Pitt dia¬
mond. It was found at Pasteal, in the Golconda district. It
was imported into this country by Mr Pitt, governor of
Madras, who purchased it from a native for 48,000 pagodas,
about L.20,400 at the exchange of the day, and after being
offered to different crowned heads in Europe, was pur¬
chased by the regent of France in 1717 as a jewel for the
crown. It was placed by Napoleon in the hilt of the sword
of state, and, according to Brard, the price paid for it was
2,250,000 francs; Jeffreys calls it L.125,000, and other
authors say L.130,000. Any of these, however, although
by much the largest price ever paid for any jewel, is not Diamond,
equal to the rule of value. This is esteemed the finest
and most perfect diamond known.
The second was purchased for a bit of rock-crystal, on
a stall in the market-place of Florence, at the cost of a
few pence; it is of a beautiful lemon-yellow colour, and. is
now in the possession of the house of Austria. The dia¬
mond mentioned as the property of the Emperor of Rus¬
sia ornaments the top of his sceptre. It is of the size of
a pigeon’s egg, and is said to have been the eye of an
Indian idol pillaged by a deserter from the French service,
who had the address to get himself installed as a priest in
the service of the Malabar deity at Seringham, as narrated
by Dutens. The Empress Catherine purchased it for
L.90,000, together with an annuity of L.4000.
The Great Mogul is described by Tavernier as an irregu¬
larly-shaped diamond, but cut and polished. It was found
at Colore, in the district of Golconda, in the year 1550 ;
and is said to have weighed 900 carats before cutting, but
this appears a most enormous sacrifice. Of the Brazilian
diamond some suspicions have been entertained. It has
been insinuated that it is only a mass of very fine white
coloured topaz, and it is not likely that the king of Por¬
tugal will run the hazard of ascertaining the fact.
The supply of diamonds from Brazil, according to Baron
d’Eschwege, during the eighty-four years from 1730 to
1814, was at the rate of 36,000 carats per annum ; but the
return from the registers of the administration of the dia¬
mond mines from 1800 to 1806 was only 19,000 carats.
It is also added, that the revenue derived by government
during the first period was only eighteen or nineteen
francs the carat, whilst from forty to fifty were obtained
during the last; a certain indication of a diminished sup¬
ply. A singular circumstance is noticed with respect to
the uniformity of the diamond ground of Do Frio. The
same cubic mass of cascalho will yield, on washing, pretty
nearly the same number of carats, in large or small dia¬
monds, so that the superintendent can calculate on the pro¬
bable produce of the washing.
Large stones do not abound in Brazil, but there are
some of considerable dimensions. Mawe mentions one
from the little rivulet D’Albaite of 120 carats, but they do
not often exceed from eighteen to twenty.
The prices of diamonds quoted by Heyne, who visited
with a scrutinizing eye the principal mines of Hindustan,
differ from those laid down by the rule of Tavernier and
Jeffreys. Without attempting to reconcile them, we shall
quote the value which the Hindus put upon what they con¬
sider as the best, and denominate the Brahma diamond;
it is sold by the manjalin, which is equal to two carats, and
each carat at the price of ten pagodas.
One manjalin 10 Madras pagodas.
Two   24
Three  40
Four   80
Five   100
Six   150
Seven 250
Eight 400
He adds that these are the prices of stones free from
speck, flaw, or crack. Cut stones are valued in a different
way.
The most remarkable circumstance in the history of the
diamond is to be found in the nature of its composition.
This proud, this imperial ornament, which has ever oc¬
cupied the summit of the diadem, this most brilliant of
gems, and hardest of all known bodies, is, after all, but a
morsel of charcoal, which has been made to yield to the
rays of the sun, and dissolve into a noxious vapour. As
early as 1607, Boetius de Boodt threw out the hint that
6
DIAMOND.
Diamond, diamond was inflammable. In 1673 Boyle discovered that
when it was exposed to a great heat it was dissipated into
acrid vapour. In 1691, the experiments of Boyle were con¬
firmed by those of Cosmo III. Grand Duke of Tuscany,
with his celebrated burning glass. About the same time,
but whether before or not is uncertain, Sir Isaac Newton
was led, from the great refractive power of the diamond,
to pronounce it “ an unctuous substance coagulated.” La¬
voisier proved it to be composed of carbon, by throwing
the sun’s rays concentrated by a powerful lens upon a dia¬
mond inclosed in a vessel with oxygen gas ; when the dia¬
mond and the oxygen disappeared, and carbonic acid was
generated. Sir George Mackenzie repeated the experi¬
ments of Boyle in 1800; and, finally, when Sir Humphry
Davy visited Florence in 1814, the experiment of the grand
duke was performed again with the same lens ; and mine¬
ralogists no longer hesitated to place the gem amongst
inflammable bodies.
According to Ellicot, the specific gravity of Brazil dia¬
monds is 3’513, and of India diamonds 3‘519. The former
is the mean of four, the latter of ten experiments.
Diamond cutting was little understood till 1476, when
an artist of the name of Berghen, residing at Bruges, in¬
troduced the practice of using diamond powder for form¬
ing and polishing the facets. Holland, in consequence,
long maintained a monopoly of this trade; and to this
day the smaller diamonds are almost entirely manufactured
for the European market, at Amsterdam. The Pitt dia¬
mond was, however, cut and polished in London, as most of
the larger sized stones continue to be. It is a very laborious
and tedious operation. The grinding into the required
form is entirely done by the hand. Two stones are ce¬
mented to the ends of tool handles, and rubbed with a
powerful pressure against each other, a leaden model
being first taken of the rough stone intended to be cut.
The faces are thus determined. The two stones are then
rubbed together over a little metal box haying a double
bottom, the upper one being loose and perforated with
small holes, through which the diamond dust passes, and
is carefully preserved. The desired form being thus ob¬
tained, the dust is afterwards used in polishing the faces
of the diamond, mixed up with sweet oil, on a common
lapidary’s wheel, and the brilliancy of the gem brought
out. The period of constant work required to reduce a
stone of between twenty-four and thirty carats to a regular
form will extend to at least seven or eight months constant
work. The Pitt diamond was said to occupy two years.
From the outline in Plate CCII. fig. 1, there was a great
deal of extraneous matter to reduce, and that space of time
may very likely have been required. When the mass to be
removed is of such a size as to render it of importance to
keep it entire, the piece is cut off by means of a steel
wire, extended on a bow of cane or whalebone, anointed
with diamond powder. This process is very commonly
adopted in India. The diamond is sometimes also split
by means of a chisel under a sharp stroke of a hammer;
but this means requires great firmness of mind and dex¬
terity of hand, for a valuable stone is sometimes destroyed
by an unlucky blow.
The forms into which the diamond is cut are the bril¬
liant, the rose, and the table. The first is composed of a
principal face, which is called the table, surrounded by a
fringe composed of a number of facets, which is all that
is visible above the bezil when set. The proportion for
the depth should be half the breadth of the stone, ter¬
minated with a small face, parallel to the table, and con¬
nected with the surface by elongated facets. As the oc¬
tahedron is the most common natural form of the stone,
and the brilliant cut being by far the most advantageous in
point of effect, and the most economical form that can be
adopted, it is hence preferred. The others are suggested Diamond,
by the shape of the mass. v—
The rose is entirely covered with facets on the sur¬
face, and is flat below. The table form is adopted in
consequence of the shape of the mass, whether crystal or
fragment, and produces the least effect. It is principally
used in India, where the native jewellers cleave stones into
plates, having often a large surface with little proportioned
weight or brilliancy, except at the edges, which are orna¬
mented by being cut into facets. The great diamond of
the Mogul emperor, called Derriah Noor, is of this descrip¬
tion ; that called Koh-e-noor is rose-cut.
Much of the value of diamonds depends on the cutting of
the stone. A late celebrated philosopher, who required a
piece of diamond for philosophical purposes, found a large
mass in the hands of a jeweller. It was of an awkward
form, and presented a flaw which very greatly deteriorated
its value, as, in consequence of the refraction and reflec¬
tion which took place within the mass, the flaw seemed to
occupy nearly the whole of the interior. The gentleman,
however, was not afraid. He paid a large sum for the stone,
directed the workman in cutting it, amputated the piece
he wanted, separating the flaw, and sold the remainder
back to the jeweller, after being properly cut and polished,
for double the price he paid for it.
Hopes were recently excited, that a new diamond
district had been discovered in Siberia by the celebra¬
ted traveller Humboldt. He thought he had met with ap¬
pearances in a territory belonging to Count Demidoff,
analogous to that of Minas Geraes, and recommended a
search for the gem. But as two years have since elapsed
without any confirmation of this suggestion, the old locali¬
ties of Asia and Brazil are likely to remain without com¬
petition.
Explanation of the Plate, No. CCII.—The three figures
at the top, No. 1, 2, 3, are representations of the Regent
or Pitt diamond, the Great Mogul, and the Grand Duke,
of the full size and form. No. 4 presents the brilliant cut,
looked at perpendicularly. No. 5, the same sidewise.
No. 6 and 7 also represent the brilliant before it undergoes
the process of re-cutting. No. 8 and 9 are the vertical and
lateral appearances of the rose-cut diamond; and No. 10
and 11, that of the table-cut. The scale No. 12 exhibits
the sizes of the set diamond within the hezil, together with
the depth of the stone, and the number of carats a dia¬
mond of that size is likely to weigh. This estimate can
only be an approximation to the exact weight; but the
weight of a set stone may thus be very nearly ascertained.
No. 13 is the figure of the octahedral diamond seen perpen¬
dicularly, with the table traced where the stone should be
cut; and No. 14 is the same crystal seen laterally, with
the table and the opposite face also traced. By these
figures it will be seen how much more advantageous it
is to adopt the brilliant form than any other.
Diamonds have been imitated with great success by the
French artists. To this composition, to which they give the
name of strass, they not only communicate the adamantine
lustre of the zircon, but succeed in giving it such a simi¬
litude to the real stone in all respects, hardness excepted,
that it is nearly impossible for unpractised eyes to detect
the difference. Recently quartz has been used with great
effect to form the faces of factitious stones.
Diamond used by Glaziers, is an instrument made of
steel or iron, into the point of which a diamond is intro¬
duced and fixed by solder. Care must be taken to place
the gem so that, by applying the instrument in a parti¬
cular position, the angle of the crystal will come in con¬
tact with the glass.
Diamond, in Heraldry, a term used for expressing the
black colour in the achievements of peerage.
D I A
,Diamond Guillim does not approve of blazoning the coats of peers
‘Harbour by precious stones instead of metals and colours; but the
J| English practice allows it. Morgan says the diamond is
Diana. an emklem 0f fortitude.
Diamond Harbour, a harbour in the western branch of
the Ganges, on the Hooghly river, about thirty-four miles
below Calcutta in a straight line, but much more by the
windings of the river. Here the Company’s ships gene¬
rally unload, and take in great part of their homeward
bound cargoes. There are mooring chains for their ac¬
commodation, and storehouses on shore ; and in the adja¬
cent villages, consisting of a few thatched houses, with
some petty shops, provisions may be purchased. But the
place is very unhealthy, especially during the periodical
rains in July, August, and September, ow ing to the exha¬
lations from the swamps, and the heavy dews which fall at
night. The country on both sides of the river is infested
with tigers.
Diamond Island is situated on the east side of the Bay
of Bengal, twelve miles south from Cape Negrais. It is
about a mile and a half long, by one mile broad; low, co¬
vered with wood, and surrounded by shoals, which render
it dangerous for boats to land. It has fresh water, and
abounds with turtle. It belongs to the Burmese, and is
uninhabited. Long. 94. 12. E. Eat. 15. 51. N.
DIAMPER, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
Cochin, said to be inhabited chiefly by Christians. Here
a synod was held by the Portuguese'archbishop and others,
in the hopes of converting the Nestorians to the faith of
the Roman Catholic church, but without effect. Long.
76. 37. E. Eat. 9. 55. N.
DIANA, the goddess of hunting. According to Cicero,
there were three of this name ; a daughter of Jupiter and
Proserpine, who became mother of Cupid ; a daughter of
Jupiter and Latona ; and a daughter of Upis and Glauce.
The second is the most celebrated, and to her all the an¬
cients allude. She was born at the same birth as Apollo; and
the pains which she saw her mother suffer during her la¬
bour gave her such an aversion to marriage, that she ob¬
tained permission of her father to live in perpetual celi¬
bacy, and lo preside over the travails of women. In order
to shun the society of men, she devoted herself to hunt¬
ing, and was always accompanied by a number of chosen
virgins, who, like herself, abjured the use of marriage.
She is represented with a bow and quiver, and attended
by dogs, and sometimes drawn in a chariot by two white
stags. Sometimes she appears with wings, holding a lion in
one hand, and a panther in the other, with a chariot drawn
by two heifers, or two horses of different colours. She is
represented as tall; her face has something manly in it;
her legs are bare, well shaped, and strong; and her feet
are covered with a buskin worn by huntresses among the
ancients. She received many sirnames, particularly from
the places where her worship was established, and from
the functions over which she presided. She was called
Lucina, Ilythia, or Juno Pronuba, when invoked by women
in childbed; and Trivia when worshipped in the cross-
ways, where her statues were generally erected. She was
supposed to be the same as the moon and Proserpine or
Hecate, and from that circumstance she was called Tri-
formis ; and some of her statues represented her with three
heads, namely, those of a horse, a dog, and a boar. She
was also called Agrotera, Orithia, Taurita, Delia, Cynthia,
Aricia, and the like. She was supposed to be the same
as the Isis of the Egyptians, whose worship was introdu¬
ced into Greece along with that of Osiris under the name
of Apollo. When Typhon waged war against the gods,
Diana, to avoid his fury, metamorphosed herself into a cat.
She is generally known in the figures representing her,
by the crescent on her head, by the dogs which attend
D I A
her, and by her hunting habit. The most famous of her Diana’s
temples was that of Ephesus, which formed one of the Bank
seven wonders of the world. (See Ephesus.) She wasj)ja j||.a
there represented with a great number of breasts, and
other symbols, which signified the earth or Cybele.
Though she was the patroness of chastity, yet she forgot
her dignity in order to enjoy the company of Endymion;
and the favours she granted to Pan and Orion are also
recorded among the mythic scandal of antiquity. The
inhabitants of Taurica were particularly attached to the
worship of this goddess, and they cruelly offered on her
altar all the strangers who suffered shipwreck on their
coasts. Her temple in Africa was always served by a
priest who had murdered his predecessor; and the Lace¬
daemonians yearly offered her human victims till the age
of Lycurgus, who changed this barbarous custom for the
sacrifice of flagellation. The Athenians generally offered
her goats ; and others a white kid, and sometimes a boar
pig or an ox. Among plants, the poppy and the dittany
were sacred to her. Diana, as well as her brother Apollo,
had some oracles, among which those of Egypt, Cilicia, and
Ephesus, are the best known.
DIANA’S Bank, or Diana’s Shoal, a small sandy
islet in the Indian Sea, scarcely visible from the mast¬
head, its situation lying so low. Long. 151. 5. E. Lat.
15. 45. S.
DIANiE Arbor, or Arbor Lun^e, in Chemistry, the
beautiful arborescent form of silver, dissolved in nitric
acid, and precipitated by another metal; so called from its
resembling the trunk, branches, and leaves of a tree.
DIANO, a city of Italy, in the Neapolitan province
Principato Citeriore, containing 4146 inhabitants.
DIAPASON, in Music, a musical interval, which most
authors who have written on the theory of music use to
express the octave of the Greeks.
Diapason, among the musical instrument makers, a
kind of rule or scale by which they adjust the pipes of or¬
gans, and cut the holes of hautboys, flutes, and the like, in
due proportion for performing the tones, semitones, and
concords, with precision.
Diapason Diaex, in Music, a kind of compound con¬
cord, of which there are two sorts; the greater, which is
in the proportion of 10:3; and the lesser, in that of 16:5.
Diapason Diapente, in Music, a compound consonance
in a triple ratio, as 3:9. This interval, says Martianus
Capella, consists of nine tones and a semitone, nineteen
semitones, and thirty-eight dieses. It is a symphony
made when the voice proceeds from the first to the twelfth
sound.
Diapason Diatessaron, in Music, a compound concord
founded on the proportion of eight to three. To this in¬
terval Martianus Capella allows eight tones and a semi¬
tone, seventeen semitones, and thirty-four dieses. This
is when the voice proceeds from its first to its eleventh
sound. The moderns would rather call it the eleventh.
Diapason Ditone, in Music, a compound concord, whose
terms are as 10 :4, or as 5 : 2.
Diapason Semiditone, in Music, a compound concord,
whose terms are in the proportion of 12 :5.
DIAPENTE, in ancient music, an interval marking the
second of the concords, and with the diatessaron an oc¬
tave ; in modern music it is called a jifth.
DIAPER, a kind of cloth on which are formed various
figures, and which is chiefly employed for table-linen.
DIAPHANOUS, an appellation given to all transparent
bodies, or such as transmit the rays of light.
DIAPHORETICS, among physicians, all medicines
which promote perspiration.
DIAPHRAGM (DiaphragmcL), in Anatomy, a part vul¬
garly called the midriff, and by anatomists septum trans-
8 D I A
Diaphoresis It is a strong muscular substance, separating the
I! , breast or thorax from the abdomen or lower venter, and
Diarbekir. serv;ng as a partition between the abdominal and the tho-
racic viscera. (See Anatomy, Index.) Plato, as Galen
informs us, first called it diaphragm, from the verb ha-
<p%ctrriiv, to separate. Till his time it had been called
(pgsves, from a notion that an inflammation of this part pro¬
duced frenzy, which is not more warranted by experience
than another tradition, that a transverse section of the
diaphragm with a sword causes the patient to die laughing.
DIAPHORESIS (Anupogritiis), in Rhetoric, is used to
express the hesitation or uncertainty of the speaker.
DIARBEKIR, a city of Asiatic .Turkey, and capital of
thepashalic of Diarbekir, situated on a massof basalticrock,
which rises in an eminence on the western bank of the
Tigris, the stream of that river flowing by the foot of this
hill from north-east to south-west, as it makes a sharp
bend in that direction from the northward. The form of
the town is very nearly circular. It is about three miles
in circuit, and is encompassed by a lofty thick wall of black
stone. This wall, which is supposed to be a work of the
Romans, is fortified by numerous round and square towers
at irregular intervals, which being high, and strongly built
of hewn stone, present an appearance of great strength.
The most strongly fortified portion of the city is on the
north, where the square towers are very thickly placed,
and there isalongbattery ofguns mounted, pointing through
covered embrasures ; but the whole is now in a neglected
and ruinous condition. The town is also environed by a
ditch. The city has four gates, which lead toMardin,to Asia
Minor or Rumelia, to the mountains of Armenia and Koor-
distan, and to the river. The citadel, standing about mid¬
way between the two last-mentioned gates, is thus in the
north-east angle of the town, and, seated on the eminence
of rock in that quarter, overlooks the stream of the Tigris
below, and, by its elevation, commands the whole of the
town. It is surrounded by a wall, is divided into many
courts, and contains the palace of the pasha, which is ra¬
ther a commodious than a splendid building. Attached to
it are extensive stables and an open space, in which the
horses and the horsemen are exercised. One of the
places used as a stable presents the ruins of a handsome
and noble edifice, with finely-constructed domes of brick¬
work, and a beautiful door with columns and pilasters, the
remains, as Mr Buckingham observes, of an old Christian
building. The citadel is now almost completely in ruins.
There is a fine view of the town from this height. The
houses are built of black basalt in the lower stories, and
of dark-coloured brick in the upper ones ; this, with a suc¬
cession of flat terraces, gives a sameness and gloominess
to the aspect of the town, which, however, is somewhat
relieved by the view of the mosques, towers, and little
garden-plots seen in different parts of the town. The
houses present a handsome appearance, and many of them
are elegant. Of the mosques seen from the citadel, there
are fifteen with minarets, nine having circular shafts and
galleries in the Mahommedan style, and the remaining
six having square towers, after the manner of Christian
churches. There are five other mosques with domes or
cupolas only, and several smaller ones, making altogether
twenty-five Mahommedan places of worship. Among the
minarets of the mosques, some were observed by Mr Buck¬
ingham, to whose travels in Mesopotamia we are chiefly
indebted for this account of Diarbekir, to be highly sculp¬
tured ; and in several of the square towers were inter¬
mixed layers of red burnt brick, mixed with masonry of
stone, after the manner of the Roman towers in the walls
of Antioch. Amidst the ruins of the castle some fine
arches of highly burnt bricks were also observed, which,
from their form, as well as material, looked more like Ro-
D I A
man than Saracenic work. The bazars and baths contain Diarbeki
brick work of a similar kind, which Mr Buckingham thinks "vx-
is decidedly Mahommedan. Broken columns of black coral
are seen scattered in different quarters of the town; and
among these are several Ionic capitals of Greek origin.
Of the Christian churches, the Armenians have two, one
of them large and richly decorated, and the other smaller,
but more tastefully adorned. The Catholics have one
church, with a convent attached to it; the Syrians and
the Greeks have also each a place of worship; and the
Jews have a small synagogue for their service. There
are upwards of twenty baths in the town, and about fif¬
teen khans or caravanserais. The Khan Hassan Pasha is
particularly fine; and in its lower court the corn-market
is usually held. Its magazines within the piazza, which
runs round this, are generally filled with goods. In the
upper galleries are carried on several trades and manufac¬
tures. There are also convenient lodgings here for tra¬
vellers ; and there is an upper story, with apartments for
the harems or families of those who may sojourn here, with
kitchens, fire-places, and other domestic conveniences. The
bazars are well supplied with goods of all descriptions, and
during the hours of business are thronged with people.
They are, however, narrow, crooked, and mostly roofed
over with wood, being neither so regularly laid out, nor
so well covered in, as they generally are in the large towns
of Turkey. The manufactures of the town are chiefly silk
and. cotton stuffs, printed muslins, shawls, and handker¬
chiefs, morocco leather in skins of all colours, smiths’ work
in hardware, and pipes for smoking, made of the jasmin
branch, covered with muslin, and embroidered with gold
and silver thread. About 1500 looms are supposed to be
employed in the weaving of stuffs; and there are about 300
printers of cotton, with as many manufacturers of leather
in the skin, besides shoemakers, saddlers, and other work--
men. There are 100 smiths, and 150 makers of orna¬
mented pipe-stems, besides those who make the clay-bath,
amber mouth-pieces, &c. European cloths are introduced
here through Aleppo, as well as most of the glass-ware,
which is of German manufacture ; fine muslins, Cashmere
shawls, spices, and drugs, are brought from India through
Bagdad. The common manufactures for domestic uses are
supplied at home, and provisions and fruit are abundant
and cheap.
The governor of the pashalic and city of Diarbekir has
the dignity of three tails, and is immediately dependent
on the sultan. He has a force under him of 1000 men, of
whom more than one half are Turkish cavalry, and the re¬
mainder Turkish and Albanian foot. There are, besides,
several petty chiefs among the Turks and the Koords, who
are bound, for certain privileges which they enjoy, to fur¬
nish each his contingent of troops on the pasha’s requi¬
sition. The people, though accustomed to despotic rule,
consider the government of the pasha as secure ; though,
according to Mr Buckingham, there were few Turkish
towns in which there seemed to be more of personal li¬
berty, competence, and comfort, among all classes of
people.
From the circumstance of the walls and buildings of
this city being constructed almost wholly of black stone,
it is called by the Turks Kara Amid, or the Black Amid.
Its ancient name was Amida; the name of Diarbekir pro¬
ceeds chiefly from the Arabs, as the name of Amid is still
used by the Turks in all their public writings. Amida
was successively taken, retaken, and destroyed, in the an¬
cient wars between the Persians and Romans. It was
pillaged by Tamerlane in the year 1393; and successive
sieges and captures followed by the Persian kings, until it
was conquered and taken by Selim, the first sultan of the
Osmanlee Turks, in the year 1515. In 1605 it again fell
9
DIG
D'arthro- under the power of Persia; but it was aftervvards retaken
sis by the Turks, under whose dominion it has since continu-
’ Jl ed. General Gardanne computes the population at 80,000,
Macdonald Kinneir at 38,000, and Mr Buckingham, the
latest traveller, at 50,000. The great majority consist of
Osmanlee Turks, who are soldiers, government officers,
merchants, and mechanics. The Armenians, who are the
next numerous class, amount to 1000 families. Ihe Arab,
Turkish, and Armenian followers of the Catholic commu¬
nion number 500 families, the Syrian sect 400, and the
Greeks about 50 families. Almost all the Jews have of
late emigrated to Bagdad, Aleppo, or Constantinople. The
inhabitants of Diarbekir are thought to be more fanatical
in their hatred of Christians than in other parts of the
empire. This place is 187 miles north-west of Mardin, 220
north-east of Orfah, and 350 north-east of Aleppo. Long.
39. 52. E. Lat. 37. 55. N.
DIARTHROSIS, in Anatomy, a kind of articulation
or juncture of the bones, which, being pretty lax, affords
room for a manifest motion. The word comes from 3/a,
and juncture. It is opposed to synarthrosis, in which
the articulation is so close that there is no sensible motion
at all.
DIARY, a term sometimes used for a journal or day¬
book, containing an account of every day’s proceedings.
DIASCIIISM, among musicians, denotes the difference
between the comma and enharmonic diesis, commonly call¬
ed the lesser comma.
DIASTOLE, among physicians, signifies the dilatation
of the heart, auricles, and arteries; and is opposed to the
systole, or contraction of the same parts. See Anatomy.
Diastole, in Grammar, a figure in prosody by which a
syllable naturally short is made long.
DIASYRMUS, in Rhetoric, a kind of hyperbole, being
an exaggeration of some low and ridiculous thing.
DIATESSARON, among ancient musicians, a concord
or harmonic interval, composed of a greater tone, a less
tone, and one greater semitone ; its proportion in numbers
is as 4: 3.
DIATONIC, in Music, a word compounded of the
Greek preposition 3/a, signifying transition, and rovog, ten¬
sion, is indifferently applied to a scale or gammut, to in¬
tervals of a certain kind, or to a species of music, whe¬
ther in melody or harmony, composed of these intervals.
Thus we say the diatonic series, a diatonic interval, diato¬
nic melody or harmony. The diatonic scale forms the sys¬
tem of diatonic music, and consists of diatonic intervals.
DIBBLE, or Dibber, a simple but useful instrument in
gardening, used for planting all sorts of young plants or
slips.
DICE, among gamesters, certain cubical pieces of bone
or ivory, marked with dots on each of their faces, from
one to six, according to the number of faces.
Sharpers have several ways of falsifying dice; first, by
sticking a hog’s bristle in them, so as to make them run
high or low as they please. Secondly, by drilling and
loading them with quicksilver, which is found out by
holding them gently by two diagonal corners, when, if
false, the heavy sides will turn always down. Thirdly, by
filing and rounding them. But all these ways fall very far
short of the art of the dice-makers, some of whom are so
dexterous this way that a gambling sharper will give any
money for their work.
DIC/EARCHUS, a scholar of Aristotle, who composed
a great number of books, which were much esteemed. Ci¬
cero and his friend Pomponius Atticus valued him highly.
He wrote a book to prove that men suffer more mischief
from one another than from all evils besides; and the
work which he composed concerning the republic of Lace¬
daemon was extremely honoured, and read every year be-
vol. vm.
DIG
fore the youth in the assembly of the ephori. Geography Dicho-
was one of his principal studies, on which science there tomy
is a fragment of a treatise of his still extant, and preserv- -Dict^tor
ed among the Veteris Geographice Scriptores minores. i_f_ ^ _
DICHOTOMY, a term used by astronomers for that
phasis or appearance of the moon in which she is bisect¬
ed, or shows just half her disk. In this situation the
moon is said to be in a quadrate aspect, or to be in her qua¬
drature.
DICKER, in old writers, denotes the quantity of ten
hides of skins of which twenty made a last; also ten pairs
of gloves, ten bars of iron, and the like, are sometimes ex¬
pressed by the term dicker.
DICKINSON, Edmund, a celebrated English physi¬
cian and chemist, was born in 1624. He studied and took
his degrees at Merton College, Oxford; and in 1659 pub¬
lished his Delphi Phcenicizantes, in which he attempted to
prove that the Greeks borrowed the story of the Pythian
Apollo, and all that rendered the oracle at Delphos fa¬
mous, from the Holy Scriptures, and particularly the book
of Joshua; a work which procured him great reputation
both at home and abroad. He practised physic first at
Oxford ; but removing to London in 1684, his good fortune
in recovering the Earl of Arlington from a dangerous
sickness procured his promotion as a physician in ordinary
to Charles II. and to his household. As that prince un¬
derstood and loved chemistry, Mr Dickinson grew into
great favour at court, and was continued in his appoint¬
ments under James II. After the abdication, he retired
from practice, and died in 1707. He published many
other things, Physica vetus et vera, containing a system of
philosophy, chiefly framed on principles collected from the
Mosaic history.
DICTATOR, a magistrate at Rome invested with regal
authority. This officer was first chosen during the Roman
wars against the Latins. The consuls being unable to
raise forces for the defence of the state, because the ple¬
beians refused to inlist if they were not discharged of all
the debts which they had contracted with the patricians,
the senate found it necessary to elect a new magistrate
with absolute and uncontrollable power to take care of the
state. The dictator remained in office for six months, af¬
ter which he was again elected if the affairs of the state
seemed to be desperate ; but if tranquillity was re-estab¬
lished, he generally resigned his power before the time had
expired. He knew no superior in the republic, and even
the laws were subjected to him. He was called dictator,
because dictus, named by the consul, or quoniam dictis ejus
par chat populus, because the people implicitly obeyed his
command. He was named by the consul in the night, viva
voce, and his election was confirmed by the augurs. As his
power was absolute, he could proclaim war, levy forces,
conduct them against an enemy, and disband them at his
pleasure. He punished as he pleased, and from his de¬
cision there lay no appeal, at least till later times. He was
preceded by twenty-four lictors with the fasces ; and dur¬
ing his administration, all other officers, except the tribunes
of the people, were suspended. In short, he was the mas¬
ter of the republic. But amidst all this independence he
was not permitted to go beyond the borders of Italy; he
was always obliged to march on foot in his expeditions ; and
he never could ride in difficult and laborious marches with¬
out previously obtaining formal leave from the people. He
was chosen only when the state was in imminent danger
from foreign enemies or inward seditions. In the time of a
pestilence a dictator was sometimes elected, as also in order
to hold the comitia, or to celebrate the public festivals, or
drive a nail into the capitol, by which superstitious cere¬
mony the Romans believed that a plague could be averted
or the progress of an enemy stopped. But this office, so
DICTIONARY.
10
Dictionary. reSpecta]3ie anj illustrious in the first ages of the republic,
became excessively odious by the usurpations of Sylla and
Julius Caesar; and after the death of the latter, the Ro¬
man senate passed a decree abolishing for ever the dicta¬
torship in Rome. The dictator, as soon as elected, chose
a subordinate officer, who was called his master of horse,
7nagister equitum. This officer was respectable ; but he was
totally subservient to the will of the dictator, and could do
nothing without the express order of the latter. This
subordination, however, was some time afterwards remov¬
ed ; and during the second Punic war the master of the
horse was invested with a power equal to that of the dic¬
tator. A second dictator was also chosen for the election
of magistrates at Rome after the battle of Cannse. The
dictatorship was originally confined to the patricians; but
" the plebeians were afterwards admitted to share it. Titus
Lartius Flavus was the first dictator, in the year of Rome
253.
DICTIONARY, in its original acceptation, is the ar¬
ranging of all the words of a language according to the
order of the alphabet, and annexing a definition or expla¬
nation to each word. When arts and sciences began to
be improved and extended, the multiplicity of technical
terms rendered it necessary to compile dictionaries, either
of science in general, or of particular sciences, according
to the views of the compiler.
Dictionary of the English Language. The design of
every dictionary of language is to explain, in the most ac¬
curate manner, the meaning of every word; and to show
the various ways in which it can be combined with others,
in as far as this tends to alter or modify its meaning. The
dictionary which does this in the most accurate manner is
the most complete work of the kind ; therefore the prin¬
cipal study of a lexicographer ought to be to discover the
method which may seem best adapted for that purpose.
Dr Johnson, with great labour, has collected the various
meanings of every word, and quoted the authorities ; but
it would have been an improvement if he had given an
accurate definition of the precise meaning of every word ;
pointed out the way in which it ought to be employed
with the greatest propriety ; showed the various deviations
from the original meaning, which custom had so far estab¬
lished as to render allowable ; and fixed the precise limits
beyond which it could not be employed without becoming
a vicious expression. With this view it would have been
necessary to exhibit the nice distinctions which take place
between words nearly synonymous, and without which
many words can only be defined in such a manner that
they must be considered as exactly synonymous. We omit
making any quotations from Johnson in order to point out
these defects; and shall content ourselves with giving a
few examples, to show in what manner, according to our
idea, a dictionary of the English language ought to be
compiled.
Immediately, adv. of time.
1. Instantly, without delay. Always employed to de¬
note future time, and never past. Thus we may say,
I will come immediately; but not I am immediately
come from such a place. See Presently.
2. Without the intervention of any cause or event; as
opposed to mediately.
Presently, adv. of time.
1. Instantly, without delay. Exactly synonymous with
immediately ; being never with propriety employed to
denote any thing but future time.
2. Formerly it was employed to express present time.
Thus, The house presently possessed hy such a one,
was often used, but this has now become a vicious
expression ; and we ought to say, The house possessed
at present. It differs from immediately in this, that
even in the most corrupt phrases it never can denote Dictionary
past time.
Form, subst. The external appearance of any object,
when considered only with reference to shape or
figure. This term, therefore, in the literal sense, can
only be applied to the objects of sight and touch, and
is therefore nearly synonymous with figure ; but these
terms differ in some respects. Form may be em¬
ployed to denote more rude and unfinished shapes;
figure, those which are more perfect and regular.
Form can never be employed without denoting mat¬
ter, whereas figure may be employed in the abstract:
thus we say a square or a triangular^wre, but not
a square or triangular form. And in the same manner
we say the figure of a house; but we must denote
the substance which forms that figure if we use the
word /bm; as, a cloud of the form of a house. See
Figure.
2. In contrast to irregularity or confusion. As beauty
cannot exist without order, it is by a figure of speech
employed to denote beauty, order, and the like.
3. As form respects only the external appearance of
bodies, without regard to their internal qualities, it
is, by a figure of speech, employed in contrast to these
qualities to denote empty show, without essential
qualities. In this sense it is often taken when applied
to religious ceremonies, pageantry, and so forth.
4. As form is employed to denote the external appear¬
ance of bodies, so, in a figurative sense, it is ap¬
plied to reasoning, denoting the particular mode or
manner in which this is conducted; as, the form of a
syllogism, &c.
5. In the same manner it is employed to denote the par¬
ticular mode of procedure established in courts of
law; as, the forms of law, religion, and the like.
6. Form is sometimes, although improperly, used to de¬
note the different circumstances of the same body ;
as, water in a fluid or a solid form. But as this phrase
regards the internal qualities rather than the exter¬
nal figure, it is improper, and ought to be, water in a
fluid or a solid state.
7. But when bodies of different kinds are compared
with one another, this term may be employed to de¬
note other circumstances than shape or figure; for
we may say, a juice exuding from a tree in the form
of wax or resin ; although, in this case, the consist¬
ence, colour, &c. and not the external arrangement
of parts, constitutes the resemblance.
8. From the regular appearance of a number of persons
arranged in one long seat, such persons so arranged
are sometimes called a form ; as, a form of students,
&c. And,
9. By an easy transition the seat itself has also acquir¬
ed that name.
Great, ad/. A relative word, denoting largeness of
quantity, number, &c., serving to augment the value
of those terms with which it is combined, and op¬
posed to small or little. The principal circum¬
stances in which this word can be employed are the
following:
1. When merely inanimate objects are considered with
regard to quantity, great is with propriety employed
to denote that the quantity is considerable : as, a
great mountain, great house, and the like; and it
is here contrasted with small. When great is thus
employed, we have no other word which is exactly
synonymous.
2. When inanimate objects are considered with regard
to their extent, this term is sometimes employed, al¬
though with less propriety ; as, a great plain, a great
DICTIONARY.
11
field, and the like. In this sense it is nearly synony¬
mous with large; and these terms were often used in¬
discriminately, but with some difference of meaning;
for, as large is a term chiefly employed to denote ex¬
tent of superficies, and as great more particularly re¬
gards the quantity of matter, therefore, when large
is applied to any object which is not merely super¬
ficial, it denotes that it is the extent of surface which
is there meant to be considered, without regard to
the other dimensions ; whereas, when the term great
is employed, it has reference to the whole contents.
If, therefore, we say a large house, or a large river,
we express that the house, or the river, has a surface
of great extent, without having any necessary con¬
nexion with the size in other respects. But if we
say a great house, or a great river, it at once denotes
that these objects have not only a large surface, but
are also of great size in every respect.
3. Great, when applied to the human species, never de¬
notes the size or largeness of body, but is applied
solely to the qualities of the mind. Thus when we
say that Socrates was a great man, we do not mean
that he was a man of great size, but that he was a
man who excelled in the endowments of the mind.
The terms which denote largeness of size in the hu¬
man body are big, bulky, huge.
4. Great is sometimes applied to the human species, as
denoting high rank. In this case it is oftener used
in the plural number than otherwise. Thus we say
simply the great, meaning the whole body of men in
high station, as opposed to the mean. It should sel¬
dom be employed in this sense, as it tends to confound
dignity of rank with elevation of mind.
5. As this is a general term of augmentation, it maybe
joined with all nouns which denote quantity, qua¬
lity, number, excellence, or defects; or such as imply
praise, blame, anger, contempt, or any other affection
of the mind.
6. It is employed to denote every step of ascending or
descending consanguinity, great-grandfather, great-
grandson, and so on.
High, adj. Exalted in a perpendicular direction at a
distance from the surface of the earth, and opposed
to low.
1. High is a term altogether indefinite, and is employed
to express the degree of elevation of any inanimate
body. Thus we say a high mountain, a high house,
steeple, tower, pillar, and the like. Nor is there any
other word which can here be considered as synony¬
mous ; lofty being employed only to denote a very
eminent degree of elevation.
2. To express the perpendicular elevation of vegetables
either high or tall may be employed, as being in this
case nearly synonymous. We may therefore say a
high or tall tree, a high or tall mast, and so forth, but
with this difference between these two expressions,
that to//can be more properly applied to those which
are much elevated and of small dimensions ; and high,
to such as are more bulky and of greater size.
3. The perpendicular height of man can never be ex¬
pressed by the word high, tall being here the proper
expression. And although high is sometimes used to
express the height of other animals, yet it seems to
be an improper expression. See Tall.
4. High, when applied to the human species, always re¬
fers to the mind, and denotes haughtiness, stateliness,
pride, and when combined with expressions indicating
energy of mind, it denotes that in a higher degree.
In this sense it is opposed to meanness, abjectness, and
humility.
5. As this is an indefinite term, tending to denote any Dictionary,
thing which is elevated above us, it may be combined -v-'*-'
with almost every noun which admits of this eleva¬
tion. Hence, as objects high above us are always out of
our reach, it is in a metaphorical sense used to denote
any thing which seems to be above the ordinary con¬
dition of mankind, or those qualities or endowments
of mind which are not easily acquired; as, dignity or
elevation of sentiment, dignity of rank, acuteness in rea¬
soning on difficult subjects, pride, haughtiness, or any
other quality which seems beyond the ordinary level
of mankind; dearness of price.
6. In the same manner we apply this term to time, which
having a metaphorical resemblance to a river flowing-
on with an unceasing current through all successive
ages, any thing of remote antiquity is denoted by the
term high.
7. Likewise to those degrees of latitude far removed from
the line, where the pole becomes more elevated.
8. And also to some particular crimes, as being attended
with peculiar degrees of guilt, as high treason.
Tall, adj. Something elevated to a considerable de¬
gree in a perpendicular direction, and opposed to low.
1. This term is chiefly employed to express the height
of man and other animals; and is applied to denote
the height of the body only, without having any re¬
ference to the mind. When applied to man, no other
word can be substituted in its stead ; when applied to
other animals, high is sometimes considered as nearly
synonymous. See High.
2. It is likewise employed to denote the perpendicular
height of vegetables, and in this case it is nearly sy¬
nonymous with high. See High.
3. It can in no case be employed to express the height
of merely inanimate objects, as we can never say a
tall steeple, tower, or pillar, but a high steeple, &c. For
the distinctions in these cases, see High.
Long, adj. A relative term, denoting the distance be¬
tween the extremes of any body which is extended
more in one of its geometrical dimensions than in
another. It is opposed to short.
1. This term may be applied to all inanimate objects, of
whatever kind, whose dimensions in one way exceed
their dimensions in the other, and when not in an erect
posture, whatever be the other circumstances attend¬
ing them, whether it relates to superficies alone or to
solidbodies, whether these be bounded or open, straight
or crooked, flexible or rigid, or in any other circum¬
stances whatever: thus we say a long or short line, a
long or short ridge, street, ditch, rope, chain, staff, and
the like. But it is to be observed, that although long
is in the strict sense only opposed to short, yet as it
expresses the extension of matter in one of its geo¬
metrical proportions, it is often contrasted by those
words which express the other proportions when we
mean only to describe the several proportions; as, a
table long and broad. And as these several dimensions
are expressed by different words, according to the
various forms, modifications, and circumstances in
which bodies are found, therefore it is in this sense
contrasted by a great diversity of terms; as, a long
and broad or wide, narrow or strait, street or lane ; a
long and thick or small rope, chain, staff. For the dis¬
tinctions in these cases see Broad, Wide, &c.
2. Objects necessarily fixed in an erect position can
never have this term applied to them, and therefore
we cannot say a long, but a high tower or steeple. And
for the same reason, while trees are growing and fix¬
ed in an erect position, we cannot apply this term
to them; but when they are felled and laid upon the
12 DICTIONARY.
Dictionary. ground, it is quite proper and necessary. Thus we
'S-I’’V'W' do not say a long, but a tall or high tree, while it is
growing; but we say a long, not a tall log of wood;
and in the same manner we say a tall mast when it
is fixed in the ship, but a long mast while it lies upon
the beach. See Tall and High.
3. Those vegetables which are of a tender, pliant nature,
or so weak as not to be able to retain a fixed position,
being considered as of a middle nature between erect
and prostrate bodies, admit of either the terms long,
tall, or high ; as, a long or tall rush or willow wand, or
a long, tall, or high stalk of corn. See High and
Tall.
4. The parts of vegetables, when considered as distinct
from the whole, even when growing and erect, assume
the term long; for we do not say a tall, but a long
shoot of a tree, and a tree with a long stem, in prefe¬
rence to a tree with a high stem.
5. For the same reason, a staff and pole, even when
fixed in a perpendicular direction, assume the word
long, in preference to tall or high.
6. With regard to animals, the general rule is applied,
without any exceptions ; tall, and not long, being em¬
ployed to denote the height of the human body when
in an erect posture; and long, and not tall, to denote
its length when in an incumbent situation. Long ap¬
plied to all other animals which do not walk erect,
always denotes their greatest length in a horizontal
position from head to tail.
7. In a figurative sense, it denotes, with regard to time,
any thing at a great distance from us.
8. As also, any thing that takes up much time before it
is finished, as, a long discourse, a protracted note in
music, and the like.
Broad, adj. The distance between the two nearest
sides of any body whose geometrical dimensions are
larger in one direction than in another. It has a re¬
ference to superficies only, and never to the solid
contents, and is opposed to narrow.
1. Broad, in the strictest acceptation, is applied to de¬
note those bodies only whose sides are altogether
open and unconfined; as, a broad table, a broad wheel,
&c. and in these cases it is invariably contrasted with
narrate; nor is there any other word which in these
cases can be considered as synonymous writh it, or be
used in its stead.
2. When any object is in some sort bounded on the sides,
although not quite closed up, as a road, street, ditch,
and the like, either broad or wide may be employed,
but with some difference of signification ; broad being
most properly used for those which are more open,
and wide for those which are more confined: nor can
this term be ever applied to such objects as are closely
bounded all around, as a house, a church, and the
like, wide being here employed. For the more accu¬
rate distinctions in these cases see the article Wide.
Wide, adj. A term employed to denote relative extent
in certain circumstances, and opposed to narrow and
strait.
1. This term is in its proper sense applied only to de¬
note the space contained within any body closed all
round and on every side; as, a house, gate, or the
like; and it differs from broad in this, that it never
relates to the superficies of solid objects, but is em¬
ployed to express the capaciousness of any body which
contains vacant space ; nor can capaciousness in this
sense be expressed by any other word but wide.
2. As many bodies may be considered either with re¬
spect to their capaciousness or superficial extent, in all
these cases either the term broad or wide may be used;
as, a broad or wide street or ditch, &c.; but with a greater Dictionary,
or less degree of propriety, according to the circum- 1 — ■
stances of the object, or the idea which we wish to con¬
vey. In a street where the houses are low and the
boundaries open, or in a ditch of small depth and large
superficies, as this largeness of superficies bears the
principal proportion, broad would be more proper;
but if the houses are of gyeat height, or the ditch of
great depth, and capaciousness is the principal pro¬
perty which affects the mind, we would naturally say a
wide street or ditch ; and the same may be said of all
similar cases. But there are some cases in which
both these terms are applied, with a greater differ¬
ence of meaning; thus we say a broad or a ivide gate.
As the gate, however, is employed to denote either the
aperture in the wall, or the matter which closes that
aperture, these terms are each of them used to denote
that particular quality to which they are generally
applied; and as the opening itself can never be con¬
sidered as a superficies, the term wide, in this case,
denotes the distance between the sides of the aper¬
ture ; whilst, on the contrary, broad denotes the ex¬
tent of matter fitted to close that aperture; nor can
these two terms be in any case substituted for one
another.
3. As a figurative expression, it is used as a cant phrase
for a mistake ; as, you are wide of the mark ; that is,
not near the truth.
Narrow, adj. A relative term, denoting a propor¬
tional smallness of distance between the sides of the
superficies of plain bodies, and opposed to broad.
1. As this is only applied to superficies, it is exactly
contrasted by broad, and is applied in all cases where
the term broad can be used (see Broad) ; and in
no other case but as a contrast to it, excepting the fol¬
lowing.
2. It sometimes is employed to describe the smallness
of space circumscribed between certain boundaries,
as opposed to wide, and nearly synonymous with
straight; thus we say a wide or a narrow house, church,
and the like. For the necessary distinctions here,
see the article Strait.
3. In a figurative sense it &ox\o\.os parsimony, poverty,
confined sentiments, and so forth.
Strait, adj. A relative .term, denoting the extent of
space in certain circumstances, and opposed to wide.
See Wide.
1. This term is employed, in its proper sense, to denote
only space, as contained between surrounding bodies
in such circumstances as to denote some degree of
confinement, and is exactly opposed to wide; as, a
wide or a strait gate, Ac. See Wide.
2. So necessary is it that the idea of confinement should
be connected with this word, that in all those cases
w here the space contained is large, as in a church or
house, we cannot express a smaller proportional
width by this term. And as we have no other word
to express space in these circumstances, we are ob¬
liged to force the word narrow from its natural signi¬
fication, and make it express this. See Narrow.
3. In some particular cases, narrow or strait may be ap¬
plied to the same object; as, a narrow or a strait line ;
but here strait is never employed except where an
idea of confinement is suggested, and where it is ex¬
actly contrasted to wide ; nor can narrow be employ¬
ed except in such circumstances where broad would
be a perfect contrast to it. Therefore these two terms
may be always used in the same circumstances as
those which contrast with them. For an account of
these see Wide.
DICTIONARY.
Dictionary. 4. The term strait is likewise in a peculiar manner used
to denote the smallness of the internal diameter of
those bodies which are fitted to receive or contain
others, as any kind of bag, tube, body clothes, mor¬
tises, and others of the same kind; and in all these
cases this term may be employed to denote tbe small¬
ness of their lesser diameter, and never the term nar¬
row. But in certain circumstances the word tight
may be substituted for it. See Tight.
5. Strait, in a figurative sense, denotes any sort of con¬
finement of sentiment or disposition.
TIGHT, adj. A term employed in certain circumstances
to denote the internal capacity of particular bodies,
and nearly synonymous with strait.
This term is confined entirely to denote the smallness
of the internal dimensions of such objects as are
formed to cover, or to receive or contain, other solid
bodies, and can be employed in no other case. And
although it agrees with strait, in always denoting con¬
finement, and by being applicable to the same species
of objects, yet it differs in the following respects:
1. If there be any difference of the diameter of the
objects to which the term strait can be applied, it has
always reference to the smaller; yet tight may be
applied to any sort of confinement, whether it regards
the length or breadth. 2. Strait can be applied to all
bodies of capacity when of small diameter, without
any sort of reference to the nature of the substance
which it may be capable of containing. . For we can
say a strait bag, a strait sleeve, a strait mortise, a strait
gate, and so on, whereas tight can only be applied to
any body when it is considered as having reference to
another body which is intended to be contained in it,
and is pinched from want of room. Thus wre say the
sleeve ofa coat is too tight for the arm, the mortise is too
tight for the tenon, and so forth ; but we cannot say the
bag or the gate is too tight, because they are fitted to
receive any sort of objects. And hence it happens
that in many cases the dimensions of the same body
may be expressed by tight or strait, when considered
in different circumstances.' Thus we may say, this
sleeve is too strait, when we look at a coat lying on the
table and consider its proportions; but it is not till
we have tried it upon the arm which it is intended
to cover, that we call it tight. And we may say, a
gate is too strait or too tight; but in the first case we
consider it as being too confined for admitting objects
to pass through it; and in the next, as being too con¬
fined with respect to the “ leaves” which are to shut
the aperture not allowing them space to move with
freedom.
These examples may serve to give some idea of the
plan of an English dictionary composed upon philosophi¬
cal principles. But, besides the circumstances above enu¬
merated, there are many others which would require par¬
ticular attention in the execution of a work of this kind.
In the English language a great variety of terms occur
which denote matter under certain general forms or cir¬
cumstances, without regarding the minute diversities that
may take place; as the word cloth, which denotes matter
as manufactured into a particular form, including under it
all the variety of stuffs manufactured in that particular
way, of whatever materials, colour, texture, or fineness
they may be. The same may be said of wood, iron, yarn,
and a great variety of terms of the same nature, some of
which cannot assume any plural; whilst others admit of it
in all cases, and others, again, admit or refuse it accord¬
ing to the different circumstances in which they are con¬
sidered.
In a dictionary, therefore, all this variety of cases ought
13
to be clearly and distinctly pointed out under each parti-Dictionary,
cular article. This is the more necessary, as some of these v«—
words have others formed from them which might be rea¬
dily mistaken for their plurals, although they have a very
different signification; as clothes, which does not denote
any number of pieces of different kinds of cloth, but wear¬
ing apparel. The following example will illustrate this
head.
WOOD, subst. A solid substance of which the trunks
and branches of trees consist.
1. This term is employed to denote the solid parts of
vegetables of all kinds, in whatever form or circum¬
stances they are found. Nor does it admit of a plural
with propriety, unless in the circumstances after men¬
tioned ; for we say, many different kinds of wood, in
preference to many kinds of woods; or we say, oak,
ash, or elm wood, not woods.
2. But where we want to contrast wood of one quality
or country with that of another, it admits of a plural;
for we say, white woods are in general softer than red;
or, West Indian woods are in general of greater spe¬
cific gravity than the European woods. But unless
where the colour, or some quality which distinguishes
it from growing wood, is mentioned, this plural ought
as much as possible to be avoided, as it always sug¬
gests an idea of growing wood.
3. Wood likewise denotes a number of trees growing
near one another, being nearly synonymous with fo¬
rest. See Forest. In this sense it always admits of
a plural; as, Ye woods and wilds whose melancholy
gloom, &c.
A dictionary cannot be reckoned complete without ex¬
plaining obsolete words; and if the terms of the several
provincial dialects were likewise given, it would be of
great utility. Nor would this occupy much space, because
a number of these words need no other explanation than
to mark along with them the words which had come in
their place, when there happened to be one perfectly sy¬
nonymous ; and in those cases where the same idea could
not be expressed in modern language without a periphra¬
sis, it would be of use to explain them distinctly; so that,
when a writer found himself at a loss for a term, and was
obliged to search for one beyond the bounds of his own
language, he might take one of these, if he found it ex¬
pressive and energetic, in prefefence to another drawn
from a foreign language. This would at least have one
good effect; it would render our language more fixed and
stable, not to say more accurate and precise, than by bor¬
rowing from foreign languages. The following examples
may serve to give some idea of the manner of treating this
part of the work.
MOE, or mo, adj. An obsolete term still employed in
the Scotch dialect, and by them pronounced mae, de¬
noting a greater number, and nearly synonymous with
more ; but it differs in this respect, that in the Scotch
dialect, mae and mair (English more) are each em¬
ployed in their distinct sphere, without encroaching
upon one another, mae being employed to denote
number, but never quantity or quality, and mair to
denote quantity and quality, but never number; thus
they say mae, not mair, apples, men, &c. and mair, not
mae, cloth, earth, courage, &c. See Mair. Both these
terms are supplied by the word more, which in the
English language is applied indiscriminately to de¬
note quantity, quality, and number. See More.
As the English language is so exceedingly irregular in
the pronunciation, the same letter in the same situation
often assuming sounds totally different in different words,
it is impossible to establish any general rules on this sub¬
ject which do not admit of many exceptions ; therefore a
14 DID
Dictjmnia dictionary is the best means of ascertaining and pointing
II . out the proper pronunciations of words. For, if the
writer first pointed out all the different sounds which the
same letter could ever be made to express, and assigned
to every particular sound which each letter could be made
to assume, a particular mark, appropriated to denote that
particular sound of the letter whenever it occurred, by
placing these particular marks above the letters in the
, ' dictionary, the sound of each letter would be pointed out
in all cases with the utmost certainty. It is impossible
to illustrate this by examples, without first ascertaining
all the sounds of each letter, which would lead into a dis¬
cussion too long for this place.
We shall only further observe, that besides having the
accented syllable of every word properly distinguished in
a dictionary to assist in the pronunciation, the English
language requires another essential improvement, namely,
the use of accents to distinguish the meaning of words
and/Erases, which, although it is not so properly confined
to a lexicographer, yet it is not quite without his sphere.
Thus, the word as admits of two very different sounds,
as well as different significations; for example, “ Cicero
was nearly as eloquent as Demosthenes in which the
first as is pronounced ass, and the last is pronounced az.
Now it often happens that, in reading, the particular way
in which it ought to be understood is not pointed out by
the context till after the word itself is pronounced, which
has an equal chance at least of being pronounced wrong;
whereas, if it were always accented when employed in the
one sense, and not in the other, it would free the reader
from this perplexity. There are other cases in which the
proper use of accents in writing would be of great conse¬
quence; as at the beginning of a sentence when it is put
as a question, or used ironically. But this does not so
properly belong to the lexicographer as the grammarian.
The above examples, we hope, will be sufficient to give
the reader some idea of the plan which wre would propose,
and will enable him to determine whether or not a dic¬
tionary, executed in this way, would convey to his mind a
more perfect knowledge of the English language than those
dictionaries which have hitherto been published. These
examples are given rather with a view to show the man¬
ner in which a work of this kind may be conducted, than
as perfect and unexceptionable explanations of the several
articles there enumerated; and therefore we have not
thought it necessary to produce any authorities, although
we are sensible that they would be requisite in such a
work.
DICTYMNIA, or Dictinnia, in Mythology, wrere feasts
celebrated at Lacedaemon and in Crete, in honour of Diana
Dictymnia or Dictynnia, or of a nymph taken for her, who,
having plunged herself into the sea to escape the passion
of Minos, was caught in a fisherman’s net or dixruov, and
hence the name.
DICTYS Cretensis, a very ancient historian, who
served under Idomeneus, king of Crete, in the Trojan war,
and wrote the history of that expedition in nine books.
Tzetzes tells us that Homer formed his Iliad upon the
plan of that history. It is, however, maintained that the
Latin history of Dictys now extant is spurious.
DIDACTIC, in the schools, signifies the manner of
speaking or writing adapted to teach or explain the nature
of things. The word is formed from the Greek didaaxu,
doceo, I teach.
There are many words which are only used in the di¬
dactic and dogmatic way; and there are also many works,
ancient and modern, both in prose and verse, written after
this method. Such are the Georgies of Virgil, Lucretius’s
poem De Rerum Natura, and Pope’s Essays on Criticism
and on Man.
D I D
DIDEROT, Denis, a French writer and philosopher* Diderot,
was the son of a cutler, and born at Langres in the year
1712. He received his education among the Jesuits, and
being destined for the church by one of his uncles, who
had a canonry to bestow upon him, he assumed the ton-
sure. But he discovered so little inclination for the ec¬
clesiastical profession, that his father sent him to Paris to
prosecute his studies, and afterwards placed him with an
attorney. It soon appeared, however, that he was more
attached to different departments of literature and science
than disposed to submit to the drudgeries of the profes¬
sion to which his father had destined him; and having
neglected his business, his allowance was withheld, which
obliged him to shift for himself, and to give lessons in or¬
der to procure a subsistence. The studies to which Di¬
derot devoted his attention were extremely various. Phy¬
sics, geometry, metaphysics, moral philosophy, and belles-
lettres, were at different times the objects of his pursuit;
and he even indulged in poetry and works of invention.
But he attached himself chiefly to graver and more se¬
rious studies. Diderot possessed great fluency and ani¬
mation of language in conversation ; and this accomplish¬
ment, with a decisive tone and manner, procured him both
partizans and protectors.
One of the first of his publications was a translation of
Stanyan’s History of Greece. In the year 1745 he pub¬
lished Principles of Moral Philosophy, 12mo, a work by
which he obtained some reputation. But the year follow¬
ing, when he published a piece entitled Pensees Philoso-
phiques, he acquired considerable celebrity. This work
was highly commended by the partizans of the new phi¬
losophy, amongst whom he had now enlisted himself. The
same work was afterwards reprinted under the title of
Etrennes aux Esprits Forts: it was very much read, and
is supposed to have contributed greatly to the diffusion
of those free opinions which had now become so prevalent
in France. Soon after this period, Diderot, in conjunction
with D’Alembert, concerted the plan of that vast under¬
taking, the Dictionaire Encyclopedique. The professed ob¬
ject of this work was to form a magazine of every branch
of human knowledge; but it has been alleged that it was
also intended by the authors and editors as the great en¬
gine by means of which established opinions, whether of a
religious or politicalnature, which they supposed had their
origin in fraud and superstition, were to be subverted.
The department of this work which was entrusted to Di¬
derot was the description of arts and trades {arts et metiers).
In fact, he was the principal architect of this great edi¬
fice ; and, besides the Prospectus, and the Systemedes Con-
naissances Humaines, which has been much commended on
account of its classification, he contributed many articles in
various departments of science. But his writings in the
Dictionary have been considered as extremely verbose and
diffuse ; and in all of them he is too fond of metaphysical
subtilties and the pompous parade of scientific language.
The first two volumes of the Dictionary appeared in the
year 1751, and the first edition was completed and pub¬
lished in 1767 ; but although Diderot was occupied in this
laborious undertaking for a period of nearly twenty years,
the recompense which he obtained for his labours is said
to have been extremely small.
During this time he composed various other works.
Amongst these may be mentioned A Letter on the Blind,
for the use of those who see. This work made a good deal
of noise, and, in consequence of some of the sentiments
it contained, gave offence to the government, for which
reason the author was detained in confinement during six
months at Vincennes. This piece was soon followed by
another, entitled A Letter on the Deaf and Dumb, 2 vols.
12mo, 1751. Ihe Sixth Sense, which was published in
DID
Diderot. 1752; Thoughts on the interpretation of Nature, which ap-
peared in 1754); and The Code of Nature, in 1755; are
similar works, and may be ranked in the same class. His
f moral character was considerably affected by the publica¬
tion of Bijoux Indiscrets, in two vols. 12mo, which is a
collection of licentious tales; but for this he made some
kind of compensation when he published two prose come¬
dies, entitledXeFilsNaturel, 1757, and Le Pere deFamille,
1758, which are not only interesting as dramatic pieces,
but exhibit a pure and correct morality. The latter is
considered as one of the best comedies of the sentimen¬
tal kind which has appeared on the French stage, and it
has accordingly been much admired. He afterwards pub¬
lished a pamphlet on Public Education, which undoubt¬
edly contains some useful hints, but at the same time it
proposes many things which are utterly absurd and im¬
practicable. To the list of his works now mentioned we
may add an eulogy on Richardson, which is full of warmth
and enthusiasm; and an Essay on the Life and Writings
of Seneca the Philosopher. This was his last produc¬
tion, and was published in 1779.
The character of Diderot suffered considerably from
some defamatory attacks which he had made on his former
frjend Rousseau, who had quarrelled with the French phi¬
losophers, and had separated himself from their school.
From the Confessions of the philosopher of Geneva, it
would appear that they expected of him some anecdotes
which would not have redounded much to their honour.
In one of his letters Rousseau, speaking of Diderot, says,
“ Although born with a good heart and an open disposi¬
tion, he had an unfortunate propensity to misinterpret the
words and actions of his friends, and the most ingenuous
explanations only supplied his subtle imagination with
new interpretations against them.”
Diderot was married and had a family; and, although
he possessed considerable irritability of temper, he was, it
seems, a kind husband and a tender parent. At the con¬
clusion of the Dictionary, the state of his affairs having
rendered it necessary for him to dispose of his library, it
was purchased by the empress of Russia, who, with the
king of Prussia, was at that time the great encourager of
literature and literary men. These sovereigns were also
considered as disciples of the French school. The price
which Diderot received for his library was fifty thousand
livres, and he was to have the use of it during his life.
But some of his biographers, with what truth we know
not, have not hesitated to charge him with disposing of it
a second time; they state, that when some person commis¬
sioned by the empress wished to see it, the philosopher
declined the visit on various pretences, until he had had
time to fill it with books borrowed from booksellers. The
examination, it is obvious, must have been extremely su¬
perficial, otherwise the truth would have been at once
detected. Diderot had been admitted a member of the
Academy of Sciences at Berlin; but the doors of the
French Academy remained closed against him to the last.
He died suddenly, as he rose from table, on the 3lst July
1784<. His literary and philosophical works were collected
and published by his friend Naigeon, in 15 vols. 8vo, at
s Paris, in 1798. This collection has been enlarged, in sub¬
sequent republications, to 22 vols. 8vo, Paris, 1821; and it
contains a Memoir of Diderot.
Diderot, it would seem, had a hand in several of the
most remarkable works of his time, published under the
names of others. “ Who does not know,” says Grimm,
in his Correspondance, “ that nearly a third of the Histoire
Philosophique of Raynal belongs to him ? He laboured on
it during two years, and a considerable part of it was even
composed under my own eyes. Diderot himself was often
startled at the boldness with which he had made his friend
did is
the abbe speak. ‘ Who,’ asked he, ‘ who will venture to Diderot,
subscribe this ?’ ‘ I,’ replied the abbe, ‘ I will subscribe
it; proceed, I tell you.’ What man of letters is there
who may not easily recognise in the book De VEsprit (of
Helvetius), and in the Systeme de la Nature, all the fine
passages which are, and could only be, from the pen of
Diderot? If we undertook to make a more complete enu¬
meration, we should run the risk of naming many ungrate¬
ful individuals.” ( Correspondance Litteraire, Philosophique,
et Critique, tom. iv. p. 85.) Grimm further states that
Diderot furnished a great number of pages to the Systeme
de la Nature, and that he likewise laboured, though to less
extent, on the Systeme Social and the Morale Universelle,
also published by Baron d’Holbach. Such were some of
the indirect literary efforts of Diderot. But neither as a
writer nor as a philosopher did he make for himself any very
enviable reputation. As a writer he was decidedly a bad
model; he had neither plan nor connection, and knew not
howproprie communia dicere, whilst his style was deformed
by obscurity, neologisms, and a tone of insufferable dogma¬
tism ; but nevertheless he was often vigorous, sometimes
eloquent, and hit off happy traits of expression, as well as
striking truths, which, however, would have gained much
by being more simply enunciated. In fact, he had fre¬
quently the air of being in cathedra ; he aimed at ambi¬
tious formularies, and fatigued by his strained style, by his
prodigal sallies, and by an enthusiasm which seldom ap¬
peared natural. As a philosopher he wrote under the in¬
fluence of a heated imagination rather than under that of
cool reason. He was almost always exalted and extrava¬
gant ; seldom or never simple and natural. His friends,
however, have celebrated his goodness, his frankness, his
easy and obliging character, and the vigour and entraine-
ment of his conversation. Grimm, who has praised him
warmly in his Correspondance, regards Diderot as having
had the most naturally encyclopsediacal head of any man
that ever lived. He admires his energy, his warmth, the
variety of his ideas, the multiplicity of his acquirements,
the impetuous tumult of his imagination, and the charm
and irregularity of his conversation. Then he adds,
“ However willingly I may pardon all men for believing
nothing, I think that it would have been very desirable for
the reputation of Diderot, perhaps even for the honour of
his age, if he had not been an atheist. The determined
war which he thought himself obliged to carry on against
God, caused him to lose the most precious moments of his
life.” ( Correspondance, 3me partie, tom. iv. p. 87.) But
Naigeon, who is less considerate than Grimm, praises his
friend without qualification, adding, besides, that “ his age
has not done him justice.” It is possible indeed that some
persons may have too much depreciated the merit of Di¬
derot; but others again exalted it beyond all measure.
The general opinion in regard to him, however, seems now
to be pretty well fixed, and posterity has at length put
him in his right place. He had talent; he was capable of
warmth and elevation; but he wanted sagacity, modera¬
tion, and taste. “ He has written fine pages,” says Mar-
montel in his Memoires, “ but he never knew how to make
a book.’ He adopted a desolating and destructive system,
and he dishonoured his cause by the exaggeration of most
ol his principles, and by the license which reigns in many
of his productions. This explains the reason why he never
entered the academy, whose doors, as we have already
stated, were constantly shut against him, notwithstanding
the anxious desire of his friends to procure him admission.
Voltaire, who had himself solicited his election, appears
latterly to have become less enamoured of the merit of
Diderot, and even to have formally censured some of his
works. D’Alembert also coolled towards him, and at last
they did not even see each other. His rupture with
16
DID
DIE
Rousseau, however, was the work of the latter, who be¬
gan the war which was afterwards waged between them.
But Diderot maintained his connection with Baron d’Hol-
bach, whose sentiments approached the nearest to his own
on several important points; and in the society of the
baron he was relished and admired by reason of his faci¬
lity in speaking on subjects of all sorts, and no doubt also
by his antipathy to that creed, and to those institutions,
which were no longer revered or respected. On this topic
he never tired, and his friends often amused themselves
with affording him opportunities to abandon himself to his
imagination, or, in other wmrds, to blaspheme for their di¬
version. In an unexcited state he exhibited constraint,
awkwardness, timidity, and even a kind of affectation.
He was never truly Diderot except when his fancy had
transported him as it were beyond himself. Enthusiasm
had become the condition of being most natural to his
mind, nay, even to his voice and features; and he was
himself only when in a state of intellectual inebriety.
Grimm has reproached him with having consumed in fu¬
gitive conversations the time which he might have de¬
voted to more durable labours ; but Diderot loved to talk,
especially when he could indulge his vehement volubility
without interruption; for, as Voltaire once remarked on
leaving a company where Diderot had engrossed the
whole talk, “ Cet homme-la nest pas propre pour le dia¬
logue." The correspondence recently published has thrown
but little new light on the character of this remarkable
man, nor has it tended in any material degree to increase
the estimation in which his talents and dispositions were
previously held by the world.
DIDIER, St, a city of the department of the Upper
Loire, in France, with 3203 inhabitants, who are employed
chiefly in the silk manufacture.
DIDO, called also Elisa, a daughter of Belus, king of
Tyre, who married Sichaeus or Sicharbas, her uncle, who
was priest of Hercules. Pygmalion, who succeeded to
the throne of Tyre after Belus, murdered Sichaeus in order
to obtain possession of the immense riches which he had
acquired; and Dido, disconsolate for the loss of her hus¬
band, whom she tenderly loved, and by whom she was
equally esteemed, set sail in quest of a settlement with a
number of Tyrians, to whom the cruelty of the tyrant had
become odious. According to some accounts, she threw
into the sea the riches of her husband w hich Pygmalion so
greedily desired; and by this artifice compelled the ships
which had come by order of the tyrant to obtain the
riches of Sichaeus to join in her flight. During her voyage
Dido visited the coast of Cyprus, where she carried away
fifty women who had prostituted themselves on the sea¬
shore, and gave them as wives to her Tyrian followers.
A storm drove her fleet on the African coast, and she
bought of the inhabitants as much land as could be co¬
vered by a bull’s hide cut into thongs. Upon this piece
of ground she built a citadel called Byrsa ; and the in¬
crease of population, and the rising commerce among
her subjects, soon obliged her to enlarge her city and ex¬
tend the boundaries of her dominions. Her beauty, as
well as the fame of her enterprise, gained her many ad¬
mirers ; and her subjects wished to compel her to marry
larbas, king of Mauritania, who threatened them with a
dreadful war. Dido begged three months to give her de¬
cisive answer; and during that time she erected a fune¬
ral pile, as if wishing by a solemn sacrifice to appease the
manes of Sichaeus, to whom she had promised eternal
fidelity. When all was prepared, she stabbed herself on
the pile in presence of her people ; and by this uncommon
action obtained the name of Dido, or valiant woman, in¬
stead of Elisa. According to Virgil and Ovid, the death
of Dido was caused by the sudden departure of iEneas,
of whom she had become deeply enamoured, and whom Didymus
she could not obtain as a husband. Phis poetical fiction I!
represents yEneas as living in the age of Dido, and in-
troduces an anachronism of nearly 300 years. Dido left
Phoenicia 247 years after the Trojan war, or the age of
iEneas ; that is, about 953 years before Christ. This chro¬
nological error proceeds not from the ignorance of the
poets, but it is supported by the authority of Horace.
Aut famam sequere, aut sibi convenientia finge.
Whilst Virgil, in a beautiful episode, describes the despe¬
rate love of Dido, and the submission of iEneas to the
will of the gods, he at the same time gives an explanation
of the hatred which existed between the republics of Rome
and Carthage; and informs his reader that their mutual
enmity originated from their very foundation, and was
apparently kindled by a more remote cause than the jea¬
lousy and rivalship of two flourishing empires. Dido after
her death was honoured as a deity by her subjects.
DIDYMUS of Alexandria, an ecclesiastical writer of
the fourth century, who, though he is said to have lost his
eyes at five years of age, when he had scarcely learned to
read, yet applied so earnestly to study, that he attained
all the philosophic arts in a high degree, and was thought
worthy to fill the chair in the famous divinity school at
Alexandria. He was the author of a great number of
works; but all which we have now remaining are, a Latin
translation of his book upon the Holy Spirit, in the works
of St Jerome, who was the translator; short strictures on
the Canonical Epistles; and a book against the Manicheans.
DIE, an arrondissement in the department of the
Drome, in France, 946 square miles in extent. It is di¬
vided into nine cantons and 117 communes, and contains
60,518 inhabitants. The capital, a city of the same name,
is situated on the right bank of the Drome. It has some
silk mills and cloth manufactures, and contains 3421 in¬
habitants. Near to it is one of the wonders of Dauphine,
the inaccessible mountain, whose base and summit are of
the same extent. Long. 5. 13. E. Lat. 44. 44. N.
DIEBURG, a city in the grand duchy of Hesse Darm¬
stadt, once a small sovereignty of the Counts Lerchen-
felds, but now mediatised. It contains 408 houses, and
2216 inhabitants.
DIEKIRCH, a city, the capital of the department of
the same name, in the duchy of Luxemburg. The de¬
partment is divided into six cantons, and contains a popu¬
lation of 47,074 persons. The city is situated on the
river Eure, and contains 2627 inhabitants, who live by
preparing gypsum, and by tanning leather.
DIEMEN’S Land. See Australasia.
DIEMERBROEK, Isbrand, a learned professor of
physic and anatomy at Utrecht, was born at Montfort, in
Holland, in 1609, where he acquired great reputation by
his lectures and his practice, and died at Utrecht in the
year 1674. He wrote a treatise on the plague, and several
works on anatomy and medicine, which were printed at
Utrecht in 1685, folio.
DIEPENDEEK, a town in the province of Limburg,
in the Netherlands, on the river Demer, with 2136 inha¬
bitants.
DIEPHOLZ, a county, forming with Hoya one of the
provinces of the kingdom of Hanover. It extends over
266 square miles, or 170,240 acres, and contains 14,200
inhabitants. One part of it, called Auburg, was transfer¬
red in 1815 from Hesse Cassel. The only industry except
agriculture is applied to the spinning and weaving of flax.
The chief place of the same name is situated oh the river
Hunte, and contains 353 houses, with 2068 inhabitants.
DIEPPE, an arrondissement of the department of the
Lower Seine, in France. It is 490 square miles in extent,
DIE
Dierdorf and contains eight cantons, divided into 222 communes,
i « with a population of 104,207 persons. The chief place is
Dietetics, cjty 0f the same name on the Seine, at the mouth of
the river Arques. It is fortified on the sea and land sides,
and is in the shape of an irregular triangle, whose longest
side is towards the sea. It contains 3000 houses, and
about 20,000 inhabitants, chiefly dependent on the com¬
merce of the port. Being the best inlet for Paris, it is
the great depot for colonial goods, and the resort of fo¬
reign ships, especially of those from America. There are
many manufactures, but principally of the kind connect¬
ed with the equipment of ships; and, besides these, some
sugar and salt refineries. From this port William the
Conqueror sailed with his forces for England. Long. 0.
59. 7. E. Eat. 49. 55. 17. N.
DIERDORF, a town in the Prussian province of the
Lower Rhine, formerly in the principality of Neuwied,
and now belonging to the mediatised prince of that name,
whose palace is there. It is situated on the river Holtz-
bach, and contains 1150 inhabitants.
DIE 17
DIES Marches was the day of congress or meeting Dies
of the English and Scotch, annually appointed to be held II .
on the marches or borders, in order to adjust all differ-
ences between them.
DIESIS, in Music, is the division of a tone less than a
semitone; or an interval consisting of a less or imperfect
semitone. Diesis is the smallest and softest change or in¬
flexion of the voice imaginable; it is called a faint, and
expressed by a St Andrew’s cross or saltier.
DIESPITER, in Antiquity, a name given to Jupiter,
and signifying did pater, father of the day. St Augustin
derives the name from dies, da}r, and partus, production or
bringing forth, it being Jupiter who brings forth the day;
and Servius and Macrobius were of the same opinion ; the
former adding, that in the language of the Osci they call¬
ed him Lucencius, which means the same as Diespiter in
Latin.
DIESSENHOFEN, a circle in the canton of Thurgau,
in Switzerland, including the town of that name, in which
are 1200 inhabitants, and a few villages.
DIETETICS.
The necessity of aliment is explained by a knowledge
of the functions of the body, and its selection depends
upon the same principles. The living machine, as well as
those that are inanimate, wastes in proportion as it is used,
and this waste must be supplied. To learn the kind of
supply required, the kind of waste and its mode must be
ascertained.
General The human body is of a very compound nature; indeed
view ot the it is the most compound of all bodies, as well as the most
subject. complicated of all machines. It is composed of solids and
fluids, and these again consist of various chemical elements
in different states of combination. A great part of the
mass of our bodies consists of water, and certain animal
substances, to which chemists have given the name of
fibrin, albumen, gelatin, mucus, and osmazone. Our bones
consist principally of phosphate of lime. Besides these,
some other principles enter into the composition of our
bodies, though in comparatively small proportion. All the
i elementary matters of which these principles consist are
continually discharged by the various excretions, but ge¬
nerally in states of combination different from those in
which they existed as a part of our body. By the lungs
a great deal of carbon and hydrogen is exhaled in the
form of carbonic acid gas and vapour; by the skin carbon
and hydrogen are also thrown off in considerable quanti¬
ty ; by urine, in addition to carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen,
much azote, phosphorus, and lime, are discharged in the
form of urea and the phosphate of lime ; and by the alvine
evacuation, not only the indigestible parts of our aliment
are expelled, but also carbon, hydrogen, and azote, which
formed integrant parts of our bodies, and have fulfilled
their functions in the form of bile, mucus, and intestinal
flatus. We therefore see that there is a constant waste
of carbon, azote, hydrogen, oxygen, phosphorus, and lime,
going on, which must be replaced. But there are only
two sources from which this waste can be repaired, the
atmosphere in which we live, and the aliment which we
introduce into our stomach. The atmosphere consists of
oxygen and azotic gases, and it is very doubtful whether
any part of either be absorbed or converted into a part of
our bodies. At least we may assume, that from the air
no part of the materials to supply the waste of the body
is derived. These must, therefore, be furnished entirely
from the matters introduced into the stomach, and those
which are calculated to restore any of the deficient ele¬
ments or principles alone are alimentary. It is not at all
VOL. vm.
necessary that these elements should be in the same state
of combination with the principles whose loss they are to
supply. It is sufficient that the elements be there, for it
is the very essence of the function of digestion to analyse
the alimentary matters, and reunite their elements into
other combinations assimilated to our nature. From this
view of the subject, it would however seem, that the more
nearly the alimentary substances approach to the nature
of the substances whose waste they are to supply, the less
change upon them is necessary, and their digestion and
assimilation will be more easy. Upon these principles,
animal substances should be more easily digested than
vegetable, and a larger proportion of their elements should
be assimilated, while a smaller proportion should be sepa¬
rated to form excrementitious or indigestible compounds.
In the same manner, vegetable substances are more di¬
gestible, and generate less excrementitious matter, than
inorganic substances, which furnish only a small propor¬
tion of assimilable matter, and which must be separated
from combinations totally foreign to our nature.
Besides alimentary substances properly so called, there
is another class of substances which do not contribute
much to repair the waste of our bodies, and yet perform
an essential part in the function of digestion. These are
called condiments, and their use is to stimulate the organs
of digestion to greater activity; and, in fact, they are all
much more sapid than the proper alimentary substances,
which are in themselves generally insipid or mawkish.
From the view we have taken of aliments, it will appear
that they are furnished by all the kingdoms of nature;
the mineral kingdom supplying chiefly water and lime,
while the vegetable, in addition to these in smaller quan¬
tity, yields much carbon and hydrogen; and the animal
kingdom, in addition to a proportion of all the preceding
elements, furnishes almost all the azote which enters into
our composition. Although this statement be generally
true, there are facts which at first do not seem to accord
with it; and there are some grounds for believing that
living bodies have either the power of changing the ele¬
mentary nature of bodies, or of analysing these bodies we
at present consider as simple, so that one is apparently
changed into another. Thus some animals, in the state
of nature, live only upon animal substances, and it is easy
to conceive how, by a very simple process, the blood and
flesh of their prey should become a part of their proper
blood and flesh. Their elements, and even the combina-
c
18
DIETETICS.
Dietetics, tions of them, are alike. But there are other animals
whose flesh and blood do not differ materially from those
of carnivorous animals, and which live almost entirely
upon vegetable substances far removed from animal na¬
ture, and containing little if any azote.
This subject has lately engaged the attention of Ma-
gendie,1 the most distinguished Parisian physiologist of
the present day; and his views are the most important
lately promulgated upon this point, and throw very great
light upon the subject of dietetics. To ascertain the
sources from which animals derive the azote , which en¬
ters into their bodies, he performed some experiments,
which appear to prove that azote is an indispensable
constituent in the food of animals. For the subjects of
his experiments he chose dogs, because, like man, they
can be supported by vegetable as well as animal food, and
he confined them to the use of pure water, and substances
totally devoid of azote. Sugar, perfectly pure, was first
tried. Of this, and of distilled water, he allowed an un¬
limited quantity to a small dog, three years old. For the
first seven or eight days it seemed to agree very well with
this diet. It was lively, active, and eat and drank as
usual. In the second week it began to fall off, although its
appetite continued very good, and it eat from six to eight
ounces of sugar in the course of twenty-four hours. Its
alvine excretions were scarce and scanty, while that by
urine was abundant. In the third week it became more
emaciated, it lost its liveliness, and its appetite began to
fail. During this period also its eyes became affected in
a singular and very distressing manner. The emaciation
increased every day, its strength failed, and although it
continued to eat from three or four ounces of sugar daily,
it became so weak that it could neither chew nor swallow,
and of course could not move. It died on the thirty-second
day of the experiment; and, on opening its body, there
was a total absence of fat; the muscles were reduced to
one sixth of their bulk, and the stomach and intestines
were much contracted. The gall and urinary bladder
were both filled with fluid ; but on analysis, the bile and
urine resembled those of herbivorous animals. The urine,
instead of being acid, as in those which eat flesh, was
like that of herbivorous animals, sensibly alkaline, and did
not contain a trace of uric acid or the phosphates, while
the bile contained the picromel so remarkable in ox gall.
The excrements also contained much less azote than usual.
This experiment was twice repeated, with nearly the same
result.
Olive-oil was next tried with two healthy young dogs,
which seemed to agree with them for the first fifteen days,
but then produced the same bad effects, and both died on
the thirty-first day.
Gum was given to several dogs, and always with the
same result.
Butter, an animal substance, but which does not contain
azote, was also tried; and although, after the thirty-second
day, the dog was allowed as much meat as it could eat, it
died on the thirty-sixth day, similarly affected.
M. Magendie also killed several dogs at a proper period,
after they had got a full meal of oil, sugar, or gum, in or¬
der to observe the nature of the chyle thus furnished.
The chyle of the oil was of a decided milky white, whilst
those of the gum and sugar were transparent, opaline, and
more watery. These experiments, in M. Magendie’s opi¬
nion, render it doubtful whether the oils, fats, gum, and
especially sugar, are so nutritive as is generally suppos¬
ed. But before we adopt his conclusion, we must remem¬
ber that whole nations subsist upon food which contains
very little if any azote. The Flindus live almost entirely Dietetics,
upon rice, the peasants of Lombardy upon maize, those
of Ireland upon potatoes, the slaves in the West Indies
get fat during the cane crop, and the negroes of Senegal
during the gum harvest, and herbivorous animals are nou¬
rished at all times upon grass. M. Magendie is not ig¬
norant of these facts, but tries to explain them away by
doubting the accuracy of some of the relations, and alleg¬
ing that few vegetables are altogether destitute of azote.
He cites, in confirmation of his observations, the experi¬
ments of Dr Stark, who injured himself by trying to live
on sugar, bread, and water; and of M. Clouet, who grew
extremely weak upon potatoes and water; and instances
the insufficiency of sugar and a little rum to support the
crew of a shipwrecked Hamburg vessel. The legitimate
conclusions from all the facts relating to this subject seem
to be,
1. That animals derive the azote which enters into
their composition entirely from their food, and hence that
no animal can live for a considerable time upon food to¬
tally destitute of azote.
2. That animals, even those naturally carnivorous, can
live a certain time upon food entirely destitute of azote,
in consequence of which the excretions of the naturally
carnivorous become altered, and throw off less azote than
when fed on animal food, acquiring the properties which
these excretions have in animals whose food contains a
very small proportion of azote.
3. That vegetable and animal substances destitute of
azote are highly nutritious, provided, at the same time,
azote be supplied from the admixture of some other ali¬
ment containing it, though in small proportion.
Upon these principles, alimentary substances may na¬
turally and philosophically be divided into three great
classes.
I. Those which contain azote, carbon, hydrogen, and
oxygen.
II. Those which contain carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen.
III. Those which contain neither azote nor carbon.
I. Alimentary Principles which contain Azote, Carbon, Hy¬
drogen, and Oxygen.
The aliments which contain azote correspond with the
animal substances in general, and are calculated to repair
the waste of our solids and fluids, without great alteration
or effort in the digesting organs. All the immediate prin¬
ciples of this class are not, however, equally digestible, or
possessed of the same properties. We shall say a few
words of each.
Fibrin constitutes the great mass of the solid matter
of the muscles of animals, especially of those which are
old and have dark-coloured dry flesh. It is also a prin¬
cipal constituent of the blood of all animals. There can
be no doubt, therefore, that it is pre-eminently nutritious
in these its natural forms of combination, but we know of
no experiments to ascertain its nourishing powers when
used alone. The purest form of fibrin which occurs in
common circumstances is the fibre of flesh which has been
long boiled in a great quantity of water, as in the remains
of the meat from which beef-tea is made, or of that boiled
down for soup. This is generally considered, and is often
thrown away, as totally indigestible, and deprived of all
its nourishing principles; but this is probably a vulgar
error, for animal fibre in this state still contains, as much
as ever, all the elementary substances which are neces¬
sary for animal food; and the only circumstance which
can account for their indigestibility, is their great aggre-
1 Mimoire sur ks propriety nutritives des substances qui ne contknnent pas d'azote, 8vo, Paris, 1818.
DIETETICS. * 19
Dietetics, gation, which it is the business of cookery to overcome.
Fibrin also forms a large proportion of the substance of
some of the internal organs of animals, all of which are
nutritious. Pure fibrin is white and opaque when moist,
but acquires a dark colour on being dried. It does not
become putrid when kept in the air, nor even when im¬
mersed in water for a considerable length of time. It
contracts and shrinks on the application of heat, and gives
out, on being burnt, the smell of burning horn or feathers.
It is insoluble in cold water; is corrugated by boiling in
water; is insoluble in alcohol; but strong acetic acid swells
it considerably, and renders it transparent like cartilage,
in which state it may be dissolved, or, at least, diffused
through water by long boiling.
Fibrin varies in every species of animal, and in the same
animal at different ages, either from a difference in its
nature, or from a difference in the matter with which it
is combined. In many fishes, and the lower classes of
animals in general, it is semitransparent and colourless.
In veal, pork, salmon, chicken, and some other kinds of
poultry, it has a pink colour ; in beef and mutton it is of
a fuller red; and in pigeon and game, both birds and
quadrupeds, it is dark coloured. In general it is more
tender in the female than in the male, and in the young
animal than in the old.
Albumen is also a principal constituent of animal sub¬
stances, in which it exists in two states, one uncoagulated
and the other coagulated. Of the former, the purest
example occurs in the raw white of eggs. Cartilage, horn,
hair, nails, consist chiefly of the latter. It is also a prin¬
cipal constituent of blood and brain ; and it seems to be
the chief substance of oysters, mussels, and snails. Un¬
coagulated albumen is sometimes solid, often glairy, al¬
ways transparent, and, when fluid, is soluble in water,
and its taste is bland or almost insipid. At 165° Fahren¬
heit it is 'converted into a white solid mass, of which we'
have a familiar example in the white of a hard-boiled egg.
There can be no doubt that albumen, especially in its un¬
coagulated state, is highly nutritious and easily digestible.
The curd of milk may be considered as a variety of
albumen, although it possesses some peculiar properties,
especially that of being converted into cheese by a parti¬
cular mode of management.
Gelatin is a third very principal constituent of animal
solids, as hones, ligaments, tendons, membranes, skin,
muscles, &c. and exists in much larger proportions in the
flesh of young than of adult animals. Thus we see the
gravy of veal and lamb always gelatinize, while that of
beef and mutton does not. The swimming bladder of the
several species of sturgeon is gelatin in a state of very
great purity, and by boiling it may be extracted pure
from the shavings of hartshorn. Its taste is bland and
nearly insipid. It is characterized by its solubility in
water, being much increased by a boiling temperature,
and by the solution, when of a certain strength, gelatiniz¬
ing or cooling. It is highly nutritious, and supposed to be
the most easily digestible of animal matters.
Mucus differs from albumen chiefly in not being coagu¬
lated by heat or corrosive sublimate, and from gelatin in
not being precipitated by vegetable astringents, nor gela¬
tinizing when its solution is concentrated. It exists nearly
pure in saliva, and is a constituent of most of the secre¬
tions. There can be no doubt of its easy digestion and
nutritious quality.
Of these four principal constituents of animal matter
we may remark, that in themselves they are almost insi¬
pid ; that gelatin exists almost entirely in a solid form,
more or less dense; that mucus and albumen exist in
every form of aggregation, from perfect fluidity to the
density of cartilage; and that fibrin is only fluid in the
living blood, but in every other instance is a tough solid: Dietetics,
and that gelatin is very soluble in boiling water, and gela-
tinizes on cooling; that albumen in soluble in cold water,
and coagulates at 165° ; and that fibrin is not soluble either
in cold or hot water. We may also remark that, although
chemists have given very definite characters of each, as
if they constituted absolutely distinct species of matter,
these characters are taken from certain selected kinds of
each, and that, in reality, we find that there is a regular
and insensible gradation from mucus, through gelatin and
albumen, to fibrin; and that, as in the process of animali-
zation, as well as in the progress of life, they pass into
each other, and many intermediate states are found which
cannot be distinctly referred to any of them.
Osmazome, or animal extractive, differs very much from
the preceding principles; chemically, in being soluble in
alcohol, and to the senses, in being very savoury or sapid.
It is upon this, which seems to admit of considerable va¬
rieties, that the flavour of animal food, and of each of its
kinds, depends. It exists chiefly in the fibrous organs,
or combined with fibrin in the muscles, while the tendons
and other gelatinous organs seem to be destitute of it.
The flesh of game and old animals also probably contain
it in greater quantity than that of young animals abound¬
ing in gelatin.
Gluten is the only vegetable substance which contains
a notable proportion of azote in its composition. When
separated from other principles, it forms a tough, ductile,
elastic, and tenacious mass of a gray colour, resembling,
when drawn out, thin animal membrane; when dried it
is brittle, hard, and slightly transparent, like glue. When
kept moist it ferments and acquires some of the pro¬
perties of cheese. Immersed in water it at last putre¬
fies. When burnt or distilled it resembles in its proper¬
ties horn or feathers. It is soluble in concentrated acetic
acid, and, by the assistance of heat, in muriatic acid and
in the alkalies. It then bears a strong analogy to the ani¬
mal substances in general, resembling, by different pro¬
perties, fibrin, albumen, and gelatin. It is very generally
found, though only in a small proportion, in the vegetable
kingdom, in all the farinaceous seeds, in the leaves of cab¬
bages, cresses, &c.; in some fruits, flowers, and roots, and
in the green feculum of vegetables in general; but it is
particularly abundant in wheat, and imparts to wheat-
flour the property of fermenting and making bread. On
the nutritious powers of gluten separated from other prin¬
ciples nothing certain is known; but the superior nutri¬
tious powers of wheat-flour over that of all other farinace¬
ous substances sufficiently proves that, in combination with
starch, it is highly nutritive; and in all probability it is
the gluten of the green feculum which supplies the azote
necessary for the support of the herbivorous animals.
II. Alimentary Principles which contain Carbon, Hydrogen,
and Oxygen.
Starch is very abundantly diffused through the vege¬
table kingdom. It exists in great purity in various fari¬
naceous grains, such as rice, barley, maize, and millet; it
is combined with gluten in wheat; with saccharine mat¬
ter in some grains, as cats, and in many leguminous seeds,
such as haricot-beans, lentils, vetches, and peas; with
viscous mucilage, in rye, potatoes, and Windsor beans ;
with fixed oil and mucilage in the emulsive seeds, such
as nuts, almonds, cocoa, tamarinds, in linseed, rapeseed,
hempseed, poppyseed, and, in general, all those from which
an oil can be obtained by expression. Lastly, starch is
sometimes united to a poisonous substance. Of this sin¬
gular union of a nutritious with an injurious principle the
most remarkable instance occurs in the roots of the Ja-
20 DIET
Dietetics, tropha manihot, and of many species of arum, to the for-
■'Y'w mer of which the negro slaves of the West Indies are
indebted for their cassada bread, and from the latter is
prepared the best arrow-root starch. Only one species of
grain, the Lolium temulentum, is hurtful; but many legu¬
minous seeds are poisonous, of which the most familiar
example occurs in the laburnum peas.
Starch is artificially prepared in great purity from va¬
rious substances. Starch is got from wheat and potatoes,
arrow-root from various species of arum, cassada-Jlour from
the manioc root, salep from the orchideae in general, sago
from the pith of various species of palm-trees, tapioca from
the bitter and sweet cassava root. In all of these varieties of
form, starch furnishes a bland and wholesome nutriment.
Gum or Mucilage is also a principal ingredient in the
composition of our alimentary vegetables. The distinc¬
tive character of gum is its solubility in cold as well as
hot water, and its insolubility in alcohol. It is devoid of
smell, and to the taste it is bland and agreeable. In Ara¬
bia, Senegal, and the East Indies, it is obtained in great
quantities from the various species of Mimosa, from the
bark of which it exudes in great purity; and in hot cli¬
mates in general it is furnished by many trees, especially
those which have an astringent bark. In our own country
an example of its production is seen on the bark of the
plum and cherry trees. Where it is produced in sufficient
quantity it constitutes a principal article of diet; and the
Africans of Senegal are said to live entirely upon it dur¬
ing the gum harvest. Eight ounces of gum are the daily
allowance, and furnish sufficient nourishment, for each man.
Mucilage is the alimentary principle of many of our
esculent vegetables. In some it is united only to green
colouring matter, as in the leaves of beet and spinach;
with bitter matter, which may be prevented by the pro¬
cess of blanching, as in endive, lettuce, succory, and car-
doon, or by using the plant very young, as in asparagus.
It exists also in every part of the mallow tribe; in many
roots, as scorzonera, salsafy, and Jerusalem artichokes, in
the receptacle of the flower of the artichoke. It is com¬
bined with an acid in sorrel leaves; with saccharine mat¬
ter in many fruits, as the fig and date; in roots, as the
carrot, parsnip, and beet; and with slight acrimony in the
turnip, cabbage leaves, cauliflower, and broccoli, and with
considerable acrimony in the radish, cress, and mustard.
It exists in great quantity, combined with a peculiar nau¬
seous principle, in onions, garlic, shalot, leek, &c.; and,
lastly, in small quantity, with mucli aroma, in those vege¬
tables which are used only for seasoning, as parsley, thyme,
&c. In short, it is very generally found throughout the
vegetable kingdom, and in every mode of union with other
principles.
Sugar, the common properties of which, in a state ap¬
proaching to purity, are familiar, is also highly nutritious.
It is crystallizable, soluble in water both cold and hot, in
alcohol and the weak acids, readily undergoing, when dis¬
solved in sufficient water, the vinous and acetous fermen¬
tation, but, on the other hand, when concentrated, pre¬
serving vegetable substances. Chemically considered, it
presents many varieties. It exists in greatest quantity,
combined with mucilage, in the juice of the sugar cane,
of the maple tree, the manna ash tree, and of beet-root.
It seems to be a constant attendant upon the inflorescence
of vegetables, for almost every flower furnishes honey to
the bee, and is a chief constituent of all the acerb, sub¬
acid, and sweet fruits, in combination with vegetable jelly.
Sugar is produced, or at least collected, by several in¬
sects. To the bee we are indebted for honey; and a spe¬
cies of locust in New Holland covers the trees and ground
with a kind of sugar. In all animals a principle having
E T I C S.
some analogy with sugar exists in the bile, and it is a Dietetics,
product of morbid action in the disease called diabetes.
Oil and fat are. also nutritious. They differ most ob¬
viously in fluidity, and they coincide in being insoluble in
water, and in containing a larger proportion of hydrogen
than the alimentary matters already spoken of. The oils
may be divided into the fluid and concrete, and both are
furnished by the vegetable and animal kingdoms. Fluid
oil exists in quantity in the emulsive seeds ; in some of
them combined with prussic acid, as in the bitter almond,
and in others with an acrid matter, as in the seeds of the
ricinus; but it is obtained in greatest quantity and purity
from the olive. The animal fluid oils are all more or less
nauseous, as spermaceti oil, seal oil, whale .oil, and cod
liver oil. The concrete oils are generally furnished by
the animal kingdom, and these are often bland and agree¬
able when fresh, but are apt to become rancid in propor¬
tion as they are less solid. Butter is the least consistent,
if we except the fat of some birds ; then hog’s lard, the
subcutaneous fat of beef, and the kidney fat of beef and
mutton in succession. The only concrete oil obtained
from the vegetable kingdom is the butter of cocoa.
III. Alimentary Principles which do not contain Carbon.
Water is perhaps the only real alimentary substance
which belongs to this class, but it is one of the most essential.
It is not only necessary to replace the constant waste of
water which is drained off from our bodies, by the secre¬
tions, the cuticular discharge, and the vapour of the breath,
but it is in itself strictly digestible, and capable of supplying
either hydrogen or oxygen to the system, as may be re¬
quired, according to the nature of our other food. When
we consider how large a proportion of the whole weight of
our bodies consists of water only, and that the fluids re¬
quire more frequent renewal than the solids, the necessity
of water as an aliment cannot be disputed. Some animals,
as the rabbit, are supposed to be capable of living a long
time or altogether without water ; but this is a mere de¬
ception, for their vegetable food consists almost entirely
of water. On the other hand, Dr Fordyce kept gold fishes
six months in distilled water, and thought himself warrant¬
ed in concluding that animals could live in water and air
alone. Pouteau allowed some of his patients nothing but
water for several weeks, without their falling off; and the
histories of shipwrecked mariners prove with how small a
portion of solid food man can subsist, provided he has suf¬
ficient allowance of water, whilst without water, or a sub¬
stitute, no quantity of solid food can support man for even
a few days.
Earths are, perhaps, not altogether unalimentary. Not
to mention the depraved appetite of many young females,
and of the dirt-eating negroes of the West Indies, for
chalk, cinders, and such substances, earth is sought after
and devoured by whole nations. The luxurious Papuans
paid a considerable tribute to the Neapolitans for an earth
called Leucogceum, which they considered necessary for
the preparation of a favourite dish, Alica. The Tungusses,
according to Laxmann, eat a fine clay with rein-deer’s
milk. Chandler saw the women and children in Samos
chewing pieces of steatite as a luxury. La Billardiere saw
the same practised in New Caledonia, and found edible
earth sold in the market in several villages in Java.
Throughout all India lime is used along with the betel
leaf. Kepler partook of the butter earth, which is eaten
with great relish, spread upon bread, by the millstone
quarriers of Thuringia; and, lastly, Humboldt has made
us acquainted with the existence of a whole nation of
earth-eaters, the Ottomacs on the Orinoco.1 We may
1 Tableaux de la Nature. Par A. Humboldt, 2 tomes 12mo, Paris, 1808.
♦Dietetics.
)igestibi-
ity of vari
msalimen
ary sub-
i tances.
DIETETICS.
21
also mention that bird-fanciers find it necessary to supply
birds shut up in cages with sand and earth. All these
facts, we are aware, might be explained upon principles
different from the digestibility of the earthy substances
taken into the stomach; and we have no idea that any
earthy substances can supply carbon or azote to the sys¬
tem ; but we have absolute proof that earthy matter may
enter into the circulation, in the growth and absorption
of the bony frame of our body, for which phosphate of
lime is as necessary as carbon or azote for our soft solids.
Sea Salt is more obviously necessary than earth. Even
in insular and maritime situations it is voluntarily used as
a condiment by all; but it is only in inland countries, at a
distance from the sea, that its necessity is duly appreciat¬
ed. Muriate of soda enters into the composition of all
our fluids, and is thrown off by many of our secretions ;
hence its waste must be supplied, and where the vegetables
are not naturally impregnated with it, it becomes one of
the most indispensable articles of our food.
Alimentary substances, as presented to us by nature or
prepared by art, maybe considered in various points of view.
They differ in regard to digestibility, or the facility with
-which they are decomposed by the powers of the stomach,
' to enter into new combinations fitted to repair the waste of
the blood. In this particular, also, they may differ in respect
to the length of time, or in regard to the digestive power
of the stomach, required for their digestion. Thus the
digestion of one substance may be slow, though ultimate¬
ly complete, even in a weak stomach, and that of another
quick enough in a strong stomach, although imperfectly
digested by one that is weak. In reference to their di¬
gestibility, aliments are commonly described as being
light or heavy ; but in this respect there is very great dif¬
ference in regard to different individuals, the same sub¬
stances being light to one and heavy to another, and vice
versa.
Sir Astley Cooper made some experiments to ascertain
the comparative digestibility of different kinds of raw meat
without fat; and the following table exhibits the loss 100
parts of each sustained in the stomach of dogs, which were
killed, one, two, three, and four hours after being fed.
Pork 10 20  98 100
Mutton... 9 46 87  94
Beef.  0 34 37  75
Veal  4 31 46  69
In another experiment, after four hours, the digestibili¬
ty appeared in the following order,—cheese, mutton, pork,
veal, beef. Fat appeared to be also much more digestible
than cheese; beef than potato, and codfish than beef.
Boiled veal was much more digestible than roast; and of
different parts of the same kind of food, the digestibility
was in the following order,—fat, muscles, skin, cartilage,
tendon, and bone.1 From the experiments detailed in
the inaugural dissertation of Dr Macdonald, De Ciborum
Concoctione, Edinburgh, 1818, which were made in com¬
pany with the late Dr Gordon, there appears to be great
irregularity in the time necessary for the completion of
digestion, so that they scarcely furnish any conclusion as
to the comparative digestibility of different substances.
Dr Macdonald infers that, of those he tried, butter was
the most, and rice the least, digestible in the stomach of
the dog. In the experiments which Dr Stark made upon
himself, to ascertain the nutritious properties of oily sub- Dietetics,
stances, he found that, with a daily allowance of thirty
ounces of bread and three pounds of water, two ounces of
olive oil taken at one meal was so large a quantity as to
be disagreeable; three ounces in the day caused some un¬
easiness in his bowels; and four ounces griped him very
much, although he gained weight; but this experiment
was not conclusive, as at that time he was suffering under
sloughing gums, the effects of a protracted diet of sugar.
A diet of four ounces of pure fat, obtained from the sub¬
cutaneous fat of beef, made into a pudding, with twenty
ounces of flour, and twelve or twenty ounces of water,
with the remainder of three pounds of water in drink, was
both nourishing and agreeable ; but when the fat was in¬
creased to six ounces, great part of it passed unassimilat¬
ed, and his bowels were affected. The same pudding
without the suet was not sufficiently nutritious, and did
not satisfy his appetite in the same manner. When the
pudding was made with butter, although only four ounces
were used, he was made very ill by it. Oil of butter
agreed very well; and oil of marrow, of all the fats Dr
Stark tried, he found to be the mildest in the bowels.
Flis gums having again become purple and swelled, with
petechial appearances on his body, while making these ex¬
periments, suggested to him the following queries, which
seem important to the science of dietetics. “ Although
at present I take more food than what is absolutely neces¬
sary for the support of the body, I remain perfectly well,
whereas I have several times suffered considerable incon¬
venience from committing any excess in the quantity of oils.
Is it not evident that excess in the quantity of oils is more
hurtful to the body than excess in any other article of
food ? and that, of course, we ought to be particularly
careful in regulating the quantity and quality of the oils we
may employ in diet ? Is it not probable, then, that animal
oils, though they nourish and increase the weight of the
body, are not of themselves sufficient to prevent a morbid
alteration from taking place in the blood and fluids ? whilst,
on the other hand, the lean of meat, though less nutri¬
tious, is of more efficacy in preserving the fluids of the
body in a sound state.”2
Aliments also differ in regard to the proportional quan-Difference
tityof nourishment they furnish, and, in this point of view, of aliments
they are said to be strong and weak, or rich and poor. This111 respoct
difference may arise either from the proportional quantity ^()”U^te
of digestible and indigestible parts in the various kinds of&c ’ ’
aliment, or from the digestible parts being different in
kind, and furnishing a supply of a different kind to the
blood. There is even in this respect some opposition be¬
tween light food and strong food, and it maybe generally
observed, that food which is most quickly digested, re¬
quires the soonest to be repeated, while digestible food,
that is only slowly digested, supports the body for a greater
length of time.
Aliments also differ in the impression they make on our
palate ; and it is chiefly in this respect that they are con¬
sidered by the epicure. This impression proceeds from
two distinct qualities in the aliment; the one depending
upon their grosser physical properties, and the other upon
their finer, recognizable only by the senses of taste and
smell. To the former class belong the sensations of solid
and fluid, hard and soft, tough and tender, crisp and
stringy, hot and cold, greasy, glutinous, gritty, smooth,
&c. These are judged of by the tongue and palate, rather
1 A Treatise on the Nature and Cure of Gout and Rheumatism, including General Considerations on Morbid States of the Diges¬
tive Organs ; some Remarks on Regimen, and Practical Observations on Gravel. Ey Charles Scudamore, M. D. 8vo, London, 1817-
2 The Works of the late William Stark, M. D. consisting of Clinical and Anatomical Observations, with Experiments Dietetical
and Statistical, revised and published from his original Manuscripts. By James Carmichael Smyth, M. D. 4to, London, 1788.
99
DIETETICS.
General,
observa¬
tions on
diet.
Dietetics, as organs of touch than of taste, and are altogether inde-
pendent of flavour, as capable of affecting the organs of
taste and smell. The latter class consists of all the variety
of tastes properly so called, namely, sweet, bitter, sour, salt,
alkaline, astringent, aromatic, nauseous, pungent, acrid,
spirituous, cooling, &c., and also the want of taste, the vapid
or mawkish. Of these, some are almost universally agree¬
able, and others generally disliked, but much depends upon
idiosyncracy, state of health, education, habit of the indi¬
vidual, and upon the degree or quantity of flavour.
Aliments also differ in the impression made upon the
stomach ; but the sensations arising from this source are
more obscure and less varied. Except the sensation of
heat, which may arise from caloric, and is transient, or
from acrimony or spirit, which is more durable, most of
the sensations experienced in the stomach are indications
of its mechanical state, or of affections of the appetite.
Hence we have the feeling of gratification, from removal
of a sense of emptiness, of repletion, distension, cessation
of hunger or thirst, satiety, and sickness.
We should also consider the effect of different kinds of
diet, when the body is in a state of health, and different
states of disease; but accurate experiments are still want¬
ing to enable us to give any thing more than fragments
of this interesting subject. It is extremely difficult to in¬
stitute these experiments satisfactorily. They are irksome
to the person on whom they are tried ; and so many causes
tend to interfere with the results, that it is only by fre¬
quent repetition that the real effects can be fairly deduced.
Our diet may be either proper, or it may err, and this
either in quantity or quality. When the quantity is too
small, the body is not nourished; it becomes lean, the fat
disappears, and the muscles either get soft and flabby, or
shrivelled and dried up, accompanied by loss of strength
or stiffness, with predisposition to an actual disease. Errors
in regard to the quantity of food are merely relative ; so
much depends upon circumstances, as individuality of con¬
stitution, period of life, state of health, degree of mental
and corporeal exertion, habit and temperature. Each per¬
son may be said to have a different standard quantity, de¬
viations from which are to be accounted errors. In our
army, the rations allowed for each soldier at home are,
three quarters of a pound of meat, boiled so as to afford
broth, with l|d. worth of potatoes and other vegetables,
one pound of bread, or one and one eighth pound of oat¬
meal ; and in most cases one pound of milk or coffee is
purchased for his breakfast. On service the rations are,
one pound of meat, one and a half pound of bread, and
one pint of wine or one sixth of a pint of spirits.
Mr Buxton states that the diet allowed to the prisoners
in the jails in London varies from fourteen ounces of bread
per day, and two pounds of meat per week, which, he says,
is not enough to support life, up to one pound and a half
of bread, one pound of potatoes, two pints of hot gruel,
and either six ounces of boiled meat, without bone, and
after boiling, or a quart of strong broth, mixed with vege¬
tables, per day, which is as much more than enough; and
Mr Buxton thinks that the meat should be discontinued.
A fit prison diet, in his opinion, should consist of one pound
and a half of bread, at least one day old, to each prisoner,
daily, and one pint of good gruel for breakfast; and, upon
good behaviour, half a pound of meat on Sundays.1
Some experiments have been made in order to ascertain Dietetics,
the quantity of different kinds of food necessary for the sus- -v>w
tenance of individuals. Dr Franklin, when a journeyman
printer, lived a fortnight on bread and water, at the rate
of ten pounds of bread a week. Dr Stark, whose weight
was 171 pounds avoirdupois, found that thirty-eight ounces
of bread daily were not more than suificient to satisfy his
appetite ; forty-eight ounces were the utmost he could con¬
sume in one day, and the greatest quantity he could take
at one meal, without uneasiness, was thirty ounces; and,
with this diet, he required necessarily three pounds of
water for drink, for with only two pounds he was not sa¬
tisfied. In another experiment, thirty ounces of bread and
three pounds of water, with six ounces of boiled beef, suf¬
ficed: "with four ounces of the beef his appetite was not
satisfied; with two pounds of bread and three pounds of
infusion of tea, he found that one pound of cold stewed
beef was not more than sufficient: he was not satisfied
with four ounces of beef to breakfast; but eight ounces at
dinner, and four ounces at supper, were rather too much.
Absolute starvation produces diminished excretions,
fetid breath, foul skin, and death. The most distressing
histories of this dreadful end are recorded in the account
of shipwrecks, and of those unfortunate persons who fall
into the hands of the Arabs of the desert. Man can sus¬
tain the absolute want of food for several days, more or
fewer in number according to circumstances; the old bet¬
ter than the young, and the fat, probably, better than the
lean. The total want of drink can be borne only a very
short time, and its effects are even more distressing than
those of want of food. They have been strikingly described
by Mungo Park and by Ali Bey, as experienced in their
own persons. The narratives of shipwrecked mariners also
prove with how very little food life may be supported for
a considerable length of time; and the history of those
impostors who pretend to live altogether without food or
drink display this adaptation of the wants of the body to
its means of supply in a still more striking manner; for,
even after the deception in such cases as that of Ann Moore
is exposed, it will be found that the quantity of aliment
actually taken was incredibly small.2
Captain Woodard has added to his interesting narrati\re
many instances of the power of the human body to resist
the effects of severe abstinence.3 He himself and his five
companions rowed their boat for seven days without any
sustenance but a bottle of brandy, and then wandered
about the shores of Celebes six more without any other
food than a little water and a few berries. Robert Scot-
ney lived seventy-five days alone in a boat, with three
pounds and a half of meat, three pounds of flour, two
hogsheads of water, some whale oil, and a small quantity
of salt. He also used an amazing quantity of tobacco.
Six soldiers deserted from St Helena in a boat on the
10th of June 1799, with twenty-five pounds of bread and
about thirteen gallons of water. On the 18th they redu¬
ced their allowance to one ounce of bread and two mouth¬
fuls of water, on which they subsisted till the 26th, when
their store was expended. Captain Inglefield and eleven
others, after five days of scanty diet, were obliged to re¬
strict it to a biscuit divided into twelve morsels for break¬
fast, and the same for dinner, with an ounce or two of
water daily. In ten days, a very stout man died, having
1 An Inquiry whether Crime or Misery are produced or prevented by our present System of Prison Discipline. By Thomas Fowell
Buxton, M. P. 12mo, Edinb. 1818.
- An Examination of the Imposture of Ann Moore, called the Fasting AVoman of Tutbury, illustrated by Eemarks, on other Cases
of Real or Pretended Abstinence. By Alexander Henderson, M. D. 8vo, London, 1813. Also, Rev. Leigh Richmond, in Medical
and Physical Journal, by Samuel Fothergill, M. D. and William Royston, 469, vol. xxix. 8vo, London, 1813.
3 The Narrative of Captain David Woodard and Four Seamen. 2d edit. 8vo, London, 1805.
DIETETICS.
23
)iet
rn
ietetics. become unable to swallow, and delirious. Lieutenant Bligh '
and his crew lived forty-two days upon five days’ provisions.
In the tenth volume of Hufeland’s Journal, M. Gerlach,
a surgeon-major of the Prussian army, has related a very
remarkable and well authenticated case of voluntary star¬
vation. A recruit, to avoid serving, had cut off the fore¬
finger of his right hand. When in hospital for the cure of
the wound, dreading the punishment which awaited him,
he resolved to starve himself, and on the 2d of August
began obstinately to refuse all food or drink, and persist¬
ed in this resolution till the 24th August. During these
twenty-two days he had absolutely taken neither food,
drink, nor medicine, and had no evacuation from his
bowels. He had now become very much emaciated, his
belly was somewhat distended, he had violent pain in his
loins, his thirst was excessive, and his febrile heat burning.
His behaviour had also become timid. Having been pro¬
mised his discharge unpunished, he was now prevailed
upon to take some sustenance, but could not at first bear
even weak soup and lukewarm drinks. Under proper
treatment he continued to mend for eight days, and his
strength was returning, when, on the 1st of September, he
again refused food, and assumed a wild look. He took a
little barley water every four or five days to the 8th ; from
that day to the 11th he took a little biscuit with wine ; but
again, from the 11th September to the 9th October, a
period of twenty-eight days, he neither took food, drink,
nor had any natural evacuation. From the 9th to the 11th
he again took a little nourishment, and began to recruit;
but, on the 11th, he finally renewed his resolution to starve
himself, and persevered until his death, which took place
on the 21st November, after a total abstinence of forty-
two days.
On the other hand, the quantity of nourishment which
can be devoured with impunity is often very great. Al¬
most every person in good circumstances eats more than
is necessary for supporting his body in a state of health,
and many bring their stomachs to require a very exces¬
sive allowance as almost necessary. In some individuals
an inordinate appetite seems constitutional. Charles Do-
mery, aged twenty-one, six feet three inches high, and
well made, but thin, when a prisoner of war at Liver¬
pool, consumed in one day four pounds of cow’s udder
and ten pounds of beef, both raw, together with two
pounds of tallow candles and five bottles of porter, and,
although allowed the daily rations of ten men, he was not
satisfied.1 Baron Percy has recorded a still more extra¬
ordinary instance in a soldier of the name of Tarare, who,
at the age of seventeen, being of moderate size, rather thin,
and weighing only a hundred and seventy pounds, could
devour, in the course of twenty-four hours, a leg of beef
twenty-four pounds in weight, and thought nothing of
swallowing the dinner prepared for fifteen German boors.2
But these men were remarkable, not only for the quantity
they consumed, but also for its quality, giving a prefe¬
rence to raw meat, and even living flesh and blood. Do-
mery in one year eat 174 cats, dead and alive; and Ta¬
rare was strongly suspected of having devoured an infant,
which disappeared mysteriously. Many other histories of
the same kind are preserved; and although some of the
individuals were men of large stature and great strength,
others were of ordinary size. The excess of food may be
taken either in the form of too much at one meal or of too
many meals. It is either digested and furnishes an excess
of nourishment, or it passes through the canal simply in- Dietetics,
digested, or it undergoes the fermentation natural to it.
An excess of nourishment either produces a great or ra¬
pid increase of the size of body generally, or of the fat
and abdominal viscera in particular, or, by inducing great
fulness of blood, produces diseases which sometimes coun¬
teract the effects of the plethora. When the excess passes
simply indigested, it only occasionally proves hurtful as
a mechanical irritation in the bowels, especially when it is
of a hard substance, and has sharp angles. When it un¬
dergoes its natural fermentation this is either acid or pu¬
trid, as the substance is vegetable or animal, or rather as
it is destitute of or contains a notable proportion of azote.
When diet errs in quality, it gives rise to a greater va¬
riety of cases. It may either produce a directly hurtful
effect upon the constitution, in the manner of a poison or
medicine, in its natural state, or after fermenting in the
stomach ; or it may prove injurious more indirectly by not
supplying an element necessary for its healthy condition,
or by supplying one in excessive proportion. The poison¬
ous effects of alimentary substances are always occasional,
and arise from a peculiarity in the aliment itself, as in the
case of poisonous fishes, or in the individual, as in those
persons who cannot eat particular kinds of food, which are
to others wholesome and nutritious. The unpleasant ef¬
fects of substances undergoing their natural fermentation
in the stomach are much more frequently observed. They
occur either from a very strong disposition in the food to
ferment, so that the action of a healthy stomach is not
able to restrain it, or from excess of the food, so that part
of it is left to its natural changes, or from weakness of the
stomach, which exerts little action upon it. Fermenting
substances are hurtful, by acting as direct poisons, and by
distending the stomach; in the non-azotized substances
becoming acid and producing flatulencies, in the azotized
substances becoming putrid and producing fetid eructa¬
tions and flatus. Diet, which errs by supplying one of the
elementary constituents of our body in excess, or in not
supplying another, does not produce its full effects at
once, but gradually changes the condition of the body.
When an elementary principle is furnished in excess, it is
thrown off by the various excretions, and hence we find
that the urine of omnivorous animals, when confined to
animal food, contains more urea, and their perspirations
and stools are more fetid; while the urea disappears, and
the stools and perspirations lose their fetor, when they are
restricted to vegetables. The same observations have been
made in regard to man. Also, when the supply of an ele¬
mentary principle is deficient, it ceases to be thrown off
by excretion, even after it has performed its functions in
the body, but is re-absorbed, and thus the body, for a time,
lives as it were upon itself.
The chief varieties of diet, in regard to quality, depend
upon their immediate effects, and in this respect they may
be divided into the simply nutritious and the stimulant.
All animal flesh seems to be more or less stimulant, and,
in general, the more so the darker its colour is; and upon
this principle chiefly has Dr Darwin founded his classifi¬
cation of aliments, but he has erred in considering them
as also more nutritious. Moor-game, pigeon, hare, and
venison, are more stimulating, but perhaps not more nu¬
tritious, than the turkey or barn-door fowl, veal, or lamb.
The effect upon the composition of our bodies is the se¬
condary but most important effect. In this respect, food
1 Account of a Man who lives upon large quantities of Raw Flesh, by Dr Johnston; in the Medical and Physical Journal, by
Drs Bradley, Beatty, and Nohden, vol. iii. dvo, London, 1800.
2 Memoire sur la Polyphagie. See Journal de Mede'cine, Chirurgie, et Pharmacie, par MM. Corvisart, Leroux, et Boyer, tome
ix. 8vo, Paris, An. xiii.
24
DIETETICS.
Dietetics, might be divided into the azotized, hydrogenous, carbona-
ceous, and oxygenous, or rather rnto those which supply
abundantly azote, hydrogen, carbon, and oxygen. This
view is, however, chiefly theoretical, as we are very far
from possessing facts enough to establish it completely, or
to overturn it; but yet there are some which favour it. We
have already noticed Magendie’s experiments on substan¬
ces which do not contain azote, from which he inferred
that a certain supply of it was absolutely necessary to the
support of animal life. Other facts lead to the same con¬
clusion, especially the effect of restriction to one kind of
aliment in the generation and cure of disease.
It is many years since Dr Rollo1 was led, by the singu¬
lar sweetness of diabetic urine, to conclude that, if he de¬
prived the patient of all food which contained sugar, or the
principles of sugar, he should be able to cure this hither¬
to untractable disease. He accordingly restricted his pa¬
tients to the use of animal food, especially fat, and abso¬
lutely prohibited all vegetables, even bread, and all fer¬
mented liquors. The effects were very striking, and some
patients were believed to be cured; at least the nature
of their urine was completely altered from a morbid to a
healthy state. As conducted by others, the same regimen
has produced the same effects ; but it is so disagreeable to
the patients that they can seldom be prevailed upon to
adhere to it, and unfortunately, notwithstanding the tem¬
porary removal of this prominent symptom, the disease
generally continues its fatal course. We may, however,
notice, that Rollo and others were guided in their choice
of regimen by the principle of withholding the elements
of sugar, and hence fat formed a chief part of it, and was
a principal cause of the disgust it excited; but perhaps it
would be better to select a highly azotized diet, in which
point of view the muscular parts of dark-fleshed animals,
such as game and old mutton, and those kinds of fish, such
as skate, which contain much azote in a loose state of com¬
bination, should be selected; while wheaten bread, the
want of which is so distressing to many, might be allowed,
and fat, which contains no azote, should not be prescribed.
Magendie2 ascribes the gravel to the superabundance of
azote in our food, as the uric acid of which gravel consists
is a highly azotized substance, and seems to be produced
as a means of throwing off the excessive azote ; and among
the various causes with which gravel is connected, the
most active in its agency is high living, or the use of ani¬
mal food in excess. A Hanseatic citizen, who kept a good
table previous to 1814, was afflicted with the gravel. He
emigrated and lived very miserably in England, but his
gravel completely left him. He re-established his affairs,
and with his fortune his gravel returned. Again he was
ruined, and went to France almost destitute, and his gravel
disappeared. By industry he finally acquired a compe¬
tency, and with it his old complaint, for which he then
consulted Magendie. A Parisian lady of sixty, subject to
gravel, read in a journal a short notice of Magendie’s ex¬
periments, in which it was said that he had discovered in
sugar a cure for the gravel. Without more advice she set
about eating sugar, often to the extent of a pound daily,
and in effect she removed the gravel, but disordered her
stomach so much that she was obliged to resume her usual
food, and with it the gravel returned.
The chemical theory of the scurvy is, that it is owing Dietetics
to the want of oxygenous food; and it cannot be denied ''-"Y'w
that this theory has been very ingeniously supported by
Dr Trotter, Dr Beddoes, and others. The rapidity with
which those afflicted with it recover by the use of recent
vegetables, especially the fresh citric acid, shows that it
proceeds from an error in diet, but whether from a defi¬
ciency of nourishment in general, or from a deficiency of
oxygenous aliment, is not quite so clear. When we com¬
pare the accounts of the ravages formerly committed by
this dreadful disease, even during short voyages, with the
almost total immunity which the British fleet has enjoyed
since the time of Captain Cook, we have the strongest
possible proof of the influence of diet upon the human
frame, either as inducing or preventing disease.3
Hydrogenous food, such as the excessive indulgence in
fat meat, butter, and oil, and still more especially in spi¬
rituous liquors, produces a change in the chemical consti¬
tution of our bodies, independently of the exhaustion of
excitability by excess of stimulus. Bilious diseases, and
a tendency to unwholesome fatness, are its most common
effects; and it is only in the excessive hydrogenation of
the system that we can find a rational explanation of that
very singular phenomenon called the spontaneous combus¬
tion of the body; for even admitting that the clothes are
accidentally set on fire in these cases, there appears no
reason to doubt that the combustion is continued by the
burning of the body itself. Now the greatest number of
instances have occurred in old women addicted to the
abuse of ardent spirits.4
The effects of oxygenous food, in imparting oxygen to
the body, are not so well ascertained. Acids, and the
subacid fruits, quench thirst, and are supposed to reduce
animal heat; but their more obvious action is to affect the
bowels and induce diarrhoea, and ultimately to render the
body spare and thin. The new chemical pathology led to
the exhibition of nitric acid for the cure of syphilis, as
mercury was supposed to act by oxygenizing the system ;
and this acid has since been much employed also, from
analogy, in the liver complaint. That the acid has excel¬
lent effects as a tonic, seems to be perfectly ascertained.
It does not act upon the bowels like the vegetable acids,
but there is no proof of its decomposition in the stomach,
or of its imparting oxygen to the bod}r. The oxygenizing
of the system by means of the nitro-muriatic or oxymu-
riatic bath, now so fashionable in London, is a mere chi-
Pulmonary consumption was also, at one time, con¬
sidered as a disease proceeding from superabundant oxy¬
gen, and the florid colour of the cheeks was adduced in
proof of it.
No observations have yet been made on the effects of
aliments containing an unusually large proportion of car¬
bon, nor has any disease been ascribed to the carboniza¬
tion of the system.
It would extend this article much beyond the space we Peculiar
can allot to it, if we were even hastily to sketch the va-species o
rieties of diet recommended in disease, and to explain regimen
their action ; but it will not be superfluous to enter a little ca . .
into the detail of that kind of regimen which has been Tral'm*'
found by experience to bring animals and man to tbe
highest possible state of health, at least as measured by
1 An Account of two Cases of Diabetes Mellitus. By John Rollo, M. D. 2 vols. 8vo, London, 1747.
2 Recherches Physiologiques et Medicales sur les Causes, les Symptomes, et le Traitement de la Gravelle, 8vo, Paris, 1818.
3 Observations on the Scurvy. By Thomas Trotter, M. D. 8vo, Lond. 1792. Observations on the Nature and Cure of Calculus,
Sea Scurvy, Consumption, Catarrh, and Fever; together with Conjectures upon several other subjects of Physiology and Pathology.
By Thomas Beddoes, M. D. 8vo, London, 1793.
4 An Essay, Medical, Philosophical, and Chemical, on Drunkenness, and its Effects on the Human Body. By T. Trotter, M. D.
8vo, London, 1804. Essai sur les Combustions Humaines produits par une long abus des liqueurs spiritueuses. Par Pierre-Aime
Lair, 12mo, Paris, 1801.
pietetics.
t-nrw
DIETETICS.
25
the amount of their physical force, and their power of con¬
tinuing its exertions. It is to bring animals to this state
that constitutes the business of trainers, as they are called.
Cocks, greyhounds, race-horses, and men, are much more
active and vigorous after being trained than in their ordi¬
nary condition. They are, in fact, in a higher state of
health ; and we are fully convinced that, by training,
many diseases might be removed, and by living according
to the same principles, general ill health might be com¬
monly prevented. The public is very much indebted to
Sir John Sinclair for having taken the pains to collect the
fullest information on this subject.1 He was assisted in his
inquiries, we have reason to believe, by Mr John Bell, whose
attention was directed to the subject by having the pro¬
fessional care of Captain Barclay during his great walking-
match. From the answers procured to Mr Bell’s inquiries,
it appears that the whole secrets of training reduce them¬
selves to principles which every man may practise, and
ought to practise, as far as is consistent with his business
and other duties; and, in particular, we think that they
ought to be studied, thoroughly understood, and enforced,
by all those to whom, in consequence of accidental cir¬
cumstances, the care of the health and lives of many in¬
dividuals are intrusted. We allude chiefly to military
and naval officers, and the proprietors of large manufac¬
tories. In the British navy the importance of this sub¬
ject has been long appreciated; and the comparative state
of health of our fleets, in recent times, is as honourable
to our naval commanders as the laurels of victory which
encircle their brows. Soldiers are left more to themselves,
and their officers have neither the same control nor respon¬
sibility; but we think that more might be done in keeping
the troops, as well as the military horses, when at home
or in garrison, always in a state fit for active service. The
evil of not attending to this was very severely experienced
during the Spanish campaigns. The artillery horses sent
from Chatham were found to be unfit for the fatigues of
service, and good cart-horses were at last substituted with
great advantage. In garrison both men and horses are
over-fed and under-worked. In manufactories the oppo¬
site evils sdmetimes occur; the workmen, and especially
the children, are over-worked and under-fed. This sub¬
ject has lately occupied the attention of parliament; and
it is connected with some interesting inquiries, which be¬
long properly to the science of political economy. In a
medical point of view, the principle to be followed is, that
the food and labour bear a just proportion to each other.
When the quantity and quality of the food is not limited
by its expense, the best possible condition of the indivi¬
dual is attainable, by attending to the principles upon
which training is conducted, and which resolve themselves
into temperance without abstemiousness, and regular ex¬
ercise in the open air. Mr Jackson says, that a man pro¬
perly trained feels himself light and corky, as the techni¬
cal phrase is; and that, during a course of training, the
skin always becomes clear, smooth, well coloured, and elas¬
tic ; or that cleanness of skin is the best proof of a man
being in good condition. Another very striking effect
of training is upon the lungs. Trained men can draw a
much fuller inspiration, and retain their breath longer, than
others. But it is not only on the state of bodily health
that the good effects of training are conspicuous ; for Mr
Jackson distinctly, and we believe correctly, states, that
the mental faculties are always improved, the attention is
more ready, and the perceptions are more acute. From
these observations some valuable hints may be derived
by physicians, for the cure of many cutaneous and pul¬
monary affections, which obstinately resist the power of Dietetics,
medicines.
Cookery is strictly a branch of dietetics, and one ofCookery.
the most important. Only a small part of our food is
consumed as it is furnished by nature. Many alimentary
substances are disagreeable, and some even poisonous,
until they have undergone certain preparations. Few of
them are to be had at all seasons of the year, although
produced at others in greater quantity than can be con¬
sumed ; and all of them occur of very different qualities.
Flence the selection, preservation, and preparation of ali¬
mentary substances, are arts of primary importance in life.
We hold the contempt with which cookery is very
generally spoken of to be downright affectation, we had
almost said hypocrisy; for, in the practice of life, every
individual who is not perfectly imbecile and devoid of un¬
derstanding is an epicure in his own way. The epicures
in the boiling of potatoes even are innumerable; and
every school-boy in Scotland passes a judgment on the
culinary skill of the servant who makes his porridge.
Cookery only becomes truly degrading when it occupies
an undue proportion of attention ; and that epicurism is
to be utterly condemned which produces more pain than
pleasure. Boswell, the biographer of Johnson, has defined
man to be a cooking animal; and, in fact, man is the only
animal which does not consume his food as presented to
him by nature. We are not from this to conclude that
man in cooking deviates from the ordinary course of na¬
ture ; but that the appetite for cooked food is given to
him for wise and useful ends. Count Rumford has not
considered the pleasure of eating, and the means that may
be employed for increasing it, as unworthy the attention
of a philosopher.
“ The enjoyments which fall to the lot of the bulk of
mankind are not so numerous as to render an attempt to
increase them superfluous. And even in regard to those
who have it in their power to gratify their appetites to
the utmost extent of their wishes, it is surely rendering
them a very important service to show them how they
may increase their pleasures without destroying their
health.
“ If a glutton can be made to gormandize two hours
upon two ounces of meat, it is certainly much better for
him, than to give himself an indigestion by eating two
pounds in the same time.
“ The pleasure enjoyed in eating depends first upon
the agreeableness of the taste of the food; and, secondly,
upon its powers to affect the palate. Now there are many
substances extremely cheap, by which very agreeable
tastes may be given to food, particularly when the basis
or nutritive substance of the food is tasteless; and the
effect of any kind of palatable solid food (of meat, for in¬
stance) upon the organs of taste, may be increased almost
indefinitely, by reducing the size of the particles of such
food, and causing it to act upon the palate by a larger
surface. And if means be used to prevent its being swal¬
lowed too soon, which may be easily done by mixing with
it some hard and tasteless substance, such as crumbs of
bread rendered hard by toasting, or any thing else of that
kind, by which a long mastication is rendered necessary,
the enjoyment of eating may be greatly increased and
prolonged.
“ The idea of occupying a person a great wffiile, and
affording him much pleasure at the same time, in eating a
small quantity of food, may perhaps appear ridiculous to
some ; but those who consider the matter attentively will
perceive that it is very important. It is, perhaps, as
VOL. VIII.
1 The Code of Health and Longevity, vol. ii. Appendix, No. IV. 8vo, Edinburgh, 1807-
D
26 DIF
Dieu much so as any thing that can employ the attention of the
II philosopher.”
1 ^ ®ut we cons'der cookery in another point of view,
and that one, the importance of which will not be denied
by the most austere philosopher. The political econo¬
mists have extolled agriculture above all other arts, and
have obtained the assent of mankind to their dogma, that
he who makes two blades of grass grow where only one
grew before, is a benefactor to his race. And why? Truly
because he thus increases the quantity of food, and ena¬
bles the world to support a larger population. And is not
he who by his skill enables the raw material, whether
corn or flesh, furnished to him by the agriculturist, to feed
a larger population, or who renders articles alimentary
which were formerly rejected, equally a benefactor of his
race? Again, every country has its own favourite arti¬
cles of food, and modes of preparing them; and there is
perhaps no subject in regard to which local prejudices are
so strong. Now, by bringing these to the test of compa¬
rison upon scientific principles, much good would ulti¬
mate^ arise by the gradual introduction into each coun¬
try of whatever was worthy of imitation in the practice of
other nations.
The learned Krunitz, in his voluminous Economico-
Technologic Encyclopedia, has anticipated many of our
views of the subject. “ The preparation of good food,
and the directions for this purpose contained in cookery
books, are commonly very much despised, or rather alto¬
gether neglected, by literary men. But in itself cookery
does not deserve this contempt, for it is an important part
of domestic economy. Upon its due practice depend the
health and comfort of families, which must inevitably suf-
DIEU et mon Droit, God and my Eight, the motto of
the royal arms of England, first assumed by King Richard
I. to intimate that he did not hold his empire in vassalage
of any mortal. It was afterwards assumed by Edward III.
and was continued without interruption to the time of
King William, who used the motto Je maintiendray, though
the former was still retained upon the great seal. After
him Queen Anne used the motto Semper eadem, which
had been before used by Queen Elizabeth ; but ever since
the time of Queen Anne. Dieu et mon Droit continues to
be the royal motto.
DIEY, an arrondissement of the department of Vosges,
in France, extending over 530 square miles, divided into
nine cantons, and containing a population of 83,712 per¬
sons, in 109 communes.
Diey, St, a city in the department of the Vosges, in
France, the capital of the arrondissement, and situated in
a mountainous and woody district on the banks of the
Meurthe. It contains 830 houses and 5346 inhabitants.
Long. 7.1. E. Lat. 48. 20. N.
DIEZ, a bailiwick in the duchy of Nassau, in Germany,
extending over about 35,000 English acres, and contain¬
ing a population of 11,487 inhabitants, in two cities and
thirty-eight villages. The capital is a city of the same
name, situated on the river Lahn, with an industrious po¬
pulation of 2300 persons.
DIFF is the name of an instrument of music among
the Arabs, serving chiefly to beat time to the voice; it is
a hoop, sometimes with pieces of brass fixed to it to make
a jingling, over which a piece of parchment is distended.
It is beat with the fingers, and is the true tympanum of
the ancients.
DIFFARREATION, among the Romans, a ceremony
by which the divorce of their priests was solemnized. The
word comes from the preposition dis, which is used, in
DIF
fer from errors committed in it. The reason of this con-Differenc
tempt is to be found in the manner in which it has hither- II
to been treated in cookery books, which have been pre- ■^>'^'e.ren
pared by common cooks, as they are accustomed to dress
a ragout. Since the economical arts in general have been
discussed scientifically, it is now time that the same at¬
tention should be paid to cookery, which is so generally
useful, and which is capable of being considered in so
many points of view. But then a totally different course
from that commonly followed must be pursued. A man
of much knowledge, especially physical, chemical, and
dietetical, must condescend to apply to the making ex¬
periments on vulgar and refined cookery, and collect the
whole into a system, as has been done long since in re¬
gard to the knowledge and preparation of medicines.
What has been written upon dietetics by Zuckert, Ber-
gius, Lorry, Plenk, and others, must be compared with
the practices in different countries, and a general view of
the whole must be drawn up and arranged in systematic
order. In regard to the preparations themselves, certain
fixed processes and principles are to be determined, ge¬
neral operations to be accurately described, and new im¬
provements to be brought forward. After this the sub¬
ject might be treated in detail, and a variety, first of sim¬
ple, then of more compound articles, with the best modes
of preparing each as to palatableness, and in relation to
effect upon the health, should be perspicuously and tho¬
roughly described. Lastly, their combination into bills
of fare, adapted to different ranks in society, modes of
life, various tastes, the season of the year, &c. should be
pointed out particularly, and with a due regard to good
economical arrangements.” (z.)
composition, for division or separation, and farreatio, a
ceremony with wheat, from far, wheat or corn.
Diffarreation was properly the dissolving of marriages
contracted by confarreation, which were those of the pon-
tifices or priests. Festus says it was performed with a
wheaten cake ; but Vigenere maintains that confarreation
and diffarreation are the same thing.
DIFFERENCE, in Mathematics, is the remainder, when
one number or quantity is subtracted from another.
Difference, in Logic, an essential attribute, belonging
to some species, and not found in the genus; being the
idea that defines the species. Thus body and spirit are
the two species of substance, which in their ideas include
something more than is included in the idea of substance.
In body, for instance, are found impenetrability and exten¬
sion ; and in spirit, a power of thinking and reasoning; so
that the difference of body is impenetrable extension, and
the difference of spirit is cogitation.
Difference, in Heraldry, a term given to a certain
figure added to coats of arms, serving to distinguish one
family from another, and to show how distant younger
branches are from the elder or principal branch.
DIFFERENTIAL, in the higher geometry, an infinitely
small quantity, or a particle of quantity so small as to be
less than any assignable one. It is called a differential, or
differential quantity, because frequently considered as the
difference of two quantities; and, as such, it is the foun¬
dation of differential calculus. Sir Isaac Newton and the
English call it a moment, from its being considered as the
momentary increase of quantity. See Fluxions.
Differential Equation is an equation involving or
containing differential quantities, as the equation 3 x^dx
— 2 axdx + aydx + axdy — 0. Some mathematicians
have also applied the term differential equation in another
sense, to certain equations defining the nature of facts.
DIG
Differen- Differential Calculus, or Method, a method of find-
I tml ing quantities by means of their successive differences.
N See Fluxions.
DIFFORM, Difformis (from dis, asunder, and forma,
shape), is a word used in opposition to uniform, and signi¬
fies that there is no regularity in the form or appearance
of a thing. The botanists use it as a distinction of the
flowers of several species of plants.
DIFFUSE, an epithet applied to such writings as are
written in a prolix manner. Among historians, Sallust is
reckoned sententious, and Livy diffuse. Thus also, among
the orators, Demosthenes is close and concise ; but Cicero,
on the other hand, is diffuse.
DIFFUSION, the dispersion of the subtile effluvia of
bodies into a kind of atmosphere all round them. Thus
the light diffused by the rays of the sun issues all round
from that amazing body of fire.
DIGBY, Sir Kenelm, an English philosopher, was born
atGothurst, in Buckinghamshire, in 1603, and became very
illustrious for his virtue and learning. He was descended
of an ancient family. His great-grandfather, accompanied
by six of his brothers, fought valiantly at Bosworth Field
on the side of Henry VII. against the usurper Richard III.
His father, Sir Everard Digby, was engaged in the gun¬
powder plot against King James I., and for that crime was
beheaded; but his son was restored to his estate. King
Charles I. made him gentleman of the bed-chamber, com¬
missioner of the navy, and governor of the Trinity House ;
and also granted him letters of reprisal against the Vene¬
tians, by virtue of which he took several prizes with a small
fleet under his command. He fought the Venetians near
the port of Scanderoon, and bravely made his way through
their ships with his booty. He was a great lover of learn¬
ing, and translated several authors into English; and his
Treatise of the Nature of Bodies and the Immortality of the
Soul discovers great penetration and extensive knowledge.
He applied to chemistry, and found out several useful medi¬
cines, which he gave freely away to people of all sorts, es¬
pecially to the poor. His sympathetic powder for the cure
of wounds at a distance made a great noise for a time,
but, like ofher absurd fancies, it soon fell into discredit.
He had conferences with Descartes about the nature of
the soul.
In the beginning of the civil wars he exerted himself
vigorously in the king’s cause; but he was afterwards im¬
prisoned by order of the parliament in Winchester House,
and had leave to depart thence in 1643. He afterwards
compounded for his estate, but was ordered to leave the
nation; when he went to France, and was sent on two
embassies to Pope Innocent X. from the queen, widow to
Charles I., whose chancellor he then was. On the resto¬
ration of Charles II. he returned to London, where he died
in 1663, at the age of sixty.
This eminent person, on account of his early talents and
great proficiency in learning, was compared to the cele¬
brated Pico de Mirandola, and accounted a prodigy of eru¬
dition. But his knowledge, though various and extensive,
appeared to be greater than it really was, as he had all the
owers of elocution and address to recommend it. He
new how to shine in a circle of ladies or philosophers;
and was as much attended to when he spoke on the most
trivial subjects, as when he conversed on the most im¬
portant.
DIGEST (Digestum), a collection of the Roman laws,
arranged and digested under proper titles, by order of the
Emperor Justinian. See Civil Law.
DIGESTION, in the animal economy, is the dissolu¬
tion of the aliments into such minute parts as are fit to
enter the lacteal vessels, and to circulate with the mass of
blood.
DIG 27
Digestion, in Chemistry, is an operation which consists Digestion
in exposing bodies to a gentle heat in proper vessels, and II
during a certain time. This operation is very useful in digging,
favouring the action of certain substances upon each other;
as, for example, of well calcined, dry, fixed alkali upon
rectified spirit of wine. When these two substances are
digested together in a matrass, with a gentle sand-bath
heat, the spirit of wine acquires a reddish-yellow colour
and an alkaline quality. The spirit would not so well ac¬
quire these qualities by a stronger and shorter heat.
DIGESTIVE, in Medicine, such remedies as strengthen
and increase the tone of the stomach, and assist in the di¬
gestion of foods.
DIGGES, Leonard, an eminent mathematician in the
sixteenth century, was descended from an ancient family,
and born at Digges Court, in the parish of Barham in
Kent, but in what year is not known. He was educated
at Oxford, where he laid a good foundation of learning ;
and having retired from thence, he prosecuted his stu¬
dies, and became an excellent mathematician, a skilful
architect, and an expert surveyor of land. He composed
several works, as, 1. Tectonicum, briefly showing the exact
Measuring and speedy Reckoning of all manner of Lands,
Squares, Timber, Stones, Steeples, &c. 1556, 4to; 2. A
Geometrical Practical Treatise, named Pantometria, in
three books, which he left in manuscript, but which after his
death was published by his son in 1591, folio; 3. Prognos¬
tication Everlasting of right good effect, or Choice Rules
to judge the weather by the Sun, Moon, and Stars, &c. in
4to, 1555, 1556, and 1564; corrected and augmented by
his son, with divers general tables, and many compendious
rules, in 4to, 1592. He died about the year 1574.
Digges, Thomas, only son of Leonard Digges, having
received a liberal education from his tenderest years, went
and studied for a time at Oxford; and by the improve¬
ment which he made there, and the subsequent instructions
of his learned father, he became one of the best mathe¬
maticians of his age. When Queen Elizabeth sent some
forces in order to assist the oppressed inhabitants of the
Netherlands, Mr Digges was appointed their muster-mas¬
ter-general ; by which he became well skilled in military
affairs, as his writings afterwards showed. He died in
1595.
Mr Digges, besides revising, correcting, and enlarging
some pieces of his father’s already mentioned, wrote and
published the following learned works, viz. 1. Alee sive
Scales Mathematicce, or Mathematical Wings or Ladders,
1573, 4to ; 2. An Arithmetical Military Treatise, con¬
taining so much of Arithmetic as is necessary towards mi¬
litary discipline, 1579, 4to ; 3. A Geometrical Treatise,
named Stratioticos, requisite for the perfection of Soldiers,
1579, 4to, which was begun by his father, but finished by
himself; 4. A perfect Description of the Celestial Orbs,
according to the most ancient doctrine of the Pythago¬
reans, &c. placed at the end of his father’s “ Prognostica¬
tion Everlasting,” printed in 1592, 4to ; 5. A humble mo¬
tive for association to maintain the religion established,
1601, 8vo, to which is added, his Letter to the same pur¬
pose to the archbishops and bishops of England ; 6. Eng¬
land’s Defence, or, a Treatise concerning Invasion, a tract
of the same nature with that printed at the end of his
Stratioticos, and called a briefe Discourse, &c. but not
published till 1686; 7. A Letter printed before Dr John
Dee’s Parallaticce Commentationis praxeosque nucleus qvi~
dam, 1573, 4to. Besides these and his Nava Corpora, he
left several mathematical treatises ready for the press,
which, by reason of law-suits and other avocations, he was
prevented from publishing.
DIGGING, among miners, is appropriated to the ope¬
ration of freeing any kind of ore from the bed or stratum
1
28
DIG
D I G
Digit in which it lies, where every stroke of their tools turns
II. to account; in contradistinction to the openings made in
Dignity. search 0f
ore, which are called hatches, or essay-hatches,
an(j the operation itself, named tracing of mines, or hatch¬
ing. When a bed of ore is discovered, the beele-men, so
called from the instrument they use, which is a kind of
pickaxe, free the ore from the fossils around it; and the
shovelmen throw it up from one shamble to another, till it
reaches the mouth of the hatch. In some mines, to save
the expense as well as fatigue of the shovel-men, they raise
the ore by means of a winder and two buckets, one of
which ascends as the other descends.
DIGIT, in Astronomy, the twelfth part of the diameter
of the sun and moon, used to express the quantity of an
eclipse. Thus an eclipse is said to be of six digits when
six of these parts are hid.
Digits, or Monades, in Arithmetic, signify any integer
under ten; as, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and by means of
which all numbers are expressed.
Digit is also a measure taken from the breadth of the
finger. It is properly three fourths of an inch, and con¬
tains the measure of four barleycorns laid breadthwise.
DIGLIGGY NEUR, a town in the island of Ceylon,
situated among thick woods and mountains ten or twelve
miles to the eastward of Candy, in the direction of Batta-
colo. When the king was driven out of Candy in 1803
he retreated to this place, to which the European army
could not penetrate.
DIGLYPH, in Architecture, a kind of imperfect triglyph,
console, or the like, with two channels or engravings, either
circular or angular.
DIGNE, an arrondissement of the department of the
Mouths of the Rhone, in France, 1146 square miles in ex¬
tent. It is divided into nine cantons and two hundred and
sixty communes, containing 49,141 inhabitants. The chief
place, of the same name, is situated on the river Bleone,
in a neighbourhood covered with fruit gardens, vineyards,
and olive woods, the exportation of the products of which
forms the chief occupation of the 3487 inhabitants. Long.
5. 58. 59. E. Lat. 44. 5. 18. N.
DIGNITARY, in the canon law, a person who holds a
dignity, that is, a benefice which gives him some pre-emi¬
nence over mere priests and canons; as a bishop, dean,
archdeacon, prebendary, &c.
DIGNITY, as applied to the titles of noblemen, signifies
honour and authority. Dignity may be divided into supe¬
rior and inferior; as the titles of duke, earl, baron, &c.
which are the highest names of dignity; and those of baro¬
net, knight, serjeant-at-law, &c. which are the lowest. No¬
bility only can give so high a name of dignity as to sup¬
ply the want of a surname in legal proceedings; and as the
omission of a name of dignity may be pleaded in abate¬
ment of a writ, so it may also be where a peer who has
more than one name of dignity is not named by the most
noble. No temporal dignity of any foreign nation can
give a man a higher title here than that of esquire.
Dignity, in the human character, the opposite of mean¬
ness.
Man is endowed with a sense of the worth and excellence
of his nature. He deems it more perfect than that of the
other beings around him ; and he perceives that the per¬
fection of his nature consists in virtue, particularly in vir¬
tue of the highest rank. To express that sense, the term
dignity is appropriated. Further, to behave with dignity,
and to refrain from all mean actions, is felt to be not
only a virtue, but a duty: it is a duty which every man
owes to himself. By acting in this manner, he attracts
love and esteem; by acting meanly, or below himself, he
is discommended and contemned.
This sense of the dignity of human nature reaches even
our pleasures and amusements. If they enlarge the mind Dignity,
by raising grand or elevated emotions, or if they humanize
the mind by exercising our sympathy, they are approved
as suited to the dignity of our nature ; but if they contract
the mind by fixing it on trivial objects, they are contemned
as not suited to the dignity of our nature. Hence in general
every occupation, whether of use or amusement, that cor¬
responds to the dignity of man, is termed manly; and every
occupation below his nature is termed childish or puerile.
To those who make a study of human nature, there is a
point which has always appeared intricate. How comes it
that generosity and courage are more esteemed, and bestow
more dignity, than good nature or even justice, though
the latter contribute more than the former to private as
well as to public happiness ? This question, bluntly pro¬
posed, might puzzle even a philosopher; but, by means of
the foregoing observations, it will be easily solved. Human
virtues, like other objects, obtain a rank in our estimation,
not from their utility, which is a subject of reflection, but
from the direct impression which they make on us. Jus¬
tice and good nature are a sort of negative virtues, which
scarcely make any impression except when they are trans¬
gressed. Courage and generosity, on the contrary, pro¬
ducing elevated emotions, enliven the great sense of a
man’s dignity, both in himself and in others; and for this
reason courage and generosity are in higher esteem than
the other virtues mentioned; we describe them as grand
and elevated, as of greater dignity, and more praiseworthy.
This leads us to examine more directly emotions and
passions with respect to the present subject; and it will
not be difficult to forma scale of them, beginning with the
meanest, and ascending gradually to those of the highest
rank and dignity. Pleasure felt as at the organ of sense,
in other words, corporeal pleasure, is perceived to be low,
and when indulged to excess, is perceived also to be mean ;
for which reason, persons of any delicacy dissemble the
pleasure they take in eating and drinking. The pleasures
of the eye and ear having no organic feeling, and being
free from any sense of meanness, are indulged without any
shame; and they even rise to a certain degree of dignity
when their objects are grand or elevated. The case is the
same with the sympathetic passions; a virtuous person
behaving with fortitude and dignity under cruel misfor¬
tunes makes a capital figure, and the sympathizing spec¬
tator feels in himself the same dignity. Sympathetic dis¬
tress, at the same time, is never mean; on the contrary, it
is agreeable to the natureof a social being, and excites gene¬
ral approbation. The rank which love possesses in the scale
depends in a great measure on its objects. It possesses
a low place when founded on external properties merely,
and is mean when bestowed on a person of inferior rank,
without any extraordinary qualification ; but when found¬
ed on the more elevated internal properties, it assumes a
considerable degree of dignity. The case is the same with
friendship. When gratitude is warm it animates the mind;
but it scarcely rises to dignity. Joy bestows dignity when
it proceeds from an elevated cause.
If we can depend upon induction, dignity is not a pro¬
perty of any disagreeable passion; one is slight, another
severe; one depresses the mind, another animates it. But
there is no elevation, far less dignity, in any of them. Re¬
venge, in particular, though it inflames and swells the mind,
is not accompanied with dignity, not even with elevation.
It is not however felt as mean or grovelling, unless when
it takes indirect or cowardly measures for gratification.
Shame and remorse, though they sink the spirits, are
not mean. Pride, a disagreeable passion, bestows no dig¬
nity in the eye of a spectator; but vanity always appears
mean, and extremely so where founded, as commonly hap¬
pens, on trivial qualifications.
DIG D I I 29
fDignity. The pleasures of the understanding possess a high rank
in point of dignity. Of this every one must be sensible,
when he considers the important truths which have been
laid open by science; such as general theorems, and the
laws which govern the material and moral worlds. The
pleasures of the understanding are suited to man as a ra¬
tional and contemplative being, and they tend not a little
to ennoble his nature; even to the Deity he stretches his
contemplations, which, in the discovery of infinite power,
wisdom, and benevolence, afford delight of the most exalt¬
ed kind. Hence it appears that the fine arts, studied as a
rational pursuit, afford entertainment of great dignity, supe¬
rior far to what they afford as a subject of taste merely.
But contemplation, however in itself valuable, is chiefly
respected as subservient to action ; for man is intended to
be more an active than a contemplative being. He accord¬
ingly shows more dignity in action than in contemplation.
Generosity, magnanimity, heroism, raise his character to
the highest pitch; these best express the dignity of his
nature, and advance him nearer to divinity than any other
of his attributes.
Having endeavoured to assign the true cause of dignity
and meanness, by unfolding the principle on which they
are founded, we proceed to explain the final cause of the
dignity or meanness bestowed upon the several particu¬
lars above mentioned, beginning with corporeal pleasures.
These, as far as useful, are, like justice, fenced with suffi¬
cient sanctions to prevent their being neglected. Hunger
and thirst are painful sensations; and we are incited to
animal love by a vigorous propensity. Were corporeal
pleasures over and above dignified with a place in a high
class, they would infallibly overturn the balance of the
mind, by outweighing the social affections. This is a sa¬
tisfactory final cause for refusing to these pleasures any
degree of dignity; and the final cause is not less evident
of their meanness when they are indulged to excess. The
more refined pleasures of external sense, conveyed by the
eye and the ear from natural objects and from the fine arts,
deserve a high place in our esteem, because of their sin¬
gular and extensive utility. In some cases they rise to a
considerable dignity; and the very lowest pleasures of the
kind are never esteemed mean nor grovelling. The plea¬
sure arising from wit, humour, ridicule, or from what is
simply ludicrous, is useful, by relaxing the mind after the
fatigue of more manly occupations ; but the mind, when it
surrenders itself to pleasure of that kind, loses its vigour,
and sinks gradually into sloth. The place which this plea¬
sure occupies in point of dignity is adjusted to these views.
To make it useful as a relaxation, it is not branded with
meanness; to prevent its usurpation, it is removed from
that place but a single degree. No man values himself for
that pleasure even during gratification ; and if it have en¬
grossed more of his time than is requisite for relaxation,
he looks back on the circumstance with some degree of
shame.
In point of dignity, the social emotions rise above the
selfish, and much above those of the eye and ear. Man is
by his nature a social being; and to qualify him for socie¬
ty, it is wisely contrived that he should value himself more
on being social than selfish. The excellency of man is
chiefly discernible in the great improvements he is suscep¬
tible of in society. These, by perseverance, may be car¬
ried on progressively, beyond any assignable limits; and
even abstracting from revelation, there is a very great pro¬
bability that the progress begun here will be completed
in some future state. Now, as all valuable improvements
proceed from the exercise of our rational faculties, the
Author of our nature, in order to excite us to a due
use of these faculties, has assigned a high rank to the plea¬
sures of the understanding. Their utility, with respect
to this life as well as a future one, entitles them to that Digny
rank. II
But as action is the aim of all our improvements, virtu- t
ous actions justly possess the highest of all ranks. These,
we find, are by nature distributed into different classes,
and the first place in point of dignity is assigned to actions
which appear not the first in point of use. Generosity, for
example, in the sense of mankind, is more respected than
justice, though the latter is undoubtedly more essential to
society; and magnanimity, heroism, and undaunted cou¬
rage, rise still higher in our esteem, for the reason which
has been already explained.
DIGNY, a market-town of the department of the Eure
and Loire, in France, containing 378 houses and 2160 in¬
habitants, in the neighbourhood of which are some mines
of iron extensively worked.
DIGON, a market-town of the department of the Upper
Soane and Loire, in France, with 2508 inhabitants. It is
situated near the Loire, at the point where the central
canal commences.
DII, the divinities of the ancient inhabitants of the earth,
which were very numerous. Every object which caused
terror, inspired gratitude, or bestowed affluence, received
the tribute of veneration. Man saw a superior agent in
the stars, the elements, or the trees; and supposed that
the waters which communicated fertility to his fields and
possessions were under the influence and direction of some
invisible power inclined to favour and to benefit mankind.
Thus arose a train of divinities, which imagination arrayed
in different forms, and armed with different powers. They
were endowed with understanding, and were actuated by
the same passions which daily afflict the human race; and
those creations of superstition were appeased or provoked
in the same manner as the imperfect being who gave them
birth. Their wrath was mitigated by sacrifices and incense,
and sometimes human victims bled to expiate a crime
which superstition alone supposed to exist. The sun, from
his powerful influence and animating nature, first attracted
the notice and claimed the adoration of the uncivilized in¬
habitants of the earth. The moon also was honoured with
sacrifices and addressed in prayers; and after immortality
had been liberally bestowed on all the heavenly bodies,
mankind classed amongst their deities the brute creation,
and the cat and the sow shared equally with Jupiter him¬
self, the father of gods and men, the devout veneration of
their votaries. This immense number of deities has been
divided into different classes, according to the will and
pleasure of the mythologists. The Romans, generally
speaking, reckoned two classes of the gods, the dii majo-
rum gentium or dii consentes, and the dii minorum gentium.
The former were twelve in number, namely, six males and
six females. ( Vid. Consentes.) In the class of the latter
were ranked all the gods who were worshipped in differ¬
ent parts of the earth. Besides these, there were divinities
called dii selecti, sometimes classed with the twelve greater
gods; these were Janus, Saturn, the Genius, the Moon,
Pluto, and Bacchus. There were also some called demigods,
that is, persons who deserved immortality by the greatness
of their exploits, and for their uncommon services to man¬
kind. Amongst these were Priapus, Vertumnus, Hercules,
and those whose parents were some of the immortal gods.
Besides, all the passions and the moral virtues were reck¬
oned as powerful deities, and temples were raised to a god¬
dess of concord, of peace, and the like. According to
Hesiod, there were no less than thirty thousand gods
that inhabited the earth, and were guardians of men, all
subservient to the power of Jupiter. To these suc¬
ceeding ages added an almost equal number; and indeed
they were so numerous, and their functions so various,
that we find temples erected, and sacrifices offered, to
30 D I L
Dijambus unknown gods. It is observable that all the gods of the
II , ancients had lived upon earth as mere mortals; nay even
Dilienius. jUpiterj wj10 was ru]er 0f heaven, is represented by
jhe mythologists as a helpless child; and we are acquaint¬
ed with all the particulars which attended the birth and
education of Juno. In process of time not only good and
virtuous men, who had been the patrons of learning and
the supporters of liberty, but also thieves and pirates,
were admitted amongst the gods; and the Roman senate
courteously granted the apotheosis to the most cruel and
abandoned of their emperors.
DIJAMBUS, in Poetry, the foot of a Latin verse of four
syllables. It is compounded of two iambics, as severitds.
DIJON, an arrondissement of the department of Cote
d’Or, in France, which extends over 1190 square miles.
It is divided into fourteen cantons and 270 communes,
and contains 124,034 inhabitants. The chief place is the
city of the same name, the seat of a bishop, and of the se¬
veral boards which conduct the internal, legal, political, and
military affairs of the department. It is situated in a fine
plain, watered by the river Ouche, and surrounded on all
sides by picturesque hills, inclosing fertile meadows and
corn fields. It is a well-built city, with straight and wide
streets, and many magnificent buildings, but especially
the palace of the ancient sovereigns of Burgundy. There
is an academy and public library, and several learned esta¬
blishments. The houses are 2900, and the inhabitants
amounted in 1810 to 21,612; but they have since in¬
creased. There are manufactories for cloths, flannels,
blankets, cotton goods, hosiery, hats, earthen-ware, vine¬
gar, mustard, and other commodities. Long. 4. 56.45. E.
Lat. 47. 19. 25. N.
DIKE, a ditch or drain, made for the passage of waters.
The word seems to have been formed from the verb to
dig; though others choose to derive it from the Dutch
diik, a dam, sea-bank, or wall.
Dike, or Dyke, also denotes a work of stone, timber,
or fascines, raised to oppose the entrance or passage of
the waters of the sea, a river, lake, or the like. The word
comes from the Flemish dyk, or diik, a heap of earth to
bound or stem the water. Junius and Menage conceive
the Flemish to have borrowed their word from the Greek
rtr/og, wall; but Guichard derives it from the Hebrew
daghah. These dikes are usually elevations of earth, with
hurdles of stakes, stones, and other matters.
DILAPIDATION, in Law, a wasteful destroying, or
letting buildings run to decay, for want of necessary re¬
paration. If the clergy neglect to repair the houses be¬
longing to their benefices, the bishop may sequester the
profits thereof for that purpose; and in such cases a prose¬
cution may be brought, either in the spiritual court or at
common law, against the incumbent himself, or against his
executor or administrator.
DILATATION, in Physics, a motion of the parts of
any body, by which it is so expanded as to occupy a
greater space. This expansive motion depends upon the
elastic power of the body; whence it appears that dilata¬
tion is different from rarefaction, which is produced by
means of heat.
DILEMMA, in Logic, an argument equally conclusive
by contrary suppositions.
DILLENBURG, a bailiwick in the duchy of Nassau,
in Germany, extending over 42,500 English acres, and
containing a population of 13,627 persons, in two cities
and eighty-two villages. The capital is a city of the same
name, situated on the Dille, which is surrounded with
walls, and contains 2302 inhabitants.
DILLENIUS, John James, a distinguished botanist
of the eighteenth century, who may be called the father
of cryptogamic botany, was born at Darmstadt in 1687.
D I L
He was educated as a physician in the university of Dilienius.
Giessen; but his attention was very early diverted from
medical studies to the observation and discrimination of
plants; nor does he appear to have ever followed any
branch of the practice of physic. In botany he was strict¬
ly a practical observer, having addicted himself but little
to the principles of classification, and not at all to the
physiology of vegetables. Some branches of zoology oc¬
casionally engaged him, which an assiduous collector of
plants, in their native situations, can hardly escape, so
closely are these studies, especially that of insects and
the lower tribes of animated beings, connected with bo¬
tany. Dilienius, whilst at Giessen, wrote several papers
for the Ephemerides Natural Curiosorum, on American
plants naturalized in Europe, on coffee, on opium ob¬
tained from poppies in Germany, with some minute criti¬
cal remarks on Spergula pentandra, as well as on various
cryptogamous plants. He published also a paper on
leeches, and two species of papilio. He printed at Gies¬
sen in 1719 his Catalogus Plantarum sponte circa Gissam
nascentium, a valuable little octavo volume, with figures
drawn and engraved by his own hand, of the parts of
fructification, particularly designed to illustrate the gene¬
ric characters of plants, previously not well arranged or
understood. In this work he established many new genera,
which have for the most part kept their ground. His great
merit as a general botanist consisted in a constant atten¬
tion to the only sound principle of scientific botany, the
discrimination of genera by the parts of the flower and
fruit. This principle, first proposed by the great Conrad
Gesner, Dilienius applied to practice, with a severer judg¬
ment and closer attention than perhaps any other person,
from Gesner to Linnaeus. The little book in question is
arranged most inconveniently according to the times of
the plants’ flowering. Its preface, however, enters into
the subject of classification, a subject to which young bo¬
tanists are generally prone, but of which they as gene¬
rally, after having embroiled it, take their leave, in pro¬
portion as they acquire more practical knowledge. Dil¬
ienius so far displayed his judgment, that he rather showed
the faults of the systems of Tournefort, Knaut, and Rivi-
nus, than offered any thing of his own. This led him into
some controversies, from which he soon disengaged him¬
self, and never subsequently took up the question at all.
The great William Sherard, while returning in 1718
from Smyrna through Germany, met with Dilienius, whose
scientific merit could not have escaped so eminent a bo¬
tanist. He brought him to England in 1721, and excited
him to publish, in 1724, that valuable enlarged edition of
Ray’s Synopsis of British plants, which has ever since
been in general use, and which the editor enriched with
engravings of his own. In this publication, compared with
the Catalogus of the plants of Giessen above mentioned,
we cannot but perceive the difference between an author
working upon his own original materials, and the com¬
mentator or illustrator of the labours of another. Though
Dilienius made numerous and correct additions to Ray’s
work, in the cryptogamic tribes at least, he rather confused
than improved the other parts of the book, especially with
regard to synonyms, in which department he was never
supremely accurate.
In 1732 Dilienius published his magnificent Hortus El-
thamensis, in two volumes folio, containing 324 plates, en¬
graved on pewter, with his own hand. Their merit con¬
sists in their very great precision and fidelity. The descrip¬
tions, and historical as well as botanical remarks, render
this a classical book in botany. Its style is good, and the
whole performance is worthy of the author, and of his
eminent patron, whose brother, Dr James Sherard, was
the owner of the garden at Eltham, which furnished the
D I L DIM 31
Jillingen rich materials of this publication. Before this book ap-
’ . II peared, its author was established at Oxford, in the new
timache. professorship founded there by the will of William She-
rard, who died in August 1728, and who left L.3000 for
the purpose, besides his own library, manuscripts, and
ample herbarium. Dillenius took the degree of M. D. in
this university in 1735, though he had previously obtained
the same rank at Giessen; and he now devoted himself
to the completion of the Pinax, or universal collection of
synonyms, which was Sherard’s chief object in this foun¬
dation. The work was never finished; for indeed nei¬
ther Dillenius nor any one else could even at that time
be competent to it: still less, as botanists and botanical
works multiplied excessively, was this undertaking prac¬
ticable. The publications of Linnaeus soon rendered it
unnecessary. That illustrious foreigner in 1736 visited
Dillenius, who was desirous of fixing him here as his co¬
adjutor; but to this scheme there were several impedi¬
ments. Nevertheless these distinguished men continued
ever after in correspondence, certainly to the advantage
of their common study, except in one but too important
instance. We allude to the theory of the fructification of
mosses, in which Linnaeus implicitly adopted the faulty
opinion of the Oxford professor, contrary to his own bet¬
ter observation and judgment, taking the capsule for the
anther. This leads us to mention the immortal work on
which the fame of Dillenius rests, and which, in its way,
will never be excelled, the Historia Muscorum, published
in 1741, in one quarto volume, with eighty-five plates,
drawn and engraved by the author. In this performance,
laborious investigation, acute discrimination, supreme ac¬
curacy, and profound learning, are displayed beyond all
example or comparison. Following inquirers, like the ce¬
lebrated Hedwig, may, with better helps, have examined
the same objects more deeply; but none has taken so
complete a view of the subject, nor made so very few mis¬
takes. No botanical book perhaps is so perfect in syno¬
nyms. Whether the labour of this undertaking was too
much for the health of its author, or whether his seden¬
tary mode of life was, on the whole, injurious, we have no
particular information; but he began, soon after the pub¬
lication of the Historia Muscorum, to complain of ill health
and advancing age. He was of a short stature and cor¬
pulent habit, and died of an apoplexy on the 2d April
1747, in his sixtieth year. A picture of this distinguished
botanist is preserved in the picture-gallery at Oxford,
from which a print has been published in Sim’s and Ko-
nig’s Annals of Botany, vol. ii. Dillenius is said to have
been amiable and respectable in his private character. He
never married. His books, collection of mosses refer¬
ring to his great work, with many drawings, especially of
Fungi, were bought by his successor Dr Humphrey Sib-
thorp, and added to the Sherardian Museum, where they
still remain. x>)
DILLINGEN, a bailiwick in the circle of Upper Da¬
nube, of the kingdom of Bavaria. It extends over seventy
square miles, or 44,800 acres, and contains one city, one
town, and twenty-two villages, with 10,804 inhabitants.
The capital, of the same name, situated on the Danube,
contains 550 houses, and 3118 inhabitants, who are chiefly
employed in iron-works, but some in making paper.
DILUTE. To dilute a body is to render it liquid, or
if liquid before, to render it more so by the addition of a
thinner fluid. The fluids thus added are called diluents.
DIMACHE (from dig, double, and yayjn, I fight), in
Antiquity, a kind of horsemen first instituted by Alex¬
ander. Their armour was lighter than that of the infan¬
try, and at the same time heavier than that used by ca-
vahy, so that they could act as horse or foot as occasion
required.
DIMENSION, in Geometry, is either length, breadth, or Dimension
thickness. Hence a line has one dimension, or length; II
a superficies two, or length and breadth; and a body or Dimsdale.
solid has three, or length, breadth, and thickness. -y--^
DIMINUTION, in Architecture, a contraction of the
upper part of a column, by which its diameter is made
less than that of the lower part.
Diminution, in Music, is the abating something of the
full value or quantity of any note.
DIMINUTIVE, in Grammar, a word formed from some
other, to soften or diminish the force of it, or to signify that
a thing is little in its kind. Thus, cellule is a diminutive of
cell, globule of globe, hillock of hill.
DIMISSORY Letters (JLiterce Dimissorice), in the
canon law, a letter given by a bishop to a candidate for
holy orders, having a title in his diocese, directed to some
other bishop, and giving permission for the ordination of
the bearer thereof.
When a person produces letters of ordination or ton-
sure conferred by any other than his own diocesan, he must
at the same time, on pain of nullity, produce the letters
dimissory given by his own bishop. Letters dimissory can¬
not be given by the chapter, sede vacante; this being
deemed an act of voluntary jurisdiction, which ought to
be reserved to the successor.
DIMCEIUTiE, a name given to the Apollinarists, who
at first held that the Word only assumed a human body,
without taking a reasonable soul; but being at length con¬
vinced by formal texts of Scripture, they allowed that he did
assume a soul, though without understanding, the Word
supplying the want of that faculty. From this way of se¬
parating the understanding from the soul, they came to be
denominated dimcerites, that is, dividers, separators, from
dta, and yoiguu, I divide.
DIMOTIKA, a city in the Turkish province of Galli¬
poli, where the rivers Moritza and Kisilnehr join. It con¬
tains about 8000 inhabitants, partly Greeks. The chief
employment consists in making silk and cotton goods. The
citadel served as a residence for the grand signior before
the conquest of Constantinople.
DIMSDALE, Thomas, Baron, greatly distinguished
by his practice of inoculation for the small-pox, was the
son of a surgeon and apothecary at Theydon-Gernon, in
Essex, and was born in the year 1712. His family be¬
longed to the society of Quakers ; and his grandfather ac¬
companied William Penn to America, but soon afterwards
returned and settled in his native village. Thomas was
brought up to his profession, first under his father, and
afterwards in St Thomas Hospital, London. He commen¬
ced his practice at Hertford about 1734, and married the
only daughter of Nathaniel Brassey, of Roxford, near that
town, an eminent banker in London, and representative of
Hertford in four successive parliaments. But this lady
died in 1744, leaving no children. To relieve his mind
under the loss of his wife, he voluntarily offered his as¬
sistance to the physicians and surgeons in the army under
the Duke of Cumberland, and continued with it until after
the surrender of Carlisle to the king’s forces, when he re¬
ceived the duke’s thanks, and returned to Hertford. In
1746 he married Anne lies, a relation of his first wife, and
by her fortune, and that which he had acquired by the
death of the widow of Sir John Dimsdale of Hertford, he
retired from practice; but his family becoming numerous,
and seven of his ten children being living, he resumed it,
and took the degree of doctor of medicine in 1761. Hav¬
ing fully satisfied himself concerning the new method of
treating persons under inoculation for the small-pox, he
published his treatise on this subject in 1776, and it was
soon circulated all over the Continent, and translated into
all the modern languages, not excepting the Russian. He
32 DIN
Dinage- concludes with saying that, “ although the whole process
Pore- may have some share in the success, it, in my opinion,
consists chiefly in the method of inoculating with recent
fluid matter, and the management of the patients at the
time of eruption.” This proof of his professional know¬
ledge occasioned his being invited to inoculate the Em¬
press Catherine and her son in 1768, of which he gives
a particular account in his Tracts on Innoculation, 1781.
His reward for this was an appointment of actual coun¬
sellor of state and physician to her imperial majesty, with
an annuity of L.500; the rank of aTaron of the Russian em¬
pire, to be borne by his eldest lawful descendant in succes¬
sion, and a black wing of the Russian eagle in a gold shield
in the middle of his arms, with the customary helmet,
adorned with the baron’s coronet, over the shield: he also
received immediately L.10,000, and L.2000 for travelling
charges, besides miniature pictures of the empress and her
son, and the same title to his son, to whom the grand duke
gave a gold snuff-box, richly set with diamonds. The ba¬
ron inoculated numbers of people at Moscow ; and, resist¬
ing the empress’s invitation to reside as her physician in
Russia, he and his son were admitted to a private audience
of Frederick II. king of Prussia, at Sans Souci, and thence
returned to England. In 1779 he lost his second wife,
who left him seven children. But he afterwards married
Elizabeth, daughter of William Dimsdale of Bishops-Stort-
ford, who survived him. He was elected representative
of the borough of Hertford in 1780; and declined all prac¬
tice, except for the relief of the poor. He went to Rus¬
sia once more in 1781, in order to inoculate the late em¬
peror and his brother Constantine, sons of the grand duke ;
and as he passed through Brussels, the Emperor Joseph
received him in private, and wrote in his presence a letter,
which he was to convey to the Empress of Russia. In
1790, his son, Baron Nathaniel, was elected member for
the borough of Hertford, on his resignation and retirement
to Bath for several winters ; but at last he fixed altogether
at Hertford, and died, at the age of eighty-nine, on the
30th December 1800, after an illness of about three weeks.
About seventeen years before his death he felt the sight
of one eye declining, having before lost that of the other,
but recovered both by the operation of the cataract, by
Wenzel.
DINAGEPORE, a district of Bengal, situated chiefly
between the 25th and 26th degrees of N. lat. On the
north it is bounded by Rungpoor and Purneah; on the
south by Raujeshy; and on the east by Rungpoor, Purneah,
and Rajemal. This district possesses a soil much diversified;
and the face of the country has a waving appearance, be¬
ing divided into small valleys, each about two or three miles
broad. These valleys are watered by small rivers, which
in the rainy season overflow the low lands, and swell into
large lakes fifty or sixty miles in length, which, while the
Ganges is in flood, have no outlet. They are thus not only
prevented from running off, but are so much increased as
to be navigable for vessels of considerable burden. After
the inundation runs off, these low lands are covered with a
luxuriant pasture, on which are fed numerous buffaloes, and
large herds of other cattle, or with rich crops of rice, which
is the great staple of agriculture; besides tobacco, indigo,
and hemp. The land does not answer for wheat or barley.
The soil of the elevated portions of the country is in ge¬
neral a stiff clay, in some places black and porous, in others
stiff and tenacious. Many sorts of fibrous plants for cor¬
dage and sackloth are sown in April, May, and June; se¬
veral sorts of pulse are also sown at the commencement
of the cold season ; and, where the soil is good, the sugar
cane is planted in February and March. The inhabitants
are in general extremely poor, and their farming utensils
are therefore proportionally rude. They are in the pro-
D I N
portion of four Hindus to one Mahommedan. The popu- Dinan
lation, according to the best statistical information that II
could be procured in answer to queries circulated in 1801
by the Marquis Wellesley, then governor-general, amount-
ed to 600,000. The capital, Dinagepore, is situated on an
island formed by the Pernabubah river. It is the residence
of a rajah, and a place of considerable trade. It is 162
miles north-north-east of Moorshedabad. Long. 89. 40. E.
Lat. 25. 37. N.
DINAN, an arrondissement in the department of the
Cote du Nord, in France. It extends over 576 square
miles, is divided into eight cantons and ninety-two com¬
munes, and contains 100,690 inhabitants. The chief place,
a city of the same name, strongly fortified, is situated on
a hill, at the foot of which the river Ranee flows. It is
built in an antiquated style, containing 6820 inhabitants,
who are employed in making linen from the excellent flax
which grows in its vicinity. Long. 2. 8. 25. W. Lat. 48. 27.
16. N.
DIN ANT, a city, the capital of a circle of the same
name, in the province of Namur, in the Netherlands. The
circle is divided into six cantons, and contains 92,756 in¬
habitants. The city is situated on the right bank of the
Maas, enclosed by steep hills. It contains 3631 inhabitants,
who are occupied with coppersmiths’ and ironmongery
wares.
DINAPOOR, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
Bahar, on the southern bank of the Ganges, two miles west
from Patna. Here is a military cantonment belonging to
the British, consisting of two handsome squares, built of
brick, and capable of containing 1200 European soldiers,
and the European officers of the native corps. Long. 85.
3. E. Lat 25. 38. N.
DINAZZANO, a town of Italy, in the province of Reg¬
gio, in the duchy of Modena, situated on the Tessone. It
contains 1800 inhabitants.
DINDIGUL, a district in the south of India, situated
between the 10th and 11th degrees of N. lat. To the north
it has Coimbetoor and Kistnagherry; to the south Tra-
vancore and Madura; on the east the Polygar territory
and Madura; and on the west Travancore, Cochin, and
Malabar. The principal rivers are the Noil and the Am-
ravati; and the chief towns Dindigul, Balny, and Pala-
petty. This district was conquered by the Mysore govern¬
ment in 1757. It was taken possession of by the British
in 1783, and subsequently restored to Tippoo Sultan. In
1792 it was again ceded to the British, and is now includ¬
ed in the collectorship of Madura. The capital is of the
same name ; it is a place of considerable consequence, and
possesses a strong fortress, situated on a rock. Long. 78.
5. E. Lat. 10. 22. N.
DINDING, a small island in the Straits of Malacca, at
the entrance of the river Pera, about twenty miles in cir¬
cumference. Long. 100. 36. E. Lat. 4. 15. N.
DINGWALL, a royal burgh of Scotland, and capital of
the county of Ross. It lies in a low situation at the mouth
of a glen opening into the north side of the Cromarty
Frith, near the western extremity of that estuary. The
town is rather neatly built, and consists of one main street,
from which several smaller ones branch off. The town-
house is a curious old building, and stands in the centre
of the place. The church is a plain edifice, on the north
side of the town, with an obelisk in its neighbourhood,
fifty-seven feet in height, erected to the memory of the
first Earl of Cromarty, who was buried here. This place
possesses a small harbour, near which formerly stood the
mansion of the powerful family of Ross; but of this prince¬
ly structure only a few fragments remain. Dingwall was
created a royal burgh by Alexander H.; and its charter
was renewed by James IV. Its civic governors are a
DIO
Dinkels* provost, two bailies, a dean of guild, treasurer, and ten
* buhl counsellors. There is a weekly market held on Friday, and
II two yearly fairs. It is distant 178 miles north-west from
^mcese*, Edinburgh. The population of the town and parish
amounted in 1821 to 2031, and in 1831 to 2124.
DINKELSBUHL, a city of the kingdom of Bavaria, in
the circle of Rezat, the chief place of a bailiwick. It is si¬
tuated on the river Wernitz, is fortified, and contains 900
houses, and 6450 inhabitants, who carry on manufactures
of woollen cloth, hats, stockings, and leather. The baili¬
wick, of the same name, extends over 902 square miles, or
577,280 English acres, and contains 10,350 inhabitants.
DINNER, the principal meal of the day. The word is
derived from the French disner, which Du Cange derives
from the barbarous Latin disnare; but Henry Stephens
derives it from the Greek buKvav, and contends that it
should be written dipner. Menage deduces it from the
Italian desinare, to dine; and that from the Latin desinere,
to leave off work.
DINOCRATES, a celebrated architect of Macedonia,
who rebuilt the temple of Ephesus, when burnt by Ero-
stratus, with much more magnificence than before. Vitru¬
vius informs us that Dinocrates proposed to Alexander
the Great to convert Mount Athos into the figure of a
man, whose left hand should contain a walled city, whilst
all the rivers of the mount should flow into his right, and
thence into the sea. He also conceived a scheme for build¬
ing the dome of the temple of Arsinoe at Alexandria of
loadstone, that by its attraction it should hold her iron
image in the centre, suspended in the air; projects which
at least showed great boldness and conception.
DINSLAKEN, a circle in the Prussian province of
Westphalia, a part of the ancient duchy of Cleves. It ex¬
tends over 201 square miles, or 128,640 English acres, and
comprehends five cities, one town, and thirty-one villages,
with 26,876 inhabitants. The chief place is a town of the
same name, situated on the Misine, and containing 1063
inhabitants.
DIO Chrysostom, that is, Golden Mouth, a celebrated
orator and philosopher of Greece, in the first century, was
born at Prusa in Bithynia. He attempted to persuade
Vespasian to renounce the empire ; and he was hated by
Domitian, but acquired the esteem of Trajan. This last
prince took pleasure in conversing wfith him, and made Dio
I ride with him in his triumphal chariot. There are still
extant eighty of his orations, and some other of his works;
the best edition of which is that of Hermand Samuel Rai-
marus, in 1750, folio.
DIOCESE, or Diocess, the circuit or extent of the
jurisdiction of a bishop. The word is formed from the
Greek dioaqais, government, administration, derived from
oionuc*}, which the ancient glossaries render administro,
moderor, ordino ; and hence bioixrfiig rrtg tfokiug, the admi¬
nistration or government of a citg.
Diocese is also used in ancient authors for the province
of a metropolitan.
Diocmsis (5;o/jcjj07s) was originally a civil government, or
prefecture, composed of different provinces.
I he first division of the empire into dioceses is ordi¬
narily ascribed to Constantine, who distributed the whole
Roman world into four, namely, the diocese of Italy, the
diocese of Illyria, that of the East, and that of Africa.
And yet long before the time of Constantine, Strabo, who
wrote under Tiberius, takes notice (lib. xiii. p. 432), that
the Romans had divided Asia into dioceses ; and he com¬
plains of the confusion which such a division occasioned in
geography, Asia being no longer divided by people, but by
dioceses, each of which had a tribunal or court, where jus¬
tice was administered. Constantine, therefore, was only
the institutor of those large dioceses, which comprehend-
VOL. VIII.
DIO 33
ed several metropolises and governments ; the former dio- Diodeia
ceses only comprehending one jurisdiction or district, or H
the country which had resort to one judge, as appears from ^)io(lati-
the above passage in Strabo, and also from two in Cicero
(lib. iii. epist. ad Famil. 9, and lib. xiii. ep. 67).
Thus at first a province included different dioceses, and
afterwards a diocese came to comprehend different provin¬
ces. In after times the Roman empire became divided into
thirteen dioceses or prefectures; though, including Rome
and the suburbic regions, there were fourteen. These
fourteen dioceses comprehended a hundred and twenty
provinces ; each province had a proconsul, who resided in
the capital or metropolis ; and each diocese of the empire
had a consul, who presided in the principal city of the
district.
On this civil constitution the ecclesiastical one w^as af¬
terwards regulated ; and each diocese had an ecclesiastical
vicar or primate, who judged finally of all the concerns of
the church within his territory. At present, however, dio¬
cese does not signify an assemblage of different provinces,
but is limited to a single province under a metropolitan,
or more commonly to the single jurisdiction of a bishop.
Brito affirms that diocese is properly the territory and
extent of a baptismal or parochial church ; and hence va¬
rious authors use the word to signify a simple parish. See
Parish.
DIOCLEIA (AiozXsia), in Antiquity, a solemnity ob¬
served during spring at Megara, in memory of the Athe¬
nian hero, who died in defence of the youth he loved.
DIOCLETIANUS, Caius Valerius Jovius, a cele¬
brated Roman emperor, born of an obscure family in Dal¬
matia in the year 245. Although originally a common
soldier, yet by merit and success he gradually rose to the
rank of general; and at the death of Numerian in 284 he
was invested with the imperial purple. In this high sta¬
tion he rewarded the virtues and fidelity of Maximian, who
had shared with him all the subordinate offices in the army,
by making him his colleague on the throne. He created
two subordinate emperors, Constantins and Galerius, whom
he called Caesars, whilst he claimed for himself and his
colleague the superior title of Augustus. Diocletian has
been celebrated for his military virtues; and although he
was naturally unpolished by education and study, yet he
was the friend and patron of learning and true genius.
He was bold and resolute, active and diligent, and well
acquainted with the arts, which endear a sovereign to
his people, and make him respectable even in the eyes
of his enemies. His cruelty, however, against the follow¬
ers of Christianity, has been deservedly branded with in-
famy. After he had reigned twenty-two years in the
greatest prosperity, he publicly abdicated the crown at
Nicomedia in 305, and retired to a private station at Sa-
lona. Maximian his colleague followed his example, but
not from choice; and when he some time afterwards en¬
deavoured to rouse the ambition of Diocletian, and to per¬
suade him to re-assume the purple, he received for answer,
that Diocletian took now more delight in cultivating his
little garden than he had formerly enjoyed in a palace,
when his pow er extended over all the Roman world. He
lived nine years after his abdication, in the greatest secu¬
rity and enjoyment, at Salona, and died in 314, in the
sixty-eighth year of his age. Diocletian is the first sove¬
reign who voluntarily resigned his power. His bloody per¬
secution of the Christians forms a chronological era, call¬
ed the era of Diocletian, or of the martyrs. It was for a
long time in use in theological writings, and is still preserv¬
ed by the Copts and Abyssinians. It commenced on the
29th August 284.
DIODATI, John, a famous minister, and professor of
theology at Geneva, was born at Lucca in 1579, and died
E
34 DIO
Diodorus at Geneva in 1652. He is distinguished by translations,
. tl 1. Of the Bible into Italian, with notes, Geneva, 1607, 4to.
^^logenes. keg{. ec(itjon js t}iat 0f Geneva in 1641, folio. This is
said f0 jjg niore a paraphrase than a translation, and the
notes are rather divine meditations than critical reflections.
2. Of the Bible into French, Geneva, 1644 ; 3. Of Father
Paul’s History of the Council of Trent into French.
DIODORUS, an historian, surnamed Siculus, because
he was born at Argyra, in Sicily. He wrote a history of
Egypt, Persia, Syria, Media, Greece, Rome, and Carth¬
age ; and it is said that he visited all the places of which
he has made mention in his history, which occupied the
labour of thirty years. Fie is, however, too credulous in
some of his narrations, and frequently wanders far from
the truth. He often dwells too long upon fabulous reports
and trifling incidents; whilst events of the greatest im¬
portance to history are treated with brevity, and sometimes
passed over in silence. He lived in the age of Julius Caesar
and Augustus; and spent much time at Rome in order to
procure information, and authenticate his historical narra¬
tions. This important work, which he composed in Greek,
contained forty books, of which there are only fifteen re¬
maining. The style is clear and neat, and very suitable
to history. The best edition is that of Wesseling, Amster¬
dam, 1745, in 2 vols. folio, with very learned and judicious
remarks. It has been reprinted with important additions
by the society of Deux-Ponts, 1793-1801, in 11 vols. 8vo.
The Latin translation of Poggio, Bologna, 1742, folio, is
very incomplete, and only sought after by reason of its
scarcity. Diodorus Siculus has been translated into French
by Terrasson, Paris, 1737, in 7 vols. 12mo.
DIOGENES of Apollonia, in the island of Crete, held
a considerable rank among the philosophers who taught in
Ionia before Socrates appeared at Athens. Fie was the
scholar and successor of Anaximenes, and in some mea¬
sure rectified his master’s opinion concerning air being
the cause of all things. It is said that he was the first
who observed that air was capable of condensation and
rarefaction. He passed for an excellent philosopher, and
died about the 450th year before the Christian era.
Diogenes the Cynic, a famous philosopher, was the son
of a banker of Sinope, in Pontus. Being banished with his
father for coining false money, he retired to Athens, where
he studied philosophy under Antisthenes. He added new
austerity to the sect of the Cynics, and never did any phi¬
losopher carry so far a contempt for the conveniences of
life. Fie was one of those men who push every thing to
excess, without excepting even reason itself; and who con¬
firm the saying, that there is no great genius without a tinc¬
ture of madness. He lodged in a tub: and had no other
moveables besides his staff, wallet, and wooden bowl, which
last he threw away on seeing a boy*drink out of the hollow
of his hand. He used to call himself a vagabond, who had
neither house, home, nor country; he was obliged to beg,
was ill clothed, and lived from hand to mouth, and yet, says
..Elian, he took as much pride in these things as Alexander
could in the conquest of the world. He was not indeed a
jot more humble than those who are clothed in rich ap¬
parel, and fare sumptuously every day. Fie looked down
on all the rest of the world with scorn ; he magisterially
censured all mankind, and thought himself unquestionably
superior to all other philosophers. Alexander one day paid
him a visit, and made him an offer of riches, or any thing
else ; but all that the philosopher requested of him was, to
stand from betwixt him and the sun. The conqueror was
so affected with the vigour and elevation of his soul, as to
declare that, “ if he v/ere not Alexander, he would choose
to be Diogenes;” that is, if he were not in possession of all
that was pompous and splendid in life, he would, like Dio¬
genes, heroically despise it. Diogenes had great presence
DIO
of mind, as appears from his sharp sayings and quick repar- Diogene:
tees; and Plato seems to have hit off his true character
when he called him a Socrates run mad. He spent a
great part of his life at Corinth. The reason of his living
there was curious and characteristic. As he was going over
to the island vEgina, he was taken by pirates, who carried
him into Crete, and there exposed him to sale. He answer¬
ed the crier, who asked him what he could do, that “ he
knew how to command men ;” and perceiving a Corinthian
who was passing by, he showed him to the crier, and said,
“ Sell me to that gentleman, for he wants a master.” Xeni-
ades, for that was the Corinthian’s name, bought Diogenes,
and carried him to Corinth, where he appointed him tutor
to his children, and intrusted him also with the manage¬
ment of his house. Diogenes’s friends being desirous to
redeem him, “ You are fools,” said he ; “ the lions are not
the slaves of those who feed them, but they are the ser¬
vants of the lions.” He therefore plainly told Xeniades
that he ought to obey him, as people obey their governors
and physicians. Some say that Diogenes spent the re¬
mainder of his life in Xeniades’s family; but Dion Chry¬
sostom asserts that he passed the winter at Athens and
the summer at Corinth. He died at Corinth when he was
about ninety years old ; but authors are not agreed either
as to the time or the manner of his death. The following
account, Jerome says, is the true one. As he was going to
the Olympic games, a fever seized him by the way ; upon
which he lay down under a tree,- and refused the assist¬
ance of those who accompanied him, and who offered him
either a horse or a chariot. “ Go you to the games,” said
he, “ and leave me to contend with my illness. If I con¬
quer, I will follow you; if I am conquered, I shall go to
the shades below.” He dispatched himself that very
night; saying, that “ he did not so properly die, as get rid
of his fever.” He had for his disciples Onesicritus, Pho-
cion, Stilpo of Megara, and several other great men. His
works are lost.
Diogenes Laertius, so called from Laertia, in Cilicia,
where he was born, an ancient Greek author, who wrote
ten books of the Lives of the Philosophers, still extant.
In what year he flourished it is not easy to determine. The
oldest writers who mention him are Sopater Alexandrinus,
who lived in the time of Constantine the Great, and
Hesychius Milesius, who lived under Justinian. Diogenes
often speaks in terms of approbation of Plutarch and Pha-
vorinus; and therefore, as Plutarch lived under Trajan,
and Phavorinus under Hadrian, it is certain that he could
not flourish before the reigns of those emperors. Manage
has fixed him as contemporary with Severus, that is, about
the year of Christ 200. From certain expressions of his,
some have fancied him to have been a Christian; but, as
Menage observes, the immoderate praises he bestows upon
Epicurus will not permit us to believe this, but must in¬
cline us rather to suppose that he was an Epicurean. He
divided his Lives into books, and inscribed them to a
learned lady of the Platonic school, as he himself inti¬
mates in his life of Plato. Montaigne was so fond of this
author, that, instead of one Laertius, he wishes we had
a dozen ; and Vossius says that his work is as precious as
gold. Without doubt, we are greatly obliged to him for
what we know of the ancient philosophers; and if he had
been as exact in writing as he was judicious in the choice
of his subject, we should have been still more obliged
to him. Bishop Burnet, in the preface to his life of Sir
Matthew Hale, speaks of him in the following proper
manner; “ There is no book the ancients have left us,
which might have informed us more than Diogenes Laer¬
tius’s Lives of the Philosophers, if he had had the art of
writing equal to that great subject which he undertook;
for if he had given the world such an account of them as
D I O
Homedes Gassendushas done of Peiresc, how great a stock of know-
♦ II ledge might we have had, which by his unskilfulness is in
' a great measure lost, since we must now depend only qn
him, because we have no other and better author who has
written on that subject.” There have been several edi¬
tions of his Lives of the Philosophers; but the best is that
printed in two volumes 4to, at Amsterdam, 1693. This
contains the advantages of all the former, besides some
which are peculiar to itself; such as the Greek text and
the Latin version corrected and amended by Meibomius ;
the entire notes of Henry Stephens, of both the Casau-
bons, and of Menage; and twenty-four copperplates of
philosophers, elegantly engraved; to which is added, The
History of the Female Philosophers, written by Menage,
and dedicated to Madame Dacier. Besides this, Laer¬
tius wrote a book of Epigrams upon illustrious Men, call¬
ed Pammetrus, from its various kinds of metre; but this
is not now extant.
DIOMEDES, son of Tydeus and Diephyle, was king
of iEtolia, and one of the bravest of the Grecian chiefs in
the Trojan war. He often engaged Hector and Aineas,
and obtained much military glory. He went with Ulys¬
ses to steal the Palladium from the temple of Minerva in
Troy; and assisted in murdering Rhesus, king of Thrace,
and in carrying away his horses. On his return from the
siege of Troy he lost his way in the darkness of night, and
landed in Attica, where his companions plundered the
country, and lost the Trojan Palladium. During his long
absence, his wife iEgiale forgot her marriage vows, and
prostituted herself to Cometes, one of her servants. This
lasciviousness of the queen was attributed by some to the
resentmentof Venus, whom Diomedes had severely wound¬
ed in a battle before Troy. The infidelity of iEgiale prov¬
ed highly displeasing to Diomedes. Pic resolved to abandon
his native country, which was the seat of his disgrace;
and the attempts of his wife to take away his life contri¬
buted, according to some accounts, to hasten his depar¬
ture. He proceeded to that part of Italy afterwards
named Magna Graecia, where he built a city, which he
called Argyrippa, and married the daughter of Daunus,
the king of ^the country; and he died there in extreme
old age, or, according to a certain tradition, he perished by
the hand of his father-in-law. His death was greatly la¬
mented by his companions, who in the excess of their grief
were changed into birds resembling swans, which took
flight into a neighbouring island in the Adriatic, and be¬
came remarkable no less for the tameness with which they
approached the Greeks, than for the horror with which
they shunned all other nations. They were called the
birds of Diomed. Altars were raised to Diomedes as to a
god, one of which Strabo mentions at Timavus.
DION, a Syracusan, son of Hipparinus, famous for his
power and abilities. He was related to Dionysius, and often,
along with the philosopher Plato, who had come to reside
at the tyrant’s court, advised him to lay aside the supreme
power. But his great popularity rendered him odious in
the eyes of the tyrant, who banished him to Greece.
I here, however, he collected a numerous force, and re¬
solved to free his country from tyranny ; an achievement
which he easily eftected, on account of his uncommon po¬
pularity. He entered the port of Syracuse with only two
ships, and in three days reduced under his power an em¬
pire which had already subsisted for fifty years, and which
was guarded by five hundred ships of war, and above a
hundred thousand troops. The tyrant fled to Corinth, and
Dion kept the power in his own hands, fearful of the aspir¬
ing ambition of some of the friends of Dionysius; but he
was shamefully betrayed and murdered by one of his fami¬
liar friends, called Callicrates or Callipus, 354 years be¬
fore the Christian era.
dio 35
Dion Cassius, a native of Nicrna, in Bithynia, whose fa- Dion
ther's name was Apronianus. He was raised to the great- Cassius
est offices of state in the Roman empire by Pertinax andlv H .
his three successors. Being naturally fond of study, he
improved himself by unwearied application, and spent ten
years in collecting materials for a history of Rome, which
he published in eighty books, after a laborious employment
of twelve years in composing it. This valuable history
commenced with the arrival of iEneas in Italy, and ex¬
tended to the reign of the Emperor Alexander Severus.
The first thirty-four books are totally lost; the twenty
following, that is, from the thirty-fifth to the fifty-fourth,
remain entire; the six following are mutilated; and frag¬
ments are all that we possess of the last twenty. In the
compilation of this extensive history, Dion proposed to
himself Thucydides as a model, but he is not perfectly
happy in his imitation. His style is pure and elegant,
his narrations are judiciously managed, and his reflections
are generally learned; but, upon the whole, he is credu¬
lous, and the bigoted slave of partiality, satire, and flattery.
He inveighs against the republican principles of Brutus
and Cicero, and extols the cause of Caesar. Seneca is the
object of his satire, and is represented by the historian as
debauched and licentious in his morals.
DIONIS, Peter, born at Paris, was one of the greatest
surgeons of the eighteenth century. In the time of Louis
XIV. he was appointed anatomical and chirurgical de¬
monstrator in the Garden of Plants, and he was the first
who held that place. He was surgeon in ordinary to
Maria Theresa of Austria, queen of France, and to two
dauphinesses and the royal children. He was the author
of several works, both on anatomical and surgical sub¬
jects. One of the first of his publications is entitled Ana¬
tomic dc V Homme, suivant la circulation du sang, et les nou-
velles decouvertes, 8vo, which appeared in 1690, and has
been frequently reprinted, and translated into different
languages. It was translated into the Tartar dialect, by
a Jesuit, for the use of Kang-hi, emperor of China. This
work has been considered as a useful compendium of ana¬
tomy. In another work which he published in 1698, en¬
titled Dissertation Historique et Physique sur la Genera¬
tion de VHomme, he supports the ovarian hypothesis. In
1707 he published a work on surgery, entitled Cours
d' Operations de Chirurgerie, 8vo, which was several times
reprinted; and latterly it was edited with notes by La-
faye, in two vols. This treatise was long received as a
standard book on the subject. It contains many useful
and pertinent observations, detailed in plain, unaffected
language. Dionis is the author of two other works; the
first, Dissertation sur la Mart Subite, 12mo, published in
1709, and the other Traite Generale des Accouchements in
1718, 8vo. But the last is little else than an abridgment
of Mauriceau’s work on the same subject. Dionis died at
Paris on the 11th December 1718.
DION\ SIA, in Grecian antiquity, solemnities in honour
of Bacchus, sometimes called by the general name of Or-
gia, and by the Romans Dacchanalia and Liberalia.
DIONYSIACA, in Antiquity, was a designation given
to plays and all manner of sports acted on the stage; be¬
cause playhouses were dedicated to Dionysius or Bacchus,
and Venus, as being the deities of sports and pleasure.
DIONF8IUS I. from a private secretary became gene¬
ral and tyrant of Syracuse and all Sicily. He was like¬
wise a poet; and having, by bribes, gained the tragic
prize at Athens, he indulged himself so immoderately at
table from excess of joy, that he died of the debauch, 368
b. c.; but some authors assert that he was poisoned by
his physicians.
Dionysius II. his son and successor, was a greater
tyrant than his father. His subjects were obliged to apply
36 DIO
Dionysius to the Corinthians for succour; and Timoleon, their gene-
II ral, having conquered the tyrant, forced him to flee to Co-
1°Psan' rinth, where, it is said, he was. obliged to keep a school for
his subsistence. He died 343 b. c.
Dionysius Halicarnassensis, a celebrated historian, and
one of the most judicious critics of antiquity, was born
at Halicarnassus. After the battle of Actium he went to
Rome, where he staid twenty-two years under the reign
of Augustus, and there composed in Greek his History of
the Roman Antiquities, in twenty books, of which the first
eleven only are now remaining. There are also still ex¬
tant several of his critical works. The best edition of
the works of this author is that of Dr Hudson, Oxford,
1704, in Greek and Latin, 2 vols folio. It has been re¬
printed more correctly, with notes by Reiske, Leipzig,
1774-1777, in six vols. 8vo.
Dionysius, a learned geographer, to whom is attribut¬
ed a Periegesis, or Survey of the Earth, in Greek verse.
Some suppose that he lived in the time of Augustus; but
Scaliger and Salmasius place him under the reign of Seve-
rus, or of Marcus Aurelius. He wrote many other works,
but his Periegesis is the only one we have remaining, the
best and most useful edition of which is that improved
with notes and illustrations by Hill.
Dionysius Areopagita was born at Athens, and edu¬
cated there. He went afterwards to Heliopolis, in Egypt,
where, if we may credit some writers of his life, he beheld
that wonderful eclipse which happened at our Saviour’s
passion, and was urged by some extraordinary impulse to
cry out, Aid Dens patitur, aut cum patiente dolet, either
God himself suffers, or sympathises with him who does.
At his return to Athens he was elected into the court of
Areopagus, from which circumstance he derived his name
of Areopagite. About the year 50 he embraced Christi¬
anity; and, as some say, was appointed first bishop of
Athens by St Paul. Of his conversion we have an account
in the 17th chapter of the Acts of the Apostles. He is
supposed to have suffered martyrdom, but whether under
Domitian, Trajan, or Hadrian, is not certain. We have
nothing remaining under his name except what there is
every reason to believe spurious.
Dionysius the Lesser, a Scythian, who became abbot
of a monastery at Rome. He was the first who computed
time from the birth of Dionysius to Christ, and fixed that
great event according to the vulgar era. He was also a
learned canon law writer, and died about the year 540.
DIOPHANTINE Problems, in Mathematics, certain
questions relating to square and cube numbers, and right-
angled triangles, the nature of which was determined by
Diophantus, a mathematician of Alexandria, who is be¬
lieved to have lived about the third century. The works
of Diophantus were published with notes at Paris in 1621,
by Bachet de Meziriac; and another edition appeared in
1670, with observations on every question by M. Fermat.
DIOPHANTUS, a celebrated mathematician of Alex¬
andria, reputed to be the inventor of algebra. It is not
certain when Diophantus lived; some have placed him
before Christ, and some after, in the reigns of Nero and
the Antonines, but all with equal uncertainty. It seems
he is the same Diophantus who wrote the Canon Astrono-
micus, which, Suidas says, was commented- on by the cele¬
brated Hypatia, daughter of Theon of Alexandria. His
reputation must have been very high among the ancients,
since they ranked him with Pythagoras and Euclid in ma¬
thematical learning. Bachet, in his notes upon the fifth book
De Arithmeticis, has collected, from Diophantus’s epitaph
in the Anthologia, the following circumstances of his life,
namely, that he was married when he was thirty-three
years old, and had a son born five years thereafter; that
this son died when he was forty-two years of age, and that
DIP
his father did not survive him above four years. From Dioptase
this it appears that Diophantus was eighty-four years old II
when he died.
DIOPTASE oiHauy; the rhombohedral emerald ma-
lachite of Mohs. This is a very rare mineral; it occurs ^
in crystals of small dimensions, of a brilliant emerald green
colour, disposed in limestone, and is only found in the
Kirghese steppes, Siberia. See Mineralogy, Index.
DIOPTER, or Dioptra, the same with the index or
alhidade of an astrolabe, or other such instrument.
Dioptra was an instrument invented by Hipparchus,
which served several purposes, as to level water courses,
to take the height of towers or places at a distance, to de¬
termine the places, magnitudes, and distances of the pla¬
nets, and the like.
DIOPTRICS, that part of optics which treats of the
laws of refraction, and the effects which the refraction of
light has in vision. See Optics.
DIOSCORIDES, a physician of Cilicia, who lived, as
some suppose, in the age of Nero. He was originally a
soldier, but afterwards applied himself to study, and wrote
a book upon medicinal herbs.
DIOSCURIA (biod'/.o-jpu, from Aiog, Jupiter, and xougo/,
infants), in Antiquity, a festival in honour of the AwiSxovgoi,
or Castor and Pollux, M ho were reputed to be the sons of
Jupiter. It was observed by the Cyreneans, but especial¬
ly by the Spartans, whose country was believed to have
been honoured by the birth of these heroes. The solem¬
nity was full of mirth, being a time in which they shared
plentifully of the gifts of Bacchus, and diverted themselves
with sports, of which wrestling matches always formed a
part.
DIOSZEG, a market-town of Hungary, in the province
of Farther Theis, in the circle Grosswardein. It contains
a reformed and a Greek church, and 3500 inhabitants,
who are chiefly employed in the cultivation of vines and
of tobacco. Long. 21. 54. 5. E. Lat. 47. 31. 40. N.
DIPHTHONG, in Grammar, a double vowel, or the
mixture of two vowels pronounced together so as to make
one syllable.
The Latins pronounced the two vOMrels in their diph¬
thong ae or se, and oe or ce, much as we do, only that the
one was heard much weaker than the other, though the
division was made with all the delicacy imaginable. Diph¬
thongs with reference to sight, are distinguished from
those with reference to sound. In the former, either the
particular sound of each vowel is heard in the pronuncia¬
tion ; or the sound of one of them is drowned; or, lastly,
a new sound, different from either, results from both; but
the first of these only are real diphthongs, as being such
both to the eye and ear. Diphthongs with regard to the
ear are either formed of two vowels meeting in the same
syllable, or of two vowels whose sounds are severally
heard ; or of three vowels in the same syllable, which only
afford two sounds in the pronunciation.
English diphthongs, m itTThegard to the eye and ear, are
ai, au, ea, ee, ei, oo, ou. Improper English diphthongs,
with regard to the eye only, are aa, ae, eo, eu, ie, ei, oe,
ue, ui.
DIPLOMA, in a peculiar sense, is used for an instru¬
ment or license given by colleges, societies, and such like
bodies, to a clergyman to exercise the ministerial func¬
tion, or to a physician to practise the profession, after
passing examination, or admitting him to a degree.
DIPLOMATICS, the science of diplomas, or of an¬
cient literary monuments, public documents, and the like.
It does not, however, nor can it, absolutely extend its re¬
searches to antiquity, but is chiefly confined to the middle
age and the first centuries of modern times. For although
the ancients were accustomed to reduce their contracts
DIP
]ploma- and treaties into writing, yet they engraved them on tab¬
etics. lets of brass, copper, stone, or wood; and all that in the
first ages were not traced on brass or marble has perish¬
ed by the length of time and the number of destructive
events.
1. The word diploma signifies properly a letter or epistle
which is folded in the middle, and which consequently is
not open. But in more modern times the title has been
given to all ancient epistles, letters, literary monuments,
and public documents, and to all those pieces of writing
which the ancients called Syngrapha, Chirographa, Codi-
cilli, and the like. In the middle ages, and in the diplo¬
mas themselves, these writings are called Litterce, Prce-
cepta, Placita, Char tee indiculce, Sigilla, and Bullae ; as
also Panchartce, Pantochartce, Tractorice, Desaiptiones,
and so forth. The originals of these pieces are named
Examplaria or Autographa, Chartce authentiece, Origina-
lia, &c. and the copies, Apographa, Copice, Particulce, and
so on. The collections which have been made of them are
called Chartaria and Chartulia. The place where these
papers and documents were kept the ancients named
Scrinia, Tabularium, or AErarium, words which were de¬
rived from the tablets of brass, and, according to the
Greek idiom, Archeium or Archivum.
2. In order to understand the nature of these ancient
papers, diplomas, and manuscripts, and to distinguish the
authentic from the counterfeit, it is necessary to know
that the paper of the ancients came from Egypt, and was
formed of thin leaves or membranes taken from the
branches of a tree named Papyrus Biblum, or AEgyptia-
cum, and which were pasted one over the other with the
slime of the Nile, and pressed and polished with a pu¬
mice stone. This paper was very scarce, and it was of
various qualities, forms, and prices, which they distin¬
guished by the name of charta hieratica, luria, augusta,
amphitheatrica, sa'itica, tanirica, emporetica. They cut this
paper into square leaves, which they pasted one to the
other in order to make rolls of them, whence an entire
book was called volumen, from volvere, to roll, and the
leaves of which it consisted paginae. Sometimes, also,
they pasted ^he leaves all together by one of their extre¬
mities, as is now practised in binding; by this method
they formed the back of a book, and these the learned
called codices. They rolled the volume round a stick,
which they named umbilicus, and the two ends which pro¬
truded beyond the paper were called cornua. The title,
written on parchment in purple characters, was joined to
the last sheet, and served it as a cover. They made use
of all sorts of strings or ribands, and even sometimes of
locks, to close the book; and sometimes also it was put
into a case. But there is not now to be found, in any
library or cabinet whatsoever, any one of these volumes.
We have been assured, however, by a traveller, that he
had seen several of them in the ruins of Herculaneum,
but so damaged, and the paper so stiff and brittle, by length
of time, that it was impossible to unrol them, and, conse¬
quently, to make use of any of them ; for on the first touch
they fell into tatters.
3. We are ignorant of the precise time when our mo¬
dern paper was invented, and when people began to make
use of pens in writing instead of the stalks of reeds. The
ink which the ancients used was not made of vitriol and
galls, like the modern, but of soot. Sometimes also they
wrote with red ink made of vermilion, or in letters of gold
on purple or violet parchment. It is not difficult for those
who apply themselves to this study, to distinguish the
parchment of the ancients from that of the moderns, as
well as the ink; but that which best distinguishes the ori¬
ginal from the counterfeit is the writing or character itself,
which is so different in different centuries, that we may
dip 37
tell with certainty, within about forty or fifty years, when Diploma-
any diploma was written. There are two works which tics,
furnish the clearest lights on this matter, and which may
serve as sure guides in the judgments we may have occa¬
sion to form as to what are called ancient diplomas. The
one is the celebrated treatise on Diplomatics, by Mabil-
lon, and the other the first volume of the Chronicon Got-
vicense. We there find specimens of all the characters,
the flourishes, and different methods of writing, of every
age. For these matters, therefore, we must refer our read¬
ers to the works just mentioned.
4. All the diplomas are written in Latin, and conse¬
quently the letters and characters have a resemblance to
each other ; but there are certain strokes of the pen which
distinguish not only the ages, but also the different na¬
tions, as the writings of the Lombards, French, Saxons, and
so on. The letters in the diplomas also are usually longer
and less decided than those of manuscripts. There has also
been introduced a kind of court hand, of a very dispropor¬
tionate length, and the letters of which are called exiles
litterce crispce, ac protractiores. The first line of the diplo¬
ma, the signature of the sovereign, that of the chancellor,
notary, &c. are usually written in this character.
5. The signature of a diploma consists either of the sign
of the cross, or of a monogram or cipher, composed of the
letters of the names of those who subscribed it. The
initial letters of the name, and sometimes also the titles,
were placed about this cross. By degrees the custom
changed, and they invented other marks, as, for example,
the sign of Charlemagne, which was thus written :
R
K-f-S
L
They sometimes also added the dates and epoch of the
signature, the feasts of the church, the days of the calen¬
dar, and other like matters. The successive corruption
of the Latin language ; the style and orthography of each
age, as wgll as their different titles and forms ; the abbre¬
viations, accentuation, and punctuation, and the various
methods of writing the diphthongs ; all these matters unit¬
ed form so many characters and marks by which the au¬
thenticity of a diploma may be known.
6. The seal annexed to a diploma was anciently of
white wax, and was artfully imprinted on the parchment
itself. It was afterwards pendant from the paper, and
inclosed in a box or case, which was called bulla. There
are also some which have been stamped on metal, and
even on pure gold. When a diploma bears all the charac¬
ters which are requisite to the time and place where it is
supposed to be written, its authenticity is not to be
doubted; but at the same time we cannot examine these
too scrupulously, seeing that the monks and priests of
former ages were very adroit in making counterfeits, the
more so as they enjoyed the confidence of princes and
statesmen, and were even sometimes in possession of their
rings or seals.
7. With regard to manuscripts which were written be¬
fore the invention of printing, it is necessary to know their
nature, their essential qualities, and matter; to be able
to read them freely, and without error; to judge of their
antiquity by those characters which we have just men¬
tioned with reference to the diplomas; and to render them
of use in the sciences. As there are scarcely any of the
ancient codes now remaining written on the Egyptian
paper, or on wood, ivory, &c. we have only to consider
those which are written on parchment or vellum (mem-
braneos), and such as are written on our paper (chartaceos).
The former of these are in most esteem. With regard
38 PIP
Dipondius to the character, these codices are written either in square
II and capital letters, or in half square or round and small
NeeclkP letters. Those of the first kind are the most ancient.
There are no intervals between the words, no letters dif¬
ferent from the others at the beginning of any word, no
points, nor any other distinction. The codices which are
written in half square letters resemble those we have in
Gothic characters, as well for the age as the form of the
letters. Such as are written in round letters are not so
ancient as the former, and do not go higher than the ninth
or tenth century. These have spaces between the words,
and some punctuation ; but they are not so well written
as the preceding, and are frequently disfigured with com¬
ments. The codices are divided, according to the country,
into Lombard, Italian, Gaelic, Franco-Gaelic, Saxon, An¬
glo-Saxon, and so forth.
8. In the ancient Greek books they frequently termi¬
nated the periods of a discourse, instead of all other divi¬
sions, by lines, and these divisions were called, in Latin,
versus, a vertendo; for which reason these lines are still
more properly named versus than lineee. At the end of a
work the number of verses of which it consisted was put
down, in order that the copies might be more easily col¬
lated ; and it is in this sense that we are to understand
Tribonius, when he says that the Pandects contain 150,000
pcene versuum. These codices were likewise vel probce vel
deterioris notce, more or less perfect, not only with regard
to the calligraphy or beauty of the character, but also with
reference to the correctness of the text.
9. It is likewise necessary to observe, in ancient codices*
the abbreviations as they have been used in different cen¬
turies. Thus, for example, A. C. D. signifies Aulus Caius
Decimus ; Ap. Cn. Appius Cneius ; Aug. Imp. Augustus
Imperator. The characters which are called notce are such
as are not to be found in the alphabet; but which, not¬
withstanding, signify certain words. Lastly, the learned
divide all the ancient codices into codices minus raws, ra-
riores, editos, et. anecdotos. The critical art is here indis¬
pensably necessary; its researches, moreover, have no
bounds, and the more as the use of it augments gvery day,
by the discoveries which are made in languages, and by
the increase of erudition. The curious reader will find
much learned and valuable information on all these mat¬
ters in the work entitled Nouveau Trade de Diploma¬
tique, par deux Religitux de la Congregation de Saint
Maur, 6 tom. 4to, Paris, 1750-1765.
DIPONDIUS, in the language of Scripture, is used by
St Luke to signify a certain coin which was of very little
value. Our translation of the passage is, “ Are not two
sparrows sold for two farthings?” In St Matthew, who
relates the same thing, we read “ Are not two sparrows
sold for a farthing ?” The Greek reads assarion instead
of as. Now assarion, according to some, was worth half
an as, that is to say, four French deniers and ^th ; and, ac¬
cording to others, two deniers and ygth. Dipondius seems
rather to signify half an as. See Calmet, Diction. Bibl.;
Luke, xii. 6 ; Matt. x. 29. But Dr Arbuthnot differs in
opinion from the author last quoted. He says that this
coin was at first libralis, or of a pound weight; and that
even when diminished, it retained the name of libella.
So that dipondius denotes two asses.
DIPPING, among miners, signifies the interruption or
breaking off the veins of ore; an accident which gives them
a great deal of trouble before they can discover the ore
again. See Mining.
Dipping Needle, an instrument used for observing the
quantity of inclination towards the earth, assumed by any
needle or other body after it has acquired the magnetic
virtue. This was first observed by one Robert Norman,
an Englishman, and a maker of compasses for mariners, in
D I P
the end of the sixteenth century, who finding that he was Lippold;
always obliged to counterbalance that end which turns to walde
the north by a bit of wax or such other substance, though II
the balance had been ever so exact before, published an
account of his discovery as a matter of importance. The ^
subject was instantly attended to ; and instruments were
not only contrived for ascertaining the quantity of the
dip, but various speculations were formed concerning the
cause of so surprising a phenomenon.
The general phenomena of the dipping needle are,
that about the equatorial parts of the earth it remains in
a horizontal position, but depresses one end as we recede
from these ; the north end if we go towards the north, and
the south end if we proceed towards the south pole. The
farther north or south that we go the inclination becomes
the greater; but there is no part of the globe hitherto
discovered where it points directly downwards, though it
is supposed that it would do so in some part very near the
pole. Its inclination is likewise found to vary very con¬
siderably at different times in different places of the earth,
and by some changes of situation, in such a manner as
must appear at first sight very unaccountable. Of all
those who have attempted the investigation of this obscure
subject, none has been more successful than M. Cavallo,
who in his Treatise on Magnetism has paid particular
attention to all the phenomena, and accounted for them
upon plain and rational principles. The voyages to the
arctic regions, in search of a north-west passage, have
led to a great accumulation of observations by means of
the dipping-needle. See Magnetism.
DIFPOLDISWALDE, a bailiwick in the kingdom of
Saxony, in the circle of Meissen, extending over fifty-five
square miles, or 35,200 acres, and containing 9800 inha¬
bitants. The chief place, of the same name, is situated on
the river Weisseritz, and contains 246 houses and 1400
inhabitants, occupied in distilleries, in weaving cloth, and
in bleaching linen yarn.
DIPSAS, a sort of serpent, the bite of which produces
such a thirst as proves mortal; and hence its name dipsas,
which signifies thirsty. In Latin it is called situla, a pail.
DIPTERA (from big, and ‘Tregov, wing), in Zoology, an
order of insects which have only two wings, and under
each wing a style, or oblong body, terminated by a protu¬
berance or head, and called a balancer. See Entomo¬
logy, Index.
DIPTOTES, in Grammar, are such nouns as have only
two cases, as suppetice, suppetias, and so on.
DIPTYCHA, in Antiquity, a public register, wherein
were written the names of the consuls and other magi¬
strates, among the heathens; and of bishops, and defunct
as well as surviving brethren, among the Christians.
The word is formed from the Greek biftTuygH, or bift-
wya, and that from 8/crru^, a masculine noun derived from
rrruMo}, I fold or plait. From its future tfrvi'u is formed
vrvi', a fold or plait, to which adding big, twice, we have
biirn^, in the genitive biftrvyog, whence comes the nomi¬
native neuter bivruyov, a book folded in two leaves ; though
there were some in three, and others in four or five leaves.
An ingenious author imagines this name to have been first
given them in order to distinguish these leaves from the
books which were rolled, and hence called volumina.
It is certain there were profane diptycha in the Greek
empire, as well as sacred ones in the Greek church. The
former were the matricula or registers, wherein the names
of the magistrates were entered; in which sense diptycha
is a term in the Greek chancery.
Sacred Diptycha. The word is plural; diptycha being
a double catalogue, in one part of which were written the
names of the living, and in the other those of the dead,
which were to be rehearsed during the office. We meet
D I S
D I S
39
Dirse
I 'I
Dis.
with something not unlike the sacred diptycha of the
Greeks in the canon of the mass according to the Latin
usage, where the people are enjoined to pray once for the
J living and once for the dead, and where several saints are
invoked in different times. In such diptycha were entered
the names of bishops, who had governed their flock aright;
and these were never expunged, unless they were con¬
victed of heresy or some other gross crime. In the dipty¬
cha were likewise entered the names of such as had done
any signal service to the church, whether they were living
or dead ; and mention was made of them in the celebration
of the liturgy.
Casaubon, in his observations on Athenasus (lib. vi. cap.
14), supposes the Christians to have borrowed the custom
of writing names in a book, and rehearsing them at mass,
from the heathens, who entered the names of persons to
w'hom they wished to do any signal honour, in the verses
of the Salii, as was done in the case of Germanicus and
•Verus, sons of the emperor Marcus Aurelius, and a long
time before, during the age of the republic ; in that of Ma-
mercus Veturius and Lucia Volumnia, as we are told by
Tacitus, Spartian, Ovid, Festus, Plutarch, and others. But
Rosweyd does not approve of this notion of Casaubon;
and the pretended St Dionysius, a very ancient author,
asserts that this usage was originally founded on Scrip¬
ture (2 Tim. ii. 19; Psal.cxvi. 15). Rosweyd adds Eccle-
siasticus (xliv. 1), and takes these to have been the pas-
sagers the ancient church had a view to, rather than the
Salian verses.
The profane diptycha were frequently sent as presents
to princes and others, on which occasions they were fine¬
ly gilded and embellished; as appears from Symmachus
(lib. ii. ep. 81). Those presented were usually of ivory.
The first law, De Expens. Ludor. in C. Theod. forbids all
magistrates below the rank of consuls to make presents of
diptycha of ivory in the public ceremonies.
DIRiE, the general name of the three furies in the
Pagan system of mythology. They were so called, as be¬
ing quasi deorum irce, the ministers of divine vengeance
in punishing guilty souls after death. They were ac¬
counted the daughters of Night and Acheron.
DIRECT, in Arithmetic, is when the proportion of any
terms or quantities is in the natural or direct order in
which they stand, being the opposite inverse, which con¬
siders the proportion in the inverted order of the terms. So,
3 : 4 :: 6 : 8 directly; or 3 : 4 :: 8 : 6 inversely.
DIRECTION, in Mechanics, signifies the line or path
of a body’s motion, along which it endeavours to proceed
according to the force impressed upon it.
Direction, in Astronomy, the motion and other pheno¬
mena of a planet when direct.
Direction, in Astrobgy, is a kind of calculus, by which
it is pretended to find the time in which any notable acci¬
dent shall befal the person whose horoscope is drawn.
DIRECTOR, in commercial policy, a person who has
the management of the affairs of a trading company. Thus
we say, the directors of the India Company.
DIRIBITORES, among the Romans, officers appointed
to distribute tablets to the people at the comitia.
DIRIGENT, or Directrix, a term in geometry, signi¬
fying the line of motion along which the describing line or
surface is carried in the genesis of any plane or solid figure.
DIS, an inseparable article prefixed to various words,
the effect of which is either to give them a signification
contrary to what the simple words have, as disoblige, dis¬
obey ; or to signify a separation or detachment, as dispos¬
ing, distributing.
Dis, a god of the Gauls, the same as Pluto the god of
hell. The inhabitants of Gaul supposed themselves de¬
scended from that deity.
DISABILITY, in Law, is when a man is disabled, or Disability
made incapable to inherit any lands, or take that benefit II
which otherwise he might have done ; and this may hap- Discipline,
pen four ways; by the act of an ancestor, or of the party
himself, by the act of God, or by that of the law. 1. Dis¬
ability by the act of the ancestor is where the ancestor
is attainted of high treason, which corrupts the blood of
his children, so that they may not inherit his estate. 2.
Disability by the act of the party is where a man binds
himself by an obligation, that, upon surrender of a lease,
he will grant a new estate to a lessee; and afterwards he
grants over the reversion to another, which puts it out of
his power to perform it. 3. Disability by the act of God
is where a man is non sance memories, by which he is in¬
capable of making any grant, &c.; so that, if he pass an
estate out of him, it may after his death be made void :
but it is a maxim in law, “ that a man of full age shall
never be received to disable his own person.” 4. Dis¬
ability by the act of the law, is where a man by the law,
without any thing by him done, is rendered incapable of
the benefit of the law; as an alien born, or the like.
DISAPPOINTMENT, Islands of, a cluster of islands
in the Southern Pacific Ocean, so named by Commodore
Byron, who discovered them in 1765. The island seen
by Lord Byron had a beautiful appearance. The middle
of this cluster of islands lies in long. 145.4, W. lat. 14. 5. S.
DISC, in Antiquity, a quoit made of stone, iron, or
copper, five or six fingers broad, and more than a foot
long, inclining to an oval figure, which they hurled in form
of a bowl to a vast distance, by the help of a leathern
thong tied round the person’s hand who threw it, and put
through a hole in the middle. Homer has made Ajax and
Ulysses great artists at this sport.
L Disc, in Astronomy, the body and face of the sun and
moon, such as they appear to us on the earth ; or the body
and face of the earth, such as it appears to a spectator in
the moon.
Disc, in Optics, is the width of th^ aperture of telescope
glasses, whatever their form be, whether plane, convex,
concave, &c.
DISCIPLE, one who learns any thing from another;
and hence the followers of. any teacher, philosopher, &c.
are called disciples. In the Christian sense, they were fol¬
lowers of Jesus Christ in general; but in a more restrain¬
ed sense, the disciples denote those alone who were the
immediate followers and attendants on his person, of which
there were seventy or seventy-two. The names disciples
and apostles are often used synonymously in the gospel
history ; but sometimes the apostles are distinguished from
disciples, or persons selected out of the number of dis¬
ciples, to be the principal ministers of his religion. Of
these last there were only twelve. The Latins kept the
festival of the seventy or seventy-two disciples on the
15th July, and the Greeks on the 4th January.
DISCIPLINE, in a general sense, denotes instruction
and government, as military discipline, ecclesiastical dis¬
cipline, and the like.
Ecclesiastical discipline consists in putting those laws
in execution by which the church is governed, and inflict¬
ing the penalties enjoined by them against the several
sorts of offenders who profess the religion of Jesus. The
primitive church never pretended to exercise discipline
upon any but such as were within her pale, in the largest
sense, by some act of their own profession ; and even upon
these she never pretended to exercise her discipline so
far as to cancel or disannul their baptism ;—all that she
pretended to was to deprive men of the benefits of exter¬
nal communion, such as public prayer, receiving the eu-
charist, and other acts of divine worship. The church
discipline was only confined to the admonition of the
40
D I S
Discord.
Discipline party, and to the lesser and greater excommunication.
As to the objects of ecclesiastical discipline, they were all
such delinquents as fell into great and scandalous crimes
after baptism.
Discipline, in a more peculiar sense, is used to signify
the chastisements or bodily punishments inflicted on a
religious person of the Roman Catholic church who has
been found a delinquent; or even to indicate that which
religious persons voluntarily undergo or inflict on them¬
selves by way of mortification.
Book of Discipline, in the history of the church of
Scotland, is a common order, drawn up by the assembly
of ministers in 1650, for the reformation and uniformity
to be observed in the discipline and policy of the church.
In this book the government of the church by prelates is
set aside; church sessions are established ; the superstiti¬
ous observation of fast days and saints’ days is condemned ;
and other regulations for the government of the church
are determined. This book was approved by the privy
council, and is called the First Book of Discipline.
DISCORD, in general, signifies disagreement or oppo¬
sition between different persons or things.
Discord, in Music, is every sound which, joined with
another, forms an assemblage disagreeable to the ear; or
rather, every interval whose extremes do not coalesce.
Now, as there are no other concords or consonances, ex¬
cepting those wTiich form amongst themselves, and with
their fundamental sound, perfect chords, it follows that
every interval must be a real dissonance or discord; even
the third and sixth were reckoned such among the ancients,
who excluded them from the number of consonant chords.
The term dissonance, which is synonymous with discord,
is compounded of two words, namely, the inseparable pre¬
position dis and the verb sonare ; which, both in a literal
and metaphorical sense, signifies disagreement or disunion.
In reality, that which renders dissonances grating, is, that
the sounds which form them, so far from uniting in the
ear, seem to repel ea^h other, and are heard each by itself
as two distinct sounds, though produced at the same time.
This repulsion or violent oscillation of sounds is heard
more or less, as the vibrations which produce it are more
or less frequently coincident. When two vocal strings
are gradually tuned till they approach a consonant inter¬
val, the pulsations become slower as the chord grows
more just, till at last they are scarcely heard, if heard at
all; and hence it appears certain, that the pleasure pro¬
duced in us by harmony results from the more or less
exact and frequent coincidence or vibration ; though the
reason why this coincidence should afford pleasure, more
than any other modification or combination of sounds, ap¬
pears to us inscrutable. The agreeable effects of disso¬
nance in harmony are no objection to this theory ; since
it is allowed that the sensations excited by discord are
not in themselves immediately and necessarily pleasing,
but only please by auricular deception. The ear is sur¬
prised with the shock it receives, without being able to
imagine how it should have happened ; and in proportion
as it is harsh and grating, we feel the pleasure of return¬
ing harmony enhanced, and the disappointment of being
artfully and insensibly extricated more agreeable.
The name of dissonance is given sometimes to the in¬
terval, and sometimes also to each of the two sounds
which form it. But though two sounds equally form a
dissonance between themselves, this term is most fre¬
quently applied to that sound in particular which is most
extraneous to the chord.
The number of possible dissonances is indefinite ; but
as in music we exclude all intervals which are not found
in the system received, the number of dissonances is re¬
duced to a very few ; besides, in practice we can only se-
D I S
lect from those few such as are agreeable to the species, Discor
and the mode in which we compose; and from this last . il
number we must exclude such as cannot be used consist-
ently with the rules prescribed. But what, it may be
asked, are these rules ? Have they any foundation in na¬
ture, or are they merely arbitrary ? This is what Rous¬
seau, whom in this article we have followed or abandoned
as his observations appeared useful or frivolous, purposes
to investigate as its principal object.
But where does his scrutiny terminate ? Not in the
abolition of the rules prescribed. These have still sub¬
sisted, and will continue to subsist, while the frame of man,
and the nature of music, remain what they are. If, then,
the rules be permanent and universal, the principle upon
which they are founded may be latent or ambiguous; but
the rules themselves can never be purely arbitrary. How
else could it happen that Rameau, D’Alembert, and Rous¬
seau should admit the force and effect of these rules,
whilst each of these masters exerted his whole genius to
give a different account of their cause and origin? Rous¬
seau himself, as we have seen in a former article, incul¬
cates the necessity of dissonances for the completion of
harmony. (See Chord.) Now, if this be true, the easiest
methods of introducing and dismissing these discords must
be the most eligible, and of consequence the rules for
using them must be established. It is not then upon the
subsistence or demolition of any particular theory that
they depend. Were we to attend to the particular objec¬
tions which may be urged against any system whatever,
where is the theory which will be found proof against the
efforts of scepticism ? After all, the objections of Rous¬
seau to Rameau’s theory, as applied by D’Alembert to the
origin of consonances, appear to be much more frivolous
than the analogies from which he pretends that this origin
was deduced. It appears from D’Alembert’s exposition
of this theory, that, if not for all, it affords a solution for
the most material and essential phenomena in harmony,
which is sufficient for its establishment, until another can
be found w hich will give a rational and consistent account
of the whole; a discovery which has not yet been made.
But whilst we acknowledge the futility of Rousseau’s ob¬
jections against D’Alembert’s explication of dissonances,
we must at the same time admire the ingenuity with
which he has deduced them from principles purely mecha¬
nical, without departing from the system of Rameau.
This mechanical explication will be found in his Musical
Dictionary, under the article Dissonance.
Discord, the goddess of, in Pagan theology. She is
represented by Aristides with fiery eyes, a pale counte¬
nance, livid lips, and wearing a dagger in her bosom. It
was she who at the marriage of Peleus and Thetis threw
in the golden apple, on which was written “ To the fairest,”
and which occasioned a contention between the goddesses
Juno, Minerva, and Venus, each pretending a title to the
apple. She was likewise called Ate and Eris.
DISCOUNT, in commerce, a term among traders, mer¬
chants, and bankers. It is used by the two former on oc¬
casion of their buying commodities on the usual term of
credit, with a condition that the seller shall allow the buyer
a certain discount at the rate of so much per cent, per an¬
num for the time for which the credit is generally given,
upon condition that the buyer pays ready money for such
commodities, instead of taking the ordinary credit. Trad¬
ers and merchants also frequently take promissory notes
for monies due payable to them or their order at a certain
time, and, sometimes having occasion for money before the
time is elapsed, get these notes discounted or cashed by
bankers before the time of payment. Bills of exchange
are also discounted by bankers; and in this consists one
article of the profits of banking.
D I S
D I S
41
Jiscrete
* II
fecussion
DISCRETE or Disjunct Proportion is when the
ratio of two or more pairs of numbers or quantities is the
‘same, but when there is not the same proportion between
all the four numbers. Thus, if the numbers 3 : 6 :: 8 : 16 be
considered, the ratio between 3 : 6 is the same as that be¬
tween 8 : 16, and therefore the numbers are proportional;
but it is only discretely or disjunctly, for 3 is not to 6 as
6 to 8 ; that is, the proportion is broken off between Sand
3, and is not continued as in the following continual pro¬
portionals, 3 : 6 :: 12 : 24.
Discrete Quantity is such as is not continued and
joined together. Such, for instance, is any number.
DISCRETION, the prudence or knowledge necessary
to govern one’s self properly.
There are many more shining qualities in the mind of
man, but there is none so useful as discretion. It is this
indeed which gives a value to all the rest, which sets them
at work in their proper times and places, and turns them
to the advantage of the person who is possessed of them.
Without discretion learning is pedantry, and wit imperti¬
nence ; virtue itself looks like weakness; and the best parts
only qualify a man to be more sprightly in errors, and ac¬
tive to his own prejudice.
Nor does discretion only make a man master of his own
parts, but of other men’s. The discreet man finds out the
talents of those he converses with, and knows how to
apply them to proper uses. Accordingly, if we look into
particular communities and divisions of men, we may ob¬
serve that it is the discreet man, not the witty, nor the
learned, nor the brave, who guides the conversation, and
prescribes measures to the society. A man with great ta¬
lents, but void of discretion, is, like Polyphemus in the
fable, strong and blind, endued with an irresistible force,
which for want of sight is of no use to him. Though a
man have all other perfections, and yet want discretion,
he will be of no great consequence in the world; but if
he have this single talent in perfection, and but a com¬
mon share of other endowments, he may do what he
pleases in his particular station of life.
It is proper, however, to distinguish between discretion
and cunning^; the latter being the accomplishment only
of little, mean, ungenerous minds. Discretion points out
the noblest end to us, and pursues the most proper and
laudable methods of attaining them ; cunning has only
private and selfish aims, and it sticks at nothing which may
make them succeed. Discretion has large and extensive
views, and, like a well-formed eye, commands a whole ho¬
rizon ; cunning is a kind of short-sightedness, which dis¬
covers the minutest objects that are near at hand, but is
not able to discern things at a distance. Discretion, the
more it is discovered, gives the greater authority to the
person who possesses it; cunning, when it is once detect¬
ed, loses its whole force, and makes a man incapable of
bringing about even those events which he might have
done had he passed only for a plain man. Discretion is the
perfection of reason, and a guide to us in all the duties of
life; cunning is a kind of instinct, which only looks out
after our immediate interest and welfare. Discretion is
only found in men of strong sense and good understand¬
ing ; cunning is often to be met with even in brutes them¬
selves, and in persons who are but few removes from them.
In short, cunning is only the mimic of discretion, and may
pass upon weak men for that which it imitates; in the
same manner as vivacity is often mistaken for wit, and
gravity for wisdom.
DISCUSSION, in matters of literature, signifies the
clear treating or handling of any particular point or pro¬
blem, so as to shake off the difficulties with which it is
embarrassed. Thus we say, such a point was well discuss-
ed, when it was properly treated and cleared up.
VOL. vm.
DISCUTIENTS, in Medicine, are such remedies as, by
their subtilty, dissolve a stagnating or coagulate fluid, and
dissipate the same without an external solution of conti¬
nuity.
DISDIACLASTIC Crystal, in Natural History, a
name given by Rartholine and some others to a mineral
substance, more usually called, from the place whence it
was first brought, Iceland crystal. See Mineralogy.
DISDIAPASON, or Bisdiapason, in Music, a com¬
pound concord, described by Parran, in the quadruple
ratio of 4 : 1, or 8: 2.
Disdiapason Diapente, a concord in a sextuple ratio of
1 : 6.
Discu-
tients
Dispart.
Disdiapson Semi-Diapente, a compound concord in the
proportion of 16 : 3.
Disdiapason Ditone, a compound consonance in the
proportion of 10 : 2.
Disdiapason Semi-Ditone, a compound concord in the
proportion of 24 : 5.
DISEASE has been variously defined by physicians,
almost every founder of a new system having given a de¬
finition of it, differing in some respects from his predeces¬
sors. See Medicine.
DISEMBOGUE. When a ship passes out of the
mouth of some great gulf or bay, this is called disembogu¬
ing. It is usual also to say of a river, that at such a place,
or after it has run so many leagues, it disembogues itself
into the sea.
DISFRANCHIZING, among civilians, signifies the de¬
priving a person of the rights and privileges of a free citi¬
zen or subject.
DISGUISE, a counterfeit habit. Persons doing un¬
lawful acts in disguise are by our statutes sometimes sub¬
jected to severe penalties, and even declared felons. Thus,
by an act commonly called the black act, persons appear¬
ing disguised and armed in a forest or grounds enclosed,
or hunting deer, or robbing a warren or a fish-pond, are
declared felons.
DISH, in mining, is a trough made of wood, about
twenty-eight inches long, four inches deep, and six inches
wide, by which all miners measure their ore. If any be
taken selling their ore, not having first measured it by the
bar-master’s dish, and paid the king’s duty, the seller for¬
feits his ore, and the buyer forfeits for every such offence
forty shillings to the lord of the field or farmer.
DISJUNCTIVE, something which separates or dis¬
joins. Thus, or, neither, &c. which, in connecting a dis¬
course, yet separate the parts of it, are called disjunctive
conjunctions.
DISLOCATION, the putting a bone out of joint by
some violence, usually called by the physicians luxation.
DISNA, a circle of the Russian government of Minsk.
The river Duna affords the means of conveying wood,
which is its chief produce, to Riga. It grows corn for its
consumption, and some flax, which is also sent to Riga.
I he chief town, of the same name, stands at the junction
of the river Dina with the Dima. Long. 27. 35. E. Lat.
54. 34. N.
DISPART, in Gunnery, is the setting a mark upon the
muzzle ring, or thereabouts, of a piece of ordnance, so that
a sight-line taken upon the top of the base ring against
the touch-hole, by the mark set on or near the muzzle,
may be parallel to the axis of the concave cylinder. The
common way of doing this is to take the two diameters
of the base ring, and of the place where the dispart is to
stand, and divide the difference between them into two
equal parts, one of which will be the length of the dispart
which is set on the gun with wax or pitch, or fastened
there with a piece of twine or marlin. By means of an
instrument it may be done with all possible nicety.
F
42 D I S D I S
Dispatch DISPATCH, a letter on some affair of state or other
II business of importance, sent with care and expedition, by
Di.sper- a courier express. The business of dispatches is conducted
by ^ie secretaries of state and their clerks. The king gives
^ directions to his ministers abroad by dispatches. The word
is also used for the packet or mail containing such letters.
The French, during the reign of Louis XIV., had a conseil
des depeches, or council of dispatches, held in the king’s
presence, at which the dauphin, the Duke of Orleans, the
chancellor, and four secretaries of state, assisted.
DISPAUPER. A person suing in forma pauperis is
said to be dispaupered, if, before the suit be ended, he have
any lands or other estate fallen to him, or if he have done
any thing to make him lose his privilege.
DISPENSARY, or Dispensatory, denotes a book con¬
taining the method of preparing the various kinds of me¬
dicines used in pharmacy. Such are those of Bauderon,
Quercetan, Zwelfer, Charas, Bate, Mesue, Salmon, Le-
mery, Quincy, and others; but the latest and most esteem¬
ed, besides the London and Edinburgh pharmacopoeias,
is the Edinburgh New Dispensatory, being an improvement
upon that of Dr Lewis.
Dispensary, or Dispensatory, is likewise a magazine or
office for selling medicines at prime cost to the poor. The
College of Physicians maintain three of these in London ;
one at the College itself in Warwick Lane, another in St
Peter’s Alley, Cornhill, and a third in St Martin’s Lane.
Dispensaries have also been established in several of the
principal towns in Scotland and England.
DISPERSION, in general, signifies the scattering or
dissipating something. Hence
Dispersion, in Optics, is the same with the divergency
of the rays of light.
Point of Dispersion is the point from which refracted
rays begin to diverge, where their refraction renders them
divergent.
Dispersion of Mankind, in the history of the world,
was occasioned by the confusion of tongues, and took place
in consequence of the overthrow of Babel at the birth of
Peleg (whence he derived his name) ; and by the account
given of his ancestors (Gen. chap. xi. 10-16) this appears
to have happened in the 101st year after the Flood, ac¬
cording to the Hebrew chronology, and by the Samaritan
computation in the 401st. However, various difficulties
have been suggested by chronologists concerning the true
era of this event. Sir John Marsham and others, in order
to reconcile the Hebrew and Egyptian chronologies, main¬
tain a dispersion of mankind before the birth of Peleg;
whilst others, unable to find numbers sufficient for the
plantation of colonies in the space of 101 years, according
to the Hebrew computation, fix the dispersion towards the
end of Peleg’s life, thus following the computation of the
Jews. Petavius assigns the 15Sd year after the Flood;
Cumberland the 180th; and Usher, though he generally
refers it to the time of Peleg’s birth, in one place assigns
the 131st after the Flood for this event. Mr Shuckford
supposes the dispersion to have been gradual, and to have
commenced with the separation of some companies at the
birth of Peleg, and to have been completed thirty-one
years afterwards. According to the calculation of Petavius,
the number of inhabitants on the earth at the birth of
Peleg amounted to 32,768 ; but Cumberland makes them
30,000; Mr Mede states them at only 7000 men, besides
women and children; and Mr Whiston, who supposes that
mankind now double themselves iu about 400 years, and
that they doubled themselves between the deluge and the
time of David in sixty years at a medium, when their lives
were six or seven times as long as they have been since, by
his computation produces about 2389; a number much too
inconsiderable for the purposes of separating and forming
distinct nations. This difficulty induced Mr Whiston to Dispers
reject the Hebrew and to adopt the Samaritan chronology,
as many others have done; which, by allowing an inter¬
val of 401 years between the Flood and the birth of Peleg,
furnishes, by the last-mentioned mode of computation,
more than 240,000 persons.
As to the manner of the dispersion of the posterity of
Noah from the plain of Shinar, it was undoubtedly con¬
ducted with the utmost regularity and order. The sacred
historian informs us that they were divided in their lands,
every one according to his tongue, according to his family,
and according to his nation (Gen. x. 5, 20, 31) ; and thus,
as Mr Mede observes, they were ranged according to their
nations, and every nation was ranged by its families, so
that each nation had a separate lot, and each family a
separate share in what fell to every nation. The follow¬
ing abstract will serve to give a general idea of their
respective settlements. Japhet, Noah’s eldest son, had
seven sons. Of these, Gomer was he whose descendants
inhabited those parts of Asia which lie upon the Aigean
Sea and Hellespont northward, containing Phrygia, Pon-
tus, Bithynia, and a great part of Galatia. The Gala¬
tians, according to Josephus, were called Gomercei; while
the Cimmerii, according to Herodotus, occupied this track
of country; and from these Gomerians, Cimmerii, or Celts,
Mr Camden derives our ancient Britons, who still retain
the name Cymru or Cymri. Magog, the second son of
Japhet, was probably the father of the Scythians on the
east and north-east of the Euxine Sea. Madai planted
Media, though Mr Mede assigns Macedonia to his share.
Javan was the father of the Grecians about Ionia, whose
country lies along the coast of the Mediterranean Sea;
the radices of Javan and Ionia being the same. To Tu¬
bal and Meshech belonged Cappadocia and the country
which lies on the borders of the Euxine Sea; and from
them, migrating over Caucasus, it is supposed the Rus¬
sians and Muscovites are descended. Tiras occupied
Thrace. The sons of Shem were five: Elam, whose
country lay between the Medes and Mesopotamians, and
was called by the Gentile writers Elemais (Josephus
calls the Elamites the founders of the Persians) ; Ashur,
who was driven out of Shinar by Nimrod, afterwards
settled in Assyria, and there built Nineveh and other
cities; Arphaxad, who gave name to the country which
Ptolemy calls Arraphacitis, a province of Assyria, though
Josephus makes him the father of the Chaldees; Lud,
who inhabited and gave name to the country of Lydia,
about the river Maeander, remarkable for its windings,
in Asia Minor; and Aram, the father of the Syrians.
Ham, the youngest son of Noah, had four sons: Cush,
whose posterity spread into the several parts of Arabia
over the borders of the land of Edom, into Arabia Fe¬
lix, up to Midian and Egypt; Mizraim, the father of
them who inhabited Egypt and other parts of Africa;
Phut, to whom Bochart assigns the remaining part of
Africa, from the Lake of Tritonides to the Atlantic Ocean,
called Libya ; and Canaan, to whom belonged the land of
Canaan, whence the Phoenicians derived their origin.
Dr Bryant has advanced a new hypothesis on this sub¬
ject, and supported it with his usual acuteness and learn¬
ing. He maintains that the dispersion as well as the con¬
fusion of tongues was local, and limited to the inhabitants
of the province of Babel; that the separation and distri¬
bution recorded to have taken place in the days of Peleg
(Gen. x. 25, 31, 32), which was the result of divine appoint¬
ment, occasioned a general migration ; and that all the
families amongst the sons of men were concerned in it.
The house of Shem, from which the Messiah was to spring,
was particularly regarded in this distribution. The por¬
tion of his children was near the place of separation; they
D I S
isplayed in general had Asia to their share, as Japhet had Europe,
i II and Ham the large continent of Africa. But the sons of
J'ssidents. cush WOuld not submit to the divine dispensation. They
Went off under the conduct of Nimrofd, and seem to have
been for a long time in a roving state. However, at last
they arrived at the plains of Shinar; and having ejected
Ashur and his sons, who were placed there by divine ap¬
pointment, seized his dominions, and there laid the foun¬
dation of a great monarchy. But afterwards fearing lest
they should be divided and scattered abroad, they built
the tower of Babel as a land-mark to which they might
repair, and probably to answer the purposes of an idola¬
trous temple, or high altar, dedicated to the host of hea¬
ven, from which they were never long to be absent. They
only, viz. the sons of Cush, or the Cushites, and their as¬
sociates from other families, who had been guilty of re¬
bellion against divine authority, and of wicked ambition
and tyranny, were punished with the judgment of con¬
founded speech through a failure in labial utterance, and
of the dispersion recorded in Genesis; in consequence
of which they were scattered abroad from this city and
tower, without any certain place of destination. The
Cushites invaded Egypt, or the land of Mizraim, in its in¬
fant state, seized the whole country, and held it for some
ages in subjection; and they extended likewise to the Indies
and Ganges, and still farther in China and Japan. From
them the province of Cushan or Goshen in Egypt derived
its name. Here they obtained the appellation of royal
shepherds; and when they were by force driven out of
the country, after having been in possession of it for 260
or 280 years, the land which they had been obliged to
quit was given to the Israelites, who were also denomi¬
nated “ shepherds,” but should not be confounded with
the former, or the antecedent inhabitants of Goshen.
DISPLAYED, in Heraldry, is understood of the posi¬
tion of an eagle, or any other bird, when it is erect, with
its wings expanded or spread forth.
DISPONDEE, in the Greek and Latin poetry, a double
spondee or foot, consisting of four long syllables; as con-
cludentes.
DISQUISITION (from dis, and qucero, I inquire), an
inquiry into the nature, kinds, and circumstances of any
problem, question, or topic; in order to gain a right notion
of it, and to discourse clearly concerning it.
DISS, a market-town in the hundred of the same name,
in the county of Norfolk, ninety miles from London. It is
built on one of the upper branches of the river Waveney.
There is a good market, which is held on Friday. The
inhabitants amounted in 1801 to 2246, in 1811 to 2590,
in 1821 to 2764, and in 1831 to 2934.
DISSECTION, in Anatomy, the cutting up a body with
a view of examining the structure and use of the parts.
Legendre observes that the dissection of a human body,
even dead, was held as a sacrilege until the time of Francis
1. And the same author assures us he has seen a consul¬
tation held by the divines of Salamanca, at the request of
Charles V. in order to settle the question whether or not
it were lawful in point of conscience to dissect a human
body in order to learn the structure thereof.
DISSEISIN, in Law, an unlawful dispossessing a per¬
son of his lands or tenements.
DISSENTERS, separatists from the service and wor¬
ship of any established church.
DISSIDENTS, a denomination applied in Poland to
those of the Lutheran, Calvinistic, and Greek profes¬
sions.
DIS 43
DISSIMULATION, the act of dissembling, by means Dissimula-
of false appearances or pretensions. tion
DISSIPATION, in Physics, an insensible loss or con- Jchia
sumption of the minute parts of the body, or that flux JVg
by which they escape and are lost.
Circle of Dissipation, in Optics, is used for that circu¬
lar space upon the retina, which is taken up by one of the
extreme pencils of rays issuing from an object.
DISSOLVENT, in general, whatever dissolves or re¬
duces a solid body into such minute parts as to be sus¬
tained in a fluid. i 1 : 'ir it;
DISSOLUTION, in Physics, a discontinuation or ana¬
lysis of the structure of a mixed body, by which what was
one and contiguous is divided into parts, either homoge¬
neous or heterogeneous.
Dissolution, then, is a general name for all reductions of
concrete bodies into their smallest parts, without any re¬
gard either to solidity or fluidity; though, in the usual
acceptation of the word among authors, it is restricted to
the reduction of solid bodies into a state of fluidity; but
this is more properly expressed by solution, as a branch
of dissolution.
DISSONANCE, in Music. See Discord.
DISSYLABLE, among grammarians, a word consisting
of only two syllables; such as nature, sciences.
DISTAFF, an instrument about which flax is tied in
order to be spun.
DISTANCE, in general, an interval between two things,
with regard either to time or place.
Accessible Distances, in Geometry, are such as may be
measured by the chain.
Inaccessible Distances are such as cannot be measured
by the chain, by reason of some river, or the like, which
obstructs the passage from one object to another.
Distance, in Astronomy. The distance of the sun,
planets, and comets, is found only from their parallax, as
it cannot be found either by eclipses or their different
phases; for, from the theory of the motions of the earth
and planets, we know, at any time, the proportion of the
distances of the sun and planets from us; and the hori¬
zontal parallaxes are in a reciprocal proportion to these
distances.
DISTASTE properly signifies an aversion or dislike to
certain kinds of food, and may be either constitutional, or
owing to some disorder of the stomach.
DISTEMPER, among Physicians, the same with Dis¬
ease.
Distemper, in Painting, a term used for the working
up of colours with something besides water or oil. If the
colours are prepared with water, that kind of painting is
called limning ; and if with oil, it is called painting in oil,
and swxafy painting. If the colours are mixed with size,
whites of eggs, or any such glutinous or unctuous matter,
and not with oil, then it is said to be done in distemper.
DISTENSION, in general, signifies the stretching or
extending a thing to its full length or breadth.
DISTICH, a couplet of verses making complete sense.
Thus hexameter and pentameter verses are disposed in
distichs. There are excellent morals in Cato’s distichs.
DISTICHIASIS, in Surgery, a disease of the eyelids,
when under the ordinary eye-lashes there grows another
extraordinary row of hairs, which frequently eradicates
the former, and, pricking the membrane of the eye, excites
pain, and brings on a defluxion. It is cured by pulling
out the second row of hairs with nippers, and cauterizing
the pores out of which they are extracted.
44
DISTILLATION.
Distilla- The preparation of ardent spirits constitutes amanufac-
tion. tory which is carried on in this country to a considerable
extent, and deserves a particular investigation, as connect¬
ed with one of the most curious and intricate departments
of chemistry. We shall treat the subject as briefly as is
compatible with perspicuity and utility.
It seems established by the experiments of chemists,
that no other substance can be converted into ardent
spirits, by fermentation, than sugar. Diflerent species of
sugar have been recognized by chemists. They are dis¬
tinguished from each other by their sweetening power, and
by the figure of their crystals. As far as the process of
distillation is concerned, it seems only necessary to refer
to three of these species ; namely, common sugar, sugar of
grapes, or sugar of starch and manna.
Common sugar is usually extracted from the sugar cane,
but it exists likewise in beet, and in various other vege¬
table substances. Its colour is white, and it crystallizes
in rhomboidal prisms. When it is dissolved in a sufficient
quantity of water, and mixed with yeast, it ferments, and
the liquid thus fermented yields, when distilled, an ardent
spirit. It is from the refuse of common sugar that the
ardent spirit well known by the name of rum is-obtained
in the West Indies.
Sugar of grapes is the substance to which that fruit is
indebted for its sweet taste. It may be extracted from
the juice of grapes, by nearly the same process as is fol¬
lowed by the manufacturers of common sugar. It is white,
not so sweet as common sugar, and not so soluble in water.
It usually crystallizes in spheres. These, when viewed
with a glass, are found to consist of a congeries of small
acicular crystals diverging from a centre. It is to the pre¬
sence of this sugar that the juice of grapes owes its fer-
mentability. The ardent spirits obtained by distilling
wine are usually distinguished by the name of brandy.
They are manufactured in great abundance in France and
Spain, and other wine countries.
When starch is boiled writh a large quantity of water
and a little sulphuric acid for a considerable time, it is
converted into a sugar, which possesses exactly the pro¬
perties of sugar of grapes. From the experiments of M.
Theodore de Saussure, it seems to follow that this sugar
is nothing more than a combination of starch with water.
During the process of malting, the starch which consti¬
tutes so great a portion of barley is converted into this
sugar. If barley meal be mashed with water of the tem¬
perature 150°, and the mixture be well agitated for an
hour or two, the barley starch gradually undergoes a pro¬
cess somewhat similar to mashing; for it becomes soluble
in the water, and that liquid acquires a sweet taste. It is
from this sugar that the ardent spirits known in this coun¬
try by the names of Geneva, Whisky, Gin, are obtained.
Manna is a saccharine substance, which exudes spon¬
taneously from the Fraxinus ormw, and several other spe¬
cies of ash. The fermented juice of the onion, melon,
and carrot, likewise contains manna. Manna has a sweet
taste like sugar. It is more soluble both in water and al¬
cohol ; it crystallizes very readily on cooling, in needles.
But its most remarkable property is, that when dissolved
in water, and mixed with yeast, it cannot be made to fer¬
ment like common or grape sugar. Hence it is incapable
of yielding an ardent spirit. To the distiller, therefore,
it is totally useless.
Milk likewise contains a peculiar species of saccharine
matter, distinguished by the name of sugar of milk. In
consequence of the presence of this substance, milk is cap- Distilla
able of being fermented into an intoxicating liquor, which, tion.
of course, if distilled, would yield an ardent spirit. This
liquor is made by the Tartars, from the milk of mares, and
is known by the name of koumiss. It is made likewise in
Shetland.
The liquid which exudes from the cocoa-nut tree also
contains a saccharine matter, but of what species has not
been ascertained. In consequence of the presence of this
saccharine matter, it runs readily into fermentation, and
when the fermented liquor is distilled, it yields an ardent
spirit, well known in India by the name of arrack.
Thus the name of the ardent spirits differs according
to the material employed in its manufacture. Every
species of ardent spirit is distinguished by a peculiar fla¬
vour. The opinion entertained at present is, that the
nature of the substance which produces intoxication is
the same in all these ardent spirits, and is the substance
to which chemists have given the name of alcohol; and
that the flavour is owing to the presence of an essential oil,
derived from the ingredient employed in the manufac¬
ture. Thus the sugar cane yields the oil that gives the
peculiar flavour to rum ; grapes contain the oil that gives
the peculiar flavour to brandy, and so on. We do not
know that this opinion, though sufficiently probable in it¬
self, has ever been established by decisive experiments ;
that the oils to which these spirits owe their flavour have
ever been obtained in a separate state ; or that all of these
spirits have been made to yield alcohol destitute of flavour.
But the opinion is so very likely to be true, that we will
be forgiven for adopting it, especially as w'e are not aware
of any counter evidence that can be brought forward.
The processes of the distiller being essentially the same,
whatever the substance be from which he procures his
ardent spirits, we shall satisfy ourselves with a minute ac¬
count of the processes followed by the distillers in Scot¬
land in manufacturing whisky. We shall introduce, like¬
wise, a few observations on the processes followed in ma¬
nufacturing ardent spirits in other countries, such as Hol¬
lands and Hum; and we shall terminate the article by
giving the present state of our knowledge of the theory of
fermentation.
CHAP. I.—OF THE MANUFACTURE OF WHISKY.
The kind of grain employed in this country for manu¬
facturing w’hisky is barley. The processes are easier, and
the spirits produced have a more agreeable flavour, when
the barley is malted. But, in consequence of the duty
upon malt, a portion of unmalted grain has been introdu¬
ced into the distilleries. This portion has been gradually
increased, and amounts very commonly to four fifths, and
in some cases, it is said, to nine tenths, of the whole mix¬
ture of raw grain and malt. It may be laid down as a ge¬
neral rule, that the labour bestowed, and the time requi¬
site for brewing, increases in proportion to the quantity of
raw grain employed.
Hie processes of the distiller may be reckoned four:
namely, the mashing, the cooling, the fermenting, and the
distilling. We shall take each of these processes in the
order in which we have named them.
1. The Mashing.
The barley is previously ground to a fine meal, and the
malt bruised by passing it between rollers. When the
DISTILLATION
•istilla- proportion of malt is very small, it is customary to add a
Jtion. quantity of the seeds of oats (the husk of oats separated
during the grinding), to facilitate the separation of the
water from the grains, after the process of mashing is over;
for barley-meal parts with water with much greater dif¬
ficulty than malt. When the proportion of raw grain to
malt is as 2 to 1, or even as 3 to 1, this addition of oat
seeds may be dispensed with. But it is probably essential
when the proportions amount to 5 to 1, or, still more,
when to 9 to 1.
The quantity of grain and malt employed at one time
must be entirely regulated by the size of the distillery.
But, that we may be able to give a precise notion ot the
proportion of the different substances employed, we shall
suppose the quantity taken at once to be 60 bushels, and
that it consists of a mixture of two parts raw grain and
one part malt, or,
40 bushels barley,
20 bushels malt.
The mash-tun is a large circular or square vessel, which
now-a-days is usually constructed of cast iron. It was
formerly of wood ; but a wooden mash-tun was found to
last for so short a time, that iron has been substituted in
several distilleries with which we are acquainted, and pro¬
bably the substitution will soon become general. Into the
mash-tun a quantity of water is let down of the tempera¬
ture 150° Fahrenheit. The bulk of this water varies ac¬
cording to the fancy of the distiller ; but from 700 to 800
wine gallons may be reckoned a good proportion for sixty
bushels of grain. The mixture of meal and bruised malt
is then put into the mash-tun, and very carefully mixed
with the water by a number of men, who wield each a
v/ooden instrument adapted for the purpose. All the dry
clots of meal are broken, and every portion of it wetted
with the water. This agitation of the meal in the water
is what is technically called mashing. It is continued for
at least an hour and a half, sometimes much longer; arid
the length of time must increase with the proportion of
raw grain present, when compared with the malt; so that
sometimes we have seen it continued for three or even
four hours. , As the liquor in the mash-tun would lose a
great deal of its heat during this length of time, about
500 wine gallons of water are added at intervals, at a tem¬
perature varying from 190° to 205°, according to the fancy
of the brewer. After the mashing is concluded, the whole
mixture is allowed to remain at rest for about two hours,
and this interval is technically called the infusion. Dur¬
ing this interval the grains sink to the bottom, and the
tcort, still muddy, but quite liquid, remains at the surface.
If we have the curiosity to taste the wort every half
hour from the commencement of the mashing to the end
of the process, we shall find that at first it has little taste,
but that it becomes sweeter and sweeter, till at last it ac¬
quires very nearly the luscious sweet taste of malt wort.
This indicates clearly that the starch of the barley meal
is gradually converted, during the mashing, into starch
sugar. In what way this change is produced we have at
present no experiments to determine ; but if Theodore
de Saussure’s theory of the formation of starch sugar be
accurate, we may conclude that the change is produced
simply by the combination of a portion of water with the
starch. The conversion, however, in the mash-tun, is
never complete. A considerable portion of the starch
still remains unaltered. The consequence is, that if we
endeavour to make wort from raw grain, as strong as pos-
45
sible, to contain, for example, 200 lbs. of saccharine mat- Distilla-
ter per barrel, we find ourselves unable to effect our ob- tion-
ject, because, long before it has reached 200 lbs. per
barrel, the wort has lost its fluidity, and has assumed
the form of a jelly. Our mode of trying this experiment
was, to take the strongest raw grain wort which we could
procure, and to concentrate it by boiling, till it became as
strong as possible. We were never able, by this method,
to obtain a wort much stronger than 150 lbs. per barrel.
But malt wort may be easily boiled down to the strength
of 200 lbs. per barrel, without losing its fluidity.
Probably the change of the starch into sugar continues
during the process of fermentation. Hence, we conceive,
the reason why distillers find it advantageous to put into
the fermenting tuns all the solid starchy matter which
had precipitated from the wort while in the coolers.
Hence, also, the reason why the fermentation is conceived
to go on best when it comes on gradually at first, and not
with too much violence.
After the mashing and infusion is finished, the wort is
drawn off from the grains. This is not done, as is the
practice with the brewers, by opening a cock at the bot¬
tom of the mash-tun. It will not in this way pass through
barley meal. But it is drawn off from the top of the
mash-tun, after the grains have subsided, by means of a
tube pierced full of holes, which rises at one of the cor¬
ners of the mash-tun as high as the surface of that vessel.
The quantity of wort that runs off in this way does not
exceed one third of the water which had been mashed
with the meal. If 1200 gallons of hot water, for example,
have been employed in all, the wort drawn off after the
mashing will scarcely exceed 400 gallons. If the process
were carried no farther, almost two thirds of the wort
would be lost. To prevent this, about 500 gallons of wa¬
ter, of the temperature 190°, are let upon the grains. The
whole is well mixed together for about twenty minutes,
and then allowed to infuse, or to remain at rest, for an
hour and a half. It is then drawn off in the same way as
the first wort. In general, the amount of the second wort
is greater than of the first, because the grains having been
previously deprived of a great proportion of their starch,
now part with their water more freely than before.
To carry off everything soluble from the grains as com¬
pletely as possible, after the second worts have been drawn
off, about 800 gallons of boiling hot water are let on the
grains. The mashing or stirring is continued for twenty
minutes, and the infusion for half an hour or forty minutes.
This third wort is then drawn off. Being much weaker
than the two preceding worts, some distillers are in the
habit of reserving it, and employing it for mixing with the
meal and malt in the succeeding brewing. Others boil it
down to the requisite strength, and then mix it with the
first and second worts in the fermenting vessel. It is im¬
possible to lay down any rule respecting this part of the
process, because, unfortunately, the distiller is not left at
liberty to follow his own judgment. The legislature has
interfered, and obliged him to produce a determinate
quantity of spirits of a given strength from 100 gallons of
the fermented wort. Till within these few years it was
necessary in Scotland to produce from 100 gallons of fer-
naented wort, 19 gallons of spirits of the strength one to ten
over hydrometer proof, or of the specific gravity 0*90917.
This law, we believe, still exists in England; but in Scot¬
land the quantity of spirits from 100 gallons of fermented
wort has been reduced to 14 gallons.1 The Scotch dis-
1 Still more lately, an act of parliament has passed, reducing the product of spirits to thirteen gallons from the hundred gallons
ol wash, and the strength ot the wort must not exceed 70 lbs. of saccharine matter per barrel. The excise regulations bind down
the distiller to a particular mode of operating. All such restrictions are very injurious to the improvement of the process. How
far they may have been provoked by the attempts of the manufacturer to evade the excise duties, we pretend not to say.
46 DISTILLATION.
DistiUa- tiller at present is under the necessity of producing this rily much weaker than the wort of the legal distillers* Distill,
quantity of spirits from 100 gallons of fermented wort, or, Probably it is not much stronger at an average than the tion.
at any rate, of paying the duty for that quantity, whether wort of the Dutch Hollands. It has been generally con- 'w"y>
he produce it or not. This law, of course, regulates the ceived that the superiority of the illicitly distilled, or
strength of his wort. For, in order to produce that quan- Highland whisky as it is called, is owing to the mode of
tity, it is necessary that the wort should contain a certain distillation. The smugglers distil in a much slower way
proportion of saccharine matter. Accordingly, the wort than the legal distillers. But nothing can be more absurd
must be at least of the strength 55^ lbs. per barrel when than this opinion. The flavour of the spirits depends en-
it is let down into the fermenting tun, and the law prohi- tirely upon the previous steps of the process. The slow-
bits it from being stronger than 75 lbs. per barrel. If we ness or rapidity of the distillation can make no difference
suppose the whole saccharine matter contained in the wort whatever in the flavour, provided it be properly perform-
to be decomposed during the fermentation, 100 wine gal- cd. Accordingly, we have seen spirits distilled by the
Ions would produce 14 gallons of spirits of the specific very rapid mode of distillation that formerly was practised
gravity O’OOOIT, provided the original strength of the wort in Scotland, possessed of all the flavour of the best High-
was 55^ lbs. per barrel. But this is a supposition which land whisky.
is never realized in practice. From a number of experi- Great pains have been taken to put an end to the prac-
ments, conducted vrith considerable care, we consider our- tice of illicit distillation in Scotland; and, by greatly di¬
selves warranted in concluding, that, even when the fer- minishing the duty, this object, of late years, has been
mentation is conducted with the greatest success, the nearly attained. The smugglers formerly set the whole
quantity of saccharine matter which will remain undecom- force of government at defiance, and carried on their pro¬
posed in a barrel of wort of the original strength of 55-L cesses in spite of all the attempts that were made to stop
lbs. per barrel, cannot be less than 15 lbs. Hence a dis- them. Many of them, indeed, were brought to absolute
tiller can scarcely be expected to produce 14 gallons of ruin, and few of them, we believe, were ever able to rea-
spirits of the specific gravity 0-90917 from 100 gallons of lize much money, or to rise to independence. But still a
wort, unless the original strength of his wort was at least new race of smugglers rose up after another to carry on
70^ lbs. per barrel. In general, indeed, a still greater their illicit trade, to the great detriment of the revenue,
strength than this will be requisite. Now, to produce and to an equal deterioration of the morals of the common
wort of the strength 70^ lbs. per barrel from raw grain, people. Government do not seem to have been aware of
without boiling, is by no means an easy task. Formerly, the principal reason of the continuance of this evil. They
when the product necessary was 19 gallons of spirits from bound down the legal distillers in such a manner by inju-
the 100 of wort, the distillers were accustomed to give rious restrictions, that it was not in their power to pro-
their wort the requisite strength by the process which duce a spirit equal in flavour to that manufactured by the
they termed lobbing. This consisted in making up a very smugglers, who lie under none of those restrictions which
strong infusion of saccharine matter from malt, raw grain, bind down the ingenuity of the legal trader. This supe-
&c. and adding it to the wort till it acquired the requisite riority induces a corresponding desire in the inhabitants
strength. This substance was likewise called bub; and of Scotland to possess themselves of smuggled whisky,
every distiller had his own method of preparing it. Pro- even at a higher price than that for which they can pur-
bably sugar, treacle, or other similar prohibited articles, chase the same article from the licensed distillers. The
often found their way into it. It was on this supposition smugglers, in consequence, are winked at, or rather en-
that the addition of it to wort was entirely prohibited in couraged, by a very considerable proportion of the inha-
the late act of parliament regarding the Scotch distilleries, bitants of the country. While this feeling existed it was
And it was to prevent the secreting of the surplus spirits impossible to put an end to smuggling in Scotland. But
which might be produced above the 14 per cent, that the government of late has removed the restrictions by which
strength of the worts was limited to the maximum 75 lbs. the Scotch distillers were bound, so far as to allow them
per barrel. to distil from malt at nearly the same rate as they former-
W hen the quantities of grain, malt, and water, above in- ly did from raw grain. The consequence has been, that
dicated, are employed, the first worts drawn off* will be the high reputation of smuggled whisky has gradually
about the strength of 73 lbs. per barrel, and the second sunk, and smuggling has been nearly discontinued,
worts of the strength 50 lbs. per barrel; and the two, when The only reason that was alleged for continuing the re¬
mixed together, would constitute a wort of the strength strictions under which the distillers were placed, was the
of about 62 lbs. per barrel. Of course, the worts actually allegation that they were necessary in order to ensure the
made by the Scotch distillers must exceed the strength payment of the duty upon the spirits actually distilled,
of those which we have employed by way of illustration, But we conceive that this duty might be levied with as
by about eight lbs. per barrel. But we have reason to be- much accuracy, though all the restrictions on the strength
lieve that 62 lbs. per barrel would be a better strength of the wort were removed. From a number of experi-
than that pitched upon by those who contrived the act of ments conducted upon a large scale, we conclude that the
parliament by which the Scotch distilleries are regulated, fermentation, however successful, is capable of decompos-
V\ ort of such strength should yield about 12 per cent, of ing only four fifths of the whole saccharine matter con-
spirits of the strength one to ten over proof, or of the
specific gravity 0-90917. The original strength of the
wort from which Dutch Hollands is made is considerably
less than this, and we believe that nobody will deny that
the Dutch spirit is, in general, much preferable to the
whisky manufactured in the lowlands of Scotland.
The whisky made by smugglers in Scotland is univer¬
sally preferred by the inhabitants, and is purchased at a
higher price, under the name of Highland whisky. This
is partly owing to its being made entirely from malt; but
the chief reason is, that, from the unfavourable circum¬
stances under which they operate, their wort is necessa-
tained in the wort. Farther, we find, that for every pound
of saccharine matter decomposed by the fermentation,
there is formed half a pound of alcohol of the specific gra¬
vity 0-825. Now every gallon of spirits of the specific
gravity 0-90917, or one to ten over proof, contains 4-6 lbs.
of alcohol of the specific gravity 0-825. To form a gal¬
lon of spirits, then, of the specific gravity 0-90917, there
is required the decomposition of 9-2 lbs. of saccharine
matter. But as only four fifths of the saccharine matter
present are decomposed, we must increase 9-2 by a fifth,
which will raise it to 11L lbs. The rule, therefore, for le-
vying the duty on the distillers would be this. Ascertain,
DISTILLATION.
i istilla* by the saccharoraeter, the strength of the wort, or the
ttion. number of pounds avoirdupois of saccharine matter which
it contains, and for every 11^ of these pounds charge the
duty upon one gallon of spirits. This would be no hard¬
ship upon the distiller. If he is unable to produce a gal¬
lon of spirits from IHlbs. of saccharine matter, he is not
sufficiently acquainted with his business, and the necessity
of paying the duty would stimulate his ingenuity to ac¬
quire the requisite information. He would soon discover
two facts which would probably regulate his conduct;
namely, that the flavour, and consequently the value, ol
his spirits, increases as he diminishes the strength ot his
wort, and that the produce of spirits from the same quan¬
tity of grain increases also as he diminishes the strength
of his wort.
It would be difficult, according to the method at pre¬
sent followed by the distillers, for the excisemen to deter¬
mine the strength of the worts with the requisite degree
of accuracy ; but it would be easy, we conceive, to order
matters so, that this information might be gained without
in the least injuring the process of fermentation to which
these worts are to be subjected.
Some distillers, not satisfied with three mashes, which
they think insufficient to exhaust the grains of all the mat¬
ter that may be useful in the formation of spirits, add a
fourth quantity of boiling water, after the worts of the
third mash are drawn off, and mash a fourth time. The
worts of this fourth mash are always kept, to be employed
instead of pure water during next day’s brewing.
2. The Cooling.
Wort from raw grain has a much greater tendency to
run into acidity than wort from malt. On that account
the distillers endeavour to bring it down to the tempera¬
ture requisite to begin fermentation as speedily as possible.
As soon as the first worts have begun to run into the un-
derback, they are made to pass into the coolers. The na¬
ture and disposition of the coolers vary so much, accord¬
ing to the size of the distillery, that a general description
will by no means apply to them all. When the manufac¬
tory is of a moderate size, the coolers are a shallow wood¬
en vessel, covering the floor of an apartment or suit of
apartments, placed usually in the upper part of the dis¬
tillery, and open as much as possible to the influence of
the external air. Here the hot worts are pumped up, and
left at a depth of one, two, or three inches, till they have
acquired the requisite temperature.
When the distillery is on a large scale, it is usual to ac¬
celerate the cooling of the worts by agitation. Of late
years a new contrivance has been fallen on, which answers
much better than the old method, by bringing the worts
almost instantly to the particular temperature which the
distiller wishes them to acquire. This method is to pass
the hot worts through a certain length of tin pipe, which
is immersed in a running stream of water. By properly
regulating the length of the pipe, the worts may be cool¬
ed down either to the temperature of the surrounding wa¬
ter, or to any other intermediate temperature required.
As the worts in this case are cooled in close vessels, no
evaporation goes on during the process. Hence their
strength will not increase during the process, and the
quantity will be precisely the same as in the underback,
making allowance for the change of temperature. This
probably would be a disadvantage to the distillers, while
the present law obliges them to brew worts of a given
strength. But if this restriction were removed, it would
be rather an advantageous circumstance, because it would
enable them to regulate the strength of their worts at plea¬
sure, by the quantity of water employed during the mash¬
ing and infusion. To the excise officer it w'ould also be a
47
convenient circumstance, because it would afford an addi- Distilla-
tional security for determining the strength with accuracy. Lon.
He would have it in his power to try the strength of the
worts while hot in the underback, and when newly let
down into the fermenting tuns, before the yeast was add¬
ed. This second trial ought to give nearly the same re¬
sult as the first. We say nearly, because, when the worts
are hot, it is not so easy to determine their strength with
accuracy, as when they are cold.
During the cooling of the wort from raw grain, there is
always a considerable deposit of flocky matter, which we
conceive consists chiefly, if not entirely, of starch. This
fiocky matter is swept along with the wort into the fer¬
menting tun. It is the opinion of distillers that it contri¬
butes materially to the formation of spirits during the fer¬
mentation. We have little doubt that the opinion is well
founded. Probably during the fermentation it is convert¬
ed first into saccharine matter, and then afterwards de¬
composed into alcohol and carbonic acid.
The temperature to which the wort is cooled before it
is let down into the fermenting tuns differs a good deal in
different distilleries, and even in the same distillery at
different seasons of the year. Winter is the usual season
for the distilleries, and it is the season which is considered
as most advantageous for conducting the fermentation with
success; for it is easy to raise the temperature of the
fermenting room to the degree which is considered as best
adapted for the process. But when the weather is hotter
than that degree, it is a much more difficult matter to
keep the fermenting room sufficiently cool. In winter the
distillers usually let down the first worts at about 70° ;
the second worts are cooled down to 60° or 65°. We do
not perceive any good reason for this distinction, though
we have frequently seen it practised.
3. The Fermentation.
This is by far the most important part of the whole
process. It is by the skill and success with which it is
conducted that distillers excel each other. Upon it the
profit and loss of the manufactory chiefly turn. Much
pains have been bestowed in investigating it; but it is of
so capricious a nature as occasionally to thwart the most
skilful and experienced brewers. We shall describe the
method of proceeding in this process usually followed by
the Scotch distillers. In the article Bkewing we stated
the facts at present known respecting the saccharine mat¬
ter of the wort and yeast of beer which is employed as a
ferment. To that article, therefore, we refer those who
wish for information on these subjects.
The yeast employed by the Scottish distillers is chiefly
brought from the London porter breweries. Small quan¬
tities may be occasionally obtained from breweries in their
neighbourhood; but never, we believe, a sufficient quan¬
tity to answer their purposes. The best yeast is that
which is thrown off' the top of the porter during its fer¬
mentation. But what is sold by the porter brewers con¬
sists chiefly of the slimy matter which remains at the bot¬
tom of the vessels when the clear porter is drawn off
Fresh yeast is better than stale ; but the distillers being
unable to procure a sufficient quantity of fresh yeast for
their purposes, are under the necessity of using both fresh
and stale.
As the quantity of yeast employed depends upon its qua¬
lity, it is therefore impossible to lay down any very precise
rules upon the subject. For the quantity of wort which
we have supposed in the preceding part of this article, a
Scotch distiller would probably employ about twenty-se¬
ven gallons of good yeast, and about thirty-six gallons if
he considered the yeast of inferior quality. Only a por¬
tion of this yeast is mixed at first with the wort. The
48 distil:
Distilla- remainder is generally added on the second, third, and
^ourt^ day. Most commonly, indeed, the whole is added
on the third day; but it is customary to make a farther
addition at a later period, if the brewer is of opinion that
the fermentation is not proceeding so well as it ought to
do. We have seen yeast added on the sixth day of the
fermentation.
The first portion of yeast mixed with the wort is always
if possible fresh yeast, and it is a great object with the dis¬
tiller to have it of as good a quality as possible. For our
wort, the quantity of yeast first used may amount to nine
gallons. On the second day nine gallons more may be
added, and on the third day nine or eighteen gallons, ac¬
cording to its quality. Some distillers add nine gallons
the first day, and twenty-seven the third. Some add nine
gallons every day for four days. In short, there is consi¬
derable difference, and probably a good deal of caprice,
in the practice followed in the various manufactories.
At least we have never been able to obtain a satisfactory
reason from any brewer why he followed one practice
rather than another. In hot weather we should prefer the
addition of nine gallons of yeast every day for four days.
But in cold weather it would probably answer better to
add the whole yeast at twice ; and perhaps the third day
is the most proper for making the great addition.
The fermentation lasts nine, ten, eleven, or twelve days,
according to circumstances. Sometimes, though seldom,
we have seen it last thirteen days. During the first five
days the fermenting tuns are left open on the top, or only
slightly covered ; but ,on the sixth day they are shut up as
closely as possible, so as to render the escape of the carbo¬
nic acid rather difficult. Two reasons have been alleged
for this proceeding. 1. The carbonic acid gas is conceiv¬
ed to carry with it a portion of the alcohol, and by bind¬
ing down the top it is supposed that the loss by this drain
will be diminished. We do not lay much stress on this
reason. The fermentation is almost at an end before the
tuns are shut down. Of course, almost the whole of the
alcohol abstracted by the carbonic acid has been already
removed. 2. The presence of carbonic acid is conceiv¬
ed to promote the fermentation. Hence it is supposed
that, by preventing that gas from escaping with facility,
the attenuation will be greater than it otherwise would
be. Perhaps there may be some foundation for this opi¬
nion. There is no doubt that carbonic acid gas may be
substituted for yeast as a ferment, and that the fermen¬
tation of the wort, under such circumstances, will go on
pretty well. We have seen the experiment tried by mix¬
ing yeast with wort in a close barrel, from which there
proceeded a tin pipe that passed through another barrel
filled with wort, and opened at the bottom of it. The gas
was absorbed by the wort in this second barrel, and the
wort was fermented by it. But the fermentation, as might
have been expected, was not so complete as if it had been
produced by the usual addition of yeast. The distillers
do not collect any yeast from their fermenting vats, but
beat it all into the liquid, being of opinion that any such
collection would render the fermentation less complete,
arid, of course, diminish the proportion of spirits obtained.
The wort most commonly increases in temperature
from 20° to 25° of the thermometer. Supposing it let
down into the fermenting tun at 57°, its temperature,
when at the highest, may amount to from 78° to 82°. It
usually acquires the highest temperature on the fourth
day of the fermentation, frequently upon the fifth day;
sometimes upon the sixth, the third, or the seventh day;
and we have seen it as late as the eighth, or even the ele¬
venth day, before its temperature became a maximum.
The following table exhibits the number of cases on
which the highest temperature took place in these respec-
j A T I O N.
tive days in seventy-six brewings, conducted upon a pretty Distill
large scale: tion.
4th day 31 times
5th day 23
6 th day 9
3d day 6
7th day 5
8th day 1
11th day 1
This diversity, no doubt, depends upon the goodness of
the yeast employed ; and, as we have no good criterion
by which to determine the exact value of yeast as a fer¬
ment, it is impossible to be able to foretell the exact re¬
sult in any particular case. Indeed we consider the un¬
certainty of the value of yeast as the great difficulty which
the distiller has to encounter. Any person who could dis¬
cover a method of estimating the exact value of any par¬
ticular yeast as a ferment would greatly improve this dif¬
ficult manufactory. We do not believe that such a dis¬
covery is impossible. Perhaps the specific gravity of the
yeast, or the quantity of solid matter which is left behind
when a given weight of the yeast is evaporated to dryness,
might furnish very material information. We are rather sur¬
prised that no distiller has thought of subjecting yeast to a
series of experiments, with a view to ascertain its real value
as a ferment. I he new information which he would acquire
would more titan compensate for the trouble, and would
probably give him the means of improving his manufac¬
tory, or at least of forming some notion of the value of
the yeast which he purchases.
As the fermentation proceeds, the specific gravity of the
wort diminishes, owing to the decomposition of the sac¬
charine matter, and its conversion into alcohol and car¬
bonic acid. I his diminution of specific gravity is called
attenuation by distillers, and is employed by them as the
measure of the success of the fermentation. They can
easily foretell the quantity of spirits which their wash (the
name by which their fermented wort is distinguished) will
yield, if they know the attenuation which has taken place
during the fermentation. This diminution of specific gra¬
vity is produced by two causes. 1. The destruction of the
saccharine matter previously dissolved in the liquid, and
which occasioned its specific gravity to be greater than
that of water. If the whole of this saccharine matter were
decomposed, it is obvious that the change of specific gra¬
vity from this cause would be exactly such as would sink
the wash to the specific gravity of water. 2. The second
cause of the diminished specific gravity of the fermented
wort is the formation of a quantity of alcohol, which, being
lighter than water, occasions, by its evolution, a corre¬
sponding diminution of the specific gravity of the liquid.
The specific gravity of the purest alcohol which it has
been hitherto possible to obtain, is 0793 at the tempera¬
ture of 60°. When mixed with water it enters into a che¬
mical combination with that liquid. Hence the specific
gravity is greater than the mean of that of the water and
alcohol, though considerably less than that of water. It is
obvious, if we were to add alcohol to the unfermented
wort, we would diminish its specific gravity. We might
even, by this means, render it as light, or even lighter,
than water, though none of the saccharine matter were de¬
stroyed. It is obviously impossible, therefore, to deter¬
mine how much saccharine matter has been decomposed
by the fermentation from the attenuation alone. Suppose
the original specific gravity of the wort to have been
TOGO; and suppose that, after the fermentation, its spe¬
cific gravity is reduced to 1*002. The first of these spe¬
cific gravities indicates 55*8 lbs. of saccharine matter per
barrel; the second 1*6 lbs. per barrel. It does not follow,
as the distillers suppose, that 54*2 lbs. of saccharine mat-
DISTILLATION.
■ bistilla- ter per barrel have been decomposed and converted into
|| lion, alcohol and carbonic acid. A considerable portion of the
saccharine matter still remains undecomposed, but the al¬
cohol which has been formed counteracts the specific gra¬
vity of this saccharine matter, and prevents its presence
from being correctly indicated by the saccharometer. But
if we measure out a quantity of such wash, put it into a
retort or still, and distil off about a third of it; if we then
take the residual wash which remains in the retort or still,
and add pure water to it till its original bulk be restored,
the saccharometer being applied to it will indicate the
quantity of saccharine matter which it still contains; and
this quantity being subtracted from the original quantity
of saccharine matter contained in the wort before the fer¬
mentation commenced, the remainder will be the saccha¬
rine matter decomposed by the process.
Alcohol is a substance which has a tendency to stop
fermentation, and it stops that process completely when
added to fermenting wort in sufficient quantity. It must be
obvious from this, that very strong worts are injurious to the
profits of the distiller; because the stronger the wort the
greater will be the proportion of alcohol evolved, and, of
course, the fermentation will ultimately be impeded or
stopped altogether, before the whole saccharine matter is
decomposed. Accordingly, the spent wash will always be
found to contain a considerable proportion of saccharine
matter, and it might be fermented again, and made to
yield no inconsiderable quantity of spirit. The writer of
this article made nine trials with malt worts, which were
designedly made weak. They were fermented as tho-
roughly as possible, and the following table indicates the
specific gravities to which they were reduced. The ori¬
ginal specific gravity probably did not much exceed TQ45.
Sp. Gravity.
1 1-0012
2  ..1-0045
3  1-0018
4  1-0000
5  1-0012
G 1-0045
7  1-0047
8  1-0007
9  1-0007
Upon examining the state of the wash after the fermenta¬
tion was at an end, we found that 4-34 parts of the sac¬
charine matter had been decomposed, and that one part
remained unaltered. So that in these nine experiments,
which were as favourable as possible to the fermentation,
on account of the weakness of the worts, not much less
than one fifth of the whole saccharine matter remained
unaltered. Surely then we may lay it down as a fact, that,
in all cases of fermentation in a Scotch distillery, at least
one fifth of the whole saccharine matter is prevented from
being decomposed by the antifermenting power of the al¬
cohol evolved. The consideration of this circumstance
renders it of more importance to allow the distiller to
make his wort weak; for the weaker the original wort, the
less will the quantity be of the saccharine matter which
is prevented from being decomposed by the presence of
the alcohol evolved.
When the heat has acquired its maximum, we may rec¬
kon, at an average, that nine tenths of the whole attenu¬
ation has been completed. No judgment can be formed of
the ultimate attenuation, by the rapidity or slowness with
which the heat reaches its maximum. We have seen the
attenuation equally good when the maximum temperature
happened on the third, fourth, fifth, or sixth day.
It is impossible to lay down any specific rule with re¬
spect to the length that attenuation ought to be carried.
Ihe object of the distiller is to render his wash, if possi-
VOL. vm.
ble at least, as light as water. This object they frequently
accomplish. But it sometimes happens that the fermenta¬
tion stops when the specific gravity has sunk to T013 or
T008, and no addition of yeast will make it sink lower.
Bad yeast is the most probable reason of this ill success.
If the wash be allowed to remain in the fermenting tuns
after the fermentation is at an end, its specific gravity will
be found gradually to increase a little, and it will not yield
so great a proportion of spirits. This is owing to the for¬
mation of vinegar in the wash, which takes place at the
expense of the alcohol; and if the vinegar-forming process
were allowed to go on long enough, the alcohol would dis¬
appear altogether.
Distillers always ferment their worts in tuns of a large
size. This is attended with the advantage, that the arti¬
ficial heat evolved by the fermentation is not so speedily
dissipated as it w-ould be if the process were conducted
in small vessels. Some distillers fill the tuns only partly,
leaving a portion of the upper part empty, that it may con¬
tain the froth formed when the wort is in full fermenta¬
tion. Others fill the tuns almost to the top, and cover
down the mouth with a lid, from which a tube passes to
an open vessel placed above the tun. When the liquid
swells by the fermentation, it passes up the tube into the
open vessel, and runs down again when the fermenting
process subsides. No regular set of experiments, that we
know of, has been made to determine which of these two
methods is the best.
We have already observed that every 9-2 lbs. of saccha¬
rine matter really decomposed by the fermenting process
yield a gallon of spirits one to ten over hydrometer proof, or
of the specific gravity 0-90917 (at the temperature of 60°).
But as the distillers are not in possession of a good me¬
thod of determining how much saccharine matter has been
decomposed, the easiest rule will be to allow HJ-lbs. of
saccharine matter, estimated before the fermentation be¬
gins, to yield a gallon of spirits at 0-90917 specific gravit}^.
If the original worts be very weak, perhaps we might take
11 lbs. of saccharine matter as producing that quantity of
spirits; but while the present law respecting the strength
of the worts continues, 11^ lbs. will be found, upon an
average, to come very near the truth.
It does not seem to be possible to ferment wort from a
mixture of raw grain and malt as completely as is required
for the purposes of the distiller, without its becoming sour.
There seems no reason to doubt that the acid formed is
the acetic. Some are of opinion that the presence of this
acid contributes to improve the flavour of the spirits. But
the quantity of acetic acid usually present in wash is so
small, that we do not see any reason for supposing that it
can produce any sensible etfect. It is important, therefore,
that the acidity should be as small as possible, because
the acid is formed at the expense of the alcohol in the
wash. Hence the wash ought to be distilled as soon as the
fermentation has come to a conclusion.
4. The Distilling.
The stills commonly used in other countries are of large
dimension, and very deep, so that a great deal of time is
necessary to finish one process. Once in the week, for
example, is no uncommon period. The same kind of still
was used in Scotland till about the year 1787, when the
duty began to be levied on the distillers by a license paid
at the commencement of the season upon every still ac¬
cording to its capacity. This was done to prevent that
propensity to smuggling by which the generality of Scotch
distillers were supposed to be actuated. The quantity of
spirits which a still of given dimensions could produce in
a year was calculated, and the license was laid on accord¬
ing to it. This saved the excise-officers all farther trouble,
49
Distilla¬
tion.
—'
50 DISTILLATION.
Distilla- after gauging the stills and collecting the license-duty, ex-
tlon* cepting an occasional visit to be certain that no new still
^r-Y-w' 0f larger dimensions was substituted for the old one. But
about the year 1788 Messrs John and William Sligo, at
that time rectifiers in Leith, made an important alteration
in the shape of the still, at the suggestion of an English¬
man, which greatly increased the rapidity of distillation.
They diminished their height, and increased the diameter
of their bottom. The consequence of this alteration was,
that they were able to distil off the contents of the still in
a few hours, instead of once a week, as had formerly been
the practice. Thus they were enabled to produce a great
quantity of spirits from a very small still, and, of course,
paid in reality a much smaller duty than their brother ma¬
nufacturers. This lucrative improvement they possessed
exclusively for about a year; but a secret of such import¬
ance Could not be long confined to a single house. It be¬
came gradually known to other distillers, and was soon
imitated by all. The license-duty was increased year after
year; but the ingenuity of the distillers enabled them to
outstrip the acts of parliament; till, at last, a committee
of the House of Commons was appointed to investigate the
subject in 1799. A very bulky report was published by this
committee, which contains avast collection of curious facts
respecting the mode of distillation at that time practised
in Scotland. The license, in consequence of this report,
was laid on the distiller, on the supposition that he could
discharge his still every eight minutes, during the whole
season that the manufactory was in activity. Since that
time the time of discharging the still was considerably
shortened. But the saving in point of time was attended
with such an enormous waste of fuel, that it is rather
doubtful whether it was attended with much additional
profit to the distiller. In the year 1815, which was the
last year of the license-duty, a still capable of bolding 80
gallons could be completely distilled off, emptied, and
ready for a new operation in 31 minutes, or even, it is said,
in some cases in 3 minutes; and a still of 40 gallons in 21
minutes. At that time a change took place in the excise
laws; the license-duty was abolished, and the whole duty
was levied, as in England, on the wash and the spirits
produced. There was, of course, no longer any necessity
for continuing the rapid mode of distillation; and, as it
was attended with a very considerable waste of fuel, and
was in other respects much more expensive than the slow
process, it has been, of course, discontinued. We con¬
ceive, however, that it will be worth while to give a short
description of the still and furnace which the Scotch dis¬
tillers employed during the existence of the license-duty.
It would be a great pity indeed to allow the results of
such a series of important experiments to be forgotten.
The stills were made of copper. Those capable of hold¬
ing 44 gallons were about 44 inches in diameter at the
bottom, and about 5 inches deep. Those capable of hold¬
ing 80 gallons were 54 inches in diameter, and about 8
inches deep. The bottom was perfectly flat, and about
three eighths of an inch thick. Within it there were a
number of iron chains, which were turned round by ma¬
chinery, and rubbing against the bottom prevented the
thick matter, which the wash always contains, from ad¬
hering to the bottom of the still and catching fire. This
would have almost immediately occasioned the destruc¬
tion of the still; and the scorched starchy matter would
have communicated a disagreeable flavour to the spirits,
which could not have been got rid of afterwards. There
was likewise a circular plate in the inside of the still, to¬
wards its top. The use of it was to break the bubbles that
rise during rapid distillation ; and, of course, lessen the risk
of the still boiling over, or running foul as the distillers
term it; and, consequently, the distiller vras enabled to put
a greater charge of wash into the still than it would have Distilla.
been in his power to do if the plate had been omitted. tion.
These stills were supported by resting an inch and a
half on the brick work all round the bulge. The furnace
was quite level, and was placed at the distance of 15 inches
below the bottom of the still. The inner end of the grat¬
ing bars was placed 15 inches within a line falling verti¬
cally from the part of support of the bulge of the still.
The bars were in two lengths, the inner length was 21
inches, the outer 30 inches, supported by a cross bar be¬
tween them four inches square. In front of the bars was
a dumb plate 10 inches broad. The bottom of the ash¬
pit was three feet below the grating bars, and on a level
with the floor of the distillery. The bars were two inches
thick, three inches deep, and three fourths of an inch apart.
The brick work extended 21 inches beyond the dumb-
plate, and was four feet wide and four inches higher out¬
side than at the bulge of the still. The furnace doors
were 30 inches wide. The bottom of the furnace beyond
the grating bars was lined with fire-brick nine inches deep,
and passed level backward into the chimney.
The chimney was 60 feet high, four feet square within
from top to bottom, and consisted of a double wall. The
inner wall of fire-bricks was nine inches thick. The outer
wall was placed at three inches distance on all sides from
the inner wall, and the space was left open at the top.
The outer wall was 18 inches thick at bottom, diminish¬
ing regularly on the outside till reduced to nine inches at
top. The two walls were tied together, at certain distan¬
ces, by long fire-bricks. This separation of the two walls
was found to prevent the rapid destruction of the chimney
from the intensity of the fire, which always happened
when the two walls were in contact.
Such was the construction of the furnace and the shape
of the stills during the time that rapid distillation was
practised in Scotland, when both had been brought to the
greatest degree of perfection which the distillers were ca¬
pable of giving them. The writer of this article has not
had an opportunity of seeing the shape of the stills used by
the Scotch distillers since the license-duty was abolished.
But it is probable that the old shape will not have been
entirely restored; but that the present stills, though much
larger in size, imitate the late stills in the great diameter
of their bottom, and their comparative shortness when com¬
pared with the stills employed by the English distillers.
The top of the still ends in a kind of tube, which is
bent downwards, and connected with a tin tube, which
makes a number of revolutions in a large vessel filled with
cold water, and therefore called the worm. This large
vessel is called the refrigeratory, and care is taken to keep
the water in it always cool by means of a stream of water
which is constantly flowing into it. The wash being put
into the still, and the top being fixed down, heat is ap¬
plied to the vessel till it is made to boil. The spirits being
more volatile than the water, pass over first in the state
of steam, and are condensed into a liquid as they pass
through the worm. The first portions that come over are
very strong; but the s-trength diminishes as the process
proceeds. The distiller continues the distillation till the
liquid which flows from the worm is as heavy as water, or
at least so nearly so that the quantity of spirits remaining
is not considered as a compensation for continuing the
process any longer. The strength of the liquid proceed¬
ing from the worm is ascertained by a small hydrometer,
with which it is tried every now and then ; and whenever
a certain mark on the instrument comes to coincide with
the surface of the liquid, a cock at the bottom of the still
is opened, and what remains in the still is let off. This
liquor is called the spent wash. It is a muddy brown li¬
quid, still containing a quantity of undecomposed saccha-
DISTILLATION.
51
)istilla- rine matter. It is therefore used as food for cattle. These
’ tion. animals are fond of it, and soon fatten upon it.
To prevent the still from boiling over, which is apt to
happen towards the commencement of the distillation, it
is usual to throw a piece of soap into the vessel along with
the wash. This substance is partly decomposed, and the
oily matter which it contains spreading on the surface,
forms a thin coat, which breaks tbe large bubbles when
they reach it, and thus prevents the wash from swelling
beyond the requisite bulk. Butter would answer equally
well with soap, and would be less apt to give a disagree¬
able flavour to the spirits; but its high price prevents the
possibility of using it for that purpose. We have some
suspicion that hogs’ lard would answer. If it were found
to do so, it would be cheaper than soap, and less apt to
give a bad flavour to the spirits. The supposition, how¬
ever, that soap communicates a disagreeable flavour to
spirits, though very generally entertained, is, we believe,
a mistake. We have certainly met with spirits distinctly
tainted with soap, and having in consequence a highly nau¬
seous taste. But this was at a time when the rapid mode
of distilling was only on its progress to perfection, and was
owing, we believe, to little bits of the soap having been
accidentally forced into the worm, and afterwards dis¬
solved by the spirits.
It is impossible to lay down any rule with respect to the
strength of the weak spirit obtained by this first distilla¬
tion, and which is called low wines in Scotland. That
strength must depend partly upon the original strength of
the wort, partly on the attenuation which has taken place
during the fermentation, but chiefly upon the attention
of the distiller to distil off the whole of the spirituous por¬
tion of the wash. In a great number of cases in which we
have had the curiosity to determine the strength of the
low wines in distilleries, we have found the specific gra¬
vity at 60°, differing but little from 0*978 ; frequently a
little weaker, and very rarely a little stronger. Low wines
of this strength contain the fifth part of their weight of
alcohol of the specific gravity 0*825; the remaining four
fifths are water.
The low \jrines are put into the still and subjected to a
second distillation, which in Scotland is called doubling.
The first portion which comes over is a milky liquid,
known by the name of foreshot. Its taste is disagreeable,
and on that account it is received by itself, and returned
back into the low wines to be subjected to another distil¬
lation. The properties of the foreshot are owing to an oil
with which it is loaded. When the spirits begin to run
transparent from the end of the worm, they are allowed
to run into a receiver prepared for them. Whenever
their specific gravity, determined by the hydrometer, lias
reached a certain point, they are no longer allowed to
flow into the receiver containing the spirits, but into a
place by themselves, and the distillation is continued till
the liquid coming over has approached very nearly to the
specific gravity of water. This third portion is called
faints. It is mixed with the low wines and distilled again.
Thus the distillation of the low wines is continued till the
whole of their alcoholic part is brought to that degree of
strength which fits them for the market. The strength
at which the duty is levied on them is one to ten above
hydrometer proof, which corresponds with the specific gra¬
vity 0*90917. They are prohibited from sending out of
their manufactory spirits of greater strength than this, or
of a strength under one in six below proof, or of the specific
gravity 0*9385. Between these two intervals the specific
gravity of their spirits may be considered as vibrating ;
for it is not to be expected that they should be able al¬
ways to produce spirits of exactly the same specific gra¬
vity. We have found the spirits, as obtained by doubling,
of a specific gravity as low as 0*908, and as high as 0*925. Distilla-
No doubt they might be obtained much stronger or much tion.
weaker than these two extremes, if there were any object
in view to induce the distiller to alter his usual practice.
Such is the mode followed in Scotland in order to obtain
whisky. The distillers are at pains to purchase the best
English barley which they can procure. They are cer¬
tainly in the right to select English barley for malting;
for English barley, when malted, yields more spirits than
in the state of raw grain. But for that portion of grain
which they use in the distilleries without malting, it would
be their interest to employ the best big which they can
procure; for good big, while in the state of raw grain,
yields rather more spirits than an equal quantity of the
best English barley; and as it can be purchased at a
cheaper rate than barley, it could obviously be employed
with economy as a substitute for that grain. Big is greatly
deteriorated by malting it; of course it would be impro¬
per to employ it in distilleries in that way; but the dis¬
tillers might employ it in the state of raw grain with great
advantage.
CHAP. II. OF THE MODE OF MANUFACTURING OTHER
KINDS OF SPIRITS.
In this chapter we shall merely make a few very short
observations on the processes followed by the distillers in
other countries.
1. Dutch Geneva.
The Dutch have long been famous for the manufacture
of an excellent kind of spirits, known in Scotland by the
name of Gin, in England by the name of Hollands, and
sometimes by the name of Geneva. W'e have been told
that the manufacture of it originated in the city of Ge¬
neva, and that this was the origin of the name Geneva,
still applied to it in commerce ; but we have no means of
determining how far this statement may be depended on.
We have not seen in print any accurate account of the
mode of making Geneva practised by the Dutch; but the
following account may, we believe, be relied on. We
are indebted for it to a friend, who about forty years ago
went over to Holland on purpose to make himself ac¬
quainted with the process. His object was to establish a
similar manufactory in Scotland. But the severe laws
by which the Scotch distillers were soon after bound put
it out of his power to execute his plan.
112 lbs. of barley malt, and 228 lbs. of rye-meal, are
mashed together with 460 gallons of water of the tempe¬
rature 162°. After the infusion has stood a sufficient
time, cold water is added till the strength of the wort is
reduced to 45 lbs. per barrel. The whole is then put into
a fermenting back, at the temperature of 80°. The ves¬
sel is capable of holding about 500 gallons. Half a gal¬
lon of yeast is added. The temperature rises to 90°, and
the fermentation is over in forty-eight hours. The attenua¬
tion is such that the strength of the wash is not reduced
lower than 12 or 15 lbs. per barrel. The wash is put into
the still with the grains and all. The low wines, as usual,
are distilled again, and the spirits of the second distilla¬
tion are rectified ; so that the Hollands pass thrice through
the still. A few juniper berries and some hops are used
to communicate a peculiar flavour to the spirits.
Now, 45 lbs. per barrel constitute a wort so weak that
it will not yield above seven and a half per cent, of spirits
of the usual strength ; so that the produce which the
Dutch obtain from their wort cannot amount to much
more than half what the Scotch distillers are obliged to
produce from theirs.
It is obvious, from the preceding account, that the fer-
H
52
DISTILLATION.
Distilla-
tion.
mentation is very imperfectly accomplished in the Dutch
process. The small quantity of yeast employed, and the
short time that the wort is allowed to ferment, necessarily
imply imperfection in the fermentation. And this is ob¬
viously the case, for the original strength of 45 lbs. per
barrel is only reduced to 15 lbs. per barrel. We have
often seen the attenuation of the porter-in the London
breweries not much less complete. What advantage is
gained by putting the grains into the still along with the
wash we have not the means of determining. Such a prac¬
tice can only be followed in distilleries upon a very small
scale. We do not see how it could be practised in the
Scotch distilleries. Indeed, we have no doubt whatever,
that when the mashing is repeated a sufficient number of
times, and the grains sufficiently washed with hot w’ater,
every thing likely to contribute to the formation of spirits
will be carried off.
Every person acquainted with the flavour of Hollands
and Rowland whisky, must admit that the former is greatly
superior to the latter. Indeed the flavour of Hollands is
equal to that of malt whisky. This is owing in part to
the small proportion of raw grain used by the Dutch dis¬
tillers. 112 lbs. of barley malt may be reckoned at three
bushels. We do not know the average weight of a bushel
of rye ; but if we suppose it to be 50 lbs. 228 lbs. will
amount to about 4-| bushels ; so that, in the Dutch distil¬
leries, the malt bears to the raw grain the proportion of
two to three. We suspect that another reason of the
superiority of the Dutch spirit over the Scotch, is the
small quantity of yeast employed by the manufacturers of
Hollands. The vast quantity of porter yeast used by the
Scotch distillers, often in a state almost approaching to
putrefaction, cannot but have an injurious effect upon the
flavour of their spirits, and has undoubtedly contributed
to the superior reputation of Highland over Lowland
whisky; for the Highland distillers (especially the smug¬
glers) have not the means of procuring yeast from Lon¬
don. Of course their wash is less perfectly fermented,
but the flavour of their spirits is much more agreeable.
We think, indeed, that the flavour communicated by the
yeast to Scotch Lowland whisky may be distinctly per¬
ceived, and on that account are disposed to suspect that
the flavour of the spirits always suffers in proportion as
the fermentation is brought nearer a state of perfection.
Any person who should find out a method of fermenting
wort without the necessity of employing such quantities
of porter yeast as the distillers use, would undoubtedly
prodigiously improve the flavour of the spirits manufac¬
tured by the Scotch distillers. If government were to
make such an alteration in the laws as would enable the
distiller to employ a greater proportion of malt without
any material increase of expense, the object might be
considered as accomplished. In the present state of the
manufactures of Great Britain, it would be impossible to
confer a greater favour on the country than a thorough
revisal of the excise laws, under the auspices of a set of
individuals at once intimately acquainted with the most
improved state of chemical science, and with the most
liberal principles of political economy. Every thing that
improves the quality and diminishes the price of our ma¬
nufactures is of more value to the country than our legis¬
lators seem to be aware of.
We do not think that Hollands could be manufactured
in Great Britain with any probability of success. The
experiment was tried at Maidstone, in Kent, by a Mi-
Bishop, who had interest enough with Mr Pitt to get a
special clause introduced into an act of parliament per¬
mitting him to manufacture Hollands according to the
Dutch method; but the manufactory was never success¬
ful. The Maidstone Hollands never acquired much repu¬
tation. The distillery languished for some years, and then
terminated in a bankruptcy. Some attempts have been
lately made to revive the Maidstone establishment; but
we may venture to predict that they will not be successful.
2. Rum.
This is the name given to a spirit manufactured in the
West India islands, from the molasses, &c. which remain
after the sugar is separated in small crystals from the
boiled juice of the sugar cane. We do not know any
thing about the origin of the word rum, or the time at
which the manufacture of this spirit commenced ; not,
probably, till after the West Indies were colonized by Eu¬
ropeans. At present it is chiefly in the islands belong¬
ing to Great Britain that this spirit is made. The pro¬
cess, as we obtained it from a Dominica planter, who had
for many years been in the habit of making this spirit, is
as follows:
Twelve parts of sweets are dissolved in 100 parts of
water, and fermented as completely as possible by means
of yeast, which is chiefly obtained in the distillery itself
by means of the fermentation of the rum wort, which gra¬
dually generates it. Fourteen gallons of spirits, one to ten
over proof, are obtained from 100 gallons of wash. If this
statement be correct, the produce of spirit from molasses
exceeds considerably what can be obtained in this coun¬
try from barley. A solution of 12 parts of sugar in 100
of water would make a wort containing about 44 lbs. of
saccharine matter per barrel ; from 100 gallons of which,
in this country, we would not obtain more than 8 gallons of
spirits of the above strength ; but we suspect some mis¬
take on the part of our informer, as he communicated the
process to us in this country several years after he had
given over the actual superintendence of his rum distillery.
The peculiar flavour which distinguishes rum, and
makes it so agreeable to the taste, is undoubtedly owing
to a peculiar oil contained in the sugar-cane ; for when
spirits are made in this country from sugar, they are en¬
tirely destitute of the peculiar flavour of rum, and resem¬
ble, in their properties, the common spirit made in this
country from barley. The colour of rum is derived from
the oak casks in wliich it comes to this country from the
islands in which it is made.
CHAP. III.—ON THE NATURE OF THE VINOUS FERMENTA¬
TION.
In the article Brewing we have given a short sketch
of the facts hitherto ascertained respecting the nature of
the change which saccharine matter undergoes when fer¬
mented ; and we have very little to add to the facts stated
in that article. We shall merely enter a little more mi¬
nutely into the detail of facts than we thought necessary
under the article Brewing.
Common sugar has been analysed by Gay-Lussac and
Thenard, by Berzelius, and by Dr Prout. The method
followed by each differed a little from that of the others,
and the results, though they do not quite tally, certainly
approach considerably to each other. The following table
exhibits the composition of 100 parts of sugar, according
to each of these chemists :
Berzelius.
Prout.
Gay-Lussac
and Thenard.
Oxygen 50-63 49-083 53-33
Carbon 42-47 44-115 39-99
Hydrogen 6-90 6-802,.... 6-66
100-00 100-000 99-99
To be able to determine from these analyses the num¬
ber of atoms of oxygen, carbon, and hydrogen, which are
Distilla
tion.
'—H
Xjitinc-
fion
H
[litress.
D I S
D I S
53
requisite to form a constituent particle of sugar, it would
be requisite, in the first place, to be able to specify the
weight of sugar capable of neutralizing a given weight of
any solifiable base. Berzelius found, that when a solution
of a given weight of sugar in water was digested over oxide
of lead, the oxide was at first dissolved; but, after a cer¬
tain interval of time, a light white powder makes its ap¬
pearance. This powder is a compound of sugar and oxide
of lead, and is composed, according to Berzelius’s analysis,
of
Sugar 4T74 10-03
Oxide of lead 58*26 14
100*00
Now the equivalent number for oxide of lead is 14. It
follows from this, that if the white powder be a compound
of an atom of sugar and an atom of oxide of lead, the
weight of an atom of sugar is 10. But we have no evi¬
dence whatever for adopting one atom of sugar in this
compound rather than two. And as one atom will not
accord with the phenomena of fermentation, it is better
to consider the white powder as a compound of one atom
oxide of lead and two atoms of sugar. On that supposi¬
tion an atom of sugar will weigh about five. Now, if we
suppose it to be composed of
3 atoms oxygen  = 3*
3 atoms carbon  = 2*25
3 atoms hydrogen  — 0*375
5*625
the weight of an atom of sugar will be 5*625, which does
not differ very much from the weight, as resulting from
Berzelius’s analysis ; not more, indeed, than might be ex¬
pected from the extreme difficulty of analysing such a
compound with precision. But if we suppose the weight
of an atom of sugar to be as now stated, 100 parts of it
will be composed of
Oxygen = 53*31
Carbon ; — 40*03
Hydrogen = 6*66
10000
Now, as these numbers are almost exactly the same with
those of Dr Prout, we are disposed to consider them as
representing the true constituents of sugar.
From the phenomena of fermentation, as described un¬
der the present article, and in the article Brewing, it ap¬
pears that by the fermentation the sugar is decomposed Distress,
and converted into alcohol and carbonic acid. Alcohol, w-y-w
according to the analysis of Theodore de Saussure, is com¬
posed of three atoms hydrogen, two atoms carbon, and
one atom oxygen. Carbonic acid is composed of two atoms
oxygen and one atom carbon. Hence the weight of an
integrant particle of alcohol is 2*875. For
1 atom oxygen = 1
2 atoms carbon .....= 1*5
3 atoms hydrogen = 0*375
2*875
And an integrant particle of carbonic acid weighs 2*75.
We see likewise that a particle of sugar is capable of
being decomposed into an integrant particle of alcohol
and an integrant particle of carbonic acid. For a particle
of alcohol is composed of
Oxygen. Carbon. Hydrogen.
1 atom + 2 atoms + 3 atoms
Carbonic acid, of...2 +1 +0
3 4- 3 4“ 3
both together, we see, corresponding to the number of
atoms in a particle of sugar.
If fermentation then be merely the separation of sugar
into an atom of alcohol and an atom of carbonic acid,
there ought to be formed,
Of alcohol. 2*875
Of carbonic acid... 2*75
But alcohol of 0*825 contains about the fifth of its
weight of water. Hence by fermentation sugar is con¬
verted into
Alcohol of 0*825 3*45 parts, or 55*6
Carbonic acid gas 2*75 44*4
6*20 100*0
Now these proportions approach very nearly the results
obtained by Lavoisier and Thenard. We are disposed
therefore to consider the explanation which we have given
as likely to be the true one.
In what way the yeast acts, if no portion of it enter into
the composition of the alcohol or carbonic acid, as would
appear from what we know of the subject, we have no
means at present of forming a conception. It would be
requisite, before we could reason on the subject, to be
better acquainted with the composition of yeast than we
are at present. (l.)
DISTINCTION, in Logic, is an assemblage of two or
more words, by means of which disparate things or their
conceptions are denoted.
DISTORTION, in Medicine, is when any part of the
human body remarkably deviates from its natural shape
or position. Distortions of different parts may arise either
from a convulsion or a palsy; though sometimes distortion
in the shape of the whole body has arisen merely from
carelessness and ill habits.
DISTRESS, in its ordinary acceptation, denotes cala¬
mity, misery, or suffering.
The Contemplation of Distress a source of pleasure. On
this subject there is a very pleasing and ingenious essay
by Dr Barnes, in the Memoirs of the Literary and Philo¬
sophical Society of Manchester. It is introduced with the
following motto from Lucretius :
Suave mari magno, turbantibus Eequora ventis,
E terra alterius magnum spectare periclum.
Non quia vexari quenquam est jucunda voluptas;
Sed quibus ipse malis careas, quia cernere suave est.
“ The pleasure here described by the poet, and of which
he has mentioned so striking and apposite an instance, may
perhaps at first seem of so singular and astonishing a na¬
ture, that some may be disposed to doubt of its existence.
But that it does exist in the case here referred to, and in
many others of a similar kind, is an undoubted fact; and
it may not appear an useless or disagreeable entertainment
to trace its source in the human breast, together with the
final cause for which it was implanted there by our bene-'
volent Creator.
“ Shall I, it maybe said, feel complacency in beholding
a scene in which many of my fellow-creatures are agoniz¬
ing with terror, whilst I can neither diminish their danger,
nor, by my sympathy, divide their anguish ? At the sight
of another’s woe, does not my bosom naturally feel pain ?
Do I not share in bis sensations? And is not this strong
and exquisite sensibility intended by my Maker to urge
me on to active and immediate assistance? #These sensa¬
tions are indeed attended with a noble pleasure, when I
can, by friendly attention, or by benevolent communica-
54 D I S
Distress, tion, soothe the sorrows of the poor mourner, snatch him
from impending danger, or supply his pressing wants.
But in general, where my sympathy is of no avail to the
wretched sufferer, I fly from the spectacle of his misery,
unable or unwilling to endure a pain which is not allayed
by the sweet satisfaction of doing good.”
In answer to these objections, it will be necessary, in
the first place to prove the reality of the feeling, the cause
of which, in the human constitution, many have attempt¬
ed to explore.
Mr Addison, in his beautiful papers on the pleasures of
the imagination, has observed, “ that objects or scenes,
which, when real, give disgust or pain, in description often
become beautiful and agreeable. Thus, even a dunghill
may, by the charms of poetic imagery, excite pleasure
and entertainment. Scenes of this nature, dignified by
apt and striking description, we regard with something of
the same feelings with which we look upon a dead mon¬
ster.
 Informe cadaver
Protrahitur : nequeunt expleri corda tuendo
Terribiles oculos, vultum, villosaque setis
Pectora semiferi, atque extinctos faucibus ignes.
“ This,” he observes, “ is more particularly the case
where the description raises a ferment in the mind, and
works with violence upon the passions. One would won¬
der,” he adds, “ how it comes to pass, that passions,
which are very unpleasant at all other times, are very
agreeable when excited by proper description; such as
terror, dejection, grief, &c. This pleasure arises from
the reflection we make upon ourselves, whilst reading it,
that we are not in danger from them. When we read of
wounds, death, &c. our pleasure does not rise so properly
from the grief which these melancholy descriptions give
us, as from the secret comparison we make of ourselves
with those who suffer. We should not feel the same kind
of pleasure if we actually saw a person lying under the
tortures that we meet with in a description.”
And yet, upon the principle assigned by this amiable
writer, we might feel the same, or even higher pleasure,
from the actual view of distress, than from any descrip¬
tion ; because the comparison of ourselves with the suf¬
ferer would be more vivid, and consequently tbe feeling
more intense. We would only observe, that the cause
which he assigns for this pleasure is the very same with
that assigned by Lucretius in our motto. Mr Addison
applies it to the description, the poet to the actual con¬
templation, of affecting scenes. In both, the pleasure is
supposed to originate in selfishness. But wherever the
social passions are deeply interested, as they are here sup¬
posed to be, from the pathetic description, or the still more
pathetic survey, of the sufferings of another, the sympa¬
thetic feelings will of themselves at once, and previously
to all reflection, become a source of agreeable and tender
emotions. They will thus dignify and enhance the satis¬
faction, if any such be felt, arising merely from the consi¬
deration of our own personal security. And the more en¬
tirely we enter into the scene, by losing all ideas of its
being either past or fabulous—the more perfectly we for¬
get ourselves, and are absorbed in the feeling—the more
exquisite is the sensation.
But as our subsequent speculations will chiefly turn
upon the pleasure derived from real scenes of calamity,
and not from those which are imaginary, we may be ex¬
pected to produce instances in proof of the proposition
that such pleasure is actually felt by persons very differ¬
ent in their tastes and mental cultivation.
We shall not mention the horrid joy with which the sa¬
vage feasts his eyes upon the agonies and contortions of
D I S
his dying prisoner, expiring in all the pains which arti- Distre
ficial cruelty can inflict. Nor will we recur to the almost 's^y'
equally savage sons of ancient Rome, when the majesty of
the Roman people could rush with eagerness and transport
to behold hundreds of gladiators contending in fatal con¬
flict, and probably more than half the number extended,
weltering in blood and writhing in agony upon the arena.
Nor will we mention the Spanish bull feasts; nor the fer¬
vent acclamations of an English mob around their fellow-
creatures when engaged in furious battle, in which it is
possible that some of the combatants may receive a mor¬
tal blow, and be hurried into another world. Let us sur¬
vey the multitudes which in every part of the kingdom al¬
ways attend an execution. It may perhaps be said, that
in every place the vulgar have little of the sensibility and
tenderness of more polished minds. But in the last-men¬
tioned instance, an execution, there is no exultation in the
sufferings of the poor criminal. He is regarded by every
spectator with the most melting compassion. The whole
assembly sympathize with him in his unhappy situation ;
an awful stillness prevails at the dreadful moment; many
are wrung with unutterable sensations; and prayer and
silence declare, more loudly than any language could, the
interest they feel in his distress. Should a reprieve come
to rescue him from death, how great is the general triumph
and congratulation. And probably in tins multitude you
will find not the mere vulgar herd alone, but men of su¬
perior knowledge and of more refined sensibility, who, led
by some strong principle which we wish to explain, feel a
pleasure greater than all the pain, great and exquisite as
one should imagine it to be, in beholding such a spec¬
tacle.
The man who condemns many of the scenes we have
already mentioned as barbarous and shocking, would pro¬
bably run with the greatest eagerness to some high cliff
overhanging the ocean, to see it swelled into a tempest,
though a poor vessel, or even a fleet of vessels, were to
appear as one part of the dreadful scenery, now lifted to
the heavens on the foaming surge, now plunged deep into
the fathomless abyss, and now dashed upon the rocks,
where they are in a moment shivered into fragments, and,
with all their mariners, entombed in the deep. Or, to
vary the question a little, who would not be forward to
stand safe on the top of some mountain or tower, adjoin¬
ing to a field of battle, in which two armies meet in des¬
perate conflict, though probably thousands may soon lie
before him prostrate on the ground, and the whole field
present the most horrid scenes of carnage and desolation ?
That in all these cases pleasure predominates in the com¬
pounded feeling is plain, because you continue to survey
the scene ; whereas, when pain became the stronger sensa¬
tion, you would certainly retire.
Cultivation may indeed have produced some minuter
differences in the taste and feelings of different minds;
and those whose sensibilities have not been refined by
education or science, may feel the pleasure in a more
gross and brutal form. But do not the most polished
natures feel a similar, a kindred pleasure, in the deep-
wrought distresses of the well-imagined scene? Here
the endeavour is to introduce whatever is dreadful or pa¬
thetic, whatever can harrow up the feelings or extort the
tear. And the deeper and more tragical the scene becomes,
the more it agitates the several passions of terror, grief, or
pity, the more intensely it delights even the most polished
minds. They seem to enjoy the various and vivid emotions
of contending passions. They love to have the tear trem¬
bling in the eye, and to feel the whole soul as it were rapt
in thrilling sensations. For that moment they seem to
forget the fiction; and afterwards commend that exhibi¬
tion most in which they most entirely lost sight of the
D I S
jitress. author and of their own situation, and were alive to all the
unutterable vibrations of strong or melting sensibility.
Taking it then for granted, that in the contemplation of
many scenes of distress, both imaginary and real, a grati¬
fication is felt, let us endeavour to account for it by men¬
tioning some of those principles, interwoven into the web
of human nature by its benevolent Creator, on which that
gratification depends.
Dr Akenside, in one of the most striking passages of his
Pleasures of the Imagination, has endeavoured to show
that the sympathetic feelings are virtuous, and therefore
pleasant; and from the whole he deduces this important
conclusion, that every virtuous emotion must be agree¬
able, and that this is the sanction and the reward of virtue.
The thought is amiable, and the conclusion noble; but
still the solution appears to us to be imperfect. We have
already said, that the pleasure arising from the contem¬
plation of distressful scenes is a compounded feeling aris¬
ing from several distinct sources in the human breast. The
kind and degree of the sensation must depend upon the
various blendings of the several ingredients which enter
into the composition. The cause assigned by Mr Addison,
namely, the sense of our own security, may be supposed
to have some share in the mass of feelings. That of Dr
Akenside may be allowed to have a still larger proportion.
Let us attempt to trace some of the rest.
There are few principles in human nature of more ge¬
neral and important influence than that of sympathy. An
ingenious writer, led by the fashionable idea of simplify¬
ing all the springs of human nature into one source, has,
in his beautiful Theory of Moral Sentiments, endeavoured
to analyze a very large number of the feelings of the heart
into sympathetic vibration. Though it appears to us most
probable that the human mind, like the human body, pos¬
sesses various and distinct springs of action and of happi¬
ness, yet he has shown, in an amazing diversity of instances,
the operation and importance of this principle of human
nature.
We naturally sympathize with the passions of others.
But if the passions which they appear to feel be not those
of mere distress alone; if,-amidst the scenes of calamity,
they display fortitude, generosity, and forgiveness; if
“ rising superior to the cloud of ills which covers them,”
the}' stand firm, collected, and patient; a still higher
source of pleasure opens upon us, arising from compla¬
cent admiration, and that unutterable sympathy which
the heart feels with virtuous and heroic minds. By the
operation of this principle, we place ourselves in their si¬
tuation; we feel, as it were, some share of that conscious
integrity and peace which they must enjoy. Hence, as
was before observed, the pleasure will vary, both as to its
nature and degree, according to the scene and characters
before us. The shock of contending armies in the field ;
the ocean wrought to tempest, and covered with the
wrecks of shattered vessels; and a worthy family silently
yet nobly bearing up against a multitude of surrounding
sorrows; will excite very different emotions, because the
component parts of the pleasurable sensation consist of
very different materials. They all excite admiration;
but admiration diversified both as to its degree and its
cause. These several ingredients may doubtless be so
blended together that the pleasure shall make but a very
small part of the mixed sensation. The more agreeable
tints may bear little proportion to the terrifying red or the
gloomy black.
In many of the instances which have been mentioned,
the pleasure must arise chiefly, if not solely, from the cir¬
cumstances or accompaniments of the scene. The su¬
blime feelings excited by the view of an agitated ocean,
relieve and soften those occasioned by the shipwreck: and
D I S 55
the awe excited by the presence of thousands of men, Distress,
acting as if with one soul, and displaying magnanimity
and firmness in the most solemn trial, tempers those sen¬
sations of horror and of pain which would arise from a
view of the field of battle.
The gratification we are attempting to account for de¬
pends also, in a very considerable degree, upon a principle
of human nature, implanted in it for the wisest ends; the
exercise which it gives to the mind by rousing it to ener¬
gy and feeling. Nothing is so insupportable as that lan¬
guor and ennui, for the full expression of which our lan¬
guage does not afford a proper term. To show how agree¬
able it is to have the soul called forth to exertion and sen¬
sibility, we may cite the case of the gamester, who, unable
to endure the lassitude and sameness of unanimated lux¬
ury, runs with eagerness to the place where probably there
await him all the irritation and agony of the most tumul¬
tuous passions.
Again, it isyi law in our nature, that opposite passions,
when felt in succession, and, above all, when felt at the
same moment, heighten and increase each other. Ease
succeeding pain, certainty after suspense, friendship after
aversion, are unspeakably stronger than if they had not
been thus contrasted. In this conflict of feelings, the
mind rises from passive to active energy. It is roused to
intense sensation; and it enjoys that peculiar, exquisite,
and complex feeling, in which, as in many articles of our
table, the acid and the sweet, the pleasurable and pain¬
ful pungencies, are so happily mixed together, as to ren¬
der the united sensation amazingly more strong and de¬
lightful.
We have not yet mentioned the principle of curiosity,
that busy and active power, which appears so early, con¬
tinues unimpaired so long, and to which, for the wisest
ends, is annexed so great a sense of enjoyment. To
this principle, rather than to a love of cruelty, we would
ascribe that pleasure which children sometimes seem to
feel from torturing flies and lesser animals. They have
not yet formed an idea of the pain which they inflict. It
is indeed of unspeakable consequence that this practice
should be checked as soon and as effectually as possible,
because it is so important that they should learn to con¬
nect the ideas of pleasure and pain with the motions and
actions of the animal creation. And to this principle may
we also refer no small share of that pleasure in the con¬
templation of distressful scenes, the springs of which, in
the human heart, we are now endeavouring to unfold.
To curiosity, then, to sympathy, to mental exertion, to
the idea of our own security, and to the strong feelings
occasioned by viewing the actions and passions of man¬
kind in interesting situations, do we ascribe the gratifica¬
tion which the mind feels from the survey of many scenes
of sorrow. We have called it &'pleasure; but it approaches
towards or recedes from pleasure, according to the nature
and proportion of the ingredients of which the sensation
is composed. In some cases pain predominates; in others
there is exquisite enjoyment.
Distress, in Law, the seizing or distraining of any
thing for rent in arrear, or other duty unperformed.
The effect of this distress is to compel the party either
to replevy the things distrained, and contest the taking
in an action of trespass against the distrainer; or rather
to oblige him to compound and pay the debt or duty for
which he was so distrained.
There are likewise compulsory distresses in actions to
cause a person to appear in court, of which kind there is
a distress personal of one’s moveable goods, and tbe profits
of his lands, for contempt in not appearing after summons ;
and there is likewise real distress of a person’s immove¬
able goods. In these cases none shall be distrained to an-
56
D I T
D I T
Distribu¬
tion
. II.
Ditrihe-
dria.
swer for any thing touching their freeholds, except by the
king’s writ.
Distress may be either finite or infinite. Finite distress
is that which is limited by law, in regard to the number
-of times it shall be made, in order to bring the party to a
trial of the action. Infinite distress is that which is with¬
out any limitation, being made till the person appear; it
is further applied to jurors who do not appear ; as, upon a
certificate of assize, the process is venire facias, habeas cor¬
pora, and distress infinite.
It is also divided into grand distress and ordinary dis¬
tress. Of these, the former extends to all the goods and
chattels which the party has within the county. A person,
of common right, may distrain for rents and for all manner
of services, and where a rent is reserved on a gift in tail,
lease for life, or years, &c. though there be no clause of
distress in the grant or lease, so as that he has the rever¬
sion ; but on a feoffment made in fee, a distress may not
be taken, unless it be expressly reserved in the deed.
DISTRIBUTION, in a general sense, the act of divid¬
ing a thing into several parts, in order to the disposing
each in its proper place.
Distribution, in Architecture, the dividing and dispos¬
ing of the several parts and pieces which compose a build¬
ing, as the plan directs.
Distribution, in Rhetoric, a kind of description, by
which an orderly division and enumeration is made of the
principal qualities of the subject. David supplies us with
an example of this kind, wrhen, in the heat of his indigna¬
tion against sinners, he gives a description of their iniqui¬
ty : “ Their throat is an open sepulchre ; they flatter with
their tongues ; the poison of asps is under their lips ; their
mouth is full of cursing and lies; and their feet are swift
to shed blood.”
Distribution, in Printing, the taking a form asunder,
separating the letters, and disposing them in the cases
again, each in its proper cell.
DISTRICT, in Geography, a part of a province, distin¬
guished by peculiar magistrates, or certain privileges; in
which sense it is synon}'mous with hundred.
DISTRINGAS, in Law, a writ commanding the sheriff
or other officer to distrain a person for debt to the king,
&c. or for his appearance at a certain day.
Distringas Juratores, a writ directed to the sheriff,
by which he is commanded to distrain upon a jury to ap¬
pear and to return issues on their lands, &c. for non-ap¬
pearance. This writ of distringas juratores issues for the
sheriff to have their bodies in court at the return of the
wrrit.
DITCH, a common fence or inclosure in marshes, or
other wet land where there are no hedges.
Ditch, in Fortification, called also fosse and moat, a
trench dug round the rampart or wall of a fortified place
between the scarp and counterscarp.
DITHYRAMBUS, in ancient poetry, a hymn in ho¬
nour of Bacchus, full of transport and poetical rage.
This poetry owes its birth to Greece, and to the trans¬
ports of wine; and yet art is not quite exploded, but deli¬
cately applied to guide and restrain the dithyrambic im¬
petuosity, which is indulged only in pleasing flights. Ho¬
race and Aristotle tell us that the ancients gave the name
of dithyrambus to those verses in which none of the com¬
mon rules or measures were observed. As we have now
no remains of the dithyrambus of the ancients, we cannot
say exactly what this measure wrs.
DITONE, in Music, an interval comprehending two
tones. The proportion of the sounds which form the di¬
tone is 4 : 5, and that of the semitone is 5 : 6.
DITRIHEDRIA, vtx Mineralogy, an old term expres¬
sive of crystals with twice three sides, or six planes, being
formed of two trigonal pyramids joined base to base with- Dittfu
out any intermediate prism. ||
DITTFURT, a market-town of the Prussian province
of Saxony, situated on the river Bode, with 1797 inhabi-
tants, who cultivate much flax, and conduct some tan¬
neries.
DITTEAH, a towm and fortress of Hindustan, in the
province of Bundelcund. It is populous and well built,
about a mile and a half long, and nearly as much in breadth.
The houses are chiefly constructed of stone covered w ith
tiles. It is surrounded by a stone wall, and furnished
with gates. Without the town is the rajah’s palace,
standing on an eminence, and commanding a very exten¬
sive prospect, including a handsome lake. It is an an¬
cient place, having been in the rajah’s family for several
centuries. The surrounding district yields a revenue of
between L.12,000 and L.l5,000 sterling per annum. On
the cession of Bundelcund by the peshwa to the British
in 1804, the rajah of Ditteah joined the British standard,
and a treaty was concluded with him, by which he was
confirmed in the possession of his ancient inheritance.
Long. 78. 32. E. Lat. 25. 43. N.
DITTO, in books of accounts, usually written D°, sig¬
nifies the afore mentioned. The word is corrupted from
the Italian detto, the said; as in our law phrase, “ the said
premises,” meaning the same as were afore mentioned.
DITTON, Humphry, an eminent mathematician, was
born at Salisbury on the 29th May 1675. Being an only
son, his father, observing in him an extraordinary capa¬
city, determined to cultivate it by means of a good edu¬
cation. For this purpose he placed him in a reputable pri¬
vate academy, upon quitting which he at the desire of his
father, though against his own inclination, engaged in the
profession of divinity, and began to exercise his profession
at Tunbridge, in the county of Kent, where he continued
to preach some years, during which time lie married a lady
of that place.
But a weak constitution and the death of his father in¬
duced Mr Ditton to quit that profession; and at the per¬
suasion of Dr Harris and Mr Whiston, both eminent
mathematicians, he engaged in the study of mathema¬
tics, a science to which he had always a strong inclina¬
tion. In the prosecution of this science he w^as much en¬
couraged by the success and applause he received, being
greatly esteemed by the chief professors of it, and parti¬
cularly by Sir Isaac Newton, by whose interest and re¬
commendation he was elected master of the new mathe¬
matical school in Christ’s Hospital, where he continued
till his death, which happened in 1715, in the fortieth year
of his age.
Mr Ditton published the following mathematical and
other tracts: 1. Of the Tangents of Curves, &c. Phil.
Trans, vol. xxiii. 2. A Treatise on Spherical Catoptrics,
published in the Phil. Trans, for 1705, from which it
was copied and reprinted in the Acta Eruditorum 1707,
and also in the Memoirs of the Academy of Sciences at
Paris. 3. General Laws of Nature and Motion, 8vo, 1705.
Wolfius mentions this work, and says that it illustrates
and renders easy the writings of Galileo, Huygens, and
the Principia of Newton. It is also noticed by La Roche,
in the Memoires de Literature, vol. viii. p. 46. 4. An In¬
stitution of Fluxions, containing the first Principles, Ope¬
rations, and Applications of that admirable method, as in¬
vented by Sir Isaac Newton, 8vo, 1706. This work, with
additions and alterations, was again published by Mr John
Clarke in the year 1726. 5. In 1709 he published the
Synopsis Algebraica of John Alexander, with many addi¬
tions and corrections. 6. His Treatise on Perspective was
published in 1712. In this work he explained the princi¬
ples of that art mathematically; and, besides teaching the
D I V
Diu methods then generally practised, gave the first hints of
II the new method afterwards enlarged upon and improved
ivalia. j)r Brook Taylor, and which was published in the year
 ' 1715. 7. In 1714 Mr Ditton published several pieces,
both theological and mathematical, particularly his Dis¬
course on the Resurrection of Jesus Christ; and The New
Law of Fluids, or a Discourse concerning the Ascent of
Liquids, in exact Geometrical Figures, between two near¬
ly contiguous Surfaces. To this was annexed a tract to
demonstrate the impossibility of thinking or perception
being the result of any combination of the parts of matter
and motion ; a subject much agitated about that time. To
this work also was added an advertisement from him and
Mr Whiston concerning a method for discovering the lon¬
gitude, which it seems they had published about half a
year before. This attempt probably cost our author his
life; for although it was approved and countenanced by
Sir Isaac Newton before it was presented to the Board of
Longitude, and the method had been successfully put in
practice in finding the longitude between Paris and Vienna,
yet that board then determined against it; so that the dis¬
appointment, together with some public ridicule, particu¬
larly in a poem written by Dean Swift, affected his health
so that he died in the ensuing year, 1715.
In an account of Mr Ditton, prefixed to the German
translation of his Discourse on the Resurrection, it is said
that he had published, in his own name only, another
method for finding the longitude, but which Mr Whiston
denied. However, Raphael Levi, a learned Jew, who had
studied under Leibnitz, informed the German editor that
he well knew that Ditton and Leibnitz had corresponded
upon the subject, and that Ditton had sent to Leibnitz a
delineation of a machine he had invented for that pur¬
pose, which was a piece of mechanism constructed with
many wheels like a clock, and which Leibnitz highly ap¬
proved of for land use, but doubted whether it would an¬
swer on board of ship, on account of the motion.
DIU, a celebrated island and fortress of Hindustan, in
the province of Gujerat. It is six and a half miles long by
one and a half broad, is nearly barren, and contains no good
water, excepting what is collected in ponds during the
rainy weather. It owes its fame to a noted Hindu temple,
which rose to great celebrity, and was reckoned one of the
richest places of the East. In the year 1025, Sultan Mah-
mood of Ghizni having overrun the province, entered the
island, which is separated from the main land by a narrow
strait only fordable at low water, and having taken the
temple, broke the image in pieces, and found in it jewels
to an incredible amount, and immense treasures also in
the temple. In 1815 the Portuguese gained possession
of Diu. They immediately commenced fortifying it, and
in ten years rendered it impregnable against all the powers
of India. It soon became a place of great trade and com¬
merce, and was the harbour in which the fleets were laid
up in winter. But with the decline of the Portuguese
power it fell into decay, and was finally plundered by the
Arabs of Muscat in 1670. It has since dwindled into in¬
significance, and has now little or no commerce. Long. 71.
E. Lat. 20. 43. N.
DIVAL, in Heraldry, the herb nightshade, used by
such as blazon by flowers and herbs, instead of colours and
metals, for sable or black.
DIVALIA, in Antiquity, a feast held among the an¬
cient Romans, on the 21st day of December, in honour of
the goddess Angerona; whence it is called Angeronalia.
On the day of this feast, the pontifices performed sacrifice
in the temple of Voluptia, or the goddess of joy and plea¬
sure, who, some say, was the same with Angerona, and
supposed to drive away all the sorrows and chagrins of
.life.
VOL. vm.
D I V 57
DIVAN, a council chamber or court of justice amongst Divan
the eastern nations, particularly the Turks. The word is . .11
Arabic, and signifies the same with sofa in the Turkish ^lvination'
dialect.
The word is also used for a hall in the private houses
of the orientals. The custom of China does not allow the
receiving of visits in the inner parts of the house, but only at
the entry, in a divan contrived on purpose for ceremonies.
DIVANDUROW, the name of seven islands which lie
about a league north of the Maldives, and twenty-four from
the coast of Malabar, almost opposite to Cananor.
DIVERGENT, or Diverging Lines, in Geometry, are
those which constantly recede from each other.
Divergent Bmjs, in Optics, are those which, going
from a point of tl^ visible object, are dispersed, and con-
tinualty depart one from another in proportion as they are
removed from the object; in which sense it is opposed to
convergent.
DIVERSIFYING, in Rhetoric, is of infinite service to
the orator; it is an accomplishment essential to his cha¬
racter, and may fitly be called the subject of all his tropes
and figures. Vossius lays down six wrays of diversifying
a subject: 1. By enlarging on what was briefly mentioned
before ; 2. by a concise enumeration of what had been in¬
sisted on at length; 3. by adding something new to what
is repeated; 4. by repeating only the principal heads of
what had been said; 5. by transposing the words and pe¬
riods ; 6. by imitating them.
DIVERSION, in military affairs, is when an enemy is
attacked in one place where they are weak and unprovid¬
ed, in order to draw off their forces from another place
where they have made, or intend to make, an irruption.
DIVESTING properly signifies undressing or stripping
off one’s garment, in contradistinction to investing. In
law it is used for the act of surrendering or relinquishing
one’s effects. By a contract of donation or sale, the donor
or seller is said to be disseised and divested of his proper¬
ty in such a commodity, and the donee or purchaser be¬
comes invested therewith. A demise is a general dives¬
titure which the fathers and mothers make of all their
effects in favour of their children.
DIVINATION, the knowledge of things obscure or fu¬
ture, which cannot be attained by any natural means.
It was a received opinion amongst the heathens that the
gods were wont to converse familiarly with some men,
whom they endowed with extraordinary powers, and ad¬
mitted to the knowledge of their councils and designs.
Plato, Aristotle, Plutarch, Cicero, and others, divide di¬
vination into two sorts or species, viz. natural and artificial.
The former was so called, because not attained by any
rules or precepts of art, but infused or inspired into the
diviner, without his taking any further care about it than to
purify and prepare himself for the reception of the divine
afflatus. Of this kind were all those who delivered ora¬
cles, and foretold future events by inspiration, without
observing external signs or accidents.
The second species of divination was called artificial,
because it was not obtained by immediate inspiration, but
proceeded upon certain experiments and observations ar¬
bitrarily instituted, and mostly superstitious. Of this sort
there were various kinds, as by sacrifices, entrails, flame,
cakes, flour, wine, water, birds, lots, verses, omens, and so on.
In holy Scripture we find mention made of nine differ¬
ent kinds of divination. The first was performed by the
inspection of planets, stars, and clouds. It is supposed to
be the practisers of this whom Moses calls pijin, meonen,
from px, anan, cloud (Deut. chap, xviii. ver. 10). 2. Those
whom the prophet calls in the same place irmra, menache-
seh, which the Vulgate and the generality of interpreters
render augur. 3. Those who in the same place are called
H
58
D I V
d i v
Divination.
tltran, mecascheph, which the Septuagint and Vulgate trans¬
late “ a man given to ill practices.” 4. Such others whom
Moses in the same chapter, verse 11, calls •nm, hhober.
5. Those who consult the spirits called Python ; or, as
Moses expresses it in the same book, “ those who
ask questions of Python.” 6. Witches or magicians, whom
Moses calls 'W', judeoni. 7. Those who consult the dead,
necromancers. 8. The prophet Hosea (chap. iv. ver. 12),
mentions such as consult staves, 'bpn bxtp; which kind of
divination may be called rhabdomancy. 9. The last kind
of divination mentioned in Scripture is hepatascopy, or the
consideration of the liver.
Divination of all kinds was necessarily made an occult
science, which naturally remained in the hands of the
priests and priestesses, the magi, the soothsa3rers, the
augurs, the visionaries, the priests of the oracles, the false
prophets, and other like professors, till the time of the com¬
ing of Jesus Christ. The light of the gospel, it is true,
has dissipated much of this darkness; but it is more diffi¬
cult than is commonly conceived to eradicate from the
human mind a deep-rooted superstition, even though the
truth be set in the strongest light, especially when the
error has been believed almost from the origin of the
world; so that we still find existing among us the remains
of this Pagan superstition in the chimeras which enthu¬
siastic and designing men have formed into arts and sci¬
ences, though it must be owned, to the honour of the
nineteenth century, that the pure doctrines of Christianity,
and the spirit of philosophy, which become every day
more diffused, equally concur in banishing these visionary
opinions. The vogue for these pretended sciences and
arts, moreover, is past, and they can no longer be named
without exciting ridicule in all sensible people. By relat¬
ing them here, therefore, and drawing them from their
natural obscurity, we only mean to show their futility,
and to mark those rocks against which the human mind,
without the assistance of a pilot, might easily split.
For the attaining these supernatural qualifications, there
are still existing in the world the remains of
1. Astrology ; a conjectural science, which teaches to
judge of the effects and influences of the stars, and to
predict future events by the situation of the planets and
their different aspects. It is divided into natural astrology,
or meteorology ; which is confined to the foretelling of na¬
tural effects, as the winds, rain, hail, and snow, frosts and
tempests. In this consists one branch of the art of al¬
manack-makers ; and by merely confronting these predic¬
tions in the calendar with the weather which each day pro¬
duces, every man of sense will see what regard is to be paid
to this part of astrology. The other part, which is called
judicial astrology, is still more illusive and absurd than the
former; and having been at first the wonderful art of vi¬
sionaries, it afterwards became that of impostors; a very
common fate with all those chimerical sciences of which
we are here treating. This art pretends to teach the me¬
thod of predicting all sorts of events which shall happen
upon the earth, as well such as relate to the public as those
which concern private persons; and this by the same in¬
spection of the stars and planets, and their different con¬
stellations. The cabbala signifies, in like manner, the know¬
ledge of things which are above the moon, as the celestial
bodies and their influences ; and in this sense it is the same
with judicial astrology, or forms part of it.
2. Horoscopy, which may also be considered as a part of
astrology, is the art of drawing a figure, or celestial scheme, Livir
containing the twelve houses, in which are marked the dis- 's-^y
position of the heavens at a certain moment; for example,
that at which a man is born, in order to foretel his for¬
tune, or the incidents of his future life. In a word, it is
the disposition of the stars and planets at the moment of
any person’s birth. But as there cannot be any probable
or possible relation between the constellations and the
human race, all the principles they lay down, and the pro¬
phecies they draw from them, are chimerical, false, ab¬
surd, and a criminal imposition on mankind.
3. The art of augury consisted, amongst the ancient
Romans, in observing the flight, the singing, and eating
of birds, especially such as were held sacred. See Au¬
gury.
4. The equally deceitful art of haruspicy consisted, on
the contrary, in the inspection of the entrails of animals,
but principally of victims, and from these predicting grand
incidents relative to the republic, and the good or bad
events of its enterprises.
5. Aeromancy was the art of divining by the air. This
vain science has also come to us from the Pagans; but it
is rejected by reason as well as Christianity, as false and
absurd.
6. Pyromancy is a divination made by the inspection
of a flame, either by observing to which side it turns, or
by throwing into it some combustible matter, or a bladder
filled with wine, or any thing else from which it was ima¬
gined that predictions might be drawn.
7. Hydromancy is the supposed art of divining by wa¬
ter. The Persians, according to Varro, invented this art.
Pythagoras and Numa Pompilius both made use of it.
8. Geomancy was a divination made by observing cracks
or clefts in the earth. It was also performed by points
made on paper, or any other substance, at a venture ; and
future events were judged of from the figures which thence
resulted. This was certainly very ridiculous; but it is no¬
thing less so to pretend to predict future events by the in¬
spection of the grounds of a dish of tea or coffee, or by
cards, and many other like matters. Thus have design¬
ing men made use of the four elements to deceive their
credulous brethren.
9. Chiromancy is the art which teaches to know, by in¬
specting the hand, not only the inclinations of a man, but
his future destiny also. The fools or impostors who prac¬
tise this art pretend that the different parts or the lines
of the hand have a relation to the internal parts of the
body, as some to the heart, others to the liver, spleen, &c.
On this false supposition, and on many others equally ex¬
travagant, the principles of chiromancy are founded ; and
on which, however, several authors, as Robert Flud an
Englishman, Artemidorus, M. de la Chambre, John of In-
dagina, and many others, have written treatises.
10. Physiognomy, or physiognomancy, is a science that
pretends to teach the nature, the temperament, the un¬
derstanding, and the inclinations of men, by the inspec¬
tion of their countenances, and is therefore very little less
frivolous than chiromancy; though Aristotle, and a num¬
ber of learned men after him, have written express trea¬
tises concerning it.
DIVINE, something relating to God. The word is also
used figuratively for any thing that is excellent, extraor¬
dinary, and that seems to go beyond the power of nature
and the capacity of mankind.
59
D I V
iving. Diving is the art of descending under water to consi-
/ derable depths, and of remaining there some time, so as
to be able to collect valuable articles, such as pearls (see
Pearl Fishing), sponges, coral, and other submarine pro¬
ductions, from the bottom of the sea or rivers, or pro¬
perty from the sunken wrecks of vessels.
IJficulties This art is one of great utilitj^, but is attended with pe-
oiiiving, culiar difficulties, owing to the very limited powers which
'yant man naturally possesses within the liquid element. On the
tlflungs sur^'ace may no ^oubt continue a long time floating or
swimming, and hence arises the wonderful art of naviga¬
tion. But the moment he plunges within the mass he is
cut off from the vital air, and life is speedily extinguished.
The necessity of a constant supply of air for the support
of life is shown by simply attempting to withhold it by
shutting the mouth and nostrils. No one can continue
holding in the breath in this manner much longer than a
minute or a minute and a half. If we begin to hold after
having made an expiration, we cannot do it longer than a
quarter of a minute; but if we take a large inspiration,
and fill the lungs, this supply is found to last longer; so
that we can readily hold breath a full minute, and, with
practice and great exertion, some may even continue to
do so two minutes. Now this is exactly what the diver
must do to remain alive under water; and accordingly we
find that in general a person cannot remain longer than
half a minute without the danger of suffocation, and the
most practised divers not above two minutes; such is the
necessity for fresh air continually present in the lungs.
N'essity The nature and cause of this necessity for air has been
o ir,cause illustrated by the discoveries of modern chemistry. These
0 have proved that it arises from a certain chemical action
which the atmosphere exerts on the blood as it passes
through the lungs, and which is continually going on, and
cannot for a moment be intermitted. The nature of this
action is not yet exactly understood, but the object of it
undoubtedly)s to purify the blood, as it becomes vitiated
by circulating through the system. For this purpose, the
air inspired into the lungs, and coming there into contact
with the blood, imparts to it its oxygen, a small portion of
which is supposed to combine with the blood, and to give
it renewed vigour; but by far the greater portion combines
with the carbonaceous matter of the blood, and carries off
this impurity in the shape of carbonic acid at each expi¬
ration. This is proved by a very simple experiment. Let
a person, for instance, respire by means of a pipe into a
bag or bladder of air of the capacity of a gallon or more;
he will breathe freely enough at first, but in a very short
time with great difficulty, and at last will feel the sense of
suffocation the same as in holding the breath in the ordi¬
nary way. If the air in the bladder be now examined, it
will be found to have entirely changed its nature; it will
no longer support the flame of a candle, but extinguish it,
the moment it is immersed, thus showing the loss of oxygen.
Hence arises that sense of closeness and oppression which
is felt in crow ded assemblies, where, as generally happens,
the ventilation is imperfect. The same air being breathed
again and again, becomes unfit for respiration, and pro¬
duces those unpleasant sensations which are usually felt.
A very curious and interesting set of experiments on re¬
spiration were made by Messrs Allen and Pepys, and
narrated in the Philosophical Transactions for 1808. The
following bears particularly on the present subject.
“ Ihree hundred cubic inches of common air contained
in one of the mercurial gasometers were respired. In less
I N G.
than a minute it became necessary to take deeper and Diving,
deeper inspirations, and at last the efforts were so violent v—
that the glass was in danger of being broken. A great
sense of oppression and suffocation was now felt in the
chest, vision became indistinct, and after the second mi¬
nute the attention of the operator seemed to be withdrawn
from surrounding objects, and fixed upon the experiment.
A buzzing in the ears took place, as in breathing nitrous
oxide ; and after the third minute there was left only suf¬
ficient recollection to close the gasometer after an expi¬
ration ; after which he became insensible, having made
thirty-five inspirations. The expired air contained ten
per cent, of carbonic acid, four of oxygen, and eighty-six
of azote.”
With 300 cubic inches of air, then, in the gasometer, the Quantity
operator began to be insensible in the space of two mi-ofair ne-
nutes; and if we suppose that the lungs, which were jncessai7;
their natural state at the commencement of the operation, 0.^
contained 100 cubic inches of atmospheric air, then jtincreasiil!?*
would follow that 200 inches each minute would be neces¬
sary to support life, so as to remain at the same time quite
sensible. Hence, supposing the lungs to contain, with a
full inspiration, 250 cubic inches, which is a pretty large
allowance, it would follow that a man might hold breath,
or remain under water, a minute and a quarter, which
agrees veiy well with what occurs in ordinary cases. But
a very curious fact has been mentioned to us by Professor
Faraday of the Royal Institution, London, and was first
noticed to him by a gentleman connected with the Asia¬
tic Society, a fact which may often be of great importance,
not only in diving, but in cases of fire, and of accidents
in brewers’ vats, &c. The lungs in their natural state are
charged with a large quantity of impure air, being a portion
of the carbonic acid gas which is formed during respira¬
tion, but after each expiration still remains lodging among
the involved passages of the pulmonary vessels. In proof
of this, it is only necessary to breathe by a small pipe, or roll
of paper, into a common water bottle, throwing away the
first portion of the expiration, and propelling the last into
the lower parts of the vessel. Then insert this over a ta¬
per, and it will be instantly extinguished. Now, by breath¬
ing hard for a short time, as one does after taking any vio¬
lent exercise, this impure air is expelled, and its place is
filled up with atmospheric air. The consequence is, that
if we then take a full inspiration, the breath can easily
be held for two minutes. This experiment any one can
make. On trying it in the ordinary way, we could hold
breath for about three quarters of a minute, but this with
great difficulty. We then made eight to ten forced re¬
spirations, and on closing the mouth and nostrils felt no
inconvenience even on the first trial, till after a minute and
a half, but continued, however, to the end of the second
minute. The knowledge of this fact might be of essen¬
tial use in diving, and, we have no doubt, might often be
the means of saving life ; for if in the ordinary way we
can only remain a single minute under water, of what im¬
portance is it to be capable of doubling the time? A sin¬
gle minute in these cases must be invaluable. Whether
the professed divers are aware of this circumstance or not,
we do not know; but it is probable, at any rate, that in
many cases the exertion induced by swimming may have
the effect of clearing the lungs. Another curious fact il¬
lustrative of the same principles occurred to Mr Brunell
in descending to examine the breach which the river had
made in the Tunnel under the Thames. Having lower-
60
DIVING.
Difficulty
from the
Diving, ed the diving-bell nearly thirty feet to the mouth of the
opening, this was found too narrow to admit the bell, so
that no further observation could be made on the state
of the Shield and other works, which were perhaps eight
or ten feet deeper. Brunell, therefore, laying hold of the
end of a rope, left the bell, and dived himself down the
opening; his companion in the bell being alarmed at the
length of his stay, now about two minutes, gave the sig¬
nal for pulling up ; and the diver, unprepared for the sig¬
nal, had hardly time to catch hold of the rope which he
had let go, and was surprised on coming up to find that
so much time had elapsed. On descending again, he
found that he could with ease remain fully two minutes
under water. The reason evidently was, that the atmo¬
sphere in the bell being condensed by a column of water
nearly thirty feet in height, contained nearly double the
quantity of air in the same bulk, and thus nearly a double
supply in the lungs.
Besides the difficulty of holding the breath, another
arises in diving, particularly at considerable depths, from
thtMvater°* the external pressure of the fluid on the chest, and on
er’ every cavity of the body. On the chest this tends to
compress it together, and to expel the air out of it, and
thus increases greatly the difficulty of holding the breath.
At each foot of descent this pressure will increase up¬
wards of sixty lbs. on every square foot of the body ; and if
we suppose the chest to expose half a square foot, we have,
at the depth of fifteen feet, a force equal to the weight of
450 lbs. loading the chest, and tending to propel the in¬
cluded air. A very great muscular exertion, therefore,
will evidently be required to resist this enormous strain;
nor is it practicable, by any breastplate or other contriv¬
ance, to defend the chest fi*om this pressure, as this, to
do any good, would require to be so large, and of such
strength, as greatly to obstruct the free motions of the
diver. It is this pressure of the deep water, and the violent
exertion necessary to overcome it, that< causes, in divers
who go down frequently, the eyes to become blood-shot,
and brings on a spitting of blood.
The art of diving having always in it, and particularly
during the infancy of science, something of the marvellous,
the most extraordinary accounts have been given, by dif¬
ferent authors, of the feats of some of the most noted
divers. The most singular of these is that given by Kir-
cher, of the Sicilian diver Nicolo Pesce, taken, as he states,
from the archives of the kings of Sicily.
“ In the times of Frederick king of Sicily,” says Kircher,
“ there lived a celebrated diver, whose name was Nicholas,
and who, from his amazing skill in swimming, and his per¬
severance under water, was surnamed the Jish. This man
had from his infancy been used to the sea, and earned his
scanty subsistence by diving for corals and oysters, which
he sold to the villagers on shore. His long acquaintance
with the sea at last brought it to be almost his natural ele¬
ment. He was frequently known to spend five days in
the midst of the waves, without any other provisions than
the fish which he caught there, and ate raw. He often
swam over from Sicily into Calabria, a tempestuous and
dangerous passage, carrying letters from the king. He
was frequently known to swim among the gulfs of the Li-
pari islands, noway apprehensive of danger.
“ Some mariners out at sea one day observed something
at some distance from them, which they regarded as a sea
monster; but upon its approach it was known to be Nicho¬
las, whom they took into their ship. When they asked
him whither he was going in so stormy and rough a sea,
and at such a distance from land, he showed them a packet
of letters which he was carrying to one of the towns of
Italy, exactly done up in a leather bag, in such a manner
as that they could not be wetted by the sea. He kept
Marvel¬
lous ac¬
counts of
divers.
Sicilian
diver.
them thus company for some time in their voyage, con- Divin
versing and asking questions ; and after eating a hearty
meal with them, he took his leave, and, jumping into the
sea, pursued his voyage alone.
“ In order to aid these powers of enduring in the deep,
nature seemed to have assisted him in a very extraordi¬
nary manner; for the spaces between his fingers and toes
were webbed, as in a goose ; and his chest became so very
capacious that he could take in, at one inspiration, as
much breath as would serve him for a whole day.
“ The account of so extraordinary a person did not fail
to reach the king himself, who commanded Nicholas to be
brought before him. It was no easy matter to find Nicho¬
las, who generally spent his time in the solitudes of the
deep ; but at last, after much searching, he was found and
brought before his majesty. The curiosity of this mo¬
narch had been long excited by the accounts he had heard
of the bottom of the Gulf of Charybdis; he now there¬
fore conceived that it would be a proper opportunity to
have more certain information. He therefore commanded
our poor diver to examine the bottom of this dreadful
whirlpool, and, as an incitement to his obedience, he or¬
dered a golden cup to be flung into it. Nicholas was not
insensible of the danger to which he was exposed, dangers
best known only to himself, and therefore he presumed to
remonstrate ; but the hopes of the reward, the desire of
pleasing the king, and the pleasure of showing his skill, at
last prevailed. He instantly jumped into the gulf, and
was as instantly swallowed up in its bosom. He continued
for three quarters of an hour below, during which time
the king and his attendants remained on shore anxious for
his fate; but he at last appeared, holding the cup in
triumph in one hand, and making his way good among
the waves with the other. It may be supposed he was
received with applause when he came on shore; the cup
was made the reward of his adventure; the king ordered
him to be taken proper care of; and, as he was somewhat
fatigued and debilitated by his labour, after a hearty meal
he was put to bed, and permitted to refresh himself by
sleeping.”
The diver then, according to the account, gave a nar¬
rative of the wonders he had seen, which so excited the
curiosity of the monarch, that he again tempted the diver
to a second and fatal descent. After plunging into the
whirlpool, he was never more heard of.
But to return to more authentic statements, these onAuthe
the whole agree very well with the views already stated.staten
Among the pearl divers at Ceylon and other parts of theoftlie
East, instances have been known of a diver remaining sixF)W^
minutes under water ; but these are very rare ; the ordi¬
nary time seldom exceeds a minute, and sometimes it is
a minute and a half, or two minutes. There are general¬
ly ten divers in each of the boats belonging to the fishery;
five descend into the sea at a time, and the other five re¬
main above to recruit their strength. In order to hasten
their descent, a large stone is used, with a rope attached
to it, which the diver seizes with the toes of his right foot,
while he grasps a bag of net-work with those of the left.
He then seizes another rope with his right hand, and
keeping his nostrils shut with his left, plunges into the
water, and soon reaches the bottom. Then hanging the
net round his neck, he speedily collects the oysters, and
resuming his former position, he makes a signal to those
in the boat, and is immediately hauled up, and the stone
which assisted his descent is pulled up afterwards.
The divers are all Indians, who are accustomed to this
seemingly dangerous occupation from their infancy, and
wdio fearlessly descend to the greatest depths. They will
frequently make from forty to fifty plunges in a day; but
the exertion is so extremely violent, that in coming up they
DIVING.
61
giving.
*
I >rida
I lian
d ers.
Tijs of
b nges.
Sith Sea
d;ers.
Afiaratus
aiding
divers.
discharge water, and sometimes blood, from their mouths,
ears, and nostrils. Some of them rub their bodies with
oil, and stuff their ears to prevent the water from enter¬
ing; but the greater part use no precautions whatever.
They take no food while in the boats, nor till they return
on shore and have bathed themselves in fresh water. The
only danger to which they are exposed is from meeting,
while at the bottom, with the ground-shark, which is a
common inhabitant of those seas, and of which the divers
are under dreadful apprehensions; some of them indeed
are so expert as to avoid this enemy, even when they re¬
main under water for a considerable time; but the uncer¬
tainty of escaping is so great, that, in order to avert the
danger, they consult, before they begin, their priests or
conjurors, in whom they place implicit confidence.
Dr Halley relates, as a remarkable circumstance, that
he observed a Florida Indian diver at Bermudas, who
could remain two minutes under water. He states, that
the divers for sponges in the Archipelago are in the prac¬
tice of taking down in their mouths a piece of sponge
dipped in oil, and by this are enabled to dive longer than
others who have none. It is not easy to conceive how this
can assist the diver’s breathing ; for the introduction of
any foreign substance into the mouth must necessarily
diminish the quantity of air he can take down. But it
has been lately said that the real object of taking oil in
their mouth is to calm those small waves on the surface of
the sea which prevent the light being so steadily transmit¬
ted to the bottom as is necessary to enable the divers to
find the small objects they search for without delay. By
ejecting a little oil from their mouths, it rises to the sur¬
face, and spreading upon it, calms the waves in a most
remarkable manner, and gives a brilliant light at the bot¬
tom.
Many nations, and particularly the savages in the South
Sea and other islands, are remarkable for the expertness
they acquire by habit in diving and moving about in the
water. Being accustomed to it from their infancy, the
element becomes so natural to them that they seem to
have the use of all their faculties in the water the same
as on the dry land. According to the accounts of voy¬
agers, they are such expert divers, that when a nail or
other piece of iron was thrown overboard, they would in¬
stantly jump into the sea after it, and never fail to recover
it. On one occasion a( smith’s anvil is said to have fallen
overboard. Not being able to bring this up, the island¬
ers notwithstanding contrived to bring it ashore, by de¬
scending a great many times to the bottom, and rolling it
over and over till it reached the land.
Such is the length to which diving has been carried by
the natural powers of the body alone. But from the curious
and difficult nature of the object, and the many important
purposes to which the art might be employed, ingenious
men were led to the invention of various contrivances for
the use of the diver, which have greatly extended his
powers and the usefulness of the art. A multitude of
these contrivances of different descriptions have been
brought forward by mechanical projectors for the last two
hundred years. They all resolve themselves into three
different kinds.
ls£, Water-tight armour or dresses for the body, so
strong as to protect it from the external pressure of the
fluid; and, along with this, the means of supplying the
diver with fresh air, so as to enable him to remain any
time under water.
, Water-tight vessels of metal for inclosing the
diver, and of such capacity as to contain a supply of air
for a limited period of perhaps half an hour or an hour or
more, and giving him also the use of his hands ancharms
externally by a sort of flexible sleeves.
3c%, The diving-bell, which, from its simplicity, safety, Diving,
and perfect efficiency, has now almost entirely superseded
every other, though there is no doubt that in many cases
these may still be of considerable utility in subservience
to the bell.
In regard to dresses or armour, a number of different Water-
plans of this kind are detailed in Leopold’s TAeatrum^S^1 ar-
Machinarum Hydraulicarum. At depths of twelve or fif-mour-
teen feet these may often be of essential use; but beyond
this they become inapplicable, owing to the great pressure
on the limbs of the diver, which must either be exposed,
or covered only with a flexible material, not to impede
his motions; and in that case the pressure, acting on all
sides like a ligature, is liable to obstruct the circulation
of the blood in the limbs, and to drive it from these into
those parts of the body within the armour, causing ex¬
treme pain. In any great depth, also, the necessary
strength of the armour renders it unwieldy; and it is ex¬
tremely difficult, if not impracticable, to fit it tightly on
every part; while the smallest opening, by admitting wa¬
ter, may endanger the life of the diver.
One of the best of these contrivances is perhaps that Klingert’s
proposed by M. Klingert, and described in a pamphlet armour,
published at Breslau in 1798. The harness or armour is
made of strong tin-plate, in the form of a cylinder, with a
round end to inclose the head and body, and, for the con¬
venience of putting it on, is made in two parts, the head-
piece or helmet, and the body. Besides this, there is a
leather jacket, with short sleeves, and a pair of drawers of
the same, which are made water-tight, buttoned on the
metal part where they join, and made tight with brass
hoops, going round the leather and the metal upon the
outside. The chief peculiarity in this machine is the
mode in which fresh air is supplied, and respiration effect¬
ed. This is done by two distinct flexible pipes proceeding
from the inside of the helmet to the surface of the water;
the one is for inhaling the air, and terminates in an ivory
mouth-piece, which the diver may embrace with his lips
and inhale the air; the -other enters the helmet at the
same place, and opens merely into the inside of the ma¬
chine, so as to allow the foul air to be discharged. The
diver, therefore, draws in the fresh air by the mouth, and
discharges it into the helmet by the nostrils; and from
the interior of the machine it is propelled by the act of
inspiration, the expansion of the chest contracting the
space between it and the armour, and forcing out exactly
as much air as is drawn in, keeping up always a due equi¬
librium. This is certainly a very ingenious arrangement;
for, if there were no second pipe to discharge the air, the
expansion of the chest would compress the air round the
body of the diver, and, unless this were of large capacity,
which would be inconvenient, would create a difficulty in
the operation. The construction of the apparatus will be
understood from the drawing, fig. 1, Plate CLXXXIX.,
which is a front view of the diver, and by the following
description: A is the helmet-piece, fifteen inches in
height, and the diameter adapted to the size of the body
of the diver; BB is the lower part of the cylinder, of
the same diameter, and of such a height as to meet the
other at the dotted line C; ddQ is the jacket, and jfjfE
the drawers; these are attached to the cylinder by but¬
tons, as seen ; and «, c, bb are the three brass hoops fit¬
ted over each joint to make it water-tight; the hoops
are made of brass-plate, with their ends turned up, and
fitted with screws, by means of which they can be drawn
very tight upon the leather. The cylinder has holes
for the arms, one half in the upper piece and one half in
the lower; and when the jacket is fastened on, it binds
the upper and lower parts of the cylinder together. It is
fastened at the arms with brass screw hoops, dd, and the
62
DIVING.
Diving, drawers by similar ones at ff; k h represent the breath-
ing pipes, the first for drawing in the air, the second for
discharging it; these are united to a little metal cylinder,
which screws on the helmet at the aperture g; this is
shown more particularly at fig. 2, where a partition will
be observed in the cylinder dividing the fresh air com¬
partment from the other, the one terminating in the ivory
mouth-piece v, the other just entering the machine at t.
W is a small reservoir at the lower part of the pipes, for
condensing any air, or receiving what may penetrate
through the pipes. To resist the external pressure of the
water on the limbs, the leather drawers have a framing of
iron within them, represented at fig. 3; this consists of a
semicircular piece ll, also seen at //, fig. 1, extending be¬
tween the legs of the diver, and fastened to the lower ex¬
tremity of the cylinder at the front and back; also two
irons nn outside the thighs, which are jointed to the cy¬
linder, and extend down to^ where they are attached to
a hoop surrounding the thigh; there is another hoop for
each thigh farther up at q ; these hoops are farther con¬
nected by irons, which at the upper end are fitted to slide
upon the semicircular hoop, as at t; and by this means,
though the frame-work is very strong, the diver is at li¬
berty to walk, imv are weights hooked on the cylinder,
to keep the diver down. P is a small pump for discharg¬
ing any leakage water which may penetrate through the
joints.
When the different parts of the machine have been fitted
to the body of the diver, and the proper weights are at¬
tached, he enters the water till it rises as high as his eyes,
while the end of the pipe is held by an assistant above the
surface ; and if he finds that he can breathe freely, and no
water is forced into the pipe, he may venture to go deeper;
and, stopping for some time, to ascertain whether respi¬
ration be not inconvenient from the want of fresh air, he
may advance to still greater depths, while he makes the
proper signals by means of the rope which is secured to
one of his arms, or by speaking through the pipe. By this
kind of exercise for some time, the diver acquires confi¬
dence and ease for conducting the necessary operations.
When he is desirous of ascending he has only to unhook
the weights attached to the apparatus, or to fix them to a
rope let down for the purpose, that they may not be lost,
and as he is then lighter than the same bulk of water, he
rises to the surface.
By following these directions, any one may be able to use
the apparatus, and dive to moderate depths, in a very short
time. In one of the trials upon the Oder, near Breslau,
the diver was a huntsman taught by the author; the water
was of considerable depth, and the current strong,and there
were a great number of spectators present. He sawed
through the trunk of a tree which was lying at the bottom;
he showed also that he could have fastened sunk bodies to
a rope in order to be drawn up, and that in case any impe¬
diment should prevent the use of the saw, the trunks of
trees might be hewed to pieces by an axe. On the whole,
this apparatus, or one similar, might certainly be of great
use in many cases, particularly in hydraulic works, where
the diving-bell and the machinery connected with it might
not be attainable. The water-proof cloth of Mackintosh
might also be substituted with good effect for the leather.
Apparatus Another mode of supplying air to the diving apparatus
by Tonkin, has been adopted in some cases. This consists in forcing
the fresh air into the machine by a bellows or pump, till
its elastic force is equal to the pressure of the water. The
foul air may in this case be suffered to escape into the
water through a valve, or may be conducted to the surface
by a pipe. Of this kind is the apparatus contrived by
Mr Tonkin, and employed for some time in raising parts of
the wreck of the Abergavenny East India ship, which was
unfortunately lost off Weymouth in 1804. It consisted of Divii
a body of copper with iron boots, put together and jointed
in the manner of coats of mail; the whole is then covered
with leather, and afterwards with canvass to distinguish it
under water. The arms are made of strong water-proof
leather ; and the place for sight is about eight inches dia¬
meter, glazed over with a plate of glass an inch thick.
The diver is sunk in this machine by means of weights,
fastened equatorially round the waist of it; and he is sus¬
pended by a rope, by means of which his situation is
changed at pleasure. A flexible air-tube communicates
with an air-vessel in the boat above. Through this tube
the diver gives his instructions and obtains his supply of
fresh air. This machine was used with very good effect
in a depth of water of near seven fathoms, and enabled the
diver to direct the operations of several curious machines,
such as saws for clearing away the ship’s decks, and mak¬
ing sufficient openings to give him access to the treasure
below, as well as tongs, &c. for taking up the heavy goods
by tackle in the vessel above.
In regard to the second kind of diving machines, that Eorelli
proposed by Borelli is only curious as showing the low Jiving;
state of physical knowledge in his time. He proposed tokladtle
have a copper vessel, or vesica as he terms it, about two
feet diameter, to contain the diver’s head, and to be
fixed to a habit of goat skin for the body. Within the ves¬
sel there were pipes contrived to produce a circulation of
air, by which Borelli supposed that the objections to other
diving machines from the want of air would be obviated;
“ the moisture,” as he says, “ by which it is clogged in
respiration, and by which it is rendered unfit for the same
use again, being taken from it by its circulation through
the pipes, to the sides of which it would adhere, and leave
the air as free as before.” It also contained an air-pump,
by means of which the diver could raise or lower the ap¬
paratus, by condensing or rarefying the air, on the prin¬
ciple of the air-bladder of fishes.
Mr Martin, in his Philosophia Britannica, mentions an Death
apparatus contrived by an Englishman, consisting of strong (hvinf
leather, so prepared that no air could pass through. It fit-c iestl
ted to his arms and legs, and had a glass window placed in
the fore part of it. When dressed in this apparatus, which
was large enough to contain half a hogshead of air, he
could walk on the ground at the bottom of the sea, and
enter the cabin of a sunk ship to take out the goods. The
inventor is said to have himself used this machine very
extensively in recovering wrecks, and with such success !
as to have acquired considerable property by it. We are
not informed of the depths to which he descended.
Mr Klingert, the inventor of the water armour, also con- Kling s
trived a diving chest, of the form of a hollow cylinder, todivinl
be used along with it. This contained fifty-eight cubicc iest'
feet of air, which, he estimated, would last two hours. It
was suspended from a boat, but could be raised and de¬
pressed independently of this by a pump compressing or
dilating the included air. Thus the ballast is so adapted
to the size of the machine, as to make it sink so far
that only a cubic foot of it remains above water. In
this state an additional weight of a hundred pounds will
depress it below the surface, or make it sink to the bot¬
tom. The effect of adding extra weights is produced by
diminishing the volume of contained air, by condensing it
into a smaller space. To accomplish this, a large cylinder
is applied in the bottom of the vessel, and provided with
a piston, which, by a rack and pinion, can be moved from
one end of the cylinder to the other, when the diver turns
a handle, coming through the side of the machine, and
communicating motion by a worm and wheel to the pi¬
nion of the rack before mentioned. The lower end of the
cylinder is open to the water, and the upper end opens
D I V I N G-B ELL.
ving. within the machine; therefore, when the diver turns the
handle in the direction to raise up the piston in its cylin¬
der, it necessarily diminishes the bulk of the included air,
and the machine will sink; but on depressing the piston
in the cylinder, it will ascend again. The inventor pro¬
posed to furnish the machine with two small oars to move
it in the water, and an anchor or grapnel to make it fast
whilst the diver walks about on the bottom, within the
limits of the length of the pipe, to examine sunk bo¬
dies, and discover the best mode of raising them. To pre¬
vent danger from any accident happening to the machine,
the diver is to be provided with the means of quickly
detaching the pipes from the machine, and retaining a
sufficiency of air in the armour to carry him to the sur¬
face when he throws off the weight suspended from his
girdle.
j!Ire’s Another diving machine or chest was invented by Mr
Bftng Rowe in 1753, and is represented in Plate CLXXXIX.
d’fig. 4. It consists of a trunk or hollow copper vessel AB,
soldered or riveted together with strength proportioned
to the depth of water where it is to be fixed. It contains
the diver’s body, and also a sufficiency of air for the time
he intends to dive. He enters with his feet first at the
open end A, which is then closed by a lid or cover screw¬
ed on by a number of screw bolts passing through the
flanches. The vessel is bent at F, for the bearing of the
diver’s knees, and has a sufficiency of leaden ballast at B
to sink it in the right position. There are two hoops sur¬
rounding it, which, at the same time that they strengthen
it, afford points of suspension by a bar, which is attached
to them, and is pierced with several holes to admit a span
upon the rope, which is so adjusted as to suspend the
whole, with the diver in it, nearly in the position of the
figure, when he will be in a convenient posture for working
with his arms, which come through openings C in the ves¬
sel, to which sleeves E, of very strong leather, are attached
by a hoop or ring, screwed to the vessel with the leather
between them. The sleeves are lined with cloth, and the
edges round the holes are defended by soft quilting, from
hurting the diver’s arms by the pressure, as well as to pre¬
vent the sleeves and his arms being thrust inwards. D is
an aperture covered by a strong lens, for the diver to see
through. At H and G are two other openings in the up¬
per part of the vessel, covered by screw caps, which are
removed when fresh air is to be introduced into the ma¬
chine by the nose pipe of a pair of bellows being applied
to force fresh air into one, and drive out the foul air at the
other. The lower opening is also of use to pump out any
water which may leak through at the joints, though this
is as much as possible prevented by fitting leather into the
joints of the cover and the caps before they are screwed
tight. The mass of lead F is fastened to the lower side of
the vessel in a line between the diver’s arms, by means of
hoops. On this the whole rests if it comes to the ground,
and remains in a proper position for the diver to work, and
fasten ropes to any thing which is to be drawn up, as shown
in fig. 5.
It the water be very deep, the diver must wear a kind of
saddle on his back, which, having a ridge touching the
top part of the vessel withinside, enables him to keep his
arms properly out of the apertures, otherwise he would
not have strength to resist the pressure acting upon the
surface ot the arms and sleeves, which forces them into it
with a weight proportional to the quantity of surface ex¬
posed, and to the depth of water. The diver gives his in¬
struction to those above by a small line, which is laid
through a staple at the side of the machine, and has a
handle always hanging in reach of the diver’s hand. The
upper part of this line is held by a person in the boat or
ship above, to whom any signal is given, by the diver
63
snatching or twitching the line a certain number of times, Diving,
as has before been agreed upon. This is immediately
felt by the person above, who gives orders accordingly.
The size of the vessel is such that he can continue at the
bottom about half an hour, without any pipes or other
supply, and will be enabled to do man)' things very readily,
such as recovering moorings, chains lost in rivers or har¬
bours, hooking ropes for weighing up lost anchors, or any
other purpose where there is free access to the object
sought; though in entering and searching the wrecks of
ships, it would be less convenient than some others which
we shall describe.
Besides the above, several other projects of a similar Diving ma-
kind have been proposed, not only with means within it-chine to
self of raising and lowering the vessel, but with contri-m°ve un-
vanees in the shape of screw arms for moving it when ^er water•
under water in any direction; but none with much suc¬
cess. This is said to have been tried in the reign of King
James I. by a famous English projector, Cornelius Drebell,
who, we are told by Mr Boyle, made a submarine vessel,
which would carry twelve rowers besides the passengers;
and that he had also discovered a liquid which had the
singular property of restoring the air when it became im¬
pure by breathing. This last circumstance, with the num¬
ber of persons inclosed in the machine, and the imperfect
state of mechanics at the period alluded to, render the
whole story extremely improbable, though it shows clearly
that the idea had been entertained, and perhaps some
attempt made. The celebrated Bishop Wilkins, in his
Mathematical Magic, takes up the scheme of Drebell, and,
with all the sanguine facilities of a projector, describes
the benefits of these submarine enterprises. The subma¬
rine vessel of Mr Bushnell of Connecticut, in America,
constructed in 1787, though very complex, appears to
have been a curious and ingenious machine, and to have
promised success if persevered in, according to the ac¬
counts published of it. It was intended to act chiefly as
an engine of war, by advancing under water towards an
enemy’s ship, and fixing in the bottom of it a magazine of
powder, which, by peculiar contrivances, was intended to
take fire after the machine had got to a sufficient distance
to be out of danger. But if this be the only use of such
a machine, its failure need not be regretted. Let us now
turn, then, to the most important of all diving machines
yet contrived, namely,
The Diving-Bell.
The principle of the diving-bell is extremely simple. General
Let anyone insert a wine glass in a tumbler of water; on principles,
sinking it to the bottom, the inside of the glass will be
observed to remain nearly full of air, so that any small
object within the glass will remain perfectly dry, the in¬
cluded air being confined on all sides, and by its impene¬
trability excluding the water from its place. If this ex¬
periment be made with a pretty large bell-glass, inverted
over a taper floating on the surface of the water in a still
larger vessel, the taper will be observed to descend with
the glass to the bottom; and though surrounded on all
sides with water, it will be found to remain perfectly dry,
and to continue burning for some time. Conceive then
a vessel of wood or metal, in the shape of a wine-glass or
truncated cone, but so large as, when inverted, to admit
several persons within it, sitting, for instance, on a board
along one of the sides. Let the whole then be suspended
by a rope or chain over the side of a vessel, with a jib pul¬
ley and crane, to lower or raise the machine at pleasure.
I hen, on the machine being lowered and loaded with suf¬
ficient wreight to sink it, the persons may all descend to a
great depth in the sea, without being wetted in the small-
64
D I V I N G-B ELL.
Diving- est degree; and there is nothing to prevent them remain-
^ ^ ing any time in this situation, and moving about and doing
operations at great depths.
Hist&ry. The above, then, was the original construction of the
diving-bell; and the great advantage of it, and what dis¬
tinguishes it above every other similar invention, and ren¬
ders it vastly superior, is, that being perfectly open below,
the divers can get out and in with the utmost facility.
This invention, according to Professor Beckmann, is ge¬
nerally assigned to the sixteenth century ; and “ I am of
opinion,” says he, “ that it was little known before that
period. We read, however, that in the time of Aristotle
divers used a kind of kettle, to enable them to continue
longer under the water ; but the manner in which it was
employed is not clearly described. The oldest information
which we have of the use of the diving-bell in Europe is
that of John Taisnier, who was born in Hainault in 1509,
and had a place at court under Charles V., whom he at¬
tended on his voyage to Africa. He relates in what man¬
ner he saw, at Toledo, in the presence of the emperor and
several thousand spectators, two Greeks let themselves
down under water, in a large inverted kettle, with a burn¬
ing light, and rise up again without being wet. It appears
that this art was then new to the emperor and the Spa¬
niards, and that the Greeks were caused to make the ex¬
periment in order to prove the possibility of it.”
“ When the English in 1588 dispersed the Spanish fleet
called the Invincible Armada, part of the ships went to
the bottom, near the Isle of Mull, on the western coast of
Scotland; and some of these, according to the account of
the Spanish prisoners, contained great riches. This in¬
formation excited, from time to time, the avarice of spe¬
culators, and gave rise to several attempts to procure part
of the lost treasure. In the year 1665, a person was so
fortunate as to bring up some cannon, which, however,
were not sufficient to defray the expenses. Of these at¬
tempts, and the kind of diving-bell used in them, the read¬
er will find an account in a work printed at Rotterdam in
1669, and entitled G. Sinclari Ars nova et magna gravi-
tatis et levitatis. In the year 1680, William Phipps, a na¬
tive of America, formed a project for searching and un¬
loading a rich Spanish ship sunk on the coast of Hispa¬
niola ; and represented his plan in such a plausible man¬
ner, that King Charles II. gave him a ship, and furnished
him with every thing necessary for the undertaking. He
set sail in the year 1603 ; but being unsuccessful, return¬
ed again in great poverty, though with a firm conviction
of the possibility of his scheme. By a subscription, pro¬
moted chiefly by the Duke of Albemarle, the son of the
celebrated Monk, Phipps was enabled, in 1687, to try his
fortune once more, having previously engaged to divide
the profit according to the twenty shares of which the
subscription consisted. At first all his labour proved fruit¬
less ; but at last, when his patience was almost entirely
exhausted, he was so lucky as to bring up, from the depth
of six or seven fathoms, so much treasure, that he return¬
ed to England with the value of L.200,000. Of this sum
he himself got about sixteen, others say twenty thousand,
and the duke ninety thousand pounds. After he came
back, some persons endeavoured to persuade the king to
seize both the ship and the cargo, under a pretence that
Phipps, when he solicited for his majesty’s permission, had
not given accurate information respecting the business.
But the king answered, with much greatness of mind, that
he knew Phipps to be an honest man, and that he and his
friends should share the whole among them, had he re¬
turned with double the value. His majesty even confer¬
red upon him the honour of knighthood, to show how
much he was satisfied with his conduct. We know not the
construction of Phipps’s apparatus; but of the old figures
of a diving-machine, that which approaches nearest to the Divi:
diving-bell is in a book on fortification by Lorini; who de- Be]
scribes a square box bound round with iron, which is fur¬
nished with windows, and has a stool affixed to it for the
diver. This ingenious contrivance appears, however, to
be older than that Italian ; at least he does not pretend to
be the inventor of it.
“ In the year 1617, Francis Kessler gave a description
of his water-armour, intended also for diving, but which
cannot really be used for that purpose. In the year. 1671,
Witsen taught, in a better manner than any of his prede¬
cessors, the construction and use of the diving-bell; but
he is much mistaken when he says that it was invented at
Amsterdam. In 1679 appeared, for the first time, Borelli’s
well-known work De Motu Animalium ; in which he not
only described the diving-bell, but also proposed another,
the impracticability of which was shown by James Ber¬
noulli. When Sturm published his Collegium curiosum in
1678, he proposed some hints for the improvement of this
machine, on which remarks were made in the Journal des
Sgavans.” The diving-bell, as hitherto used in the above
simple form, is liable to two great defects, viz.
1. The elasticity of the included air prevents it from
resisting entirely the entrance of the water into the lower
part of the bell. The water, by the universal law of fluids,
presses the bell on all sides, in proportion to the depth of
the immersion. This pressure therefore it exerts upwards
on the bottom of the bell, and against the included air;
but the air being extremely compressible, yields to the
pressure, and is contracted into a smaller volume, allowing
the water to enter and occupy the lower portion of the
bell. Such is the effect of this pressure, that at the depth
of thirty-three feet the air becomes compressed into half
its volume, and the bell fills half full of water; and the
same proportion at every other depth. But,
2. The air within the bell, by continued respiration, be¬
comes speedily unfit to support life; and the whole appa¬
ratus therefore must be raised from time to time, to re¬
ceive a fresh supply. Suppose that only two persons de¬
scend in the bell at a time, we have seen that a supply of
two hundred cubic inches of air per minute is absolutely
necessary for each person to keep in life and sensibility.
But in order to breathe freely, at least double that quan¬
tity would be required; say for two persons half a cubic
foot per minute. If then we have a bell six feet long,
and four feet average diameter, this would contain about
seventy cubic feet, and would last upwards of two hours.
So that for at least one hour or more respiration might be
carried on with all manner of freedom.
At great depths, such as twenty, thirty, forty, and sixty Effect
feet, where the usual pressure on the body from the at-pressu
mosphere above is doubled and tripled, amounting in the
latter case to nearly forty pounds in every square inch,
one would imagine that respiration, and indeed the whole
system of the body, would be deranged under so thick and
confined an atmosphere. But experience proves that no
great inconvenience arises from this circumstance; and
the reason is, that the air pressing into every cavity with¬
in the body, as well as externally, the pressure is exactly
balanced ; so that the effect of the actual increase is ren¬
dered near! 3^ insensible. The only particular sensation felt painij
in descending in the bell is a severe pain in the ears, par-ears,
ticularly at first. This increases a little as we descend,
but, after resting at the bottom, goes entirely off. It arises
from the effect of the condensed air acting externally on
the tympanum of the ear, before the air within the tympanic
cavity has acquired the same density to counterbalance
it. The tympanum on the outside communicates directly
with the atmosphere, the pressure of which therefore acts
instantaneously. But on the inside the tympanum bounds
D I V I N G-B ELL.
ving- the tympanic cavity; and this has no communication with
♦3ell. the external air, excepting by the Eustachian tube, which
leads from the cavity into the mouth. Through this tube,
therefore, the condensed air must pass from the mouth, to
supply what is necessary within the cavity for restoring the
same equilibrium within and without. But the Eustachian
tube is a long and narrow passage; at its commencement
in the ear it has a bony structure, but towards its termi¬
nation in the mouth, behind the nostrils, it becomes soft
and fleshy, so as readily to close the passage, particularly
with any pressure acting externally. It admits therefore
an easy passage from the ear to the mouth ; but when any
pressure arises in the opposite direction, it acts in some
degree like a valve, shutting the passage, until the increas¬
ing pressure again forces it open. Some time then elapses
before all this can be accomplished ; and during this time
the external air pressing with full force on the tympanum,
produces the pain which is felt. When the Eustachian
tube opens, it is generally all of a sudden, and with a
slight explosion or pop, which is followed by instant relief
from the pain. This relief may often be produced by fill¬
ing the mouth, or gulping the air and pressing it into the
tube.
Different accounts have been given of this effect on the
ears in the diving-bell; but the above seems the most ac¬
curate, and what really takes place. The effect, indeed,
may be shown experimentally by shutting the mouth and
nostrils, and exhausting the air from them by the action of
the lungs. The air in the tympanic cavity immediately
rushing through the Eustachian tube into the mouth, the
external air acts on the tympanum, and produces a slight
sensation of deafness, such as is felt in the bell. But, in¬
stead of exhausting the air, attempt to compress it, and
force it through the tube into the internal ear; at first no
effect is produced : but after exerting a considerable pres¬
sure, a slight pop is felt, and a little pain in the ear, which
is just the sudden opening of the tube.
The great inconveniences of the diving-bell already
mentioned were completely removed by the labours of
the celebrated and ingenious philosopher Dr Halley, who
about the year J715 introduced the grand improvement of
supplying it with fresh air for any length of time without
raising the bell out of the water. This he effected by
letting down from the vessel from which the bell was sus¬
pended, barrels of fresh air, which, by means of pipes, dis¬
charged their contents into the bell; while the foul air
escaped by a small cock in the top of the bell. In this
manner the air within the bell was kept perfectly fresh,
and for any length of time. Another remarkable advan¬
tage arose from this plan. The force of the air in the
barrels was made to discharge the whole of the water out
of the bell, which the elasticity of the included air had
hitherto allowed to enter and partially to fill the cavity.
This was easily done by stopping the cock at the top, and
letting down the barrels below the level of the bell, by
which means the air included in them received a sufficient
preponderating pressure to enter the bell and drive out
the water. In this manner the whole cavity of the bell
became available for working ; and, what was of still more
importance, the diver could with ease descend and walk
on the bottom of the sea, the feet being only slightly im¬
mersed. The following is the interesting account which
Dr Halley gives of his arrangements :
“ I he bell I made use of was of wood, containing about
sixty cubic feet in its concavity, and was of the form of a
truncated cone, whose diameter at the top was three feet,
and at the bottom five. This I coated with lead so heavy
that it would sink empty ; and I distributed the weight so
about its bottom, that it would go down in a perpendicular
direction, and no other. In the top I fixed a strong but
VOL. vm.
clear glass, as a window, to let in the light from above ;
and likewise a cock to let out the hot air that had been
breathed ; and below, about a yard under .the bell, I placed
a stage, which hung by three ropes, each of which was
charged with about one hundredweight to keep it steady.
This machine I suspended from the mast of a ship by a
sprit, which was sufficiently secured by stays to the mast
head, and was directed by braces to carry it overboard
clear of the ship’s side, and to bring it again within board,
as occasion required.
“ To supply air to this bell when under water, I caused
a couple of barrels, of about thirty-six gallons each, to be
cased with lead, so as to sink empty; each of them hav¬
ing a bung-hole in its lowest parts to let in the water as
the air in them condensed on their descent, and to let it
out again when they were drawn up full from below. And
to a hole in the uppermost part of these barrels I fixed a
leathern trunk or hose well liquored with bees-wax and
oil, and long enough to fall below the bung-hole, being
kept down by a weight appended; so that the air in the
upper part of the barrels could not escape, unless the lower
ends of these hose were first lifted up.
“ The air-barrels being thus prepared, I fitted them
with tackle proper to make them rise and fall alternately,
after the manner of two buckets in a well; which was
done with so much ease, that two men, with less than half
their strength, could perform all the labour required; and
in their descent they were directed by lines fastened to
the under edge of the bell, which passed through rings on
both sides of the leathern hose in each barrel; so that,
sliding down by these lines, they came readily to the hand
of a man who stood on the stage on purpose to receive
them, and to take up the ends of the hose into the bell.
Through these hose, as soon as their ends came above the
surface of the water in the barrels, all the air that was in¬
cluded in the upper parts of them was blown with great
force into the bell, whilst the water entered at the bung-
holes below, and filled them ; and as soon as the air of one
barrel had been thus received, upon a signal given, that
was drawn up, and at the same time the other descended,
and, by an alternate succession, furnished air so quick, and
in so great plenty, that I myself have been one of five who
have been together at the bottom in nine or ten fathom
water, for above an hour and a half at a time, without any
sort of ill consequence ; and I might have continued there
as long as I pleased, for any thing that appeared to the
contrary. Besides, the whole cavity of the bell was kept
entirely free from water, so that I sat on a bench which
was diametrically placed near the bottom, wholly dressed,
with all my clothes on. I only observed that it was ne¬
cessary to be let down gradually at first, as about twelve
feet at a time ; and then to stop and drive out the air that
entered, by receiving three or four barrels of fresh air be¬
fore I descended further. But being arrived at the depth
designed, I then let out as much of the hot air that had
been breathed as each barrel would replenish with cool,
by means of the cock at the top of the bell; through
whose aperture, though very small, the air would rush
with so much violence as to make the surface of the sea
boil, and to cover it with a white foam, notwithstanding
the weight of the water over us.
“ Thus I found that I could do any thing that required
to be done just under us; and that, by taking off the
stage, I could, for a space as wide as the circuit of the
bell, lay the bottom of the sea so far dry as not to be
over shoes thereon. And, by the glass window, so much
light was transmitted, that when the sea was clear, and
especially when the sun shone, I could see perfectly well
to write or read, much more to fasten or lay hold on any
thing under us that was to be taken up. And, by the re-
i
65
Diving-
Bell.
GG D I V I N G-B ELL.
Diving, turn of the air-barrels, I often sent up orders written with
Bell, an iron pen, on small plates of lead, directing how to move
us from place to place as occasion required. At other
times, when the water was troubled and thick, it would be
as dark as night below; but in such cases I have been
able to keep a candle burning in the bell as long as I
pleased, notwithstanding the great expense of air neces¬
sary to maintain flame. This I take to be an invention
applicable to various uses, such as fishing for pearls, div¬
ing for coral or sponges, and the like, in far greater depths
than has hitherto been thought possible. Also for the fit¬
ting and placing of the foundations of moles, bridges, &c.
in rocky bottoms, and for the cleaning and scrubbing of
ships’ bottoms when foul, in calm weather, at sea. I shall
only intimate, that by an additional contrivance, I have
found it not impracticable for a diver to go out of an en¬
gine to a good distance from it, the air being conveyed to
him with a continued stream, by small flexible pipes ;
which pipes may serve as a clue to direct him back again
when he would return to the bell.”
Plate CLXXXIX., fig. 5, represents the construction
and operations of Dr Halley’s bell as thus described.
In 1721, shortly after the above experiments were
made, Dr Halley contrived additional apparatus, to enable
the diver to go out from the bell to a considerable dis¬
tance, and stay a sufficient time in the sea, and walk
about on the bottom, with full freedom to act as occasion
required. Considering that the pressure being greater on
the surface of the water in the bell than on any other
surface which was higher than that in the bell, the air
would pass by a pipe from the bell into any cavity for air;
where the surface of the water was higher, he concluded
that a man, by putting on his head a bell or cap of lead,
made sufficiently heavy to sink empty, and in form re¬
sembling the bell itself, might keep his head dry, and
might receive a constant stream of air from the great bell,
so long as the surface of the water in the cap was above
the level of that in the bell, by means of a flexible pipe
which he would carry coiled on his arm.
In pursuance of this idea he procured pipes to be made,
which answered all that was expected from them. They
were secured against the pressure of the water by a spi¬
ral brass wire, which kept them open from end to end,
the diameter of the cavity being about the sixth part of
an inch. These wires being coated with thin glove lea¬
ther, and neatly sewed, were dipped into a mixture of
hot oil and bees-wax, which, filling up the pores of the
leather, made it impenetrable to water; several thick¬
nesses of sheep's entrails were then drawn over them,
which, when dry, were covered with paint, and then the
whole defended with another coat of leather to keep them
from fretting. Several of the pipes were as much as forty
feet long, the size of a half inch rope. One end of a pipe
being fixed in the bell at some height above the water,
the other end was fastened to a cock which opened into
the cap. The use of the cock was to stop the return of
the air whenever there was occasion to stoop down or go
below the surface of the air in the bell, which occurred as
often as there was occasion to go out or return into the ma¬
chine. The diver, therefore, when he has descended to
the bottom in the great bell, puts on his cap with the
pipe hanging on his arm like the coil of a rope. As soon
as he leaves the bell, he opens the cock in the pipe, and
walks on the bottom of the sea, giving out the coils of his
pipe as it is required; and this serves as a clue to direct
him back again to the great bell, from whence he derives
his supply of air by means of the pipe.
The weight of a man being very little more than that of
his bulk in water, he could not act with any strength, nor
stand with any firmness, especially if there is any current,
without a considerable addition of weight; the leaden Divir
caps were therefore made to weigh about half a hundred- Bel
weight, to which was added a girdle for the waist, formed
of large weights of lead nearly of as great weight in the
whole ; also two clogs of lead for the feet, of about twelve
pounds each. With this accession of weight Dr Halley
found a man could stand well in an ordinary stream, and
even go against it. It is necessary for the diver to be
provided against the cold of the w^ater, which, though it
could not be removed so that a man could endure it long,
yet it was much eased by wearing a waistcoat and drawr-
ers made close to the body, of that thick woollen stuff'of
which blankets are made. This becoming full of water,
would be a little warmed by the heat of the body, and
keep off the chill of new cold water coming on.
When the water is not turbid, things are seen suffi¬
ciently distinct at the bottom of the sea; but a small de¬
gree of thickness makes perfect night in a moderate depth
of water. To obtain an open view from the leaden caps,
which, from their use, the doctor called caps of mainte¬
nance, he at first used a plain glass before the sight, but
soon found that the vapour of the breath made such a
dew on the surface of the glass that it lost its transpa¬
rency. To remedy this, he found it necessary to prolong
that side of the cap which was before the eyes, and there¬
by enlarge the prospect of what was beneath.
Another plan of the diving-bell was proposed by Mr
Martin Triewald, F. R. S. and military architect to the
king of Sweden, which, for a single person, is in some re¬
spects thought to be more eligible than Dr Halley’s, and is
constructed as follows. AB, fig. 6, is the bell, which is sunk
by lead weights DD hung to its bottom. This bell is of
copper, and tinned all over in the inside, which is illumi¬
nated by three strong convex lenses P, with copper lids
to defend them. The iron ring or plate below the bell
serves the diver to stand on when he is at work, and is
suspended at such a distance from the bottom of the bell
by the chains, that when the diver stands upright, his
head is just above the water in the bell, where the air
is much better than higher up, because it is colder, and
consequently more fit for respiration. But as the diver
must always be within the bell, and his head of course
in the upper part, the inventor has contrived, that even
there, when he has breathed the hot air as well as he
can, he may, by means of a spiral copper tube be, pla¬
ced close to the inside of the bell, draw the cooler and
fresher air from the lowermost parts; for which purpose
a flexible leather tube, about two feet long, is fixed to
the upper end of the copper tube; and to the other end
of this tube is fixed an ivory mouth-piece, by which the
diver draws in the air, at the same time expiring by the
nostrils. This bell may be supplied with fresh air by bar¬
rels, the same as Dr Halley’s.
The next improvements introduced in the construe- Spaldi
tion of the diving-bell were those by Mr Spalding of trials:
Edinburgh, and for which the Society of Arts voted him Hdk,
a reward. These are certainly deserving of attention, e ‘
although they do not appear to have afterwards been
adopted in practice. Mr Spalding had, in the two pre¬
ceding years, acquired considerable experience in the
management of a bell on Dr Halley’s plan, which he had
constructed in the hopes of recovering some of a con¬
siderable property which had been lost in a ship wrecked
on the Scares, or Fern Islands, in 1774, in the night, when
all the crew perished. Some of the light goods were
thrown on shore, and it was proposed to recover the rest
by diving, the remainder of the owners giving up the ma¬
nagement of the whole to Mr Spalding. His first experi¬
ments were made in depths of five, six, and eight fathoms,
in Leith Roads ; and having in these made his apparatus
DIVING-BELL. 67
•ing- tolerably perfect, he sailed for Dunbar, thirty miles dis-
*•41. tance, in an open long boat, sloop-rigged, and of about six
or eight tons burthen. By a mistaken account he had
been informed the bottom of the Fox ship of war lay there ;
but upon his arrival, the oldest seaman in the place could
give him no intelligence; and as that vessel had perish¬
ed in the night with all on board, somewhere in Dunbar
Bay, and by storms, so long before as thirty years, it was
thought to be sanded up. In order to gratify the curio¬
sity of some friends there, he still determined to descend
where it might be thought probable her bottom lay; but
in seven and eight fathoms water he found nothing but
a hard sandy bottom, from which he was led to conjec¬
ture that the proprietors of the valuable effects which
were on board that vessel might have found their account
in sweeping for her. Being informed that a vessel, which
was thrown up by accident in the river Tay, near Dun¬
dee, with a large quantity of iron, lay within two fathoms
of the surface at low water, he determined to make trial
there, and accordingly sailed across the frith to that place,
about fifteen leagues distant from Dunbar. Here he went
down three different times, changing the ground at each
going down, and at last fell in with a stump of the wreck,
sunk five fathoms deep at low water to a level with the
soft bed of the river, which is composed of a light sand
intermixed with shells. The principal parts of this wreck
were supposed to have been carried away by an immense
body of ice the year before. He found that the muddi¬
ness of the river occasions a darkness at only two fathoms
from the surface that cannot be described ; and from the
smallness of his machine, which contained only forty-
eight English gallons, it was impossible to have a candle
burning in it, which would consume the air too quickly
for any man to be able to work, and at the same time pay
attention to receiving the necessary supplies of air.
These trials were only preparatory to his views at the
Scares, hoping to acquire experience which would enable
him to surmount the dangerous difficulty of the unequal
rocky bottom which he expected to meet with ; but in the
preceding trials, and different alterations of the machinery,
so much time liad been lost, that the weather became
stormy, and he was obliged to wait at Bamborough Castle
some time till the weather became more favourable. He
then sailed to the Scares with his brother, three sailors,
and two pilots. It was four in the afternoon, about high
water, when he went down at a small distance from the
place where he judged the wreck to lie. The depth was
about ten fathoms. He fortunately alighted on a flat part
of the rock, within a small space of a dreadful chasm, and
had just gone two steps with his machine, when the ter¬
ror of the two pilots was so great, that, in spite of his
brother, they brought him up very precipitately, before he
had in any degree examined around him. On coming
into the boat, they remonstrated on the danger of the
machine being overturned either on the wreck or the
rocks, and also on the impossibility of raising any of the
weighty goods with so small a purchase in an open boat,
and in a place where, at this season, no large vessel
would venture to lie, as the nights were then so long,
and only two passages for a small vessel to run through,
in case of a gale of easterly or southerly wind; one of
the passages being extremely narrow, and both of them
dangerous.
“ Convinced from this,” says Mr Spalding in his account,
“ that with an open boat nothing could be accomplished,
and that, except in June and July, no man would risk
himself with me in a sloop, to continue a few days and
nights at anchor there, I was obliged to abandon my pro¬
ject ; yet I determined to take a view of the guns of a
Dutch ship of war lost in the year 1704; and as they lay
two or three miles nearer the land, I could execute this Diving-
design with less difficulty, especially as the weather con- Bell,
tinued still favourable. Having procured all the intelli- ''-''V''-'1'
gence possible, we went to the place, where I went down
four different times, but could find no marks of any wreck,
notwithstanding my walking about in five and six fathoms
water, as far as it was thought safe to allow the rope to
the bell, continuing generally twenty minutes each time
at the bottom. On this occasion I was obliged to carry a
cutting hook and knife, and clear away the sea weeds,
which at this place are very thick and strong; without
this method I could not move about. At the fifth going
down, each trial being in a different place, I was agree¬
ably surprised to find a large grove of tall weeds, all of
them from six to eight feet high, with large tufted tops,
mostly in regular ranges, as far as the eye could reach, a
variety of small lobsters and other shell-fish swimming
about in the intervals.” He then discovered the place
where one of the cannons lay; but was too much ex¬
hausted, by having been down at intervals for near three
hours, to attempt bringing it up.
In these descents Mr Spalding found out two vei'y se¬
rious dangers attendant on the use of the bell on Dr Hal¬
ley’s plan. These are, 1. By Dr Halley’s construction, the
sinking or rising of the bell depends entirely upon the peo¬
ple who are at the surface of the water; and as the bell,
even when in the water, has a very considerable weight,
the raising of it not only requires a great deal of labour, but
there is a possibility of the rope breaking by which it is
raised, and thus every person in the bell would inevitably
perish. 2. As there are, in many places of the sea, rocks
which lie at a considerable depth, the figure of which
cannot possibly be perceived from above, there is danger
that some of their ragged prominences may catch hold
of one of the edges of the bell in its descent, and thus
overset it before any signal can be given to those above,
which would infallibly be attended with the destruction
of the people in the bell, especially as it must always be
unknown, before trial, what kind of a bottom the sea has
in any place.
To obviate these defects, Mr Spalding introduced a Spalding’s
balance-weight suspended below the bell, and which, improve-
when it reached any rocky or uneven ground, settled ments•
down first, and then the bell being made too light to sink
without the weight, remained suspended and free from
danger; and for the purpose of raising or levelling the
bell without aid from above, he divided with an air-tight
partition the upper portion of the bell from the lower.
The former was capable of being filled either with water or
air at pleasure, and of thus increasing or diminishing the
buoyant effect at pleasure, on the same principle as the
air-bladder in fishes.
Plate CLXXXIX. fig. 7, represents these arrangements,
which will be understood from the following description :
ABCD represents a section of the bell, which is made of
wood ; ee are iron hooks, by means of which it is suspended
by ropes QBFe, and QAERe, and QS, as expressed in the
figure; cc are iron hooks, to which are appended lead
weights, that keep the mouth of the bell always parallel
to the surface of the water, whether the machine, taken
altogether, is lighter or heavier than an equal bulk of wa¬
ter. By these weights alone, however, the bell would not
sink; another is therefore added, represented at W, and
which can be raised or lowered at pleasure by means of a
rope passing over the pulley, and fastened to one of the
sides of the bell at M. As the bell descends, this weight,
called by Mr Spalding the balance-weight, hangs down a
considerable way below the mouth of the bell: In case
the edge of the bell is caught by any obstacle, the
balance-weight is immediately lowered down, so that it
DIVING-BELL.
68
Diving- may rest upon the bottom. By this means the bell is
t lightened, so that all danger of oversetting is removed ;
for? being lighter without the balance-weight than an equal
bulk of water, it is evident that the bell will rise as well
as the length of the rope affixed to the balance-weight
will allow it. This weight, therefore, will serve as a kind
of anchor, to keep the bell at any particular depth which
the divers may think necessary; or, by pulling it quite up,
the descent may be continued to the very bottom.
By another very ingenious contrivance, Mr Spalding
rendered it possible for the divers to raise the bell, with
all the weights appended to it, even to the surface, or to
stop at any particular depth, as they might think proper ;
and thus they could still be safe, even though the rope de¬
signed for pulling up the bell was broken. For this pur¬
pose the bell is divided into two cavities, both of which
are made as tight as possible. Just above the second bot¬
tom EF, are small slits in the sides of the bell, through
which the wrater entering as the bell descends, displaces
the air originally contained in this cavity, which flies out
at the upper orifice of the cock GH. When this is done,
the divers turn the handle G, which stops the cock ; so
that if any more air was to get into the cavity AEFD,
it could no longer be discharged through the orifice H,
as before. When this cavity is full of water, the bell
sinks ; but when a considerable quantity of air is admit¬
ted, it rises. If, therefore, the divers have a mind to
raise themselves, they turn the small cock ff, by which a
communication is made between the upper and under
cavities of the bell. The consequence of this is, that a
quantity of air immediately enters the upper cavity, forces
out a quantity of the water contained in it, and thus ren¬
ders the bell lighter by the whole weight of the water
which is displaced. Thus, if a certain quantity of air is
admitted into the upper cavity, the bell will descend very
slowly; if a greater quantity, it will neither ascend nor
descend, but remain stationary; and if a larger quantity
of air is still admitted, it will rise to the top. It is to be
observed, however, that the air which is thus let out into
the upper cavity must be immediately replaced from the
air-barrel; and the air is to be let out very slowly, or the
bell will rise to the top with so great velocity that the
divers will be in danger of being shaken out of their seats.
But, by following these directions, every possible accident
may be prevented, and people may descend to great
depths without the least apprehension of danger. The
bell also becomes so easily manageable in the water, that
it may be conducted from one place to another by a small
boat with the greatest ease, and with perfect safety to
those who are in it.
Instead of wooden seats used by Dr Halley, Mr Spald¬
ing made use of ropes suspended by hooks bbb, and on
these ropes the divers may sit without any inconvenience.
I and K are two windows made of thick strong glass, for
admitting light to the divers. N represents an air-cask
with its tackle, and NP the flexible pipe through which
the air is admitted to the bell. In the ascent and descent
of this cask the pipe is kept down by a small weight ap¬
pended, as in Dr Halley’s machine. F is a small cock by
which the hot air is discharged as often as it becomes
troublesome. Fig. 5 is a representation of the whole diving
apparatus, which it is hoped will be readily understood
without any further explanation. Two air-barrels are
represented in this figure ; but Mr Spalding was of opi¬
nion that one air barrel capable of containing thirty gallons
is sufficient for an ordinary machine.
An improvement has been suggested on Mr Spalding’s
plan of raising or lowering the bell, by shutting up the
upper bell entirely, and forming it into a magazine of con¬
densed air, which being charged by two air-pumps within
the bell, could be let off at pleasure, and filling the lower Divin
bell, would displace the water and increase the buoyancy. Bell
The last great improvement on the diving-bell, and what
stands next in importance to that of Halley, and has f',ast P
brought the machine to that perfect state in which it
is now so successfully employed, was introduced by thetro(ju”
celebrated engineer Mr Smeaton. This consisted in sub-ofanai
stituting for the air-barrels of Halley a forcing air-pump, pump t
by which a continued stream of air was poured intoSmeato
the bell without any farther trouble or apparatus than a
man or twm to work the pump. It was about the year Triala
1779, in the repairs of the foundations of Hexham Bridge, Hexha
that Mr Smeaton first tried the use of the diving-bell; bridge
and this was the first attempt indeed to introduce it into
the operations of engineering, where it has since render¬
ed such essential service. The piers of the bridge having
been undermined by the violence of the current sweeping
away the gravel from under the floor timbers of the cais¬
sons by which they were founded, it occurred to Smeaton
that by means of the diving-bell the cavities under the
foundations might be filled up with rough stones, ram¬
med and wedged firmly together. His diving-bell con¬
sisted of a square box or chest of wood, three and a half
feet long, two feet broad, and four feet high. The
pump for supplying it with air vras fixed on the top of the
bell, and worked by a handle at one side. The depth of
the river being small, it was not intended to go down so
as to cover the whole of the bell, else the air-pump would
have required to be removed; it was only necessary to
sink the mouth of the bell down to the level of the caisson
bottom. With the assistance of this machine Mr Smeaton
succeeded in underpinning the foundations of some of the
piers. The calamitous accident which followed in 1782,
when the whole structure was carried away by a sudden
and violent flood, only proved the great insufficiency of
the natural bed of the river.
In 1788 Mr Smeaton constructed a second diving-bell, Operat
for the operations contemplated at Ramsgate harbour, on at Ran
a much more substantial and improved plan; and this isS316*11
the model on which all the succeeding diving machines^0”’
have been formed. Instead of the usual form of a bell or
conical inverted tub of wood, sunk by weights attached to
the outside, this consisted of a square chest of cast iron,
four and a half feet long, four and a half feet high, and
three feet wide, affording sufficient room for two men at
a time to work under it. Instead of the weights applied
externally, the bell itself was cast of such thickness, parti¬
cularly at the bottom, that its own weight, viz. fifty cwt.,
was more than sufficient to sink it when full of air. The
pump also for supplying fresh air was placed in a boat by
itself, on which several hands were stationed, to keep the
pump continually in action. The air from the pump was
conveyed to the machine by a flexible tube, which allow¬
ed the bell to be moved up or down, or in any direction,
independent of the motion of the boat. From the above
dimensions, the bell would always contain about fifty cubic
feet of air, which, from what we have already shown, would
be sufficient to support life for two persons for about an
hour, independent of any supply from above; so that any
idea of danger from this source is completely removed.
It was in clearing the foundations for the advanced pier
at Ramsgate that it occurred to Mr Smeaton the opera¬
tion might be facilitated by the diving-bell. A large quan¬
tity of stones had been thrown in, to secure the old pier
head; and it seemed doubtful whether they could be got
up in nine and ten feet water by the usual method of
tongs from the barges. The diving-bell was found to
answer completely the object intended. In the course
of two months the foundations were cleared; and it was
computed that of 160 tons of stone raised out of the foun-
D I V I N G-B ELL.
I dng- dation, about 100 stones, many of them above a ton each,
(ell. were brought up by the diving-bell, without which a full
season would have been lost.
The pier, which was afterwards built on the foundation
thus cleared, was founded by caissons, but in the course
of years was found to require renewal in some places, and
in others to be protected by an apron or outside wall of
regularly-built masonry; and here a new application of
the diving-bell arose in the building of this wall under
water. For this purpose the bell is suspended by power¬
ful tackle to the extremity of a long wooden frame, which
rests on the top of the pier, the one end projecting over
the pier, and the other running back and turning on a
centre pin, which is fixed in a heavy stone on the pier.
The frame thus sweeping with a long radius, and the
weight of the whole being borne by a roller running along
near the edge of the pier on a cast-iron plate or rail in
the segment of a circle, the bell is capable of having a
considerable motion right or left along the wall, and the
block of the tackle being moveable along the frame, the
bell is by this means shifted out or in from the wall at
pleasure; and by these two motions can be set in any re¬
quired position within the sweep of the apparatus. The
directions for moving it are given by the divers, and com¬
municated to those who have charge of the apparatus
above, by merely striking with a hammer on the inside of
the bell. From the great facility with which water con¬
ducts sound, the strokes of the hammer are heard at a
great distance, and have a peculiar character, which is not
easily mistaken for any other. To convey various directions,
the divers have established a sort of language from the num¬
ber of blows of the hammer. One blow, for instance, de¬
notes more air; two, stand fast; three, heave up; four, lower
down; and so on. The first operation in the building is to
clear and level the foundation. If this be loose materials,
they are removed by dredging, in the usual manner; but
wherever rock occurs, it is done by the bell, with two men
in it, being let down to the bottom, which, at Ramsgate,
is a hard chalk rock. When it stands thereon, it lays the
chalk dry to the level of the bottom edge of the bell; but
if the surface is uneven, the bell cannot descend so low
but that it will leave six or eight inches of water on the
bottom. The surface of this water is the level they work
to, and by cutting away every eminence which rises above
the water, they soon obtain a perfectly level surface. They
work with a small pick, made something like a narrow adze,
for this purpose; and the work proceeds rapidly, for the
chalk is not very hard. When they have accumulated as
much rubbish as becomes inconvenient, they give three
knocks on the bell to order the people to draw it up, till
they, standing on the bottom, find themselves knee deep;
then two knocks to stand fast. They now take in a shal¬
low basket which has been previously let down from above,
and fill the rubbish into it, then snatch it to order it to be
drawn up, and strike four times on the bell, that they may
be lowered down to proceed with their work. Having in
this manner hewed away the surface till the water, stand¬
ing equally all over it, shows it to be a perfect level plane,
they give orders to be removed to a new situation, yet at
such a small distance that part of the surface they before
levelled is still beneath the bell, in order that both may
be brought to one plane. Thus continuing the work, they
get all the rock prepared for the stone-work, without any
other level than the water.
The foundation being thus levelled, the stones are in
the mean time all prepared and jointed, either square or
with dovetails. These are first hoisted from the pier by
means of a crane, and let down to their places in the
work, as nearly as can be done, by the crane. As each
stone is thus laid, the divers direct themselves right or
69
left, up or down, until they be exactly over the stone; Diving-
then making fast a strong chain to the lewis of the stone, Reh-
the other end of which is attached to a ring in the top ~’r~
of the bell, they give the signal to heave, and the bell,
with the stone under it, are both suspended by the tackle,
and being moved right or left until it cover exactly over
its place in the wall, it is then let down, and the chain
being detached, the operation proceeds with another stone
in the same manner, until the wall be completed. No
cement is generally used to unite the stones; their own
weight, and the accuracy of the joints, being sufficient to
hold them together.
Since the completion of Ramsgate harbour, the diving-Diving-
bell has been applied with great success to various other beh
operations of a similar kind in different parts of the king- in
dom, and particularly at Dublin, Donaghadee, and other
harbours in Ireland, and at Holyhead and Portpatrick on
this side the channel. Plate CLXXXVIII. contains
drawings of the bell and machinery used for the harbour
of Houth, near Dublin, under the direction of the late emi¬
nent Mr Rennie, and with which the foundations of the
pier wall were laid with success at very considerable
depths below water.
Fig. 1 is a section showing the machine and the bell Account of
viewed in the direction of the length of the wall which is bell and
to be erected, and fig. 2 is an elevation of the same as
appears when viewed from the sea. A is the bell, which is^ar oat ’
made of cast iron. It is suspended by strong chains passed Dublin,
through eyes rr, fig. 5,’ and through the ring m of a tackle
B. FF, figs. 1 and 2, are strong beams supported in a
horizontal position by cross beams G, resting at one end
on the shore, and the other ends supported by a scaffold¬
ing L of piles firmly braced. On the beams F two iron
railways are laid for the wheels of two carriages to run
upon ; one of these carriages contains the tackle which
suspends the bell, and the other has a similar tackle to
hoist the large stones, which are to be laid on the wall X.
Each carriage runs with four wheels aa upon the railways
F, and has a smaller or upper carriage running upon it in
a transverse direction ; and this upper carriage contains
the windlass purchase tackle, by which the bell or the
stone is raised. Thus F' is the timber frame of the prin¬
cipal carriage, on the top of which are railways for the
wheels dd of the upper carriage, of which D is the frame ;
and C is the roller or barrel to wind up the rope or fall of
the great purchase tackle B, which is suspended from
the frame of the carriage, and bears the weight of the
bell. On the end of the barrel is a large cog-wheel M,
which is turned round by a pinion fixed on the axis N
of a second wheel O, and this is turned by a pinion, to
which the handles H are applied. By turning these, two
men can raise or lower the bell with ease. In order to
move the bell in either direction, the wheels aa of the
lower carriage E are provided with cogs at one edge, and
pinions b work in the teeth of these ; both pinions b are
fixed on the same axis, which extends across the frame ;
and wheels c are also fixed on each extremity of the axis.
These wheels have holes or mortises in them to receive
handspikes or levers, by which they can be turned round,
and will then move the lower carriage and the bell along
the railways FF, in the direction of the length of the wall,
which is to be built as shown by X. In like manner the
wheels dd of the upper carriage are provided with cogs
and pinions e, on the end of which are the capstan head f
to receive handspikes, when it is required to move the up¬
per carriage and the bell in a transverse direction. By
means of these two motions in transverse directions, the
bell or the stone can be suspended over any required spot
in the wall, and lowered down thereupon as the men in the
bell direct. Fig. 5 is a section of the bell, and fig. 6 a
70 D I V
Divinity, plan to show the apertures nn for the lenses which give
light. Two men descend together, a seat s being fixed
across on each side of the bell. The air-pipe is screwed
on at A, and proceeds to the air-pump as shown in fig. 1.
The pump is placed on the top of the scaffold G ; it has
two barrels 11, which are worked by a lever K, by one or
two men ; they act as forcing pumps, and the air which
is thrown down escapes from the lower edge of the bell,
and rises up through the water in bubbles. By this means
the air in the bell is at1 all times quite fresh and pure.
The stones which are to be used in building the wall
are prepared on shore, and fitted to each other. When
all is prepared, these stones are lowered down the bank
by a capstan to the position w. The rope of the machine
is then attached, and by the aid of both ropes the stone
is lowered down upon the wall. The divers then descend
in the bell, and the two carriages are brought close toge¬
ther, by which means the bell will hang partly over the
stone W, fig. 2, so that the men can guide it into its place
on the wall X, and make signals to those above to direct
them which way to move the stone, and where to lower it.
The bell was also employed, in the first instance, to clear
the foundation for the walls. It was then lowered quite
down on the bottom, and the men worked the rock to a
level surface. In many parts it was requisite to blast it
’ with gunpowder. The divers bored the hole in the rock,
and placed the powder in a tin cartridge, which was well
secured in the hole, by running in small fragments of
stone. A small tin pipe was affixed to the canister, long
enough to reach up above the surface of the water. When
all was prepared, the bell was drawn up out of the way, and
a nail or other small piece of iron heated red hot was drop¬
ped into the tin pipe, thereby to descend to the powder.
Figures 3 and 4 represent a vessel which was fitted up
under the direction of Mr Rennie, to carry a diving-bell of
cast iron. This vessel was used in Plymouth Sound, and
the bell was swept over the bottom to discover and take up
old anchors, &c. The bell A is suspended over the bow of
the vessel, by a strong tackle q, from the extremity of a
pair of shears ; that is, two masts DB, DB, fig. 4. The fall
or rope of the tackle q is drawn up by a windlass at C.
There is also another strong tackle GH, extended be¬
tween the head of the mast I and the top of the shears
D. This is drawn by the windlass F. The use of this is
to raise the shears upright, and bring the bell on board.
D I V
A platform S is fixed on the deck to lower it upon whenDivis
out of use.
The diving bell has lately been employed with success Diviti
in improving the navigation of the Clyde between Glas-Mb
gow and Greenock, by raising up and removing out of the^M
bed of the river a number of large stones which obstruct¬
ed the channel, and could not be so readily got out by any
other means. The bell is constructed similarly to that in
fig. 3, but instead of being let down at the end or side of
the barge, has a well constructed in the middle of the ves¬
sel itself, in which it is made to rise and fall by strong
chains, tackling, and cranes. Recently a second barge and
bell have been constructed, and are now employed on the
river for the same purpose. The management of the vessel
and bell requires six or seven hands. The whole can be
moved with great facility to different parts of the river,
and moored wherever their assistance is required.
Such, then, is an account of the construction and uses
of the different diving machines, and particularly the div¬
ing-bell ; and we have no doubt that the principle, as it is
susceptible of it, may yet be still more extensively applied,
and in various other ways. The only disadvantage attend¬
ing the machine in its present form is the expense and
cumbrous nature of the apparatus, which prevents its use
in many cases where it might be of real service; so that
it is only in some great and extensive public work that it
can ever be thought of. It is to be hoped, therefore, that
the skill and ingenuity of our mechanicians may yet suc¬
ceed in introducing the machine in a more accessible and
manageable form.
See Halley, Phil. Trans. 1716, vol. xxix. p. 492, also
vol. xxxi. p. 177; Triewald, Phil. Trans. 1736, vol.
xxxix. p. 377 ; Spalding, Transactions of the Society of
Arts, vol. i. p. 220; Klingert, Phil. Mag. vol. iii. p. 172;
Lawson, Phil. Mag. vol. xx. p. 362; Bushnell, Transao
tions of the American Philosophical Society, vol. iv. p. 303;
Repertory of Arts, vol. xv. p. 383 ; Nicholson’s Journal,
vol. iv. p. 229 ; Healy, Phil. Mag. vol. xv. p. 9; Robert¬
son, Phil. Trans. 1757, p. 30; Franklin’s Works, letter Iv.;
Leopold’s Theatrum Pontijic. tom. i. ii. xxvi.; Borelli and
Mersenne, in Hooke’s Phil. Collections, No. ii. p. 36;
Bachstrom’s Kunst zu schwimmen, Berlin, 1742 ; Bazin,
Hamb. Mag. i. iii. and xxi.; Gelacy, Mem. de VAcad. Par.
1757; and Coulomb, Recherches sur les moyens dexecuter
sous I'eau Travaux Hydrauliques. (c.)
to no more than that a given magnitude may be conceiv¬
ed to be divided into a number of parts equal to any given
or proposed number. It is true that the number of parts
into which a given magnitude may be conceived to be di¬
vided is not to be fixed or limited, because no given num¬
ber is so great but a greater may be conceived and assign¬
ed ; but there is not, therefore, any necessity for supposing
the number of parts actually infinite; and if some have
drawn very abstruse consequences from such a supposi¬
tion, yet geometry ought not to be loaded with these.
How far matter is actually capable of being divided,
may in some measure be conceived from this, that a piece
of wire gilt with so small a quantity as eight grains of gold,
may be drawn out to a length of 13,000 feet, the whole
surface of it still remaining covered with gold. We have
also a surprising instance of the minuteness of some parts
of matter in the nature of light and vision. Let a candle
be lit and placed in an open plain, it will then be visible
for about two miles round ; and consequently, were it
placed two miles above the surface of the earth, it would
fill with luminous particles a sphere four miles in diameter,
and this before it had lost any sensible part of its weight.
DIVINITY properly signifies the nature, quality, and
essence of God.
Divinity is also used in the same sense with theology.
DIVISIBILITY, that property by which the particles
of matter in all bodies are capable of separation or dis¬
union from one another.
As it is evident that body is extended, so it is no less
so that it is divisible; for since no two particles of mat¬
ter can exist in the same place, it follows that they are
really distinct from each other; which, indeed, is all that
is meant by being divisible. In this sense the least con¬
ceivable particle must still be divisible, since it consists
of parts which are really distinct. To illustrate this by a
familiar instance, let the least imaginable piece of matter
be conceived lying on a smooth plain surface; it is evi¬
dent the surface will not touch it everywhere, and those
parts, therefore, which it does not touch may be supposed
separable from the others, and so on as far as we please.
And this is all that is meant when we say that matter is
infinitely divisible.
All that is supposed in strict geometry, says Mr Mac-
laurin, concerning the divisibility of magnitude, amounts
d i y
sion. A quantity of vitriol being dissolved, and mixed with
nine thousand times as much water, will tinge the whole ;
' consequently it will be divided into as many parts as there
are visible portions of matter in that quantity of wrater.
There are perfumes which, without a sensible diminution
of their quantity, will fill a very large space with their odo¬
riferous particles, which must therefore be of an incon¬
ceivable smallness, since there are a sufficient number in
every part of that space sensibly to affect the organ of
smelling. Dr Keill demonstrates, that any particle of mat¬
ter, how small soever, and any finite space, how large so¬
ever, being given, it is possible for that small particle of
matter to be diffused through all that space, and to fill it in
such a manner as that there shall be no pore in it whose
diameter shall exceed any given line.
The chief objections against the divisibility of matter in
infinitum are, that an infinite cannot be contained by a
finite; and that it follows from a divisibility in infinitum,
either that all bodies are equal, or that one infinite is greater
than another. But the answer to these objections is easy;
for the properties of a determinate quantity are not to be
attributed to an infinite considered in a general sense; and
who has ever proved that there could not be an infinite
number of infinitely small parts in a finite quantity, or
that all infinites are equal ? The contrary is demonstrat¬
ed by mathematicians in innumerable instances.
DIVISION, in general, is the separating a thing into
two or more parts.
Mechanical Division signifies that separation which is
occasioned in the parts of a body by help of mechanical
instruments. The mechanical division of bodies does in¬
deed separate them into smaller, homogeneous, and similar
parts; but this separation cannot extend to the primary
integrant molecules of any body, and consequently it is in¬
capable of breaking what is properly called their aggrega¬
tion ; also, no union is formed betwixt the divided and
dividing bodies, in which respect division essentially dif¬
fers from dissolution.
Division is not properly a chemical operation; it is, in
fact, only employed preparatorily, in order to facilitate
other operations, and particularly solution. For this pur¬
pose it is very usdful, as it increases the quantity of surface,
and consequently the points of contact, of any body. Dif¬
ferent methods are used to divide bodies according to their
nature. Those which are tenacious and elastic, as horns
and gums, require to be cut, rasped, or filed. Metals, be¬
cause of their ductility, require the same treatment; but as
they are also fusible, they may be quickly and conveniently
reduced into grains small enough for most operations, by
pouring them, when melted, into water. All brittle bo¬
dies may be conveniently reduced into fine parts by being
bruised in a mortar with a pestle. Very hard bodies, such
as glass, crystals, and stones, particularly those of the vitrifi-
able kind, before they are pounded, ought to be plunged
when red hot into water, by which means they are split and
cracked, and rendered more easily pulverable. Bodies of
this kind may also be bruised or ground by means of a
hard and flat stone, upon which the matter is to be put,
and bruised by another hard stone so small as to be held
and moved upon the larger stone with the hand. The
larger stone is called a 'porphyry, from its being generally
of that kind of stone ; and the operation is called porphy-
rization. Instead of porphyrization, a mill may be used,
composed of a hard grit millstone, moving round upon
another stone of the same kind, which must be fixed ; in
the upper stone is a groove or channel through which the
matter to be ground passes. By this method a substance
may be more quickly reduced to a fine powder than by
porphyrization. But these mills can be only employed
for considerable quantities of matter.
D I V 71
These methods of mechanically dividing bodies are at- Division
tended with some practical inconveniences, the most con- !i
siderable of which is, that some parts of the dividing in- Divorce,
struments are always struck off and mixed with the mat-
ter to be divided. This may greatly affect the opera¬
tions ; for instruments of iron and copper furnish metallic
colouring particles, and copper is very prejudicial to health.
Porphyry is coloured by a reddish-brown matter, which
injures the colour of crystal glasses, enamels, and porce¬
lains made with matters ground upon this stone. These
matters, therefore, must be cleansed after their porphy¬
rization, or else no instruments capable of injuring the
intended operations ought to be employed. Thus, for the ‘
preparation of all medicines to be taken internally, no
copper instruments, as mortars, pestles, or the like, should
be used, those made of iron being preferable ; and mor¬
tars, grinding stones, and mill-stones, made of hard and
white stones, ought to be employed, instead of those made
of porphyry, for substances which are to enter into the
composition of enamels, crystal glass, and porcelain, the
whiteness of which is a most necessary quality.
Division, in Algebra. See Algebra.
Division, in Arithmetic. See Arithmetic.
Division of an Army, in the military art, two or more
brigades under the command of a general of division.
Division, in sea affairs, a number of ships in a fleet or
squadron of men of war, distinguished by a particular flag
or pendant, and usually commanded by a general officer.
A squadron is commonly ranged into three divisions, the
commanding officer of which is always stationed in the
centre.
DIVORCE, a breach or dissolution of the bond of mar¬
riage.
Divorce was allowed of in great latitude both amongst
the Pagans and Jews. In Rome, barrenness, age, disease,
madness, and banishment, were the ordinary causes of
divorce. Under the consulship of M. Attilius and P. Va¬
lerius, Spurius Carvilius was the first who put away his
wife because she was barren ; though Plutarch, in his
Roman Questions, maintains that Domitian was the first
who permitted divorce. Justinian afterwards added im¬
potence, a vow of chastity, and the profession of a monas¬
tic life, as valid reasons of divorce.
The Roman lawyers distinguish between repudium and
divortium ; the former being the breaking of a contract or
espousal, and the latter separation after matrimony. Ro¬
mulus enacted a severe law, which forbade a wife to leave
her husband, but gave the husband the liberty of turning
away his wife, either upon her poisoning her children,
counterfeiting his private keys, or committing the crime of
adultery; if the husband, however, put her away on any
other occasion, he ordered one moiety of his estate to be
settled on the wife, and the other to be given to the god¬
dess Ceres, besides an atonement to the gods of the earth.
In later times, however, the women as well as the men
might sue a divorce. The common way of divorcing was
by sending a bill to the woman, containing the reasons of
separation, and the tender of all her goods which she
brought with her, and this was called repudium mittere ;
or else it was performed in her presence, and before seven
witnesses, accompanied with the formalities of tearing the
writings, refunding the dowry, taking away the keys, and
turning the woman out of doors.
The Grecian laws concerning divorce were different.
The Cretans allowed divorce to any man who was afraid
of having too many children. The Spartans seldom divor¬
ced their wives, and it was extremely scandalous for a
woman to depart from her husband. The Athenians al¬
lowed divorce on very trivial grounds. It proceeded by
a bill, containing the reason of the divorce, and approved,
Divorce, jf the party appealed, by the chief magistrate; and women
also were allowed to leave their husbands on just occa¬
sions. Persons divorcing their wives were obliged to re¬
turn their portions, otherwise the Athenian laws obliged
them to pay nine oboli a month for alimony. The terms
expressing the separation of men and women from each
other were different; the men were said or
airoXveiv, to dismiss their wives; but wives, airokurtuv, to
leave their husbands.
“ The law of Moses,” observes Archdeacon Paley, “ for
reasons of local expediency, permitted the Jewish husband
to put away his wife ; but whether for every cause, or for
what cause, appears to have been controverted amongst
the interpreters of those times. Christ, the precepts of
whose religion were calculated for more general use and
observation, revokes this permission, as given to the Jews
‘ for their hardness of heart,’ and promulgates a law which
was thenceforward to confine divorces to the single cause
of adultery in the wife : ‘ Whosoever shall put away his
wife, except it be for fornication, and shall marry another,
committeth adultery; and whoso marrieth her which is
put away, doth commit adultery.’
“ Inferior causes may justify the separation of husband
and wife, although they will not authorize such a dissolu¬
tion of the marriage contract as would leave either at
liberty to marry again; for it is that liberty in which the
danger and mischief of divorces generally consist. The
law of this country, in conformity to our Saviour’s injunc¬
tion, confines the dissolution of the marriage contract to
the single case of adultery in the wife ; and a divorce even
in that case can only be brought about by the operation of
an act of parliament, founded upon a previous sentence in
the spiritual court, and a verdict against the adulterer at
common law ; which proceedings taken together compose
as complete an investigation of the complaint as a cause
can receive. It has lately been proposed to the legisla¬
ture to annex a clause to these acts, restraining the of¬
fending party from marrying with the companion of her
crime, who by the course of proceeding is always known
and convicted; for there is reason to fear that adulterous
connections are often formed with the prospect of bring¬
ing them to this conclusion ; at least, when the seducer
has once captivated the affection of a married woman, he
may avail himself of this tempting argument to subdue
her scruples and complete his victory; and the legisla¬
ture, as the business is managed at present, assists by its
interposition the criminal design of the offenders, and con¬
fers a privilege where it ought to inflict a punishment.
The proposal deserved an experiment; but something
more penal, it is apprehended, will be found necessary to
check the progress of this alarming depravity. Whether
a law might not be framed, directing the fortune of the
adultress to descend as in case of her natural death ; reserv¬
ing, however, a certain proportion of the produce of it, by
way of annuity, for her subsistence (such annuity in no
case to exceed a certain sum) ; and also so far suspending
the estate in the hands of the heir as to preserve the in¬
heritance to any children she might bear to a second mar¬
riage, in case there was none to succeed in the place of
their mother by the first; whether such a law would not
render female virtue in higher life less vincible, as well as
the seducers of that virtue less urgent in their suit, I
would recommend to the deliberation of those who are
willing to attempt the reformation of this important but
most incorrigible class of the community. A passion for
splendour, for expensive amusements and distinctions, is
commonly found in that description of women who would
become the subject of such a law, not less inordinate than
their other appetites. A severity of the kind proposed
applies immediately to that passion ; and there is no room
D I V
for any complaint of injustice, since the provisions above Divi
stated, with others which might be contrived, confine the >»■>
punishment, so far as it is possible, to the person of the
offender; suffering the estate to remain to the heir, or
within the family of the ancestor from whom it came, or
to attend the appointments of his will.
“ Sentences of the ecclesiastical courts, which release
the parties a vinculo matrimonii, by reason of impuberty,
frigidity, consanguinity within the prohibited degrees,
prior marriage, or want of the requisite consent of parents
or guardians, are not dissolutions of the marriage contract,
but judicial declarations that there never was any mar¬
riage ; such impediment subsisting at the time as ren¬
dered the celebration of the marriage rite a mere nullity.
And the rite itself contains an exception of these impedi¬
ments. The man and woman to be married are charged
‘ if they know any impediment why they may not be law¬
fully joined together, to confess it;’ and assured, ‘ that so
many as are coupled together, otherwise than God’s word
doth allow, are not joined together by God, neither is their
matrimony lawful;’ all which is intended by way of solemn
notice to the parties, that the vow they are about to make
will bind their consciences and authorize their cohabita¬
tion only upon the supposition that no legal impediment
exist.”
By the law of Scotland, a divorce may be obtained on
the ground either of adultery or of wilful desertion ; but
neither of these grounds dissolves the marriage ipso jure;
and if a process of divorce be not instituted, the marriage
subsists, notwithstanding the adultery or desertion. Until
recently the action of divorce proceeded before the com¬
missaries of Edinburgh ; and in every such action, whe¬
ther founded on adultery or desertion, the pursuer must
make oath that the action is not collusive. The legal effect
of divorce on the ground of desertion is, that the offend¬
ing party loses the “ tocher,” as it is called, and the dona-
tiones propter nuptias ; that is, the offending husband is
bound to restore the dowry, and to pay or make good to
the wife all her provisions, legal or conventional; and the
offending wife forfeits her dowry, and all that would have
come to her had the marriage been dissolved by the pre¬
decease of her husband. It is now held that recrimina¬
tion is not a good defence against divorce for adultery;
yet, as the mutual guilt may affect the patrimonial inte¬
rests of the parties, it may be stated in a counter-action.
But lenocinium, or the husband’s participation in the pro¬
fits of his wife’s prostitution, nay even the husband’s con¬
nivance in her guilt, is a good defence to the wife against
an action of divorce on the ground of adultery. The sta¬
tute 1600, c. 20, declares marriages contracted between
the adulterer and the person with whom he or she may be
found, by the sentence of divorce, to have committed the
crime, to be null and unlawful, and the issue of such mar¬
riages to be incapable of succeeding to their parents; but
the act, nevertheless, has not the effect of bastardizing
such issue. The right to institute a divorce is personal
to the husband or wife; but if, after the action has been
raised, either party die before the decree of divorce be¬
comes final, it has been argued that the natural dissolu¬
tion of the marriage by death supersedes and definitively
closes all proceeding commenced for dissolving it on any
other ground. The natural dissolution, it has been con¬
tended, is the first effectual one, and that which is to re¬
gulate all questions as to the patrimonial rights or the
status of the survivor. But the question how far litiscon¬
testation in such a case renders it transmissible to repre¬
sentatives, has .not yet, we believe, been decided.
By the law of England there are two kinds of divorce,
the one total and the other partial; the one a vinculo ma¬
trimonii, the other merely a mensa et toro. The total
Inis
l)!bail.
D J E
D O A
73
divorce must be for some of the canonical causes of impe¬
diment, and these existing before the marriage, not super¬
venient or arising afterwards ; for in cases of total divorce
the marriage is declared null, as having been absolutely
unlawful ab initio. Divorce a mensa et toro is when the
marriage is just and lawful ab initio, but, for some super¬
venient cause, as in the case of adultery in either of the
parties, it becomes impossible for them to live together.
But in England adultery is only a cause of separation
from bed and board; because, according to the law of
that country, if divorces were allowed to depend upon a
matter within the power of either of the parties, they
might become extremely frequent, and the stability of
society might in consequence be shaken. However, di¬
vorces a vinculo matrimonii have latterly been frequently
granted by act of parliament; though, in order to prevent
such from being obtained by fraud and collusion, the two
houses not only examine witnesses in order to be con¬
vinced of the adultery of the wife, but they also require
that the husband shall have obtained a sentence of divorce
in the spiritual courts, and a verdict with damages in a
court of law against some one who has had criminal inter¬
course with the wife. But this is not a standing order
of the House of Lords; it is merely adopted as a rule of
caution, and, in particular circumstances, it may therefore
be dispensed with.
In connection with this subject a most important ques¬
tion has arisen, and can scarcely be said to be yet deter¬
mined, namely, whether an English marriage can be dis¬
solved by a Scottish court, when the parties have come
within its jurisdiction. This question has been decided in
the negative by the English, and in the affirmative by the
Scottish judges. The ground taken by the English courts
was, that an English marriage was by its nature indisso¬
luble, and that as the lex loci contractus regulates other
contracts, so it ought to regulate this. But in the Scot¬
tish courts it was contended, with much apparent force,
that, in such a question as this, the lex loci must prevail
over the lex loci contractus, and that the principle of co-
mitas between the two countries, as well as public policy,
requires that this doctrine should be recognised and ad¬
mitted. The question, however, being one of great diffi¬
culty and nicety, we abstain from giving any opinion in
this place concerning it.
DlVUS, Diva, in Antiquity, appellations given to men
and women who had been deified, or placed in the num¬
ber of the gods.
Hence it is that upon medals struck on the consecra¬
tion of an emperor or empress, they have the title of
dims or diva; thus, DIVUS JULIUS, DIVO ANTO-
NINO PIO, DIVO PIO, DIVO CLAUDIO, DIVA
FAUSTINA AUG. and so on.
DIXMUYDEN, a city, having been formerly fortified,
in the province of West Flanders, and circle of Furnes.
It is situated on a rich soil on the river Yser, and the but¬
ter is considered the best in Flanders. It has 2563 inha¬
bitants.
DIZIER,^ St, a city of the department of the Upper
Marne, in France, on the river Marne. It is a fortified
place, well built, situated in a pleasing district, and con¬
tains 816 houses, and 5640 inhabitants, some of whom find
employment in building vessels from wood, which is abun¬
dant near to the city.
DJEBAIL, a town of Syria, situated on an eminence
near the sea, two miles north of the river Ibrahim, which
ts crossed by a bridge of a single arch, fifty paces wide, and
of light architecture. The Arabs established themselves
icre under the caliphate of Omar, and it is conjectured
that the bridge was built by them. The crusaders in 1100
took possession of the town, which, after some vicissitudes,
VOL. vm.
remained subject to them during their sway in the East.
There was formerly a harbour, now almost obliterated.
This town occupies the site of the ancient Biblos. The
population is 6000.
DJEZIZA OMELMELECK, a sandy islet of the Red
Sea, two miles from the Arabian shore. Here a singular
bank is seen, in which all stages of petrifaction are observ¬
ed in the course of a few feet from the sand. It is calcare¬
ous, and exceedingly white. The island is covered with
plants. Lat. 25. 15. N.
DJIDEIDA, a town of Arabia, in the province of Heds-
jaz, situated in a valley. The houses are very low, and
constructed of stone without cement. It is twenty-eight
leagues east-south-east from Yeuboa.
DMITRIEW, a circle in the Russian government of
Kursk, bounded on the north and west by Orel, on the
east by Fatesch, and on the south by Lgow. It is watered
by the rivers Swapa, Usoscha, and numerous small stream¬
lets, and is very productive of corn, potatoes, and hops.
The inhabitants are about 96,000, in two cities and 138
villages, with sixty-five churches. The capital is a city of
the same name, situated on the Swapa, but does not contain
more than 1000 souls. Long. 35. 44. E. Lat. 52. 7. N.
DMITROW, a circle in the Russian government of
Moscow, bounded on the north by Twer, on the east by
Wladimir, on the south-east by Bogorodsk, on the south¬
west by Swenigorod, and on the west by Klin. It extends
over 980 square miles, or 619,520 English acres, of which
nearly one half is covered with wood. It contains 58,240
inhabitants, living in one city and in 463 villages, distri¬
buted in seventy-five parishes. The capital is a city of the
same name, situated on the river Jacbroma, at its junction
with the Neteka. It contains 594 houses, and 2950 inha¬
bitants, who carry on some trade by the rivers that pass
near it. Long. 37. 30. E. Lat. 56. 18. N.
DMITROWSK, a circle in the Russian government of
Orel, south-east from that city. It is watered by the
river Narusa, and consists chiefly of good arable land,
which is celebrated for its production of hemp. The ca¬
pital is a city of the same name, situated on the Osche-
riza, which contains 600 houses and 3400 inhabitants. It
Djeziza
Omelme-
leck
Doabeh
Barrj.
was originally a colony of Greeks, Moldavians, and Walla-
chians, induced to settle here by Prince Kantem, to whom
the land belonged, and it was first incorporated as a city
in 1778. Long. 37. 12. E. Lat. 52. 25. N.
DO, in Music, a note of the Italian scale, corresponding
to ut of the common gamut. See Music.
DOAB. This term in Flindustan means any tract of
country included between two rivers. It should properly
include all the territory between the Jumna and the Gan¬
ges ; but it is usually restricted to the southern portion
of it, for the most part comprehended in the province of
Agra. This country is of a fertile soil, and yields a large
return to the cultivator. It produces mullet, sugar cane,
and barley, and is peculiarly adapted for indigo, which
grows here in a wild state. Tobacco has also been intro¬
duced by the Europeans, and thrives well. The climate
during the rainy season is exceedingly hot, and during the
winter is only cool in the morning. The country was once
in a high state of cultivation; and the remains of former
prosperity are everywhere seen amidst the extensive wastes
and jungles which now occupy a large portion of the sur¬
face. The tranquillity which it has enjoyed under the
dominion of the British is highly favourable to its improve¬
ment. By a treaty concluded with Scindia in 1803, the
forts and territories of the Doab between the Jumna and
the Ganges were ceded to the British; and the south¬
ern part of the Doab was ceded in 1801 by the reigning
nabob.
DOABEH Barry is a district of Hindustan, in the
K
74
DOB
DOC
Dobberan
II
Dobuni.
province of Lahore, situated between the Beyah and Ra-
vey rivers, and between the thirtieth and thirty-first de¬
grees of north latitude. Doabeh Jallinder is a large dis¬
trict in the Darne province, between the Sutlege and Bey¬
ah rivers, and for the most part between the thirtieth and
thirty-first degrees of north latitude.
DOBBERAN, a town in the duchy of Mecklenburg
Schwerin, the capital of a district of the same name, which
comprises two towns, three parishes, and several hamlets,
with 8800 inhabitants. The town is a mile from the Bal¬
tic, and is much frequented by visitors, on account of its
sulphureous natural baths, and for the advantage of sea¬
bathing. The reigning duke makes it his residence in the
bathing season, and has constructed appropriate buildings
for the accommodation of the company that resort to it.
It is about six miles from Rostock. The regular residents
are between 1400 and 1500, but the summer visitors more
numerous.
DOBRUSHKA, or Dobruska, a town in the Austrian
kingdom of Bohemia, in the circle of Kdnigingratz, the
residence of the princes Colloredo. It has much trade in
corn, flax, and yarn, which are largely sold at its weekly
market. It contained, in 1819, about 400 houses and 1893
inhabitants.
DOBSCHAU, a town of Hungary, in the province of Hi¬
ther Theis. It is situated on the banks of the Dobsina. It is
the chief place of the mining district Rosneau, in which
are extracted iron, copper, cobalt, and mercury. In the
neighbourhood asbestos and granite are found. It con¬
tains one Catholic and one Lutheran church, with about
500 houses and 4000 inhabitants, mostly Germans, who
find employment in manufacturing the metals.
DOBSON, William, an English portrait and histori¬
cal painter, born at London in 1610. He served an ap¬
prenticeship to one Peck, a stationer and picture dealer;
and owed his improvement to the copying of some pic¬
tures of Titian and Vandyck, whose manner he always re¬
tained. He had further obligations to the latter of these
artists ; for it is said that a picture of his painting being
exposed at a shop on Snow-hill, Vandyck, happening to pass
by, was struck with it exceedingly, and having inquired af¬
ter the author, found him at work in a poor garret. Van¬
dyck had the generosity to equip him in a manner suitable
to his merit. He presented him to King Charles I. who took
him under his protection, kept him at Oxford all the time
his majesty continued in that city, and not only sat to him
several times for his own picture, but caused the Prince
of Wales, Prince Rupert, and indeed most of the lords of
his court, to do so likewise. Mr Dobson, however, being
somewhat loose and irregular in his way of life, was far
from improving the many opportunities he had of making
his fortune, and died very poor, in 1647, at his house in St
Martin’s Lane.
DOBUNI, or Boduni, an ancient people of Britain,
who possessed the territory which now forms the counties
of Oxford and Gloucester. Both the names of this Bri¬
tish nation seem to have been derived from the low situa¬
tion of a great part of the country which they inhabited ;
for both l)uvn and Bodun signify deep or low in the an¬
cient language of Gaul and Britain. The Dobuni are not
mentioned among the British nations who resisted the
Romans under Julius Caesar, which was probably owing
to the distance of their country from the scene of action ;
and before the next invasion under Claudius, they had
been so much oppressed by their ambitious neighbours the
Cattivellauni, that they submitted with pleasure to the Doc-
Romans, in order to be delivered from that oppression. ||
Cogidunus, who was at that time prince of the Dobuni, Doct
recommended himself so effectually to the favour of the
Emperor Claudius, by his ready submission, and other
means, that he was not only continued in the government
of his own territories, but had some other states put under
his authority. This prince lived so long, and remained
so steady a friend and ally to the Romans, that his sub¬
jects, being habituated to obedience in his time, never re¬
volted, nor stood in need of many forts or forces to keep
them in subjection. This is certainly the reason why we
meet with so few Roman towns and stations in the coun¬
try anciently inhabited by the Dobuni. The Durocorno-
vium of Antoninus, and the Corinium of Ptolemy, are be¬
lieved by antiquaries to have been the same place, namely,
the capital of the Dobuni, and situated at Cirencester, in
Gloucestershire, where there are still many marks of a
Roman station. Clevum or Glevum, in the thirteenth iter
of Antoninus, stood where the city of Gloucester now
stands; and Abone, in the fourteenth iter, was probably
situated at Avinton on the Severn. The country of the
Dobuni was comprehended in the Roman province Bri¬
tannia Prima.
DOCETiE (from buxuv, to appear), in Ecclesiastical
History, the followers of Julius Cassianus, one of the Va-
lentinian sect, towards the close of the second century,
who revived a notion which had been adopted by a branch
of the Gnostics, against whom St John, Ignatius, and Poly¬
carp, had asserted the truth of the incarnation. They,
as their name imports, believed and taught that the ac¬
tions and sufferings of Jesus Christ were not real, but only
apparent. .
DOCIMASIA, or Dokimasia, in Greek antiquity, a
probation of the magistrates and persons employed in pub¬
lic business at Athens. It was performed publicly in the
forum, where they were obliged to give an account of
themselves and of their past lives before certain judges.
Amongst the questions proposed to them was, whether they
had been dutiful to their parents, had served in the wars,
and had a competent estate.
DOCIMASTIC, or Dokimastic, Art, a name given to
the art of trying, by operations in small, the nature and
quantity of metallic or other matters which may be obtain¬
ed from mineral or other compound bodies.
DOCIMENUM Marmor, a name given by the an¬
cients to a species of marble, of a bright and clear white,
which was much used in large and sumptuous buildings,
such as temples and the like. It derived its name from Do-
cimenos, a city of Phrygia, afterwards called Synaia, near
which it was quarried, and whence it was conveyed to
Rome. It was accounted little inferior to the Parian in
colour, but not capable of so elegant a polish; and hence
it was less used by the statuaries, or in other smaller
works. The Emperor Hadrian is said to have used this
marble in building the temple of Jupiter; and many of |
the great works of the Romans are constructed of the
same materials.
DOCK, in the manege, is used for a large case of lea¬
ther, as long as the dock of a horse’s tail, which serves it
for a cover. The French call the dock trousse-queue. It
is made fast by straps to the crupper, and has leathern
thongs which pass between the thighs, and along the flanks
of the animal, to the saddle straps, in order to keep the
tail tight, and to prevent it from whisking about.
75
DOCK
Vj-k An inclosed space for the reception of ships, either for
their security or for the convenience of building or giv¬
ing them repairs. This word has been derived by some,
absurdly enough, from the Greek beyofMti, to receive.
That we had it, along with almost the whole of our sea-
terms, from the northern continental nations, is sufficient¬
ly obvious. Thus in Flemish it is dok ; Teutonic, dock ;
Swedish, docka ; Suio-Gothic, docka; perhaps originally
from dekken, to cover, protect, secure, inclose. The dock
for inclosing the prisoner in a court of justice is evidently
from the same origin.
Docks for the reception of ships are of two kinds, wet
and dry.
A wet dock may either have gates to retain the water
in it, so that ships shall constantly remain afloat, or be left
open for the tide to flow into and ebb out of it at plea¬
sure, either leaving it dry at low water, or with a certain
depth of water remaining in it, according to its construc¬
tion and situation with regard to the low-water mark, and
to the ebbing of the sea at spring or neap tides. A wet
dock, without gates, is generally distinguished by the
name of a basin, which, however, is sometimes indiscrimi¬
nately applied to a wet dock, whether with or without
gates.
A dry dock either becomes dry by the ebbing of the
tide when the gates are left open, or by shutting the
gates at low water, and pumping out whatever water may
remain in it at that time, by the power of men, horses, wind,
or, which is now most commonly performed in the king’s
dock-yards, by the steam-engine.
A ivet dock, therefore, may be defined to be “ a basin
of water, in which ships may be kept afloat at all times of
the tidea dry dock, a “ receptacle in which every part
of a ship can be examined, and its defects repaired.”
Ships may also be conveniently built in dry docks, and
floated out by opening the gates; though, in all dock¬
yards, there are places set apart for this purpose, under
the name of slips. A wet dock is called by the French
un basin ; a dry dock, une forme ; and a slip, un calle.
The digging out the earth, and building the surround¬
ing walls of masonry to prevent the sides falling in, and the
preparation of the mortar and puzzolana, in the construc¬
tion of a wet dock, are attended with great labour and ex¬
pense. The two wet docks or basins of Cherbourg (see
Breakwater), which are probably the finest specimens
that exist in the world, are estimated to have cost three
millions sterling. The labour of excavation may some¬
times be spared, and a series of wet docks or basins con¬
veniently made by turning the course of a tide-river
through an isthmus, and placing a pair of gates at each
end of the old channel. In this way were the new docks
of Bristol constructed out of the bed of the Avon.
We locks. Wet docks are an improvement in navigation and com¬
merce of the utmost importance, but of very modern date
in this country; indeed, they owe their introduction en¬
tirely to a spirit of individual enterprise in commercial
speculation. Liverpool might still have remained a poor
fishing village but for its convenient docks, which not only
produce to the town and corporation a large revenue,
but ensure to the merchant every possible facility in re¬
fitting, loading, and discharging his ships, whatever their
burden or their cargo may be, without being exposed to
the risk of losing both ship and cargo in a rapid tide-river;
and, at all events, to an unavoidable delay, occasioned by
distance, the weather, or the state of the tides.
Hull is also greatly indebted for the extension of its
commerce to its docks. Its old wet dock contains an Dock,
area of ten acres nearly, and has accommodated at one
time 130 sail of such vessels as frequent that port.
London, though unquestionably the first city in the
world for its opulence, its commerce, and public spirit,
and possessing within itself the powerful internal means
of supporting docks, and all other conveniences that
trade and shipping may require on the most extensive
plans; London has been the last to try the experiment
of docks, except in the case of two spirited individuals,
Mr Perry at Blackwall, and Mr Wells at Greenland
Dock, both private ship-builders. Notwithstanding the
total inadequacy of legal quays, which subjected the mer¬
chants to incalculable losses and delays, and in many
cases proved absolutely ruinous ; notwithstanding the ef¬
fect of the heavy, expensive, and fatal embarrassments
experienced regularly on the arrival of the West India
fleets, and the annual losses, by plunder in the river, on
West India produce, which alone were calculated to
amount to L.150,000 to the proprietor, and L.50,000 to
the revenue, and more than the double of those sums, in¬
cluding other branches of commerce; it was not till the
year 1799 that prejudices and private interests were so
far removed as to enable the merchants concerned in the
West India trade to obtain an act of parliament to carry
into execution a plan of docks, quays, and warehouses, for
the convenience of that trade on the Isle of Dogs. Since
that time the London Docks, St Katharine Docks, and
various others, have been completed, to the incalculable
benefit of the shipping interest and the commerce of the
metropolis.
The docks of Liverpool were the first of the kind that
were constructed in this kingdom, by virtue of an act of
parliament passed in 1708; and from that period the town
of Liverpool has rapidly raised itself from a poor fishing
village, and a port for coasting vessels, to be the second
commercial town and port in the empire; and the plan of
improvements now carrying into execution for the enlarge¬
ment and better arrangement of the docks will, when com¬
pleted, render it, for convenience and appearance, in this
respect the very first, not London even excepted.
It appears from a statement, apparently authentic, that
in the ten years ending with 1808, the number of ships
which entered these docks was 48,497, tonnage 4,954,204;
and the dock duties received L.329,566; and that, in the
following ten years ending in 1818, the number of ships
was 60,200, the tonnage 6,375,560, and the amount of
duties L.666,438. It may also be observed, that this ex¬
traordinary increase has taken place since the abolition
of the slave trade, which, it was asserted, would be the
ruin of Liverpool.
The docks of Hull have also been advantageous, though
in a less degree, to the wealth and prosperity of this trad¬
ing town. The docks at Leith afford security and conve¬
nience to the increased commerce of the capital of Scot¬
land.
The West India Docks on the river Thames commenced
in February 1800, and were opened in August 1802. They
consist of an outward and a homeward-bound dock, and
communicate by means of locks with a basin of five or
six acres on the end next to Blackwall, and with another
of more than two acres at the end next to Limehouse, both
of which basins communicate with the Thames. The out¬
ward-bound dock is about 870 yards in length, by 135
in width, containing consequently an area of more than
twenty-four acres; the homeward-bound dock is of the
76 DO
Dock, same length, and 166 yards in width, its area being little
''“"'V'*-'' short of thirty acres ; and the two together will contain
with ease at least 500 vessels of from 250 to 500 tons. The
whole are surrounded with a high wall, and, as a security
against fire, the moment that a ship enters the dock the
crews are discharged, and no person whatever is allowed
to remain on board, or within the premises, the gates of
which are closed at a certain hour. They are surround¬
ed by immense warehouses, which are estimated to con¬
tain nearly 10,000 hogsheads of sugar, and an immense
quantity of rum. The sum authorized by parliament to
be raised for completing these docks and warehouses was
L.1,200,000, and the total expense was probably not far
short of one million and a half; yet on this capital the
subscribers have been receiving from a very short period
after their opening ten per cent., which, by the terms of
the act, is not to be exceeded, and the term granted is li¬
mited to twenty-one years ; but, like most other property,
these docks have been greatly depreciated in value, and at
present barely pay eight per cent.
The next set of docks that were undertaken for the ad¬
vantage of the trade of the capital was the London Docks.
These docks are situated in Wapping, and are appropri¬
ated for the reception of all ships arriving in the port of
London with wine, spirits, tobacco, and rice on board,
but not exclusively, ships having on board other cargoes
being admitted, on the payment of certain fees. The act
of parliament for incorporating the dock company wras
passed in 1800, authorizing them to raise a capital of
L.1,200,000; but such was the number of houses to be
purchased (we believe not less than twelve hundred) oc¬
cupying the site of the dock, that this capital, by subse¬
quent acts, was extended to L.2,200,000, the dividends
on which are limited, as in the West India Docks, to ten
per cent. The great dock is 420 yards in length, and
230 yards in width, covering an area of twenty acres. A
basin of three acres nearly connects it with the river. The
warehouses are very magnificent; and the tobacco ware¬
house is the grandest and most spacious building of its
kind in the world, being capable of containing five and
twenty thousand hogsheads of tobacco, and the vaults
underneath as many pipes of wine. This single build¬
ing, under one roof, is said to occupy upwards of four
acres of ground. These docks were opened in February
1805.
The East India Docks, for the exclusive reception and
accommodation of the East India ships, were the last in
succession. The act for the incorporation of the com¬
pany was passed in July 1803, authorizing them to raise
a capital of L.200,000, which was afterwards increased to
L.600,000, the dividend, as in the case of the two others,
to be limited to ten per cent. These docks are situated
at Blackwall. That for the reception of homeward bound
ships is 470 yards in length by 187 in width, containing a
surface of rather more than eighteen acres; the outward-
bound dock is 260 by 173 yards, and is consequently
something more than nine acres. An entrance basin of
three acres nearly, and a spacious lock, connect them with
the Thames.
Dry docks. A dry dock, requiring to be perfectly water-tight, de¬
mands the greatest care in its construction. It is some¬
times lined all round with wood, but more generally with
masonry, mostly of hewn granite. The expense is very
considerable, as the foundation, bt' means of piles or other¬
wise, must be well secured, all leakage prevented, and the
culvers or drains properly constructed, to let in and carry
off the water without its undermining the quays or piers.
The cost of a complete dry dock will vary probably from
L.20,000 to L.100,000, according to the size of the ships
it is intended to admit, and the nature of the ground on
C K.
which it is to be constructed. A dry dock may be single, dc
or made to contain only one ship ; or double, to contain two
ships; but the former is the most common, because most
convenient.
As it is of the utmost importance to preserve the water
in a wet dock, and to keep it out of a dry dock, it may be
proper to describe the different kinds of gates which are in
use for this purpose.
The most common, and on the whole, perhaps, the best Dock
and most convenient, are swinging gates, which open in
the middle, and lie flat, one part against each wharf or side-
wall of the passage leading into the dock or basin. The
elevation of this kind of gate is represented in Plate CCIII.
fig. 3. This kind of dock gate requires to be made of
great strength, with sound timber and good iron, and the
gudgeons on which the hinges turn to be well secured
into the stone abutments. Care also must be taken to
make the bottom of the passage and the bottom of the
gates perfectly plane and parallel, to prevent leakage, and
give facility to their opening and shutting, which is usu¬
ally assisted by rollers fixed in a groove, and performed
by means of a small capstern on each pier. Attached to
the top of the gates is usually a foot bridge with railing,
which, separating in the middle, opens and shuts with the
gates.
The most simple, but by no means the most effec¬
tive contrivance for keeping out the water, is the wicket-
gate, of which the plan and elevation are represented in
Plate CCIII. fig. 5 and 6. It consists of three parts,
which, when opened, are removed separately. This gate
is rarely made use of unless where the abutments are not
sufficiently strong, or their foundation sufficiently secure,
to bear the weight of a pair of swinging gates.
A third kind of gate consists of a floating dam or cais-
soon, first introduced into this country by General Ben-
tham, and first applied to the great new basin in Ports¬
mouth dock-yard. They are built somewhat in the shape
of a Greenland fishing-boat, sharp at the two ends, nar¬
row, and deep in proportion to the depth of water at the
entrance of the dock. The keel fits into a groove at the
bottom of the passage, and the two slanting ends rise and
fall in corresponding grooves cut into the two abutments.
Of this kind of gate, fig. 1 and 2, Plate CCIII. represent
the plan and elevation. By letting in the water, the cais-
soon sinks in the grooves, and acts as a closed gate; and
by pumping out the water, or letting it out to a certain
depth, the dam floats as the tide rises, and the narrow part,
rising to the top, is readily disengaged from the grooves,
and easily floated away as a boat. The advantages of these
floating dams, as stated by General Bentham, are, that
they are cheaper of construction than the gates heretofore
in use for closing docks or basins; that they occupy less
space, are more easily repaired, and one and the same
dam is capable of being used, as need may require, in dif¬
ferent places at different times. These caissoons have also
the advantage of serving as bridges of communication for
loaded carriages across the entrances they close, and they
require much less labour than gates in opening or shutting
up passages into docks or basins, since their occasional
buoyancy may be obtained without pumping water or un¬
loading ballast.
Fig. 7 represents a plan, and fig. 4 a sectional elevation,
of a dry or graving dock, into which ships are taken to
have their defects examined and repaired, coppered, &c.
and in which, if necessary, as already observed, ships may
be built.
When a ship is brought into a dry or graving dock, sheDocl T
gradually subsides as the water flows out, till her keel^'P"
rests upon the line of square blocks which are placed to
receive it along the middle for the whole length; and on
DOCK.
j,ck. these blocks she is kept steady and upright by a number
^ of shores or poles on each side, one of their ends being
i placed on the altars or steps of the dock, the other under
the ship’s bends and bottom. As a ship under repair ge¬
nerally requires something to be done to the main or false
keel, or at any rate these parts require to be inspected,
sometimes to shift the main keel, or to add to the whole
length of the false keel, it was always found necessary in
such cases to remove the blocks in order to get at the bot¬
tom of the ship; but this operation could not be perform¬
ed without the more serious one of first lifting bodily the
ship clear of all the blocks, and suspending her as it were
in the air. This process was performed by driving wedges
simultaneously under the ends of all the shores that sup¬
ported the ship; an operation that required from four to
five hundred men to enable them to suspend a ship of the
first rate. When the San Josef, a large three-decker, re¬
quired her bottom to be examined in 1800, the assistance
of almost every artificer in the dock-yard was found ne¬
cessary to perform this process of lifting her; nor was this
the only inconvenience; the ship, thus suspended, suf¬
fered very material injury by the pressure of her own
enormous weight against the ends of the shores that sup¬
ported her, such as forcing in her sides, straining the
knees and all her fastenings, breaking the treenails, &c.
To remedy these glaring inconveniences and very seri¬
ous injuries that ships thus placed were apt to sustain, and
to effect a saving of time and expense in the operation,
Mr (now Sir Robert) Seppings, then master shipwright,
and afterwards surveyor of the navy, contrived, sixteen or
eighteen years ago, an improvement, as ingenious as it
is simple, by which twenty men will suspend the largest
ship in the navy, or rather, which amounts to the same
thing, will disengage any one block that may be required,
in the space of two or three minutes, without the necessity
of suspending her at all; and, as a first rate in dock sits
upon about fifty blocks, these twenty men will clear her
of the whole of these blocks in about two hours; and as
the saving of a day in completing the repairs of a ship is
frequently the saving of a whole spring tide, the docking
and undocking of a ship may make, and frequently has
made, by this new method, the difference of a fortnight in
the time of equipping her for sea.
The block of Mr Seppings, instead of being one solid
piece, consists of three wedges, or, more properly speak¬
ing, of one obtuse wedge and two inclined planes, which,
when put together and placed under the ship’s keel, ap-
^ near as under, when viewed in the direction or line of the
keel,
F
F
where G is the wedge on which the keel rests, having its
ohtusc angle equal to 170°, and HH are the two inclined
planes, each having an acute angle of 5°. The wedge is
of hard wood, having its two sides lined with iron; the
two inclined planes are of cast iron. When one of these
blocks is to be disengaged from under a ship’s bottom, no¬
thing more is required than a few smart blows alternately
on the two sides of the two inclined planes, when they fly
out, and the middle part or wedge drops; and the facility
of thus disengaging any of the blocks is in proportion to
the quantity of pressure upon that block. The strokes are
usually given by a kind of catapulta or battering-ram, being
a thick spar or pole moving on a pair of wheels, as KK.
This simple contrivance to get at any part of a ship’s bot¬
tom by removing in succession all the blocks, without the
necessity of lifting the ship, which the removal of any one
block required to be done by the old method, is now uni¬
versally adopted in all the dock-yards ; and the lords of the
admiralty marked their sense of the great utility of the
improvement, by bestowing on Mr Seppings a reward of
L.1000 for the invention.
Another very material improvement, recently introdu- Roofing
ced into his majesty’s dock-yards, is that of covering the the docks,
dry docks and building slips with roofs. The rapid decay
of our ships of war by that species of disease known by
the name of the dry rot, attracted very general attention ;
its effects were well known, but a variety of opinions were
entertained as to its causes and its cure. It was quite ob¬
vious, however, that exclusion of air and moisture were
the two great operating causes in giving activity to the
progress of the disease (see Dry Rot); and that a ship
in dock, stripped of her planking, and open to the weather
in every part, alternately exposed to frost, rain, wind, and
sunshine, must at least have her timbers differently affect¬
ed, some swelled and water-soaked, others shrunk with
heat, and others rifted with the wind and frost; and, if
closed up with planking in this state, might be expected,
at no great distance of time, to exhibit symptoms of de-
cay. The workmen, too, in the open docks or slips, suf¬
fered from the vicissitudes of the weather no less than the
ships, and their labour was frequently suspended, to the
great detriment of the naval service. The measure of roof¬
ing over the docks and slips had long and repeatedly been
suggested, but, either from prejudice or a false economy,
it was only very recently carried into practice, but is now
almost universal in all the yards. These roofs are gene¬
rally constructed so as to be capable of having the sides
and ends occasionally closed, according to the quarter from
which the wind may blow; and by this contrivance the
timber is prevented from rifting, as it is liable to do, by
the action of a thorough draught of wind, and the health
of the artificer is prevented from injury. The light is ad¬
mitted through numerous windows placed in the roof.
These roofs are in general supported on a row of wooden
pillars, and covered with slate, some with plates of iron,
and others with shingle. Plate CCIII. fig. 8, exhibits the
transverse section of a roof thrown over the head of the
dock at Plymouth, in which the Foudroyant is repairing;
its span, from A to A, being 95 feet 4 inches, and the
extreme width, from B to B, 125 feet 4 inches, supported,
on the principle of trussing, without a single beam. An¬
other of the same kind was built over the Prince Regent
at Chatham, whose span was 100 feet, and the extreme
width 150 feet. These immense roofs were constructed
after a plan of Mr Seppings. The cost of one of the
dimensions above mentioned was from L.6000 to L.7000,
which, great as it may appear, must be amply repaid by
the superior quality and durability of the ships built under
it; but the same roof, with little or no repair, will, in all
probability, serve as a covering for eight or ten different
ships in succession. General Bentham, who, in his state¬
ment of Services rendered in the Civil Department of the
78
DOCK.
Dock. Navy, seems to claim to himself all the inventions and
improvements which have been introduced into the dock¬
yards for the last twenty years, carries his invention be¬
yond a mere covering, and proposes to house over the
docks and slips so completely as to afford “ means of heat¬
ing, warming, ventilating, and artificially lighting the in¬
terior at pleasure; the introduction of boilers or steam-
kilns for bending the planks within the inclosure ; the
introduction of machinery for assisting in various opera¬
tions, particularly the more laborious ones; the provid¬
ing room for carrying on all the shipwright’s work within
the building; besides a variety of lesser works, such as it
is found very inconvenient during the building or repair¬
ing of a ship to have executed, for example, in a smith’s
or carpenter’s shop at a distance.” Such buildings would
not only be enormously expensive, but, in the present
crowded state of the dock-yards, utterly impracticable.
With regard to the invention of covered docks and slips,
they have been used in Venice from time immemorial;
and it appeared, from the evidence given by Mr Strange,
the consul at that port in the year 1792, before the com¬
missioners of land revenue, that two-and-twenty large
ships had been under covered slips, some of them for sixty
years nearly. At Carlscrona, also, there are several co¬
vered docks, and both Mr Nicholls and Mr Snodgrass
strongly recommended the building of ships under cover
nearly thirty years ago.
Hauling Among other experiments which have recently been mak-
up sfiips on ing in the dock-yards for facilitating and expediting the
slips. repairs of ships, one may be mentioned, of which many
persons are sanguine enough to think that the successful
result is likely to be attended with most important bene¬
fits to the naval service. It is that of hauling up ships of
war, of any dimensions, on building slips, instead of taking
them into docks. It is no uncommon practice, at various
ports of this kingdom, where thei‘e are neither artificial
basins nor natural harbours, to haul vessels of the burden
of fifty to two hundred tons, or probably larger, upon the
beach, by means of capstans, to give them repairs ; in like
manner, most of the large fishing smacks are hauled up
for security in tempestuous weather; but the practicabi¬
lity of hauling up ships of war, especially of the larger
classes, was a matter of some doubt. Several frigates
had, at various times, been hauled upon slips, when the
docks were all occupied ; and the ease with which the ope¬
ration was performed induced the officers of the dock¬
yard to propose the hauling up of a line-of-battle ship.
The Kent, of 74 guns, was selected for this purpose. It
was necessary, in the first place, to take her into a dock,
to have proper bilgeways prepared, and to be stripped, so
as to be made as light as possible, her weight being, ac¬
cording to a calculation made from the water she displa¬
ced when afloat, about fourteen hundred tons. To heave
up this weight fourteen capstans were employed, and the
number of men to work these were as under:
cupy less space; they can be constructed on a steep or a d
shelving shore; and ships can be hauled upon them either Y
in spring or neap tides; whereas a dry dock can only be ^jy
made in particular situations, and, when made, ships can
only be docked and undocked in certain states of the
tides; from which circumstance a considerable delay and
inconvenience are frequently experienced. It should be
recollected, however, that a large ship must necessarily go
into a dock preparatory to her being hauled up on a slip.
It has been considered as not at all impossible, as was
suggested some time ago by Mr Perring, the ingenious
clerk of the check in Plymouth dock-yard, that the whole
ordinary may hereafter be laid up on slips, which, if housed
over, would unquestionably be the best means of increas¬
ing their durability, and preserving them from partial de¬
cay. Nor is it certain that in the end it would not be the
most economical mode of preserving them. The expense,
as appears from the Estimates of the Ordinary of the Navy
for the year 1817, is L.187,000 for harbour victuals, har¬
bour moorings and riggings, &c. besides L.135,000 for
wages; the chief part of both which sums is on account of
ships of war laid up in ordinary, none of which would be
required by placing them on slips. It would indeed form
a singular revolution in naval management, if ships here¬
after should be laid up in ordinary on dry land, whilst the
timber of which they are built is now considered to be the
best preserved under salt water; a process which, frotn
some experiments recently made, promises fair to be the
most effectual prevention of, and a probable cure for, the
dry rot. (See Dry Rot). This method of preserving
timber has long been practised at Brest, Carthagena, and
several other places on the Continent; and the only ob¬
jection to it in some of our ports appears to be the attack
of the worm known to naturalists by the name of teredo
navalis, whose bite is almost as destructive as the dry rot.
On the other hand, there are very many and serious ob¬
jections, even were the measure practicable, of hauling up
ships of the line in particular, to be laid in ordinary on
slips. In the first place, the length of sea-beach which would
be required is greater than probably all the dock-yards in
the kingdom could furnish. Secondly, the three warrant-
officers who are now employed in each ship, and who are
the best men in tbe service, being no longer necessary,
would be turned adrift, and, in all probability, utterly lost
to the navy. Thirdly, no large ship could be hauled on
the slips without being previously taken into a dock to
have her bilgeways fitted, and her bottom prepared for
placing her on the slip. The time taken for this purpose
must necessarily interfere with the other works of the
yard ; and after taking her out, the preparations for heav¬
ing her up, the capstans, blocks, purchase-falls, chains, and
a variety of other articles, amount to a very large expense,
not less, with the expense of the roof to cover the ship,
than L. 10,000 for each slip so hauled up.
Dock- Yards.
Nine men to each bar and swifter 1512
Eight men to hold on at each 112
Three men to each capstan, to attend the fall 42
Men on board the ship, and employed in other)
operations J
Total of men employed 2116
The time occupied in hauling her up, after all the pur¬
chases were brought to bear, was forty minutes. The ex¬
pense of preparing her, and the loss and wear and tear of
the materials, was estimated at somewhere about L.2000.
The advantages which slips are supposed to possess over
dry docks are many and important. They can be con¬
structed at one twentieth part of the expense; they oc-
Previously to the reign of Henry VIII. the kings of Eng¬
land had neither naval arsenals nor dock-yards, nor any
regular establishment of civil or naval officers to provide
ships of war, or to fight them. They had admirals, how¬
ever, possessing a high jurisdiction and very great power.
(See the article Admiral). And it would appear, from
a very curious poem in Hachluiis Collection, called The
Policie of Keeping the Sea, that Henry V. had both ships,
officers, and men exclusively appropriated to his service,
and independently of those which the Cinque Ports were
bound, and the other ports were occasionally called upon,
to furnish, on any emergency. By this poem it also ap¬
pears that Little Hampton, unfit as it now is, was the
port at which Henry built
DOC K-Y ARDS.
79
 .....his great Dromions
l h Which passed other great shippes of the commons.
But what these dromions were no one can now tell; nor is
it easy to conceive how the building and repairing of the
Great Harry, which in the reign of Henry VII. was launch¬
ed at Portsmouth, and cost L.15,000, was managed, con¬
sidering the very rapid strides made at once from the
small Cinque Port vessels, manned with twenty-one men
and a boy, to this enormous floating castle. At that time
it is well known that they had no docks, nor even sub¬
stitutes for them.
The foundation of a regular navy, by the establishment
of dock-yards, and the formation of a board, consisting of
certain commissioners for the management of its affairs,
was first laid by Henry VIII., and the first dock-yard
erected under his reign was that of Woolwich. Those of
Portsmouth, Deptford, Chatham, and Sheerness, followed
in succession; and the last, excepting the new and unfi¬
nished yard of Pembroke, was Plymouth, which was found¬
ed by William III.
From the first establishment of the king’s dock-yards
to the present time, most of them have gradually been en¬
larged and improved by a succession of expedients and
make-shifts, which answered the purposes of the moment;
but the best of them possess not those conveniences and
advantages which might be obtained from a dock-yard
systematically laid out on a uniform and consistent plan,
with its wharfs, basins, docks, slips, magazines, and work¬
shops, arranged according to certain fixed principles, cal¬
culated to produce convenience, economy, and dispatch,
[m dec- Neither at the time when our dock-yards were first esta-
ioiofthe blished, nor at any subsequent periods of their enlarge-
iirls ment as the necessities of the service demanded, could it
lodyards.have j3een foreseen what incalculable advantages would
one day be derived from the substitution of machinery for
human labour; and without a reference to this vast im¬
provement in all mechanical operations, it could not be
expected that any provision would be made for its future
introduction; on the contrary, the docks and slips, the
work-shops and store-houses, were successively built at
random, and placed wherever a vacant space would most
conveniently admit them, and in such a manner as in most
cases to render the subsequent introduction of machinery
and iron railways, and those various contrivances found in
the large manufacturing establishments of private indivi¬
duals, quite impossible, even in the most commodious and
roomy of his majesty’s dock-yards.
iVbsed The want of a systematic arrangement in our dock-
jo« yard yards, independently of machinery, and the enormous ex-
ie Isle penditure of money laid out on expedients, were questions
of frequent discussion among naval men connected with
the various administrations of the navy, and it was thought
by many that it would be more desirable to construct an
entire new dock-yard in some eligible situation, on an ex¬
tensive scale, than to continue the improvements in the old
ones. For this purpose, so early as the year 1765, the at¬
tention of the naval administration appears to have been
turned to the Isle of Grain in the river Medway, along
the shore of which is a fine expansive sheet of deep water.
A dock-yard thus placed, on a systematic plan, would su¬
persede that of Chatham on one side and Sheerness on the
other; but it was discovered on boring that the substra¬
tum was so loose and sandy as not to admit of a solid
foundation. General Bentham, however, revived the pro¬
ject in the year 1800, which he seems to claim as his own,
and painted the situation in such glowing colours, and as
affording so many advantages for a grand naval arsenal,
that the lords of the admiralty were induced to order a
fresh set of borings to be taken. These were carried to
the depth of sixty feet, and were everywhere found to
if -ain.
consist of sand and mud, and totally unfit for the con- Dock-
struction of basins, docks, and such solid buildings as are Yards,
required for naval purposes.
The imperfection of the naval yards to the eastward, On the pe-
the extension of the boundaries of France towards that ninsula of
quarter, the occupation of the great naval port of Ant- North-
werp, and the uninterrupted command of the Scheldt andnee *
the ports of Holland by that power, rendered an enlarge¬
ment of the means of naval equipment in the eastern dock¬
yards of England, or a new naval arsenal, indispensable.
For the latter purpose the banks of the Thames were con¬
sidered, in every point of view, as preferable to those of
the Medway, the entrance into the latter being narrow,
and having a bar across it, on which, at low water of spring
tides, there is only fourteen or fifteen feet of water; where¬
as the navigation of the Thames is at all times uninter¬
rupted, excepting by the badness of the weather. It com¬
municates directly with the great market-town of London,
in which every description of stores, foreign and domestic,
is accumulated; and the trade of the Thames is the great
source from which the fleet is supplied with seamen. The
marshy peninsula of Northfleet was considered by naval
men, who had turned their attention to the subject, to
possess every possible requisite for the establishment of a
royal dock-yard on an extensive scale. It was sufficiently
removed from the mouth of the river to be completely
sheltered, yet near enough for ships to proceed to sea with
one wind. In the river between Northfleet and the sea
there is plenty of water for the largest three-deckers to
proceed with all their guns, ammunition, stores, and pro¬
visions on board, and almost with any wind, if moderate.
A copious stream of good fresh water runs across the pe¬
ninsula. The soil afforded plenty of earth suitable for
bricks; the foundation was excellent for docks, slips,
wharfs, and buildings of all kinds. It was sufficiently near
the metropolis for speedy communication with the naval
departments, and to receive stores in barges and the river
craft. It was capable of being defended both on the land
and river side; and when the whole was raised to the
height of twelve feet with a dry gravelly soil, from the
excavations of the docks and basins, there could be no
doubt of the healthiness of the situation. By the direc¬
tion, therefore, of the lords of the admiralty, a complete
survey was made by Messrs Rennie and Whidbey, who
furnished a plan and estimate of a naval arsenal on a mag¬
nificent scale, within which all kinds of machinery were
proposed to be employed for the making of anchors, saw¬
ing of timber, rope-making, block-making, &c.; iron rail¬
ways to be laid from the timber wharfs to the timber
fields, from thence to the mills and pits, and from them to
the docks, slips, and workshops. The estimate, it appears,
was about six millions sterling, which Mr Rose, in his let¬
ter to the late Lord Melville, calculates, with the fortifi¬
cations and unforeseen expenses, to amount actually to
ten millions; an expense which the minister did not ven¬
ture to propose, though there can be little doubt that,
when the case was fairly stated to the public, and the ne¬
cessity of increasing our naval establishments to the east¬
ward had been made apparent, no violent opposition would
have been made to a measure which tended to keep up
our naval superiority, and which was the less objectionable,
as none of the money would have been taken out of the
country, but circulated within it, to the encouragement
of the arts, trades, and manufactures of the kingdom.
The board of revision made a detailed report on the
merits of the plan, which, however, as the execution of
it was delayed, was not printed; but the real reason
was supposed to be, the very gloomy view taken by the
commissioners of the disadvantages and imperfections of
the present dock-yards, which Mr Rose seems to think,
DOC K-Y ARDS.
SO
Dock- and indeed it is generally thought, is by no means war-
Yards. ranted, and that those disadvantages in that report are
greatly exaggerated, perhaps to enhance the value of the
Northfleet plan, of which they seem to have been much
enamoured. Imperfect as the old dock-yards are, chiefly
from their having risen, as before observed, to their pre¬
sent state, by a succession of expedients and make-shifts,
they are nevertheless far superior to any similar establish¬
ments on the Continent of Europe, if we except the un¬
finished arsenal of Cherbourg, whose magnificent basins
(see Breakwater) are certainly unequalled, and the
space surrounding them capable of being turned to every
possible advantage. M. Charles Dupin, a French officer,
who examined all our dock-yards with a skilful eye, pro¬
nounces them as by far superior to any on the Continent.
We have heard much of the magnificent basins and the
covered docks of Carlscrona, but the one has been greatly
overrated, and the others are merely covered over with
shed-like roofs; nor is there the least likelihood that the
plan will ever be finished. We have been told likewise
of the superior advantages of the naval arsenal of Copen¬
hagen, where every ship has its appropriate storehouse.
This plan has been adopted at Brest, and is reprobated
there by every naval officer, and the officers of the yard,
as most inconvenient, and a great waste of room, by hav¬
ing the most bulky and the most trifling articles stowed
together in the same room. A better arrangement is that
of having certain magazines appropriated to certain kinds
of stores, and arranged according to the class or rate of
ship for which they are intended, and, if appropriated or
returned stores, the name of the ship to which they be¬
long painted in front of the birth in which they are de¬
posited. This is the system generally followed in our
dock-yards.
The great point in which our naval arsenals are most
defective is the want of wet docks or basins ; which, how¬
ever, are to a certain extent compensated at the two prin¬
cipal dock-yards of Portsmouth and Plymouth, by two
magnificent harbours, in which the whole navy of Eng¬
land, when dismantled, may be moored and laid up in or¬
dinary, in perfect security. The want of basins, however,
in our dock-yards is most severely felt in time of war,
when the expeditious fitting out of the fleet becomes so
very desirable. One at Portsmouth on a small scale has
been found of incalculable advantage to that yard; and a
larger one, now constructed at Sheerness, will probably
make that yard of sufficient capacity to supersede the
necessity of a new establishment at Northfleet, or in any
other situation to the eastward.
Idea of a The perfection of a dock-yard, then, independently of the
perfect advantages of machinery, which are but contingent, may
dock-yard, be considered to depend upon one or more extensive ba-
* sins, surrounded by spacious wharfs or quays. By means
of these a prodigious saving of time, labour, and expense
may be saved, in every stage of the progress of fitting out
a ship for sea, from the moment she is launched from the
slip, or taken out of a dock, as well as in dismantling a
ship on returning to port to be paid off and repaired, or
laid up in ordinary. For this purpose the docks and slips
should occupy one of the sides of the basin, with working
sheds for carpenters and joiners, smiths’ shops, saw-pits,
and seasoning-sheds between them. The ship, when
completed on the slip and launched into the basin, may
then be taken immediately into the adjoining dock to be
coppered. From this she proceeds to the second side of
the basin, in the corner of which is the ballast-wharf; the
remainder of the side will probably be occupied by the
victualling department, with appropriate stores in the rear
for various kinds of provisions, and behind these the
bakery, brewery, and slaughter-houses; on the wharf
the iron tanks for holding water, now universally used for Lock
the ground tier, in lieu of wooden casks. These are taken Yard
on board next after the ballast, and, together with the su- v—V
perincumbent casks, would be filled in the ship’s hold by
means of flexible pipes to convey the water into them.
The provisions would at the same time be taken on board
at the same wharf, in front of the victualling stores. The
third side might be appropriated to the ordnance depart¬
ment, with the gun-wharf extending along the whole side,
and the gun-carriage storehouses, magazines, &c. in the
rear. The fourth side would be occupied as the anchor
wharf, with the cable storehouses, the sail lofts and stores,
rigging loft, and magazines for various stores, in the rear.
Behind these, again, on the first side, containing the dry
docks and building slips, the ground would be appropri¬
ated to the reception, birthing, and converting of timber,
from whence iron railways would lead to the saw-mills,
saw-pits, and work-shops, all of which would be placed on
that side. On the second side a pond or basin for the
victualling lighters and craft, wdth wharfs communicating
with the manufactories and storehouses ; the same on the
ordnance or third side; and on the fourth side might be
placed the ropery, hemp storehouses, tar-houses, with a
basin for hemp-vessels, lighters, and the like. Communi¬
cating with the great basin on the building side, and also
with the river or harbour, on the shore of which the dock¬
yard is to be formed, should be a mast-pond, with a lock
for the storing of spars; in front the mast-houses, top-
houses, capstan-houses, and a slip to launch the masts into
the pond. Here also might be placed the boat-houses and
boat-pond.
A peninsular situation like that of Northfleet, having Advan,
at least three fourths of its shore surrounded with deep tages oil
water, is peculiarly favourable for some such arningementsystem;!
as is here mentioned; as any number of locks and canals<lock‘-va
might be made to communicate with the river, so that
ships coming into the basin might not interfere with those
going out, nor the lighters and other craft bringing their
several species of stores, with either or with one another.
By such an arrangment a ship would be equipped for sea
at half the present expense, and within half the usual
time. A ship fitting out for an anchorage distant from
the dock-yard, as at the Nore and Spithead, is liable to
every inconvenience and delay, as all her guns, stores,
provisions, and water, must be carried to her in dock-yard
lighters and other craft, into which and out of which they
must be hoisted and rehoisted; liable to delay from bad
weather and contrary winds; to be stove alongside the
ship, to the total loss or damaging of their cargoes: added
to which is the loss of time in going backwards and for¬
wards, especially to the artificers; the desertion of the
men; the accidents from the upsetting of boats; and
many other evils of a magnitude not easily to be calcu¬
lated, and exceeded only by the disappointment and vexa¬
tion that unavoidably occur when ships are preparing for
some particular and pressing service; all of which, when
ships are fitted out in a basin for sea, are avoided. Here
no delay, no embezzlement, no desertion, can take place.
A ship in returning from sea may be docked and undocked
into the basin with all her stores on board; and if to be
paid off, instead of keeping the crew on board for weeks,
till all the stores have been delivered into the dock-yard,
the ship, by the proposed plan of basins, would remain se¬
curely in the basin, to be stripped at leisure by the rig¬
gers and labourers of the yard, and the crew become im¬
mediately available for other ships. Of the many supe¬
rior advantages of wet docks for laying up ships to dis¬
charge, over the practice of exposing them in rivers or
harbours, the shipping interest of the ports of London,
Liverpool, Bristol, and Hull, can best testify, more espe-
I
!
DOC K-Y ARDS.
81
Bock-
Yards.
ayal
cially that of London, which has taken the precaution to
surround the docks with high inclosing walls, by means
of which all access is debarred, and all possibility of em¬
bezzlement prevented.
From a brief description of the royal dock-yards as they
ck-yards.now stand, a general idea may be formed of their several
capacities, advantages, and defects. Taking them in succes¬
sion, according to their vicinity to the capital, the first is
Deptford.—The front or wharf wall of this dock-yard,
facing the Thames, is about 1700 feet in length, and the
mean breadth of the yard 650 feet; the superficial con¬
tent about thirty acres. It has three slips for ships of the
line on the face next the river, and two for smaller ves¬
sels, which launch into a basin or wet dock, 260 by 220
feet. There are also three dry docks; one of them a
double dock, communicating with the Thames, and the
other a smaller one, opening into the basin. With these
restricted means, even with an adequate number of work¬
men, its capacity for building ships, or for large repairs,
must be very limited; but in the occasional repair of
fourth-rates and frigates, and in the fitting out of sloops
and smaller vessels, a great deal of work was performed
at Deptford in the course of the war. The proximity of
Deptford dock-yard to the capital is, however, of great
importance, in the convenience it affords of receiving from
this great mart all the home manufactures and products
which may be purchased by contract for the use of the
navy. It is, in fact, the general magazine of stores and ne¬
cessaries for the fleet, from whence they are shipped off,
as occasion requires, to the home yards, the out-ports,
and the foreign stations, in store-ships, transports, coast¬
ing sloops, lighters, and launches, according to the dis¬
tance to which they must be sent, to the amount, in time
of war, of more than 30,000 tons a year.
The principal stores deposited in Deptford dock-yard
are small cordage, canvass, and ships’ sails, to an immense
amount; beds, hair for beds, hammocks, slops, and marine
clothing ; anchors under the weight of about seventy-five
hundred, which are generally made by contract, all above
that size being manufactured in the king’s dock-yards.
The great magazines for the reception of these stores
consist of a large quadrangular building, with a square in
the middle, of three stories in height, with cellars under¬
neath, in which are contained pitch, tar, rosin, and tur¬
pentine. The length of each side of these storehouses
is nearly the same, differing from a square only by some
eighteen feet: this length is about 210 feet, but they vary
in width from forty-six to twenty-four feet.
Parallel to the west front of this quadrangle is the rig¬
ging-house and sail-loft, 240 feet, and nearly fifty feet
wide, in which all the rigging is fitted for ships and stow¬
ed away, the sails cut out, made, and placed in proper
births for their reception, as well as for various other stores
of a smaller kind.
On the eastern extremity of the yard is a long range of
building, called the pavilion, in which the beds, hammocks,
and slop-clothing are kept, and in which also are the house-
carpenters’, the joiners’, and wheelwrights' shops. This
building is about 580 feet long by twenty-six feet wide.
The remaining buildings usually appropriated to the
different services of a dock-yard are all to be found at
Deptford; a good blacksmith’s shop, a plumber, glazier,
painter-shops, seasoning-sheds, store-cabins, saw-pits, mast-
house, and pond, boat-houses, mould-loft, timber-births,
besides good houses and gardens for the principal officers,
with several coach-houses and stables, so that the whole
space is completely filled up in every part.
The number of men employed in this yard, in time of
war, may have been about fifteen hundred, of whom about
one half were shipwrights and other artificers, and the
VOL. VIII.
Dock-
Yards.
other half labourers. There were, besides, in constant
employ, eighteen or twenty teams of four each, of horses,
to drag timber and heavy stores. Deptford dock-yard has
recently been put down.
Adjoining to the dock-yard is the victualling-yard, the Deptford
completest establishment of the kind, perhaps, in this or victualling-
any other kingdom, though still capable of much improve-yar(h
ment in the arrangement. Its frontage to the Thames is
about 1060 feet, and mean depth 1000 feet, containing
about nineteen acres. This space is laid out in a more
convenient manner than any of the dock-yards, for an¬
swering all the purposes which were intended. The ge¬
neral storehouses in front of the wharf wall, the cooper¬
age, the brewery, the butchery, and the bakery, are all
separate and complete in themselves. A mill has recent¬
ly been erected, of such capacity as to grind corn to be
made into biscuit sufficient for supplying the whole navy.
Besides all the requisite offices for keeping the accounts,
there are houses and gardens for eight of the principal
officers of the yard ; and when the old wharf wall shall
have been repaired, and carried out a little farther into
the river, for which a sum of L.27,000 appears on the esti¬
mate of 1817, the victualling-yard will be complete in all
.respects, according to the present arrangement. {Navy
Estimates for 1817.)
The cooperage is spacious and well laid out. The staves
are all sawed by hand, and this operation employs about
100 sawyers in time of war. Mr Brown of Fulham has
succeeded, it seems, in making casks by machinery, by
which seventeen men in nine hours are stated to be able
to complete 300 casks, whereas, by the ordinary method,
the same number could only complete about eighty. The
brewery is well arranged, so is the bakery; and the butch¬
ery, consisting of a yard for keeping the cattle, with pens
for sheep and hogs, two spacious slaughtering-houses, cut¬
ting and salting-houses, by the abundant supply of water
and constant washing, are kept in the cleanest order, and
free from any disagreeable smell.
In the salting season 260 carcasses have been slaughter¬
ed in each of the two days in the week appropriated to
killing, and the hog hanging-house is capable of contain¬
ing 650 carcasses.
The total number of coopers, sawyers, bakers, and la¬
bourers employed during war, in the victualling-yard at
Deptford, amounted probably to twelve or thirteen hun¬
dred.
Woolwich Dock-Yard.—This first and most ancient of
the dock-yards presents a frontage to the river of 3300
feet; the breadth is very irregular, being from 250 to 750
feet; and it contains an area of about thirty-six acres. It has
five slips, which open into the river, three of which are for
ships of the line, one for frigates, and one for vessels of a
smaller class. It has three dry docks, one a double and
one single dock, all of them capable of receiving ships of
the line. With all its imperfections, Woolwich yard, with
a complete establishment of artificers, has been of great
service both in the building and repairing of ships of all
classes. Some of the largest and finest ships in the navy
have been launched from W'oolwich yard, among which
may be mentioned the Nelson and the Ocean. ■ In fact, it
is chiefly as a building yard that Woolwich ought to be
considered as of much importance; and even in this re¬
spect it has of late years much deteriorated, owing to the
increasing shallowness of the river, and the immense accu¬
mulation of mud, which is found in a very few weeks com¬
pletely to block up all the entrances into the docks and
slips, and along the whole length of the wharf wall. It
is stated in the Eighth lleport of the Select Committee on
Finance (1818), that “ the wharf wall at Woolwich, owing
to the action of the tide on the foundation, is in a falling
L
DOC K-Y ARDS.
state, and in danger of being swept into the river, it being
secured only in a temporary manner, and requires to be
immediately rebuilt in a direction that will preserve it
from similar injury hereafter, and prevent, in a great de¬
gree, that accumulation of mud which has, in the course
of the last ten years, occasioned an expense of upwards
of L.125,692, and would threaten in time to render the
yard useless.”
It was, in fact, found necessary to diminish the depth
of the hold of the Nelson, in consequence of the Trinity
Board having stated that no vessel drawing above nine¬
teen feet of water could be navigated down to Erith
Reach, and one even of that draught not without difficul¬
ty and danger.
The magazines or storehouses are not to be compared
with those of Deptford. They are more confined, and,
owing to the narrowness of the yard, and the progressive
additions made according as necessity required, there is
little or no methodical arrangement. As far, however, as
regards the building and repairing of ships,, its conveni¬
ences may be reckoned superior to those of Deptford.
The new mast-houses and mast-slip, the new mast-ponds,
and the houses for stowing yards, topmasts, &c. with the
locks under them, are all excellent; and a new and spa-'
cious basin completes these great conveniences. The
timber-births are well arranged, and the addition recently
made to the western extremity of the yard will allow the
stacking of several thousand loads of timber, and of class¬
ing it according to the purposes to which it may be ap¬
plicable ; and when the new smithery, and the line of
wharf wall shall be completed, the dock-yard of Woolwich
will become an important and valuable naval arsenal.
A considerable quantity of cables and cordage are ma¬
nufactured at Woolwich; but the ropery is most incon¬
veniently situated at a distance from the dock-yard, and
great part of the town intervenes between them. Its
length is 180 fathoms, but so narrow that the hemp store¬
houses, of three stories high, come close to the spinning
house on either side. These storehouses are capable of
containing about 2000 tons of hemp, and the cellars un¬
derneath them about 6000 barrels of pitch and tar. The
hemp stores in the dock-yard are capable of containing
about 2000 tons more.
In the present state and situation of the ropery, it would
scarcely admit of the introduction of machinery, as has
been done in most of the great private manufactories.
The process of tarring, or passing the yarns through heat¬
ed tar, and then drawing them through apertures in an
iron plate, is performed at Woolwich by four horses. The
laying of a cable of twenty-two or twenty-three inches
is performed by the simultaneous exertion of 170 or 180
men, and requires upwards of an hour of the most severe
exertion of strength, especially on the part of those who
are stationed at the cranks, who not unusually break a
blood-vessel by the severity of the labour. The simple
and beautiful machine invented by the late Captain Hud-
dart, performs with more accuracy the same process, and
with the attendance of only three persons. For the rea¬
sons here stated, and the sufficiency of the other rope-
yards, this at Woolwich has recently been disposed of.
Woolwich dock-yard seems to be complete in all the
usual appendages of artificers, work-shops, store-cabins,
offices for the clerks, houses and gardens for the commis¬
sioner and the principal officers of the establishment. The
number of men employed during the war amounted to
about 1800, of whom nearly 1100 were shipwrights and
artificers, and the rest labourers. The number of spinners,
knitters, layers, labourers, &c. in the ropery, might be
about 260. Upwards of twenty teams of horses were
daily employed in this yard.
One of the four divisions (the 4th, consisting of thirteen D0(i.
companies) of royal marines are stationed at Woolwich, Yards
where barracks and all the necessary buildings have been
erected for their accommodation on shore. See the arti¬
cle Marines.
Chatham Dock- Yard.—This dock-yard is situated on the
right bank of the Medway, to which it presents a line of
river wall at least 5500 feet in length; the width at the
upper end being 400, in the middle 1000, and at the
lower end about 800. The superficial contents may be
estimated at about ninety acres. It has six building-slips
on the front, from which ships are launched into the river;
three of these are for ships of the line, and three for fri¬
gates and smaller vessels. In the same front are four dry
docks communicating with the Medway.
The inconveniences arising from want of arrangement
are less felt in Chatham than in any other of his majesty’s
dock-yards; and it could not perhaps be materially im¬
proved, if on the same site an entirely new dock-yard
was to be planned. At the southern extremity of the
yard is the ropery, hemp and yarn houses, rigging houses,
a range of storehouses 1000 feet in length by about 50
in breadth, in front of which, along the wharf, are the an¬
chor-racks, extending nearly 1000 feet. Next to these
are the slips and docks, with the working-sheds and arti¬
ficers’ shops close in the rear, an excellent smithery, tim¬
ber-births, seasoning-sheds, deal and iron yard, &c.; and
beyond these, on the eastern extremity of the yard, the
officers’ bouses and gardens. The commissioner’s house
and excellent garden are situated nearly in the centre of
the yard. The lower or north-eastern part of the yard is
occupied by mast-ponds, mast-houses and slips, store boat¬
houses and slips, ballast-wharf, timber-births, and saw-pits.
With all the advantages of interior arrangement, Chat¬
ham dock-yard still labours under that great defect to
which most of the dock-yards are liable, from the injudi¬
cious manner in which the wharf walls have been con¬
structed, without any regard being paid to the ebbing
and flowing of the tide, or the currents of rivers, project¬
ing in one part and retiring in others ; the consequence of
which is, that eddies are formed, and a constant accumula¬
tion of mud takes place along the line of the wall, and par¬
ticularly in the openings of the dry docks, the slips, and
the jetties. Of late years, however, since the attention of
engineers has been called to this important subject, every
opportunity is taken, in the repair of the wharf M'alls of
the dock-yards, to correct the injurious effects arising
from their improper direction; and as the river wall of
Chatham is rebuilding, there is no doubt that due atten¬
tion will be bad to the line in which it is to be carried, so
as to obviate the evil so universally complained of.
There is no wet dock or basin in Chatham-j'ard; but
the Medway, flowing along it in a fine sheet of water, in
some degree answers the purpose of one. The whole
river might indeed be converted into a magnificent basin,
by pursuing the same plan as that adopted in forming the
new docks at Bristol. This would be effected by cutting
a new channel for the river through the chalk cliff below
Frindsbury Church, opening out a little above Upnor Cas¬
tle, and continuing the new channel across the marsh near
St Mary’s Creek, so as to open out into Gillingham Reach
close to the fort. Here a basin might be constructed
wherein ships might be equipped in all respects ready for
sea, whenever the wind and tide should be favourable.
At present, owing to the shallowness of the water and
the crooked navigation from Chatham round Upnor Point,
they are obliged to take in their water and ballast at one
place, their stores and provisions at another, their guns,
powder, and ammunition at a third; in consequence of
which, a ship is usually longer in getting out to sea from
?
DOC K-Y ARDS.
lock- Chatham than even from Deptford. If this new channel
'ards. was made for the river, the whole space from the first
reach below Rochester Bridge to St Mary’s Creek, at the
lower extremity of the dock-yard, might be converted into
one magnificent basin.
Chatham being a building, a repairing, and refitting yard,
the establishment of men was much greater in war than
at Woolwich or Deptford ; the number of shipwrights and
other artificers, and labourers, being probably upwards of
2000, besides those of the rope-yard, which might amount
to about 250.
A considerable piece of new ground (about 2000 feet
in length by 200 in breadth) has recently been added to
the upper part of Chatham dock-yard, on which is erected
one of the completest saw-mills in the united kingdom,
under the direction of Mr Brunell. The mill is situated
on high ground, and close to the margin of a deep circular
basin or reservoir of water, dug down to the level of the
Medway, with which it comynunicates by a tunnel or sub¬
terranean canal, passing through the mast-pond. From
the side of the reservoir opposite to the mill proceeds a
long iron railway, supported on a double row of iron pil¬
lars ; and alongside of and parallel to this railway, on the
side next to the dock-yard, are a continued series of stages
for the reception of timber after it has been sawn into
planks. A steam-engine of the power of thirty-six horses
sets in motion all the operations of this mill, which may
thus be briefly enumerated: ls£, It drags up the large
balks of timber through the canal into the reservoir as
they are wanted. 2c?, It lifts up these large logs to the
margin of the basin, carries them into the mill, and places
them on the frame under the saws. 3c?, It saws them with
the greatest nicety into planks of any required thickness.
4</i, It takes the pieces away thus sawn, and places them
on carriages of iron, bth. It drives these carriages along
the iron railway to any required distance. And 6^A, It
deposits the sawn timber on the stages, ready to be used
in any part of the dock-yard where it may be required.
From these stages it is conveniently conveyed to the docks
or slips by single horse carts or trucks, with great expedi¬
tion, down an easy descent, and without the least inter¬
ference with any of the works carrying on in the yard.
The whole of these operations are conducted by about
ten, or at most twelve men.
This mill is supposed to be equal to the power of fifty
saw-pits and nearly one hundred sawyers, and is capable
of supplying the dock-yards of Chatham and Sheerness
with all the straight-sawn timber that they can require.
But the great advantage of the plan is in its application
of the steam-engine to the management and arrangement
of timber, by which the labour and expense of a great num¬
ber of horses are saved, and, what is of still greater import¬
ance, the obstruction and impediments to the general ser¬
vices of the yard are avoided, which the dragging about
of large balks to and from the saw-pits, with teams of four
horses each, occasions in all the other yards. It allows,
besides, the large space of ground which these saw-pits
would occupy, to be appropriated to other purposes.
The first division of royal marines, consisting of twenty-
one companies, is stationed at Chatham, in excellent bar¬
racks, situated near to one of the extremities of the dock¬
yard. (See article Marines.)
There is a small victualling depot, situated partly in
the parish of Chatham and partly in that of Rochester,
from which the ships at Chatham and at Sheerness and
the Nore receive a supply of provisions and water; but
no articles of ship’s stores are manufactured. The store¬
houses are sufficiently capacious for containing all the
stores that can be required for the ships fitted out at the
two ports on the Medway. The establishment consists of
S3
an agent, clerk of the check, storekeeper, and their re- Dock-
spective clerks, which, with the messengers, porters, la- Yards,
bourers, &c. may amount to about ninety persons.
Sheerness Dock- Yard.—This dock-yard is situated on a
low point of land on the island of Sheppey, whose soil is
composed of sand and mud bi’ought from the sea on the
one side and down the Medway on the other, and has so
much contracted the mouth of this river as completely to
command the entrance of it. The situation, in a military
point of view, is a most important one, particularly from
its vicinity to the North Sea and to the anchorage at the
Nore; by which anchorage, and the works of Sheerness,
the mouths of the Thames and the Medway are complete¬
ly defended.
As a situation for a dock, the objections to which it was
liable are now in a fair way of being removed. On ac¬
count of the low swampy ground on which it stood, fevers
and agues were at one time so prevalent, that shipwrights
and other artificers were literally impressed and compelled
to work at Sheerness. In process of time, however, a
town sprung up close to the dock-yard, and with it some
little improvement by drainage, embankments, and other
measures. Still it continued, till a very short time ago, an
unhealthy and disagreeable place. As a dock-yard it was
totally destitute of all convenience or arrangement; and
the whole premises, mixed among wharfs and buildings be¬
longing to the ordnance department, did not exceed fifteen
acres of ground. The storehouses were dispersed in va¬
rious parts of this space, and in so ruinous a state, that a
ship hauled up in the mud was by far the best in the whole
yard. It had two small inconvenient docks for frigates or
smaller vessels. It was in fact a mere point of refitment,
and might be considered as an appendage to Chatham.
From the very limited capacity of Sheerness, and the
mighty preparations in the Scheldt, originated the mag¬
nificent project of the naval arsenal at Northfleet, which,
from a change of political circumstances, and from the
important improvements now carrying on at Sheerness, is
not likely ever again to be revived. The Finance Com¬
mittee {Eighth Report) say they have learnt “ that the
re-establishment and extension of the yards at Sheerness
and Chatham may be considered as superseding, under
any circumstance that can now be likely to occur, the
plan contemplated for a naval establishment at Northfleet,
on so extensive a scale as to require the expenditure of
several millions.”
These improvements appear indeed to be of sufficient
magnitude to render any establishment at Northfleet
wholly unnecessary, by making Sheerness, when finished,
as complete a dock-yard, and perhaps more so, than any
other in his majesty’s dominions. Previously to carrying
into execution this important undertaking, a committee of
engineers and others was appointed, among whom were
Watt, Huddart, and Jessop, whose plan was afterwards
minutely examined, and some slight improvements sug¬
gested therein by Mr Rennie. The first stone was laid
on the 19th August 1814, and the whole was completed
at an expense not far short of one million sterling.
The advantages arising from the adoption of this plan
are, ls£, The addition of nineteen acres of ground to the
dock-yafd, by taking in the whole of the muddy western
shore of the Medway, beyond the low-water mark of neap
tides, and getting rid of the offensive and unwholesome
smell which it perpetually occasioned. 2dly, The con¬
struction of a wet dock or basin 520 feet in length by 300
in width, equal in surface to three and one half acres, and
capable of containing a fleet of ten sail of the line, in
which they can take on board all their stores, ammuni¬
tion, and provisions, and be equipped in all respects ready
to proceed to sea. The entrance into this basin is from
DOC K-Y ARDS.
the Medway, through a lock that is closed by a floating
dam-gate. Srf/v/, The construction of three dry docks on
the eastern side of the basin, and opening into it, each ca¬
pable of holding a first-rate ship of the line, \thhj. Ample
space for constructing storehouses, mast-houses, mast-
ponds, and slip, smithery, and artificers’ workshops of
every description, bthly, A further extension of the dock¬
yard, by the addition of ten or twelve acres of a low
marshy tract of land called Major’s Marsh, which at pre¬
sent is below the level of the sea, and the water kept out,
as in Holland, by embankments, but which will be raised
several feet by the excavation of the basin, the dry docks,
and the mast-ponds, so as to allow of drains to carry oft’
the water to the shore, affording space for timber-births,
houses and gardens for all the officers of the dock-yard,
as well as for the admiral commanding in chief at Sheer¬
ness and the Nore. These additions, together with some
part of the premises held by the board of ordnance, will
make the whole area of the new dock-yard of Sheerness
amount to upwards of fifty acres. The wharf wall on the
south side of the basin in front of the intended mast-
houses is a hundred feet, and that on .the river front sixty
feet in width, lined on both sides with as complete a spe¬
cimen of good and beautiful masonry of granite as any in
the kingdom.
The usual officers, with their clerks, amounted during
the war to about fifty ; and the shipwrights, artificers, and
labourers, to about eight hundred; the shipwrights being
the most numerous, as the principal part of the work was
confined to the repairing of small vessels in the yard, but
mostly to repairs of the fleet afloat at the Nore or in the
Medway.
Portsmouth Dock- Yard.—Portsmouth dock-yard will
always be considered as the grand naval arsenal of Eng¬
land, and the head-quarters or general rendezvous of the
British fleet. The dock-yard accordingly is by far the most
capacious; and the safe and extensive harbour, the noble
anchorage at Spithead, the central situation with respect
to the English Channel and the opposite coast of France,
and particularly with regard to the naval arsenal at Cher¬
bourg, render Portsmouth of the very first importance as
a naval station; and in this view of it, every possible at¬
tention appears to have been paid to the extension and
improvement of its dock-yard. The sea wharf-wall of
this yard, extending in the direction of north and south
along the western shore of the harbour, is about 3500 feet
in length, and the mean depth may be 2000 feet; and it
incloses an area of more than one hundred acres.
In the centre of the wharf-wall, facing the harbour, is
the entrance into the great basin, whose dimensions are
380 by 260 feet, and its area 2^ acres. Into this basin
open four excellent dry docks, and on each of its sides is
a dry dock opening into the harbour; and all of these six
docks are capable of receiving ships of the largest class.
Besides these is a double dock for frigates, the stern dock
communicating through a lock with the harbour, and the
head dock with another basin about 250 feet square. There
is also a camber, with a wharf-wall on each side, 660 feet
in length, and of sufficient width to admit of transports
and merchant ships bringing stores to the dock-yard. In
the same face of the yard are three building slips capable
of receiving the largest ships, and a small one for sloops,
besides two building slips for frigates on the northern face
of the yard, and a smaller slip for sloops. The range of
storehouses on the north-east side, and the rigging-house
and sail-loft on the south-west side of the camber, are
magnificent buildings, the former occupying nearly 600
feet in length, exclusive of the two intermediate spaces,
and nearly sixty feet in width, and the two latter 400 feet.
The two hemp-houses and the two sea-store houses occupy
a line of building which, with the three narrow openings Docl
between them of twenty-five feet each, extend 800 feet. Yan
The rope-house, tarring-house, and other appendages of v«^y
the ropery, are on the same scale. The two sets of quad¬
rangular storehouses, and the two corresponding build¬
ings, with the intervening timber-births and saw-pits, at
the head of the dry docks, issuing from the great basin,
are all excellent, and conveniently placed. The smithery
is on a large scale, and contiguous to it is an iron-mill, a
copper-mill, and a copper refinery, at which is remelted
and rolled all the old copper which is taken from ships’
bottoms ; and here, also, are cast bolts, gudgeons, and
various articles of copper used in the navy. The number
of sheets manufactured in one year of the war amounted
to about 300,000, weighing above 12,000 tons; on which
it has been calculated that a saving of at least L.20,000
was effected for the public, besides obtaining a good pure
article. Most of these were constructed under the di¬
rection of General Bentham. N (Bentham’s Services.) At
the head of the north dock are the wood mills, at which
every article of turnery, rabitting, &c. is performed for the
use of the navy, from boring the chamber of a pump to
the turning of a button for a chest of drawers. But the
principal part of these mills is the machinery for making
blocks, contrived by that ingenious artist Mr Brunell (see
Block-Machinery), which cannot be regarded without
exciting the highest respect for the talents and skill of
the author.
The northern extremity of the dock-yard is chiefly oc¬
cupied with seasoning-sheds, saw-pits, and timber-births,
the working boat-house, and boat-storehouse. On the
eastern extremity are situated the houses and gardens of
the commissioner and principal officers of the yard; the
chapel, the royal naval college, and the school of naval
architecture. The former institution has recently been
remodelled, and the latter is a new establishment formed
by the recommendation of the commissioners for revising
the civil affairs of the navy, for the education of a certain
number of naval architects, known by the name of the
“ Superior Class of Shipwright Apprentices.” These two
establishments were combined by order in council of the
30th January 1816, under the following regulations :
Naval College.—The number of students not to exceed,
in time of war, one hundred ; in peace seventy ; of whom
thirty are to consist of the sons of commissioned officers of
the navy, and to receive their board, clothing, lodging, and
education, free of all expense ; the remainder to consist of
sons of noblemen, gentlemen, civil and military officers, on
payment of L.72 a year. The age of admission from
twelve and a half to fourteen years. A bond is to be
signed by their friends, in the penalty of L.200 for the
first class, and L.100 for the second class, in the event of
any young gentleman being withdrawn from the navy be¬
fore he has served the proper time to qualify for the com¬
mission of lieutenant. (See article Navy.) No student
to remain at college longer than three years; at the end
of which, or sooner if he shall have completed the plan
oi education, he is discharged into one of his majesty’s
ships, the college time being reckoned two years of the
six required to be served to quality for such commission.
Naval Architectural School.—The number of students
not to exceed twenty-four. Candidates for admission ex¬
amined at stated periods, the degree of merit alone giving
preference of admission ; the age of entrance from fifteen
to seventeen, and the duration of their apprenticeship
seven years. The students are lodged, boarded, and edu¬
cated, free of all expense, and have the following yearly
allowances: 1st year L.25, 2d L.30, 3d L.35, 4th L.40,
5th L.45, 6th LAO, 7th L.60. And at the expiration of
their apprenticeship they are eligible to all the situations
<
1
DOC K-Y ARDS. 85
)ock- in the ship-building department of his majesty’s dock¬
yards. yards, to be there employed as supernumeraries until re-
gular vacancies may occur; provided the apprentice shall
have completed the plan of education, and be certified by
the professor to be properly qualified.
The consolidated establishment of the two departments
consists of a governor, who is the first lord of the admi¬
ralty for the time being ; a lieutenant-governor, who is a
post-captain in the navy, with a salary of L.800 a year
and apartments; two lieutenants of the navy, with L.200
a year each, apartments, and an allowance for board; a
professor, who is a graduate of the university of Cam¬
bridge, with a salary of L.700 a year, and apartments ; a
master of classics, history, and geography, with L.350 a
year and apartments ; three assistant-masters, well skilled
in mathematics, the first with L.250, the two others L,.200
a year each, with an allowance for house-rent; besides
masters for teaching drawing, dancing, fencing, and the
French language, and two serjeants of marine artillery.
In addition to these, there is a superintendent of the school
for naval architecture, a professional ship-builder, brought
up in one of his majesty’s dock-yards, to instruct the ap¬
prentices in the practical parts of ship-building. The
school for naval architecture has recently been abolished.
The professor has the charge and keeps the rate of all
the chronometers which may not be in use belonging to
the navy; and all midshipmen in the navy are now re¬
quired to pass their examination in the theory of naviga¬
tion, at the naval college, by the professor, in presence of
the admiral commanding in chief, and the lieutenant go¬
vernor. (See Navy.)
The strength of Portsmouth dock-yard, during the war,
was considerably above 4000 working men, of whom about
1500 were shipwrights and caulkers ; the joiners and house-
carpenters were nearly 500; the smiths 200 nearly; the
sawyers 250; the riggers and their labourers nearly 200;
the scavelmen and labourers of various kinds nearly 700;
and the rope-yard employed about 350 persons.
There are two victualling establishments at this port;
the one in Portsmouth town, the other across the harbour,
at a place called Weevil; both of them inconveniently si¬
tuated for supplying the ships with water and provisions,
more especially such as may have to take them in at Spit-
head. The former consists chiefly of provision-stores and
magazines, with a tide-mill and a bakery; at the latter there
is a cooperage and a brewery. The total number of per¬
sons employed, including the officers, at the two establish¬
ments, during the w'ar, amounted to about 500. The
victualling establishments are now consolidated at Weevil.
The noble building for the reception of sick and wound¬
ed seamen is situated on the Gosport side of Portsmouth
harbour. Being appropriated to the military branch of the
navy, it will be described under the head of Navy.
The second division of royal marines, consisting of
eighteen companies, is stationed at Portsmouth, in bar¬
racks, which are inconveniently situated in the town; and
eight companies of the royal marine artillery have their
head-quarters at Fort Monckton, not far from Haslar
Hospital. (See the article Marines.)
Plymouth Dock- Yard.—The naval station of Plymouth
is inferior only to that of Portsmouth ; and, in point of its
more westerly situation, as considered with reference to
the grand naval arsenal of Brest, it is superior even to
Portsmouth. It possesses one of the finest harbours in
the world, capable of containing, in perfect security at
their moorings, not less than a hundred sail of the line ;
and by means of the breakwater it may boast of an excel¬
lent roadstead for eighteen or twenty sail of the line. The
dock-yard, however, has only one small basin, without
gates, whose dimensions are 250 by 180 feet, and con¬
tents little more than an acre ; but the excellent harbour Dock-
of Hamoaze, on the western bank of which the wharf-wall Yards,
extends, almost compensates for the want of one, espe-
daily as the depth of water allows the largest ships to
range along the jetties, and receive their stores on board
immediately from the wharf.
Plymouth dock-yard extends in a circular sweep along
the shores of Hamoaze 3500 feet, its width about the
middle, where it is greatest, being 1600, and at each ex¬
tremity 1000 feet, making its superficial contents about
ninety-six acres. In the line facing the harbour are two dry-
docks for ships of the first rate, a double dock for seventy-
four gun ships, communicating with Hamoaze, and another
dock for ships of the line, opening into the basin. There
is, besides, a graving-dock without gates, and a canal or
camber similar to that in Portsmouth yard, for the admis¬
sion of vessels bringing stores into tbe yard ; which, com¬
municating with the boat-pond, cuts the dock-yard nearly
into two parts. There are five jetties projecting from the
entrances of the dry-docks into Hamoaze, along side of
which ships are conveniently brought when undocked.
All these are situated between the centre and the north¬
ern extremity of the harbour line. On the southern part
are three building slips for the largest class of ships, and
two for smaller vessels; the outer mast-pond and mast-
houses, timber-births, saw-pits, and smithery. Higher up,
on this end of the yard, is an extensive mast pond and
mast-locks, with plank-houses over them ; and, above
these, three hemp magazines, contiguous to which is the
finest ropery in the kingdom, consisting of two ranges of
buildings, one tbe laying-house, the other the spinning-
house, each being 1200 feet in length, and three stories
in height. In the construction of the new rope-house no
wood has been used excepting the shingles of the roof,
to which the slates are fastened. All the rest is of iron.
The ribs and girders of the floors are of cast iron, covered
over with Yorkshire paving stone, and the doors, window
frames, and staircases, are all of cast iron, so that the
whole building may be considered as proof against fire.
The northern half of the yard, besides the docks and
basin, with all the appropriate working sheds and artificers’
shops, contains a cluster of very elegant stone buildings,
ranged round a quadrangle, the longest sides being about
450 feet, and the shortest 300 feet. Within the quadrangle
are also two new ranges ot buildings, in which iron has
been used in the place of wood. These buildings consist
of magazines for different kinds of stores, rigging-houses,
and sail-lofts. The northern and upper part of the yard is
occupied by a range of handsome houses, with good gar¬
dens behind them, for the commissioner and the principal
officers of the yard, the chapel, the guard-house, and pay-
office, stables for the officers, and the teams, and a fine re¬
servoir of fresh water for the supply of the yard.
Plymouth is not only a good building and repairing
yard, on account of its excellent docks and slips, and the
great length of line along the Hamoaze, but also a good
refitting yard, and was fully occupied during the war with
the refitment of the western squadron, employed in the
constant blockade of Brest. The number of men borne
on the establishment of this yard might have been about
3000, ofVhich about 800 were shipwrights.
Plymouth Victualling Establishments.—The victualling
establishments are here, as well as at Portsmouth, uncon¬
nected, and, in fact, dispersed in three different places;
the cooperage and the brewery being at bouth Down, near
Millbrook, on the farther side of Hamoaze ^ the bake¬
house and principal stores at the entrance of Sutton 1 qol,
in the Catwater; and the slaughter-house on the Devil s
Point, at the head of the Sound. The total establishment
of the victualling department at this port; officers includ-
86 DOC K-Y ARDS.
Dock- ed, amounted to about 400 persons. As at Portsmouth,
Yards, the victualling establishments have been consolidated at
Cremill, which consists of every possible convenience for
victualling and watering the navy.
Plymouth Hospital is a handsome building of stone, or
rather a series of separate buildings, regularly arranged,
in which respect, as admitting a freer circulation of air,
it is perhaps superior to that of Haslar. (See Navy.)
The third division of royal marines, consisting of twen¬
ty companies, are stationed at Plymouth. The barracks
are conveniently situated at Stonehouse, very airy, and
sufficiently spacious. (See Marines.)
Pembroke Dock- Yard.—This dock-yard has been esta¬
blished but a few years, and is intended merely as a build¬
ing-yard. It is situated on the southern shore of Milford
Haven, not two miles from the town of Pembroke. It
includes an area of about sixty acres, its surface descend¬
ing in a gradual slope to the water’s edge, along the shore
of which is ample space for a couple of dry docks, and
at least twelve building slips, over which it is intended
to erect a connected series of roofs, which will not only
be attended with much convenience to the workmen, but
also with a great saving of expense. The slips, being
built of wood, on a limestone foundation, are erected at a
very trifling cost; and the only works of any considerable
expense in the yard will be those of the dry docks, each of
which will amount to the sum of L.60,000 nearly. For a
new building yard a small storehouse will be quite suffi¬
cient, and an old ship hauled up serves all the purposes
of one at present. There is no commissioner, nor is the
usual establishment of officers completed. The total num¬
ber of persons of all descriptions employed in the yard is
under 500.
Ordinary of the Hock-Yards.—At each of the ports
where there is a dock-yard, Pembroke excepted, a cer¬
tain number of ships when put out of commission, or new
ships not commissioned, are laid up in what is called a
state of ordinary; and such ships, until recently, used
to be placed under the immediate charge of the commis¬
sioner, the masters attendant, and other officers of the
dock-yard. But a new system has lately been adopted,
both with regard to the fitting of the ships for their bet¬
ter preservation, while thus unemployed (See Dry Rot),
and also as to the care and management of them by naval
commissioned officers living constantly on board. (See
Navy.)
Capacity of a Hock- Yard.—The capacity of a dock¬
yard for building, repairing, and refitting ships of war, de¬
pends upon so many circumstances that it scarcely admits
of calculation ; chiefly, however, on the facilities afforded
by a suitable arrangement of dry docks, building slips,
and basins, and on the number of shipwrights and other
artificers borne on the strength of the yard. In building
new ships, where the materials are at hand, and no inter¬
ruptions occur, the capacity may be ascertained to a to¬
lerable degree of accuracy. To complete the building of
a seventy-four gun ship, it is calculated that the labour of
one man would be required for 18,000 days, or of eighteen
men for 1000 days, or about fifty-four men to finish her
in the space of one year. A dock-yard, therefore, with 500
good shipwrights, might be expected to launch from eight
to ten sail of the line every year, if the conveniences of the
yard admitted them all to be employed on building. But
with regard to repairs, they are so various and so uncer¬
tain, that it would be next to impossible to form any calcu¬
lation that should at all approach to the truth. A writer
well versed in naval matters, in attempting to prove the
sufficiency of our dock-yards, without having recourse to
private merchant yards during war, has stated, that by
a uniform system of management, “ the annual regene¬
ration of ships of the line may be safely reckoned at twelve Doc
sail, and that of frigates at eight sail f and that, besides, Yard
there “ might be docked for casual repairs, in the course
of one year, two hundred and sixty-seven sail of ships and
vessels of war.” (Letter to Lord Melville on the General
State of the Navy, 1810.)
When Henry VIII. first established a regular king’s]yfana„
dock-yard at Woolwich, he appointed a board, consistingmento'
of certain commissioners, for the management of all navalclock.y;|
matters; and it is curious enough, as appears from the^’
Pepysian Collection of Manuscripts in the university of
Cambridge, that the regulations which he made for the
civil government of the navy, and which were, in the reign
of Edward VI., revised, arranged, and turned into ordi¬
nances, form the broad basis of all the subsequent instruc¬
tions given to the several officers to whom the manage¬
ment of the civil affairs of the navy has been committed.
(First Pep. Nav. Rev.)
The commissioners of the navy then consisted of the Comm
vice-admiral of England, the master of the ordnance, thesionersl
surveyor of the marine causes, the treasurer, comptroller, ^ na
general surveyor of the victualling, clerk of the ships, and
clerk of the stores. They had each their particular du¬
ties ; and once a week they were ordered to meet at their
office on Tower Hill, and once a month to report their
proceedings to the lord high admiral.
In 1609 the principal officers for conducting the civil
affairs of the navy were suspended in consequence of many
abuses being complained of; and other commissioners
were appointed, with powers to manage, settle, and put
the affairs of the navy into a proper train, and to prevent,
by such measures as might appear to be necessary, the
continuance of the many great frauds and abuses which
had prevailed. A similar commission was renewed in
1618, which in a full and minute report detailed and ex¬
plained those frauds and abuses.
That commission, which ended on the death of James
I., was renewed by his successor, and remained in force
till 1628, when it was dissolved, and the management of
the navy was restored to the board of principal officers, as
established by Edward VI.
In the disturbed reign of Charles I. the navy was suf¬
fered to go to decay; but by the extraordinary exertions
of Cromwell, it was raised to a height which it had never
before reached, but again declined under the short and
feeble administration of his son.
On the restoration of Charles II. the Duke of York Duke
was appointed lord high admiral; and by his advice a York i
committee was appointed to consider a plan he had drawn
out for the future regulation of the affairs of the navy, ata^mir‘
which he himself presided. “ In all naval affairs,” say
the commissioners of revision, “ he appears to have acted
with the advice and assistance of Mr Samuel Pepys, who
first held the office of clerk of the acts, and was after¬
wards secretary of the admiralty; a man of extraordinary
knowledge in all that related to the business of that de¬
partment, of great talents, and the most indefatigable in¬
dustry.”
The entire management of the navy was now in the
hands of the duke, as lord high admiral, by whom three
new commissioners were appointed to act conjunctly with
the treasurer of the navy, the comptroller, the surveyor, and
clerk of the acts, as principal officers and commissioners
of the navy. A book of instructions, drawn out by Mr Pe-
pys, was sent to the navy board for its guidance. A rapid
progress was made in the repair and augmentation of the
fleet; but being called away, in consequence of the Dutch
war in 1664, the example of zeal and industry set by Mr
Pepys was not sufficient, in the duke’s absence, to prevent
»
DOC K-Y ARDS.
87
)ock-
'ards.
jjy set of
ccitmis-
siters.
< Iramis-
Sfiers of
al in-
< Irv and
irision.
neglect and mismanagement in every department except
^ From 1673 to 1679, the office of lord high admiral being
put in commission, at the head of which Prince Rupert
was placed, the king, through Mr Pepys, arranged all naval
affairs; but in the latter year, when the duke was sent
abroad’, and Mr Pepys to "the Tower, a new set of men
were made commissioners of the navy, who, without ex¬
perience, ability, or industry, suffered the navy to go to
decay. “ All the wise regulations,” say the commissioners
of revision, “ formed during the administration of the
Duke of York, were neglected; and such supineness and
waste appear to have prevailed as, at the end of not more
than five years, when he was recalled to the office of lord
high admiral, only twenty-two ships, none larger than a
fourth rate, with two fire-ships, were at sea; those in the
harbour were quite unfit for service; even the thirty new
ships which he had left building had been suffered to fall into
a state of great decay, and hardly any stores were found
to remain in the dock-yards.” He re-appointed Mr Pepys
as secretary of the admiralty; he set about an inquiry
into the characters and abilities of the first ship-builders
in England ; and by the advice of Mr Pepys, he joined Sir
Anthony Dean, eminent in that profession, with three
others, to the former principal officers in a new commis¬
sion. The old commissioners were directed entirely to
confine their attention to the business of a committee of
accounts. To each of the new ones was entrusted a dis¬
tinct branch of the proposed reform; and it appears that,
highly to their credit, “ they performed what they had
undertaken in less time than was allowed for it, and at
less expense;” having completed their business to the ge¬
neral satisfaction of the public two months before the Re¬
volution.
The business of the navy, thus methodized and settled,
remained undisturbed by that event, ihe commissioners
of revision justly observed, that “ the great work ol re¬
establishing the fleet, and restoring order, industry, and
discipline, in the dock-yards, accomplished in so short a
time by the commissioners then chosen, with so much
care, proves, in the most convincing manner, how much
depends on having the civil affairs of the navy placed un¬
der the management of men of real ability, professional
knowledge, and uninterrupted industry.
It will readily be supposed that the vast increase of our
naval force since that time has necessarily required many
additional orders and regulations, some of which, from
circumstances, were not compatible with each other ; some
were given to one dock-yard and not to another; otheis in
one yard became obsolete, while they continued to be acted
upon in another ; so that there was no longer that unifor¬
mity in the management which it is so desirable, indeed
so essentially necessary, to preserve. From the year 1/64*
to 1804, when his majesty appointed a commission “ for
revising and digesting the civil affairs of his navy, the
attention of the lords of the admiralty and the navy board
had frequently been directed to this important subject;
hut owing to various causes nothing was done to forward
so desirable an arrangement, except that Sir Charles Mid¬
dleton (afterwards Lord Barham), when comptroller of the
navy, classed and digested under distinct heads, in a book
for that purpose, all orders and regulations prior to the
year 1786. The commissioners of naval inquiry, appoint¬
ed in 1803, state the necessity of revising the instructions,
and digesting the immense mass of orders issued to the
dock-yard officers, and regret that a work of such utility
should not have been completed. The late Lord Melville,
to whom the navy is perhaps more indebted than to any
single individual, and who, from the active part he had long
taken in its concerns, was well aware of the irregularities
Dock-
Yards.
and disorder which prevailed in the dock-yards, on his
appointment to the administration of naval affairs, deter¬
mined to carry into execution a complete system of reform
and of uniform management in all the several departments.
The commission consisted of Admiral Lord Barham, John
Fordyce, Esq. Admiral Sir Roger Curtis, Bart. Vice Ad¬
miral Domett, and Ambrose Serle, Esq. They made fif¬
teen distinct reports, the date of the first being 13th June
1805, of the last the 6th March 1808; all of which, except
two, have been printed, by order of the House of Commons,
and mostly carried into effect by his majesty’s orders in
council. One of the two not printed is an inquiry into the
state of the navy at different periods, and of naval timber;
the other relates to the formation of a new dock-yard at
Northfleet, which, however advisable and even necessary
the design of it might have been considered at the time
when Bonaparte was energetically carrying on his mighty
plans for the creation of a naval force to contest the power
of the ocean with Great Britain, will, as has already been
observed, no longer be thought so under present circum¬
stances.
From these reports have been established, for the first Uniform
time, in all his majesty’s dock-yards, one uniform system system of
of management, by which it was hoped incalculable ad-““^*
vantages would have been derived to the public, in the trocjucecj.
preventing of frauds, in the saving of labour and materials,
and consequently time and expense, and in securing better
workmanship in the construction of ships, which is per¬
haps of all other considerations the most important; but
the system was cumbrous and very expensive.
The management of the dock-yards, and of all the civil Commis-
affairs of the navy, was, until recently, entrusted to cer-si0ners
tain commissioners appointed by patent, of whom thetlienaD‘
comptroller of the navy and three surveyors, and seven
other commissioners, formed a board at Somerset House,
for the general direction and superintendence of the civil
concerns of the navy, subject to the control of the lords
commissioners of the admiralty. At most of the home
yards and of the foreign yards was a commissioner of the
navy, who was always a naval officer of the rank of cap¬
tain. The foreign yards over which a commissioner pre¬
sided w'ere, Bermuda, Cape of Good Hope, Gibraltar,
Halifax, Jamaica, Malta, Quebec, Kingston, including the
lake establishments and Trincomalee, which, with the
five belonging to the home yards, Woolwich (including
Deptford), Chatham, Sheerness, Portsmouth, and Ply¬
mouth, made the whole number of commissioners of the
navy amount to twenty-four. The salary of each of the
home commissioners was L.1000 a year, that of the comp¬
troller L.2000. The salary of the foreign commissioners
L.1200 a year, except that of the Cape of Good Hope,
which was L.1800, and Trincomalee L.3000 a year. They
were also entitled to liberal superannuations when unfit
for further service; and, at their death, their widows re¬
ceived a pension for life of L.300 a year. All these have
been swept away, and the two great departments, the
navy and the victualling offices, have been consolidated
with the admiralty, and the details of the business placed
under five principal officers, each having a separate de¬
partment. These are, 1. the surveyor of the navy; 2.
the accountant general; 3. the storekeeper general; 4.
the comptroller of the victualling and transports; 5. the
physician.
The treasurer of the navy is a high and responsible Ofthetrea-
officer appointed by the crown, and removeable at Plea'^rs ° '
sure. His salary was L.4000 a year, but it has recently
been reduced to L.3000. rihe establishment of the navy
pay-office at Somerset House consists of a paymaster and
deputy; three cashiers, one for the navy, one for the vic¬
tualling, and one for the allotment branch; an accountant;
88
DOC
DOC
Doctor, inspector; a superintendent of the payments of the dock-
yards, resident in London ; sixty established and eighteen
extra clerks, besides six pay clerks and three conductors
of money at the four pay ports, Portsmouth, Plymouth,
Chatham, and Sheerness.
Victual- To each of the four dock-yards, Deptford, Portsmouth,
ling esta- Plymouth, and Chatham, are victualling establishments
blishment. for supplying the fleet with provisions and water; and also
at Dover, Cork, Cape of Good Hope, Gibraltar, and Malta.
The victualling board at Somerset House consisted of a
chairman and deputy chairman, the former with a salary
of L.1200, the latter of L.1000 a year, and five other com¬
missioners with salaries of L.800 a year each ; a secretary
to the board, and a secretary to the committee of accounts ;
a registrar of securities, and 136 clerks, with salaries va¬
rying from L.800 to L.80 a year, according to their class
and length of service. These have all been abolished,
and, as before stated, consolidated with the admiralty.
The transport board having been dissolved at the end
of the war, its twofold duties were divided between the
navy and victualling boards; those which concerned the
hiring of transports devolved on the commissioners of the
navy, and those which related to the sick and hurt depart¬
ment on the commissioners of the victualling board, on
whom also devolves the direction and superintendence of
all the naval hospitals at home and abroad. These have
also merged in the admiralty.
Officers of The principal officers of an established dock-yard were,
the dock- 1. the commissioner; 2. the master attendant; 3. the
yard; their master shipwright; 4. the clerk of the check; 5. the
duties. storekeeper; 6. the clerk of the survey; to which have
recently been added the subordinate officers of timber-
master and the master measurer. By the new regulations,
the commissioner has been superseded by a superinten¬
dent, the clerk of the check and clerk of the survey abo¬
lished, as well as the master measurer, and a store receiver
substituted for the timber-master. Many subordinate
officers have also been abolished, and the whole system of
working the men, keeping the accounts, &c. simplified and
amended; and some idea may be collected of the diminu¬
tion of the expense by the simple fact, that, in the ordi¬
nary estimate of the navy for 1817 the establishment of
officers in Portsmouth yard was L.50,065, whereas in 1833
it is only L.19,803.
Hitherto the men were usually employed by what was
called task and job; but they are now wholly put upon
day pay.
The commissioners of naval inquiry (Sixth Report)
clearly expose the “ combination of self-interest which
has been permitted to exist against the public in all the
persons who were concerned in the accounts of job-work,
and the fictitious manner of making up those accounts.”
The quarter-men, for instance, were paid wages according
to the amount of the earnings of the men under their own
superintendence, and the accounts of those earnings were
taken by themselves. General Bentham has furnished an
instance of the gross abuses which existed under the old
system of job-work. “ By the regulations of the navy
board, nothing less than L.5. 2s. was to be paid for the
smallest repair of a thirty-four feet launch. If the above
sum should be found inadequate to the payments for the
work done to a boat of this class, the repair was then to
be denominated a middling repair; in which case L.l 1. Is.
was the exact sum. Again, if this sum were insufficient,
the repair was to be denominated a large repair; and in
this case, although the value of the workmanship might
have exceeded the sum of L.ll. Is. only by a few shil¬
lings, the expense was to have appeared in the account as
doubled, and set down atL.22. 2s. and nothing less was to
be the exact sum paid for this work.” Nothing was more
common, in estimating a man’s wages, than to find him
working three or four tides, and very often three nights, in
one day. (Bentham’s Services, &c.) The whole of this
system is now done away; and the consequence is, that
as much work is performed, and turned out in a more
workman-like manner, and a very large saving, both in
pay and materials, by resorting to day pay, under proper
superintendence. The eftect of the change of system,
and the reductions that have been made in the establish¬
ments at home and abroad, have reduced the expense in
the year 1817 from about L.556,000 to L.286,000, making
a saving of L.270,000 a year.
DOCTOR, a person who has passed all the degrees of
a faculty, and is empowered to teach or practise the same.
Thus we say, doctor in divinity, doctor in physic, doctor
of laws.
The establishment of the doctorate, as now in use
amongst us, is ordinarily attributed to Irnerius, who him¬
self drew up the formulary. The first ceremony of this
kind was performed at Bologna, in the person of Bulgarus,
who began to profess the Roman law, and on that occa¬
sion was solemnly promoted to the doctorate, that is, in¬
stalled juris utriusque doctor. But the custom was soon
transferred from the faculty of law to that of theology;
the first instance of which was given in the university of
Paris, where Peter Lombard and Gilbert de la Portree,
the two leading divines of those days, were created doctors
in theology, sacrce theologies doctores.
Spelman conceives the title of doctor not to have com¬
menced till after the publication of Lombard’s sentences,
about the year 1140. Others, however, go much higher,
holding Bede to have been the first doctor at Cambridge,
and John de Beverley at Oxford, where the latter died in
the year 721. But Spelman contends that doctor was not
the name of any title or degree in England till the reign
of King John, that is, about the year 1207. As to the
qualifications or course of study necessary to obtain the
degree of doctor in the different faculties of theology, law,
and medicine, see the article Universities.
Doctor of the Law, a title of honour among the Jews.
The investiture, it we may so speak, of this order, was per¬
formed by putting a key and a table book in their hands ;
and this is what some authors imagine our Saviour had in
view (Luke, xi. 52) when, speaking of the doctors of the
law, he says, “ Wo unto you, lawyers! for ye have taken
away the key of knowledge ; ye enter not in yourselves,
and them that were entering in ye hindered.”
Doctor of the Church, a title given to certain of the
fathers whose doctrines and opinions have been the most
generally followed and authorized. We usually reckon
four doctors of the Greek church and three of the Latin.
The former are, St Athanasius, St Basil, St Gregory Na-
zianzen, and St Chrysostom ; the latter are St Jerome, St
Augustin, and Gregory the Great. In the Roman bre¬
viary there is a particular office for the doctors, which
only differs from that of the confessors by the anthem of
the Magnificat and the lessons.
Doctor is also an appellation adjoined to a specific
epithet, expressing the merit of some eminent schoolman.
1 hus, Alexander Hales is called the irrefragable doctor;
Ihomas Aquinas, the angelic doctor; St Bonaventure,
the seraphic doctor; John Duns Scotus, the subtile doc-
D O D
toctor tor; Raimond Lully, the illuminated doctor; Roger Ba¬
ll con, the admirable doctor; and so of the rest.
I'ldridge. Doctor (AidagxaXos), in the Greek church, is a parti-
cular officer, appointed to interpret portions of the Scrip¬
tures. He who interprets the gospels is called doctor of
the Gospel; he who interprets St Paul’s Epistles, doctor of
the Apostles ; he who interprets the Psalms, doctor of the
Psalter.
DOCUMENT, in Law, some written monument pro¬
duced in proof or support of any thing asserted.
DODD, Dr William, an unfortunate English divine,
eldest son of the Rev. William Dodd, many years vicar of
Bourne, in Lincolnshire, was born in May 1729. He was
sent, at the age of sixteen, to the university of Cambridge,
where he was admitted a sizar of Clare-Hall in the year
1745. In 1750 he took the degree of B. A. with credit, be¬
ing upon that occasion in the list of wranglers. On leav¬
ing the university, he imprudently married a Miss Mary
Perkins in 1751, was ordained a deacon the same year,
and priest in 1753, and soon became a popular and cele¬
brated preacher. His first preferment was the lecture¬
ship of West-Ham and Bow. In 1754 he was also cho¬
sen lecturer of St Olave’s, Hart Street; and in 1757 he
took the degree of A. M. at Cambridge. He was a
strenuous supporter of the Magdalen Hospital, which was
founded in 1758, and soon afterwards became preacher at
the chapel of that charity. By the patronage of Bishop
Squire, he in 1763 obtained a prebend at Brecon; and by
the interest of some city friends got himself appointed one
of the king’s chaplains ; soon after which the education of
the Earl of Chesterfield was committed to his care. In
1766 he went to Cambridge and took the degree of LL.D.
At this period, the estimation in which he was held by
the world wras sufficient to give him the expectation of
preferment, and hopes of riches and honour; and these
he might probably have realised had he possessed a por¬
tion of common prudence and discretion. But, impatient
of his situation, and eager for advancement, he unhappi¬
ly fell upon means which in the end proved the occasion
of his ruin. On the living of St George, Hanover Square,
becoming vacant, he wrote an anonymous letter to the
chancellor’s lady, ofiering three thousand guineas if, by
her assistance, he was promoted to the benefice. This
letter having been traced to him, a complaint was imme¬
diately made to the king, and Dr Dodd was dismissed
with disgrace from his office of chaplain. From this pe¬
riod he lived neglected, if not despised ; and as his extra¬
vagance still continued, he soon became involved in diffi¬
culties, which tempted him to forge a bond on his late
pupil Lord Chesterfield, for L.4200, which he actually
received. But he was detected, committed to prison, tried
at the Old Bailey, found guilty, received sentence of death,
and, in spite of numerous applications for mercy, executed
at Tyburn on the 27th of June 1777. Dr Dodd was a
voluminous writer, and possessed considerable abilities,
with but little judgment and much vanity. An accurate
list of his various writings is prefixed to his Thoughts in
Prison, 1781.
DODDRIDGE, Philip, D.D. an eminent Presbyterian
minister, was tbe son of Daniel Doddridge, an oilman in
London, where he was born on the 26th of June 1702.
Having completed the study of the classics in several
schools, he was in 1719 placed under the tuition of the
Reverend John Jennings, who kept an academy at Kil-
worth, in Leicestershire. He was first settled as a minister
at Kilworth, where he preached to a small congregation
in an obscure village; but, on the death of Mr Jennings,
he succeeded to the charge of his academy; and soon after¬
wards he was chosen minister of a large congregation of
Dissenters at Northampton, to which he removed his aca-
VOL. VIII.
D O D 89
demy, and where the number of his pupils increased. Dodecagon
He instructed his pupils with the freedom and tenderness II
of a father; and never expected nor desired that they Dotl°na-
should blindly follow his sentiments, but encouraged them
to judge for themselves. He checked any appearance of
bigotry and uncharitableness, and endeavoured to cure
them by showing what might be said in defence of those
principles which they disliked. He died at Lisbon, whi¬
ther he had gone for the recovery of his health; and his
remains were interred in the burying-ground belonging to
the British factory there. A handsome monument was
erected to his memory in the meeting-house at North¬
ampton, at the expense of the congregation, on which
there is an epitaph written by Gilbert West, Esq. He
wrote, 1. Free Thoughts on the most probable means of re¬
viving the Dissenting Interest; 2. The Life of Colonel
James Gardiner; 3. Sermons on the Education of Child¬
ren ; 4. The Pise and Progress of Religion in the Soul;
5. The Family Expositor, in 6 vols. 4to; and other works.
Since the author’s death, a volume of his hymns has been
published, and his Theological Lectures. Several of his
works have been translated into Dutch, German, and
French.
DODECAGON, in Geometry, a regular polygon, con¬
sisting of twelve equal sides and angles.
DODECAHEDRON, in Geometry, one of the platonic
bodies, or regular solids, contained under twelve equal and
regular pentagons.
DODONA, a town of Thesprotia, in Epirus, or, accord¬
ing to others, in Thessaly, in the neighbourhood of which
there was a celebrated oracle of Jupiter. The town and
temple of the god were first built by Deucalion, after the
universal deluge. It was supposed to be the most ancient
oracle of all Greece; and, according to the traditions of
the Egyptians mentioned by Herodotus, it was founded
by a dove. Two black doves, as he relates, took their
flight from the city of Thebes in Egypt; one of which
flew to the temple of Jupiter Ammon, and the other to
Dodona, where, with a human voice, it acquainted the in¬
habitants of the country that Jupiter had consecrated the
ground, and in future would give oracles. The exten¬
sive grove which surrounded Jupiter’s temple was endow¬
ed with the gift of prophecy; and oracles were frequently
delivered by the sacred oaks, and the doves which inha¬
bited the place. This fabulous tradition of the oracular
power of the doves is explained by Herodotus, who ob¬
serves that some Phoenicians carried away two priestesses
from Egypt, one of which went to fix her residence at
Dodona, where the oracle was established. It may further
be observed, that the fable might have been founded upon
the double meaning of tbe word riksiai, which signifies
doves in most parts of Greece, whilst in the dialect of
the Epirots it means old women. In ancient times the
oracles were delivered by the murmuring of a neighbour¬
ing stream or fountain; but the custom was afterwards
changed. Large kettles were suspended in the air near a
brazen statue which held a lash in its hand. When the
wind blew strong, the statue was agitated and struck
against one of the kettles, which communicated the mo¬
tion to all the rest, and raised that clattering and discord¬
ant din, Vhieh continued for a while, and from which the
artifice of the priests derived the predictions. Some sup¬
pose that the noise was occasioned by the shaking of the
leaves and boughs of an old oak, which the superstition
of the people frequently consulted, and from which they
pretended to receive oracles. It may be supposed, with
more probability, that the oracles were delivered by the
priests, who by artfully concealing themselves behind the
oaks, caused the superstitious multitude to believe that
the trees were endowed with the power of prophecy. As
M
90 DOF
Dodonian the ship Argo was built with oaks of the forest of Dodona,
li there were some beams which gave oracles to the Argo-
liofar. nauts, and warned them against the approach of calamity.
Within the forest of Dodona there was a stream and a
fountain of cool water which had the power of lighting a
torch as soon as the latter touched it. This fountain was
totally dry at noon day, and was restored to its full course
at midnight, from which time till the following noon it
began to decrease, and at the usual hour was again de¬
prived of its waters. The oracles of Dodona were gene¬
rally delivered by women.
DODONIAN (Dodonceus'), in Antiquity, an epithet
given to Jupiter, because he was worshipped in a temple
built in the forest of Dodona, where there was the most
famous, and, it is said, the most ancient, oracle of all
Greece. See Dodona.
DODONIDES, the priestesses who gave oracles in the
temple of Jupiter in Dodona. According to some tradi¬
tions, the temple was originally inhabited by seven daugh¬
ters of Atlas, who nursed Bacchus, and whose names
were Ambrosia, Eudora, Pasithoe, Pytho, Plexaure, Coro-
nis, and Tythe or Tyche. In the latter ages the oracles
were always delivered by three old women. The Boeo¬
tians were the only people of Greece who received their
oracles at Dodona from men, for reasons which Strabo in
his ninth book fully explains.
DODRANS, in Antiquity, three fourths of the as. See
the article As.
DODSLEY, Robert, an eminent bookseller and inge¬
nious writer, born at Mansfield, in Nottinghamshire, m the
year 1703. He was not much indebted to education for
his literary reputation, being originally a livery servant;
but his natural genius and early passion for reading soon
elevated him to a superior station. He wrote an elegant
little satirical farce called The Toyshop, which was acted
with applause in 1735, and which recommended him to
the patronage of Mr Pope. The following year he pro¬
duced the King and Miller of Mansfield. The profits of
these two farces enabled him to commence bookseller, and
his own merit procured him eminence in that profession.
He wrote some other dramatic pieces, and published a col¬
lection of his works in one volume 8vo, under the modest
title of Trifles, which was followed by Public Virtue, a
poem in 4to. Mr Dodsley was the author of the Economy
of Human Life, a work which acquired considerable cele¬
brity ; but for this it is supposed to have been indebted
to the mistaken opinion which long prevailed of its being
the production of Lord Chesterfield. The name of Dods¬
ley is connected or associated with much of the litera¬
ture of his time. Among other things he projected the
Annual Register, in concert with Edmund Burke, who is
known to have mainly contributed to its success. It would
be tedious and uninteresting to enumerate the various
literary enterprises in which he engaged. His personal
character was excellent; he observed the strictest inte¬
grity in all his dealings; and he lived on easy terms with
authors of high rank as well as genius. Dodsley may be
considered as one of the founders of a great London book¬
selling establishment.
DODWELL, Henry, a very learned controversial wri¬
ter, of English extraction, born at Dublin in 1641. He
wrote an incredible number of tracts, but his services were
so little acknowledged, that Bishop Burnet and others
accuse him of doing more harm than good to the cause of
Christianity, by his indiscreet love of paradoxes and no¬
velties, and thus exposing himself to the scolfs of unbe¬
lievers. His pamphlet on the immortality of the soul gave
rise to the well-known controversy between Mr Collins and
Dr Clarke on that subject. He died in 1711.
DOFAR, or Dafar, a seaport of Arabia, in the pro-
D O G
vince of Hadramaut, on the west coast of a bay of the Dofar
same name in the Arabian Sea. The chief export of this II
town consists of olibanum. It is governed by a scheik,
who is a sovereign prince. The inhabitants behave with
civility to Europeans. It is 120 miles north from Cape
Fartach.
DOFARY, a town of Arabia, which is now of small size,
but was formerly of greater importance, and was destroyed,
by the Portuguese in 1526. Long. 54. 33. E. Lat. 17. N.
DOG. For an account of the natural history, acquired
habits, and general uses, of the various races of this saga¬
cious animal, see Canis, in the index to the article Mam¬
malia of this work.
DoG-Z>ays. See Canicula.
Dog-Island, or Desventurada, an island in the South
Pacific Ocean, about twelve miles in circumference. This
island is low and wooded. It was discovered by Le Maire
and Schouten. Long. 141. 30. W. Lat. 15. 15. S.
DOGE, the title of the chief magistrate in the repub¬
lics of Venice and Genoa. The word properly signifies
duke, being formed from the Latin dux; as dogate and
dogado are formed from ducatus, a duchy.
The dogate, or office and dignity of doge, was elective;
at Venice the doge being elected for life, and at Genoa
only for two years. He was addressed under the title of
Serenity, which among the Venetians was accounted su¬
perior to that of highness.
The doge was the chief of the council, and the mouth
of the republic ; yet the Venetians did not go into mourn¬
ing at his death, because he was not their sovereign, but
only their first minister. In effect, the doge of Venice was
merely the phantom or shadow of the majesty of a prince,
all the authority being reserved to the republic. He only
lent his name to the senate ; and the power was diffused
throughout the whole body, though the answers were all
made in his name. If he gave any answers on his own
account, they required to be very cautiouslyexpressed, and
in general terms, otherwise he was certain to meet with
a reprimand.
Anciently the doges were sovereigns; but afterwards
things were much altered ; and latterly the prerogatives
reserved to the quality of doge were, to give audience
to ambassadors, but not to make any answer as from him¬
self in matters of importance ; to answer according to his
own pleasure to the compliments made to the signory,
such answers being of no consequence; and, as first ma¬
gistrate, to preside at all the councils. The credentials
with which the senate furnished its ministers in foreign
courts were written in his name, but not signed by him;
this was usually done by a secretary of state, who also seal¬
ed them with the arms of the republic. The ambassadors
directed their dispatches to the doge, and yet he durst
not open them except in presence of the counsellors. The
money was struck in the doge’s name, but not with his
stamp or arms. All the magistrates rose and saluted the
doge when he came into council; but the doge rose to
none except foreign ambassadors. In short, he was a mere
pageant of state, and, politically speaking, a nonentity. -
The doge nominated to all the benefices in the church
of St Mark ; he was protector of the Monastery delle Vir-
gine ; and bestowed certain petty offices of ushers of the
household, called commanders of the palace. His family
was not under the jurisdiction of the master of the cere¬
monies ; and his children might have staff officers, and
gondoliers in livery.
At the same time his state was tempered with a variety
of circumstances, which rendered it exceedingly burden¬
some. He might not go out of Venice without leave of
the council; and if he did, he was liable to receive affronts,
without being entitled to demand satisfaction; and should
1
D O I
Dogger any disorder happen where he was, it belonged not to
,11 him, but to the podesta, as being invested with the public
Doig- authority, to put it down.
The children and brothers of the doge were excluded
from all the chief offices of state. They could not receive
any benefice from the court of Rome, but were allowed
to accept of the cardinalate, as being no benefice, nor in¬
cluding any jurisdiction. The doge could not divest him¬
self of his dignity for his ease; and after his death his
conduct was examined by three inquisitors and five correc¬
tors, who sifted it with great severity. The office of tjoge
ceased even to have a nominal existence when Venice,
“ sunk in its glory, decayed in its worth,” yielded, almost
without a struggle, to the ascendency of republican France.
DOGGER, a Dutch fishing vessel navigated in the
German Ocean. It is generally employed in the herring
fishery, being equipped with two masts, namely, a main¬
mast and mizen-mast, and somewhat resembling a ketch.
DOGGERS, in the English alum works, a name given
by the workmen to a sort of stone found in the same mines
with the true alum rock, and containing some alum, though
not nearly so much as the right kind. The county of
York, which abounds greatly with the true alum rock, af¬
fords also a considerable quantity of these doggers; and
in some places they approach so much to the nature of
the true rock, that they are wrought to advantage.
DOGMA, a principal maxim, tenet, or settled opinion,
particularly with regard to matters of faith and philosophy.
DOGMATICAL, something belonging to a doctrine
or opinion. A dogmatical philosopher is one who asserts
things positively, in opposition to a sceptic, who doubts of
every thing.
DOGMATISTS, a sect of ancient physicians, of which
Hippocrates was the first author. They are also called
logici, or logicians, from their using the rules of logic in
subjects of their profession. They laid down definitions
and divisions; reduced diseases to certain genera, and
these genera to species, furnishing remedies for them all;
supposed principles, drew conclusions, and applied these
to the particular diseases under consideration. In this
sense the dogmatists were contradistinguished from empi¬
rics and methodists. They rejected all medicinal virtues
which they thought not reducible to manifest qualities;
but Galen long ago observed of them, that they must either
deny plain matter of fact, or assign but poor causes and
reasons for many effects which they pretended to explain.
DOGMELL, St, a town in the county of Pembroke, in
South Wales, 238 miles from London, on a promontory
on the northern shore of the county. The inhabitants
amounted in 1801 to 1379, in 1811 to 1620, in 1821 to
2107, and in 1831 to 2109.
DOHO, a small town of Hindustan, in the province of
Agra, tributary to the Mahrattas, and twenty-one miles
south-west from Gwalior. Long. 79. 50. E. Lat. 26. 9. N.
DOIG, David, the most learned of Scotish schoolmas¬
ters in modern times, was born in the year 1719. His fa¬
ther, who w'as a small fanner in the county of Forfar, died
when he was yet in his infancy; and his mother contract¬
ed a second marriage with a worthy man, who, though by
no means in affluent circumstances, and soon burdened
with children of his own, treated him with the tenderness
of a parent. A constitutional defect in his sight prevent¬
ed him from learning to read till he was twelve years of
age, but his subsequent progress was uncommonly rapid.
Having for the space of three years attended a parochial
school, where he was instructed in writing, arithmetic,
D o I 9]
and Latin, he became a successful competitor for a bursary, Doig.
or exhibition, in the university of St Andrews. Here he
completed the usual course with great approbation; and,
having taken the degree of A. B. he enrolled himself as a
student of divinity, but his scruples respecting some arti¬
cles in the Confession of Faith prevented him from enter¬
ing the church. What those articles were, we have not
discovered; but it appears sufficiently evident that his
scruples had no reference to the essential doctrines of
Christianity. Reconciling himself to the more humble
avocations of a parochial schoolmaster, he for a considera¬
ble number of years taught the schools of Monifieth in
his native county, and of Kennoway and Falkland in the
county of Fife. He was afterwards appointed master of
the grammar school of Stirling; and this office, as a late
writer remarks, he discharged for forty years with the
greatest ability, and with the respect and esteem of all
who knew him.
His accomplishments, not only as a classical scholar, but
as a man of general erudition, procured him no mean re¬
putation long before he was known as an author. Of his
extensive knowledge of languages, the earliest specimen
which he imparted to the public is to be found in about
twenty pages of annotations on the Gaberlunzie-man, in¬
serted in an edition published by his learned friend and
neighbour Mr Callander.1 His contribution is introduced
in the following terms: “ For the following elucidations
of the general principles laid down in the preface, and ex¬
emplified in the notes on the foregoing ballad, the public
and I are indebted to a learned and worthy friend of the
author, whose extensive erudition is only equalled by the
modesty and candour conspicuous in his whole deport¬
ment. I am sure our learned readers will regret with me,
that he has not pushed his researches further than he has
done. But from the little he has here given us, the gene¬
ral principles of etymology I have endeavoured to esta¬
blish will derive new force, and our readers new entertain¬
ment.” Although his learning did not procure him any
academical preferment, it at least procured him a due
share of academical honours. On the same day he re¬
ceived a diploma of A. M. from St Andrews, and another
of LL. D. from Glasgow.
After an interval of ten years, he published “ Two Let¬
ters on the Savage State, addressed to the late Lord
Kaims.” Lond. 1792, 8vo. This work, which consists
of 157 crown pages, is dedicated to Dr Horne, bishop of
Norwich, and is introduced by a preface written by the
author’s friend Dr Gleig, a learned episcopalian clergy¬
man of Stirling. The first letter, written in 1775, was sent
to Lord Karnes, who was passing his Christmas vacation at
Blair-Drummond, and who was much struck with the learn¬
ing and ability of his anonymous correspondent. Having
without much difficulty detected the author, he invited
him to dine with him next day; when they met and part¬
ed with mutual satisfaction, but with no abatement of the
confidence of either party in the correctness of his own
views as to the primitive condition of the human race.
After a very copious and free discussion of the savage
state, each of the disputants retained his own opinion ; but
they nevertheless laid the foundation of a cordial friend¬
ship, which continued uninterrupted during the lifetime
of the judge, who survived till the year 1782. It was
scarcely to be anticipated that his lordship should aban¬
don the favourite paradox which pervades his Sketches of
the History of Man; namely, that the tribes of mankind
were originally placed in the condition of savages, from
1 Two ancient Scottish Poems, the Gaberlunzie-man, and Christ’s Kirk on the Green : with notes and observations, by John Cal¬
lander, Esq. of Craigforth. Edinb. 1782, 8vo.
92 - D O I D O I
Doig. which they were enabled to emerge by the slow and gra-
dual operation of certain instinctive principles implanted
in their nature. This was a paradox which he did not
himself devise, but which had already been exhibited in
a variety of shapes by Condillac, Rousseau, Hume, Smith,
Monboddo, and divers other speculators. Some of these
lovers of wisdom delight in representing the human spe¬
cies as very closely allied to what we venture to describe
as the lower animals; and whether the remote ancestors
of men were not downright monkies, or at least ourang-
outangs, they feel a very philosophical degree of hesita¬
tion in deciding. Rousseau is much inclined to doubt whe¬
ther certain animals resembling the human species, but by
travellers supposed to be beasts, either on account of some
difference in their external formation, or merely on account
of their wanting the faculty of speech, are not in reality sa¬
vage men, whose race being anciently dispersed in the fo¬
rests, had never had occasion to develope any of the vir¬
tual faculties, had never attained to any degree of perfec¬
tion, and therefore still continued in the primitive state of
nature. A shaggy skin and a long tail he did not consider
as infallible marks of distinction between one race of be¬
ings and another. If such individuals as Montesquieu,
Buffon, Diderot, Duclos, d’Alembert, or Condillac, had
appeared in the capacity of travellers into unknown re¬
gions, he would have been disposed to listen to them when
they affirmed that one animal was a man, and another a
beast; but he considers it as a piece of great simplicity to
leave such a matter to the decision of stupid travellers, in
relation to whom one might sometimes be tempted to raise
a question similar to that which they take upon them¬
selves to determine in the case of other animals.1 The
philosophers of this school are clearly of opinion that man,
however created, was left to his own unaided exertions
in the formation of an articulate language; but they
are so intimately acquainted with the texture of human
thought, that they find no difficulty in explaining the en¬
tire process which he must have followed. Dr Smith has
ascertained that “ the institution of nouns substantive”
must have been one of the first steps towards the forma¬
tion of language ; and by another philosopher the geogra¬
phy of language is adjusted in a manner not less satisfac¬
tory : Rousseau thinks it highly probable that articulate
speech must have taken its rise in islands, and must there
have been carried to perfection before it was known on
the continent.
Dr Doig was of opinion that “ had all mankind, with¬
out exception, been once in a state of absolute savagism,
they would not only have continued in that state, but
would have still sunk lower and lower, till they had at
last, in a manner, put off the character of humanity, and
degraded themselves to the level of the beasts that perish.”
All the learning, religion, laws, arts, and sciences, and
other improvements that have enlightened Europe, a
great part of Asia, and the northern coast of Africa, were
so many rays diverging from two points, on the banks of
the Euphrates and the Nile. In proportion as nations re¬
ceded from these two sources of humanity and civilization,
in the same proportion were they more and more immersed
in ignorance and barbarism. “ I think it obvious, beyond
all possibility of contradiction,” he adds, “ that all those
nations, and societies of men which were removed to a Doig,
considerable distance from the grand sources of civiliza- ''-"y*
tion above-mentioned, had early degenerated into a state
of savagism ; that this degeneracy encreased exactly in
proportion to their distance from those two points; that
none of those nations who are known to have sunk into
that state, ever became civilized, till they had renewed
their correspondence with nations, or individuals, who had
derived light and knowledge from the oriental sources ;2
that previous to the opening of this correspondence, no
on^ people discovered the least propension or. tendency
towards culture and civilization; that, consequently, had
all mankind been, at any one period, absolute savages,
they would have continued in that unhappy state as long
as the world existed ; that if this train of reasoning should
happen to be just, there must always have existed, in some
part of the globe, a select society, a civilized race of men,
among whom the knowledge of arts and sciences was al¬
ways preserved, and from whom the blessings of civiliza¬
tion, and a cultivated state of life, were, in process of time,
propagated to all the other nations, which at this day en¬
joy these invaluable benefits.” This reasoning, supported
with much ingenuity and learning, directly leads to the
conclusion, which he leaves the reader to draw for him¬
self, that the scriptural account of the primeval history of
the human race is much more consonant with the princi¬
ples of sound philosophy, than the account devised by the
united wisdom of modern philosophers.
His next publication, which is of a very different de¬
scription, bears the subsequent title: “ Extracts from a
Poem on the Prospect from Stirling Castle. I. The Vi¬
sion. II. Carmore and Orma, a love Tale. III. The
Garden. IV. The King’s Knot. V. Three Hymns, Morn¬
ing, Noon, and Evening.” Stirling, 1796, 4to. The en¬
tire publication extends to 35 pages. As a specimen of
his English versification, we transcribe a passage from the
Vision, in which he introduces the shade of Wallace ad¬
dressing King Robert the night before the battle of Ban¬
nockburn. The hero mentioned in the first verse is Sir
John Graham.
Great was the hero’s fall, when squadrons round
Mow’d by his well-try’d falchion strew’d the ground ;
Thrice blest his envy’d fall, maturely dead,
Fresh laurels blooming round his sacred head!
While I by Faction’s tumults rudely tost,
My country thrall’d, my patriot labours lost,
Betray’d, and basely sold, inglorious died,
The sport of perjur’d peers and tyrant pride.
Go, noble Bruce ! fulfill thy happier fate,
On thee new glories smile, new triumphs wait:
To-morrow’s sun, I see the fulgence rise,
Shall seal thy fame, and waft it to the skies ;
To-morrow’s sun shall blast yon barbarous host,
And chase the cloud that low’rs o’er Scotia’s coast.
Dread not, great sire, their threats or boasted might,
Their skill in council or their fame in fight.
Now patriot blood, by impious Edward shed,
In flaming vengeance bursts o’er Edward’s head:
Far round thy camp, array’d in blazing arms,
Thy Scotia’s slaughtered heroes sound th’ alarms;
On fiery steeds, unseen they watch the fray,
And spread terrific din, and pale dismay ;
With dreams of conquer’d foes they fan the fire,
And bid ev’n dastard souls to fame aspire,
1 Rousseau, Discours sur 1’Origine et les Fondemens de ITnegalitd parmi les Hommes, p. 237- Amst. 1755, 8vo. “ Je dis
que quand de pareils observateurs affirmeront d’un tel animal que c’est un homme, et d’un autre que c’est une bete, il faudra les en
croire ; mais ce seroit une grande simplicity de s’en rapporter la dessus a des voyageurs grossiers, sur lesquels on seroit quelque this
tente' de faire la meme question qu’ils se melent de resoudre sur d’autres animaux.”
2 Relative to the barbarism and civilization of Greece, the following passage occurs in the work of a very ancient philosopher: noX-
XctKi; xoa yiyovi xa.i hrrsti fiugficcgo; ti 'EXXasj, ov% wtr’ uyfyutruv /xovov yivofclvn /xsravairrarosi ct'kXa xa.t lit' [turns rns (punas oil fta^ovos oiSs ftu-
eiios oiurns yivo/tiyns, itX'Xa xai non^ct; ocu, km v^os n/tots Xn/tlbanovrns- (Ocellus Eucanus de Universi Natura, cap. iii. edit. Gale
1688.)
D O I
With shields of proof thy half-arm’d bands protect,
Each random lance, each wav’ring shaft direct,
Till deeply sped, it reach the deadly wound,
And stretch some champion breathless on the ground,
Till heaps of carnage choak th’ impurpled flood.
And all these fields are drench’d in hostile blood.
I see Caernarvon pale, aghast with fear,
Fly swift, great Douglas thundering in his rear :
111 fare the faithless churl who shelter lends,
And homeward safe the trembling tyrant sends.
These are the only works which Dr Doig published in
a separate form. For the reputation of authorship he
appears to have felt no particular ambition : he was how¬
ever an indefatigable student, and wrote many tracts
which were never printed, which he probably had no in¬
tention of printing. He wrote an elaborate dissertation
On the Ancient Hellenes, which appeared in the Transac¬
tions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, vol. iii. He
afterwards prosecuted the same subject, and transmitted
his manuscript to one of the secretaries of the society;
but on the decease of that gentleman, no vestige of it
could be found among his papers. His contributions to
the third edition of the present work, and particularly the
article Philology, exhibit the most conspicuous monument
of his erudition. In the articles Mysteries and Mythology,
although they bear marks of the same hand, he has not
taken so wide a range; but the article Philology is a long
and elaborate treatise, distinguished by ingenuity as well
as learning. “ In addition,” says Lord Woodhouselee, “ to
the most profound knowledge of the Greek and Latin lan¬
guages, which he wrote with a classical purit}', Dr Doig
had successfully studied the Hebrew, Arabic, and other
kindred dialects, and was deeply versed in Oriental lite¬
rature.” Of this variegated knowledge he has fully availed
himself in his treatise on Philology. That portion of the
Encyclopaedia Britannica which contains it, was published
in,, London during the same week with a tract on the
Greek verb, written by Dr Vincent, afterwards dean of
Westminster,1 “ who was so struck with the coincidence
of Dr Doig’s opinions on many points with his own, that
he began an epistolary correspondence with the author;
and these two eminent scholars went hand in hand in
their researches, and in a free communication of their
opinions, with a liberality of sentiment which did honour
to both. Such likewise was the conduct of the learned
Mr Bryant, who had entered into a correspondence with
Dr Doig on the subject of ancient mythology.”2
Dr Doig, who was married and left descendants, died
on the 16th of March 1800, at the mature age of eighty-
one. The following epitaph, written by himself, has been
engraved on a marble monument erected to his memory
by the town of Stirling, where he was respected for his
worth, and admired for his learning;
Edidici qusedam, perlegi plura, notavi
Paucula, cum domino mox peritura suo.
Lubrica Pieriae tentarem prsemia palmae,
Credulus, ingenio heu nimis alta meo.
Extincto famam ruituro crescere saxo
Posse putem, vivo quae mihi nulla fuit ?
Of his Latin versification we subjoin a more consider¬
able specimen, which relates to the erection of a monu¬
ment to the memory of Buchanan.
En, Buchanane, pii, longo post tempore, cives
Ingenio statuunt haec monumenta tuo.
D O L 93
Scotia te natum, te Gallia jactat alumnum,
Te canit Europe, qua plaga cunque patet.
Nil opus est saxo, nil indice: laeta sonabunt
Carmine Levinium saecula cuncta decus.
Seu decoras Latio divina poemata cultu,
Seu recinis nugas, ludicra, festa, sales,
Grandia seu tragico devolvis verba cothurno,
Seu reseras varii claustra viasque poli,
ACmula seu captas Patavi praeconia linguae,
Foedera dum patriae, bella virosque refers,
Eloquio, gravitate, sono, vi, lumine, verbis,
iEquiparas veteres, exsuperasque novos.
Quod iGraii potuere simul, quod Romula virtus,
Tu solus numeris, arte, lepore potes.
Sin aliqua titubas patriae labefactus amore,
Aut nimium vera pro pietate pius,
Ipsa notam lecti Libertas plorat alumni,
Ipsa tegit lauri Calliopea comis.
Saepe nitor veri spissis latet obrutus umbris,
Nec semper Lynceus cuncta videnda videt.
Besides Latin and English poems, Dr Doig left an
immense variety of works in manuscript. The subse¬
quent list includes his most considerable treatises. 1.
A rational Demonstration of the Divinity and Incarna¬
tion of Christ, 36 pp. fol. 2. The History of the Pas¬
sion, 45 pp. 4to. 3. On Vicarious Punishments, 19 pp.
fol. 4. Strictures on Dr Campbell’s Translation of the
Sermon on the Mount, 15 pp. 4to. 5. An Analysis of the
Epistle to the Romans, 48 pp. fol. 6. An Analysis of the
Epistle to the Hebrews, 60 pp. 4to. 7. A Dissertation
on the Place where the Ark rested after the Deluge, 30
pp. fol. 8. An Essay on the Situation of Tarshish and
Ophir, 66 pp. 4to. 9. A Dissertation on the Origin of
Idolatry, 21 pp. 4to. 10. An Enquiry into the Origin of
Statue-Worship, 84 pp. fol. 11. A Philological Disserta¬
tion on Chain and Remphan, 135 pp. fol. 12. A Philolo¬
gical Dissertation on the Gods of the Egyptians, 344 pp.
4to. 13. The History of the Titans, 146 pp. 4to. 14.
On the Doctrine of Demons, 199 pp. 4to. 15. Letters on
Mr Bryant’s Ancient Mythology, 133 pp. fol. 16. An
Essay on the Origin of the Greeks, 406 pp. fol. 17. Elu¬
cidations of Grecian Antiquities, 98 pp. 4to. 18. On the
Origin of the Scots, 33 pp. 4to. 19. On the Origin of
Language, 59 pp. fol. 20. Letters to Lord Kames on
Language, 112 pp. fol. 21. Strictures on Dr Smith’s
Considerations on the Formation of Language, 33 pp. fol.
22. Letters to Dr Vincent on the Formation of Greek
Verbs, 48 pp. fol. 23. An Essay on the Utility of the
Learned Languages, 49 pp. 4to. 24. Figures of Rhetoric
poetically described, 16 pp. 4to. (x.)
DOLAH, a town and district of Hindustan, in the pro¬
vince of Gujerat, ceded to the British in 1803. Long. 72.
25. E. Lat. 22. 47. N.
DOLCI, Carlo, or Carlino, a painter of considerable
celebrity, was born at Florence in 1616. He was a dis¬
ciple of Jacopo Vignali, and when only eleven years of
age he attempted a whole figure of St John, which receiv¬
ed extraordinary approbation. He afterwards painted a por¬
trait of his mother, and displayed a new and delicate style,
which brought him into notice, and procured him exten¬
sive employment at Florence and other parts of Italy.
Dolci appears to have used his pencil chiefly in sacred
subjects, afld bestowed much labour on his pictures. In
his manner of working he was remarkably slow; and it
is said of him that his brain was affected by seeing Luca
Giordano dispatch more business in four or five hours
J
1 On this subject, Dr Vincent published two different tracts. The Origination of the Greek Verb ; an Hypothesis. . Lond. 1794,
8vo. The Greek Verb analyzed ; an Hypothesis, in which the Source and Structure of the Greek Language in general is considered.
Lond. 1795, 8vo.
2 Woodhouselee’s Memoirs of Lord Kames, vol. ii. p. 142.
94 DDL
Dole than he could have executed in as many months. His works
1) llond are conse(luent,y not numerous. He generally painted in
<- a sma^ size» although there are a few pictures by him as
large as life. He died at Florence in 1686, leaving a
daughter, Agnese, who also painted historical pieces, and
arrived at some degree of excellence in copying the works
of her father.
Carlo Dolci holds the same rank in the Florentine that
Sassoferrato does in the Roman school. Without the
possession of much genius or invention, both these artists
produced pleasing and highly-finished pictures. The
works of Dolci are easily distinguishable by the delicacy of
the composition, and by an agreeable tint of colour, im¬
proved by j udicious management of the chiaro-oscuro, which
give his figures a surprising relief. “ His pencil,” says
Pilkington, “ was tender, his touch inexpressibly neat,
and his colouring transparent; though he has often been
censured for the excessive labour bestowed on his pic¬
tures, and also for giving his carnations more of the ap¬
pearance of ivory than the look of flesh.” All his best pro¬
ductions are of a devout description, and most frequently
represent the patient suffering of Christ, or the sorrows
of the Mater Dolorosa. In these the heads are marked
with calm, intellectual beauty, and pathetic emotion, and
are peculiarly expressive of pure and tranquil devotion.
They are full of sensibility, and yet all unstained by
earthly passion. There is, we allow, a want of character
and deep shadowing in his pictures, but the colouring and
general tone accord with the idea of the passion pour-
trayed ; nothing is turgid or bold, harsh or obtrusive ; all
is modesty, repose, and placid harmony. The best works
of this master are the “ St Sebastianthe “ Four Evan¬
gelists,” at Florence ; “ Christ breaking the Bread,” in the
Marquis of Exeter’s collection at Burleigh; and several
smaller pictures, which are highly valued, and occupy
honourable places in the richest galleries. (z. z.)
DOLE, in the Saxon and British tongue, signified a
part or portion most commonly of a meadow where several
persons had shares. It also still signifies a distribution or
dealing of alms, or a liberal gift made by a great man to
the people.
Dole, an arrondissement in the department of Jura, in
France, extending over 470 square miles. It is divided
into nine cantons, and these into 155 communes, contain¬
ing 65,380 inhabitants. The chief place, a city of the
same name, is in a fine situation on the river Doubs, which
winds its way through beautiful meadows. In the neigh¬
bourhood are many Roman antiquities, especially of roads
and aqueducts. The canal for uniting the Doubs with the
Rhone, projected by Bonaparte, commences at this city.
It contains 1350 houses, and 8235 inhabitants. It is in
long. 5. 25. 1. E. and lat. 47. 2. 45. N.
Dole, in Scotch Law, from the Latin dolus, signifies a
malevolent intention. It is essential in every crime, that
it be committed intentionally, or by an act of the will;
and hence the rule, Crimen dolo contrahitur.
DOLIAH, a town of Hindustan, in the province of Guje-
rat, thirty-three miles north-east from Cambay, possessed
by independent chiefs. Long. 72. 26. E. Lat. 22. 47. N.
DOLLAR, or Thaller, a silver coin nearly of the value
of the Spanish piece of eight, or French crown. Dollars
are coined in different parts of Germany and Holland,
and have their diminutions, as semi-dollars, quarter-dol-
lars, and the like. See Money.
DOLLOND, John, a practical and theoretical opti¬
cian of the highest celebrity, the discoverer of the laws
of the dispersion of light, and inventor of the achromatic
telescope, descended from a family of French refugees, was
born in London on the 10th June 1706.
His first destination was the manufactory which afforded
D O L
employment to the greater part of the French colony es- Doll
tablished in Spittalfields, and he passed some of his ear- ;
Her years in the mechanical labour of a silk-weaver. He
was, however, always attached to the mathematics and to
natural philosophy, and he even extended his studies to
the outlines of anatomy and of scholastic divinity; and in
the pursuit of these objects he found himself obliged to
acquire a competent knowledge of the Latin and Greek
languages, a task which was much facilitated to him by
the possession of a memory no less retentive than his
observation was accurate and his reasoning correct. He
married early, and he continued in his first occupation
till he had established his eldest son, Peter Dollond, who
inherited his own tastes as an optical instrument maker;
and the success of the undertaking was such as to induce
him, in 1752, to leave his own business, and to enter into
partnership with his son in Vine Court.
These arrangements having taken place, it was not long
before Mr Dollond communicated to the Royal Society
some of the results of the application of his inventive
powers to his new pursuits; and Mr Short, who then en¬
joyed the highest reputation as an optician, paid him the
compliment of bringing them forward to the Society under
the auspices of his name.
1. A Letter to Mr James Short, F. R. S. concerning an
Improvement of Refracting Telescopes. Phil. Trans. 1753,
p. 103. The author here describes a telescope with six
glasses, as calculated for correcting, either wholly or in
great measure, the errors of refraction arising from the dis¬
persion of the different colours, as well as from the sphe¬
rical form of the surfaces of the eye-glasses; appealing to
the superiority of the telescopes which he had thus con¬
structed, to those which had before been in use; but he*
reserves a more ample detail of the theory for a future oc¬
casion, which, however, does not appear to have presented
itself, the improvement having been superseded by others
incomparably more important.
2. A Letter to James Short, A. M. F. R. S. concerning
a Mistake in Mr Euler s Theorem for correcting the Aberra-
tion in the Object Glasses of Refracting Telescopes; read
23d November 1752; together with an introductory letter
of Mr Short, in which Euler’s calculations are somewhat
too categorically condemned, and with Euler’s answers to
Short and Dollond. Phil. Trans. 1753, p. 287. It is re¬
markable with what profound respect the experiments
of Newton are treated in Mr Dollond’s letter: “ It is
somewhat strange,” he says, “ that any body now-a-days
should attempt to do that which so long ago has been de¬
monstrated impossible.” But although the investigation
of truth was perhaps in this instance retarded, yet its ulti¬
mate discovery was not prevented by a just deference to
a high authority. Euler was, however, certainly right in
considering the law which he had assumed as sufficiently
compatible with the results of Newton’s experiments;
although he was much mistaken in his conjectures respect¬
ing the achromatic properties of the eye.
3. A Description of a Contrivance for Measuring Small
Angles. Phil. Trans. 1753, p. 178. This apparatus consists
of a divided object-glass, with a scale for determining the
distance of the images, by measuring the linear displace¬
ment of the two portions of the glass, which subtends the
same angle from the focus of parallel rays, as the actual
distance of the images does from the object-glass. The
apparatus is recommended as particularly calculated to be
applied to a reflecting telescope, and was afterwards adapt¬
ed by Mr Peter Dollond to the improved achromatic
telescopes. Mr Savery and Mr Bouguer had before used
two separate lenses in a manner nearly similar; but the
employment of a single glass divided affords a much more
convenient arrangement.
*
1
D O L
i i;lin(i. 4. An Explanation of an Instrument for Measuring
Small Angles. Phil. Trans. 1754, p. 551. This paper con¬
tains a more detailed theory of the divided object-glass
micrometer, and a testimony of its utility from Mr Short,
founded on actual experiments.
5. An Account of some Experiments concerning the Dif¬
ferent Refrangibility of Light. Phil. Trans. 1758, p. 733.
We have here the important results of a series of accu¬
rate experiments, by which the author had undertaken to
investigate the foundations of the Newtonian theory of
refraction ; though he began them without any hope of a
success so brilliant as that which ultimately crowned his
labours.
It was in the beginning of 1757 that Mr Dollond made
the decisive experiment of putting a common prism of
glass into a prismatic vessel of water, and varying the
angle of the vessel till the mean refraction of the glass
was compensated; when he found that the colours were
by no means destroyed, as they were supposed to have
been in a similar experiment related by Newton ; for the
remaining dispersion was nearly as great as that of a prism
of glass of half the refracting angle. Mr Dollond then
employed a thinner wedge of glass, and found that the
image was colourless when the refraction of the water was
about one fourth greater than that of the glass. He next
attempted to make compound object-glasses by inclosing
water between two lenses; but in this arrangement he
found great inconvenience from the spherical aberration;
so that he was obliged to try the effects of different kinds
of glass, and he fortunately discovered that the refractions
of flint and crown glass were extremely convenient for his
purpose, the image afforded by them being colourless when
the angles were to each other nearly as two to three; and
hence he inferred that a convex lens of crown glass and
a convex one of flint would produce a colourless image
when their focal distances were in the same proportion.
The spherical aberration, where the curvature was so
considerable, still produced some inconvenience ; but hav¬
ing four surfaces capable of variation, he was enabled to
make the aberrations of the two lenses equal; and since
they were in opposite directions, they thus corrected each
other. All these arrangements required great accuracy
of execution for their complete success ; but, in the hands
of the inventor, they produced the most admirable instru¬
ments, and he was singularly fortunate in obtaining a
quantity of glass of more uniform density than has been
since manufactured on so large a scale. He afterwards
made some small Galilean telescopes with triple object-
glasses, and Mr Peter Dollond applied this construction
to the longer telescopes with compound eye-pieces, the
alteration rendering the spherical aberration still more
manageable.
The merits of Mr Dollond’s inventions were promptly
acknowledged on the part of the Royal Society by the
adjudication of the Copleyan medal for the year. In 1761,
he was appointed optician to the king, and was elected a
fellow of the Royal Society; a distinction which is often
obtained on easy terms by those whose situation in life
exempts them from the suspicion of seeking it for any
purpose degrading to science, but which is generally an
object of considerable ambition to persons of mechanical
or commercial occupations.
A considerable share of the credit due to Mr Dollond’s
discoveries has been very erroneously attributed by some
late historians and biographers on the Continent to Leo¬
nard Euler, a mathematician who most assuredly has little
need of the appi’opriation of the merits of others to esta¬
blish his claim to immortality. But in fact the only idea
of Euler that could be said to have furnished any hint to
Mr Dollond, has been shown by the calculations of Dr
D O L 95
Maskelyne, and by the experiments of Dr Thomas Young Dolomieu.
and Dr Wollaston, to have been completely erroneous;
nor did Euler even admit the accuracy of Mr Dollond’s
conclusions after his discovery was made, without con¬
siderable hesitation and scepticism. Mr Klingenstierna
had simply expressed a doubt with respect to the result of
Newton’s experiments, though he by no means suspected
the extent of the error. Mr Peter Dollond has sufficiently
vindicated his father’s claim to complete originality, in a
paper read to the Royal Society in the year 1789; he has
also suggested an explanation of the origin of Newton’s
mistake, b}r stating that there exists a kind of Venetian
glass, of which the dispersive power little exceeds that
of water, whilst its specific gravity nearly approaches to
2*58, which is assigned by Newton to glass in general;
and it certainly seems more probable that some such
circumstance as this was the cause of the error, than that
Newton should, as some have suspected, have mixed ace¬
tate of lead with the water which he used, for an experi¬
ment which was so much more likely to be satisfactory
without it.
Mr Dollond’s appearance was somewhat stern, and his
language was impressive, but his manners were cheerful
and affable. He vras in the habit of attending regularly,
along with his family, the service of the French Protestant
church. He constantly sought his chief amusement in
objects connected with the study of those sciences which
he had so much contributed to improve. Perhaps, indeed,
he pursued them with an application somewhat too in¬
tense ; for on the 30th of November, as he was reading a
new work of Clairaut on the theory of the moon, which
had occupied his whole attention for several hours, he had
an attack of apoplexy, which shortly became fatal. He
left two sons and three daughters. His sons succeeded
to his business ; and the younger dying a few years after¬
wards, his place was filled by a nephewy who assumed the
family name, and who still conducts the establishment with
undiminished respectability and success. (Kelly’s Life of
John Dollond, with an Appendix of all the Papers referred
to, 3d edit. 4to, Lond. 1808.) (l. l.)
DOLOMIEU, Deodatus Guy Silvanus Tancred
de Gratet de, a distinguished mineralogist and geolo¬
gist, son of Francis de Gratet de Dolomieu, and Frances
de Berenger, was born on the 24th of June 1750, in the
province of Dauphine.
Fie was admitted a member of the order of Malta during
his earliest infancy, as if he had been devoted from his
cradle to glory and to misfortune. At eighteen he em¬
barked in one of the galleys belonging to the order, and
soonafterwardsunhappilyfoundhimself under the necessity
of fighting a duel, in which his adversary fell. The laws
condemned him to die, but he received a pardon from
the grand master; it was, however, necessary that it
should be approved by the pope, who for a long time re¬
fused to confirm it, notwithstanding the solicitations of
several European powers in behalf of the offender, until
his consent was at last obtained by the Cardinal Torre-
giani. Dolomieu, in the mean time, was closely imprisoned
in the island for nine months, and this period of solitude
seems to have contributed materially to increase the se-
riousnessvof his character, and to confirm him in a con¬
templative turn of mind.
At the age of twenty-two he went to Metz as an officer
in the regiment of carabineers, in which he had held a
commission for seven years; and he displayed great cou¬
rage and personal activity on occasion of an accidental
conflagration which occurred soon afterwards. His leisure
hours ^were employed in the study of chemistry and natu¬
ral history, with the assistance of Mr Thirion, an apothe¬
cary residing in this city. About the same time he also
96
D O L O M I E U.
Dolomieu. became intimate with De la Rochefoucault, with whom he
maintained an unshaken friendship ever after.
1. He commenced his literary career with an Italian
translation of Bergman's Work on Volcanic Substances, to
which he added some Notes, and some observations on the
classification of those substances.
2. He also furnished some Notes to a translation of Cron-
stedt’s Mineralogy.
3. In 1775 he published Besearches on the Weight of
Bodies at different distances from the Earth's Centre ; and
upon the recommendation of La Rochefoucault, was made
a correspondent of the Academy of Sciences at Paris.
This compliment seems to have contributed to his deter¬
mination to relinquish his prospects of success in the
army, and to devote himself exclusively to science. Hav¬
ing resigned his commission, he commenced his geological
labours with a tour in Sicily, Italy, and Switzerland.
4. This expedition afforded him the materials for his
Voyage aux lies de Lipari, fait en 1781, which he pub¬
lished in 1783, with some other tracts. He describes a
singular kind of volcano at Macaluba, in Sicily, formed by
air bubbling up from the crater, and causing its contents
to overflow. The Essay on the Climate of Malta is ren¬
dered inconclusive by the imperfection of the eudiome-
trical apparatus that was then commonly employed.
5. He spent a part of the same year in examining the
effects of the earthquake in Calabria, which are described
in his Memoire sur les tremblemens de Terre de la Calabrie,
8vo, Rome, 1784. Among other observations, he notices
the singular fact, that all those parts of Calabria to which
the earthquake extended are of a calcareous nature, with¬
out any traces of volcanic substances.
6. fie published, in the Journal de Physique, vol. xxv.
p. 191, a paper on the extinct volcanoes of the Val di Noto
in Sicily.
7. His Memoire sur les lies Ponces, 1788, contains also
a catalogue of the productions of Mount Etna, and an ac¬
count of the eruption of 1787.
At the beginning of the revolution Dolomieu embarked,
together with his friend La Rochefoucault, in that which
appeared to be the cause of liberty. He was in Paris on
the 14th of July, but he did not accept of any office under
the newly-modified government. La Rochefoucault soon
fell a victim to the horrors of the times. Dolomieu was
present in his last moments, and received the affectionate
messages which he sent to his mother and his wife, who
were more distant witnesses of the dreadful scene.
8. No longer hoping for any benefit to his country from
the political events of the day, he appears to have resumed
his geological studies in other parts of Europe. In a Let¬
ter on the Origin of Basalt, dated Rome, 1790, Journ.
Phys. vol. xxxvii. p. 193, he considers some stones of this
description, for instance, the black trapps of Saxony, as the
productions of water; and others, particularly the varieties
found in the south of Europe, as of volcanic origin.
9. He writes, in 1791, a Letter from Malta, describing a
species of limestone found in the Tyrol, hard enough to
become phosphorescent upon collision, and not efferves¬
cing with acids until powdered. It was afterwards called
the Dolomite. Journ. Phys. vol. xxxix. p. 3.
10. In a paper of Bircctionsfor Naturalists, he gives some
useful advice to the circumnavigators about to sail to the
South Seas. Journ. Phys. vol. xxxix. p. 310.
11. A series of his essays On Compound Stones and
Rocks appeared from time to time in the Journal de Phy¬
sique, vol. xxxix. p. 374; vol. xl. p. 41, 203, 372. In these
he insists on the necessity of supposing that the ocean
must have acted with great violence in reducing the conti¬
nents into their present state ; neither the slow subsidence
of a general deluge, nor the continued action of ordinary
rivers, being sufficient to explain the phenomena; and he Dolom
remarks, that a violent agitation, such as must necessarily v—-y-
be supposed to have taken place, would naturally cause
several alternations in the state of the waters, like im¬
mense waves or tides, which must have contributed to the
modifications impressed on the earth’s form. Indeed, the
facts which support this opinion appear to be so obvious
and so numerous, that it is difficult to understand how the
opposite hypothesis should ever have become popular.
12. In the same volume there is a short paper On Pe¬
troleum found in Rock Crystal, and on some elastic fluids
obtained from it, p. 318.
13. The progress of his memoirs was now interrupted
by the proscription, in which many of the best and wisest
of his countrymen were indiscriminately involved. “ His
duty and his inclination,” he says, in a iVbfe without a date,
“ required the devotion of his time and his arm to the de¬
fence of his kingand he was obliged to submit to a tem¬
porary dereliction of his pursuits of science. P. 481.
14. But the. cause was hopeless, and it was impossible
for him to render it any essential service. He soon re¬
sumed his pen, and took occasion to express, with great
spirit and energy, his political feelings, in his Memoir on
the Physical Constitution of Egypt. Journ. Phys. vol. xlii.
p. 41, 108,194. In Egypt, he observes, there are many cal¬
careous rocks and sands, which cannot have been brought
down by the Nile ; but there is also much of the soil which
has the appearance of having been derived from the mud,
with an admixture of sand only. The same cause, he
thinks, may possibly have raised" the bed of the river, so
that the relative height of the inundations may have been
little altered. He conceives that the Delta has increased
even in modern times, though far less rapidly than it ap¬
pears to have done formerly; for he is disposed to admit
the credibility of the Homeric account of the distance of
the Pharos from the continent, although he attempts to
explain a part of the supposed change by the filling up of
the lake Mareotis only; and, on the whole, he imagines
that about a thousand square leagues of the surface of
Egypt have been gained from the sea. He has not, how¬
ever, thought it necessary to discuss the arguments which
Bruce and others have brought against the established opi¬
nion, and against the facts asserted by Herodotus in its
support; although some of the best informed of modern
travellers have allowed the accuracy of Bruce’s statements
relating to this subject.
15. In a short paper On the Figured Stones of Florence,
Mr Dolomieu attributes the appearance of the arborescent
and architectural figures which characterize them, to the
process of slow decomposition and oxidation, gradually
producing the stains in the extremely minute fissures,
which favour these changes. Journ. Phys. vol. xliii. p.
285.
16. Upon the establishment of the school of Mines, in
1795, he accepted the situations of professor of geology
and inspector of mines. He was also made one of the
original members of the National Institute of Sciences and
Arts, then organized by a law of the existing government,
hrom this time he appears to have redoubled the energy
with which he had before laboured in the pursuit of na¬
tural knowledge, and he published a great number of me¬
moirs in the course of a very few years. One of the first
of these consisted of Observations on a pretended Coal
Mine, called the Desiree. Journal des Mines, year iii. N.
ix. p. 45.
17. His Methodical Distribution of Volcanic Substances
appeared in the new Journal de Physique, vol. (i.) xliii.
p. 102, 175, 241, 406; vol. (ii.) xliv. p. 81. Of the five
classes which he had before proposed in his notes on
Bergman, the first comprehends substances actually pro-
D O L O M I E U.
jlomieu. duced by volcanoes; the second, substances thrown out by
them unaltered; the third, bodies altered by the volcanic
vapours; the fourth, bodies altered in the moist way; and
the last, substances illustrative of the history of volcanoes
only. The subsequent papers are partly continuations
of the Memoirs on Compound Rocks ; and they also relate
particularly to the nature of lavas, some of which are
shown to be formed from argillaceo-ferruginous stones.
The heat of lavas has been pretty accurately entertained,
in some cases, by the fusion of silver coins exposed to it,
whilst those of copper remained entire; there is, however,
an account of a stream of lava over which some nuns are
stated to have walked while it was yet fluid ; and this cir¬
cumstance Mr Dolomieu attributes to a mixture of sul¬
phur, which remained melted at a temperature compara¬
tively low. Some objections to this opinion have, however,
been advanced by Mr Sage. Journ.Phjs. vol. xlv. p. 281.
An Explanation of the New Method adopted in the Descrip¬
tion of Minerals was also published in the Magazin Ency-
clopedique, vol. i. p. 35.
18. Among the shorter essays of Mr Dolomieu, we find
a Description of the Beryl. Journ. des Mines> year iv. Ven-
tose, p. 11.—19. Description of the Mine of Manganese at
Romaneche. Germinal, p. 27.—20. Letter on the Heat of La¬
vas. Messidor, p. 53.—21. On Quartzose Concretions, p. 56.
—22. On Ancient Lithology. Mag. Enc. i. p. 437.—23. De¬
scription of the Emerald, ii. p. 17, 145.—24. A Letter from
Berlin on the Magnetic Serpentine, ii. vol. vi. p. 7.—25. On
the Leucite, or White Garnet. Journ. des Mines, year v.
p. 177.—26. On the Necessity of Chemical Knowledge to a
Mineralogist, and on the term Chrysolith, p. 365.
27. An Introductory Discourse on the Study of Geology
appears in the Journal de Physique, vol. xlv. p. 256. It
was preliminary to a course of lectures on the natural po¬
sition of minerals, and it contains good and detailed direc¬
tions for the use of students, with some eloquent advice
on the benefits of travelling, and on the merits of tempe¬
rance and simplicity of manners.
28. In the next volume, p. 203, our author announces
the Discovery of the Crystallized Sulphate of Strontia in
Sicily. It had before been found uncrystallized in France.
29. On Colour as a Characteristic of Stones. Journ.
Phys. vol. (iii.) xlvi. p. 302. This essay contains some ob¬
jections to Werner’s habit of relying too implicitly on co¬
lour, and the white tourmaline of St Gothard is adduced
as an instance of the triumph of form over complexion; a
just tribute of commendation is also paid to the merits of
Haiiy.
30. A paper On the Pyroxene, or Volcanic Schorl, is
chiefly destined to support the opinion that such crystals
have been formed previously to the existence of the vol¬
cano, by the observation of a specimen found adhering to
a rock which had never undergone the effect of fire. Journ.
Phys. vol. xlvi. p. 306.
31. A Memoir read to the Institute contains the report of
Mr Dolomieu’s mineralogical tours, made in the years
1797 and 1798. Journ. Phys. vol. xlvi. p. 401. Journ. des
Mines, year vi. p. 385. He visited the south of France, the
Alps, and the neighbouring lakes and mountains, almost
always on foot, and with his hammer in his hand, accom¬
panied by Brochart, Cordier, Bonniers, and his brother-in-
law the Marquis de Dree. From his observations in Au¬
vergne, in particular, he concludes that the foundation or
origin of the volcanoes there is certainly below the granite
rocks, which therefore cannot, properly speaking, be called
primitive; and he proceeds to a much bolder and less ad¬
missible conjecture, that the central parts of the globe are
at present in a state approaching to fluidity, which he at¬
tempts to support by the ready transmission of the shocks
of earthquakes to distant places; and he even quotes the
vol. vm.
authority of Lagrange as having been disposed to encou- Dolomieu.
rage the opinion. Volcanoes, in general, he divides into an-
cient and modern, as separated by the intervention of the
changes which have reduced the continents to their pre¬
sent form. With respect to the heat of the lava, he ob¬
serves, that it has not been sufficient to expel the carbonic
acid from the limestone which has been exposed to it. He
also remarks, that, where basalt in fusion has been sud¬
denly cooled by water, the contraction has caused it to
divide into columns, which are not crystalline, because
their angles are irregular, and which are smaller and more
uniform in proportion as the water is deeper. He con¬
trasts the horizontal strata of France with the vertical
tables of the Alps, and particularly describes the accretion
of a mantle of calcareous substances, two miles in height,
which has attached itself to the north-east faces of the
Alps, subsequently to their first formation as mountains.
From this expedition he brought home an immense col¬
lection of rocks and stones, principally valuable for their
arrangement with a view to the illustration of his particu¬
lar doctrines in geology, which, with the rest of his cabi¬
net, have since formed a part of the superb museum of M.
de Dree.
32. He published, about the same time, a paper On the
Mountains of the Vosges. Journ. des Mines, year vi. p. 315.
33. Extract of a Report on the Mines of the department of
the Lozere, p. 577.
34. The only communication rf Mr Dolomieu printed
in the Memoirs of the Institute, is rather on a mechanical
than a mineralogical subject, containing an Account of the
Art of Making Gun-Flints. M. Math. vol. iii. p. 348. Ni¬
cholson’s Journal, 8. vol. i. p. 88.
He was engaged, after his return from Switzerland, in
some mineralogical contributions to the Encyclopedic Me-
thodique, when he was invited to take a part in the scien¬
tific arrangements of the expedition to Egypt. He did not,
however, strictly confine himself to this department, but
was successfully employed as a negociator for the surren¬
der of Malta. In Egypt he visited the pyramids, and ex¬
amined some of the mountains which form the limits of
the country, but his health soon compelled him to return
to Europe. In this voyage the vessel on board of which he
had embarked was nearly overwhelmed by a tempest, and
appears to have been only saved by the temporary expe¬
dient of throwing overboard pounded biscuit mixed with
straw, which entered the leaks with the water, and afforded
a partial remedy, which was repeated from time to time,
until the vessel, at the last extremity, was driven into a
port in the Gulf of Tarentum. The counter-revolution of
Calabria had occurred but a few days before, and Dolo¬
mieu, with his companion Cordier, and many others of his
countrymen, were thrown into prison, and they even owed
their lives to the great exertions of an individual among
the insurgents in their favour. They were afterwards re¬
moved to Sicily, but with the loss of their collections and
their manuscripts; and Dolomieu being denounced, as a
member of the order of Malta, for high treason, was sepa¬
rated from his countrymen, and closely confined in a dun¬
geon. Solicitations were addressed to the kiqg of Naples
on his behalf, by the National Institute, by the French
government, by the king of Spain, and in the name of the
Royal Society of London, although its illustrious presi¬
dent was certainly not “ at the time in Sicily,” as the
Nouveau Dictionnaire Historique affirms; but the captive
derived essential assistance from the good offices of an
English gentleman at Messina, and some Danes accom¬
modated him in his pecuniary arrangements. Whilst still
a prisoner, he was appointed successor to Daubenton, at
the Museum of Natural History; and the very circum¬
stance of his captivity seemed to give him an advantage
N
98 DOM
Dolorskoi over his competitor. In the treaty made by the French
II with the king of Naples, after the battle of Marengo, it
was expressly stipulated that Dolomieu should be set at
liberty.
35. Upon his return to Paris he was made a member of
the Conservative Senate, and he delivered soon afterwards
a course of lectures on the philosophy of mineralogy. He
had written part of an essay on this subject during his im¬
prisonment in Sicily, with a bone for a pen, and a mixture
of soot and water instead of ink, on the margins of such
books as were allowed him; and his last publication was
Sur la Philosophic Mineralogique, et sar Vespece Mineralo-
gique. Paris, 1801. His classification depended on con¬
sidering the species as determined by the integrant mole¬
cule, and on arranging the different external forms as va¬
rieties, whether regular as modifications, or irregular as
imperfections; besides the variations of colour and ap¬
pearance, and the more essential affections of the consist¬
ence of the substance, which may be called contamination ;
but the whole essay may be considered as rather of a lo¬
gical than of a physical nature.
After the delivery of his lectures, he set out upon a new
expedition to his favourite mountains, in company with
Mr Neergard and Mr d’Eymar, who published an account
of the journey. Paris, 1802. He meditated a tour into
Germany and to the north of Europe; but his return to
Paris was interrupted by indisposition, when he had ar¬
rived, by way of Lyons, at Chateauneuf, where he met his
sister and his brother-in-law, and this journey was his
last.
The merits of Dolomieu consisted as much in his per¬
sonal character as in his scientific attainments. His con¬
versation was modest, though his courage was heroic; his
manners were simple though refined; and though his ta¬
lents were considerable, they seem to have been surpassed
by his industry. It has been remarked, that he often un¬
dertook more than he had any reasonable prospect of com¬
pleting ; but, in the mean time, he was perhaps as happy
in the pursuit as he would have been in the attainment of
his object. He died, universally regretted, at Dree, near
Ma^on, on the 27th of November 1801, in the midst of his
affectionate family, who had been the partakers in his pur¬
suits, and the consolation of his misfortunes.
Lacepede, Notice Historique sur la Vie et les Ouvrages de
Dolomieu; Mem. Math. Inst. vol. vii. 1806, p. 117; Chal¬
mers’s Biographical Dictionary, vol. xi. 8vo, London,
1818. (l. l.)
DOLORSKOI, a fortress of Asiatic Russia, in the pro¬
vince of Kolhyvane, situated on the river Irkutsk, sixteen
miles west from Semipolatnoi.
DOLPHIN Islands, three small islands in the Mergui
Archipelago, near the north-east coast of Sullivan’s Island.
Lat. 11.14. N.
DOLPHIN of the Mast, a peculiar kind of wreath,
formed of plaited cordage, to be fastened occasionally
round the masts, and the use of which is to sustain the
weight of the fore and main yards, in case the rigging or
chains by which these yards are suspended should be shot
away in the time of battle, a circumstance which might
render the'sails useless at a season when their assistance
is most necessary.
DOLSCHY, a circle in West or Little Wallachia. It is
watered by the river Schui, which is divided into two
branches, and forms a large island. It contains one city,
Krajowa, one market-town, and sixty-four villages.
DOM, or Don, a title of honour, invented and chiefly
used, the former by the Portuguese, the latter by the
Spaniards. It is an abbreviation of dominus, and signifies
sir or lord.
This title, it seems, was first given to Pelayo, in the
DOM
beginning of the eighth century. In Portugal no person Doma
can assume the title of Dom without the permission of the l
king, since it is looked upon as a mark of honour and no-
bility. In France it is sometimes used among the reli-
gious. _ M
Dom and Som, in old charters, signifies full property
and jurisdiction.
DOMAT, or Daumat, John, a celebrated French ju¬
risconsult, born in 1625. Having observed the confused
state of the laws, he digested them in four volumes 4to,
under the title of Lois Civiles dans leur Ordre Naturel;
an undertaking for which Louis XIV. settled on him a
pension of two thousand livi'es. Domat was intimate with
the famous Pascal, who left him his private papers at his
death. He himself died in 1696. Besides the Lois Ci¬
viles, Domat made in Latin a selection of the most com¬
mon laws in the collections of Justinian; but this work
did not appear until after his death, when it was published
separately, under the title of Legum Delectus. Subsequent-
ly, however, it was united with the Lois Civiles. Domat
may be regarded as the restorer of reason in jurisprudence.
DOME, in Architecture, a spherical roof, or a roof of a
spherical form, raised over the middle of a building, as
a church, hall, pavilion, vestibule, staircase, or the like.
See the article Arch.
Dome, or Doom, signifies judgment, sentence, or de¬
cree. The homagers’ oath in the black book of Hereford
ends thus : “ So help me God at his holy dome, and by
•my trowthe.”
DOMEA, a town in the kingdom of Tungquin, situat¬
ed inland on the Tungquin river. It had a considerable
trade in the seventeenth century, and was frequented by
a number of Dutch vessels. Long. 106. E. Lat. 20.40. N.
DOMENICHINO, or Domenico; Lampieri, the cele¬
brated painter, was born at Bologna in 1581. He was
placed when young under the tuition of Denis Calvart;
but having been treated with great-severity by that mas¬
ter, he left him, and became a pupil in the academy of the
Caracci, where he remained for a long time. The genius
of Domenichino was slow in its development. He was at
first timid and distrustful of his powers; whilst his studious,
thoughtful, and reserved manners were misunderstood by
his companions for dulness. But the intelligent Annibal
.Caracci, who observed his faculties with more attention,
and knew his abilities better, testified of Domenichino
that his apparent slowness of parts would in time produce
what would be an honour to the art of painting. When his
early productions had brought him into notice, he studied
with incredible application, and made such advances in
painting as to raise his works into a comparison with those
of the most admired masters. From his acting as a con¬
tinual censor of his own works, he became amongst his fel¬
low pupils the most accurate and expressive designer; his
colours were the truest to nature, and of the best impasto,
and he proved the most universal master in the theory of his
art; in short, the only painter amongst them all, in whom
Mengs found nothing to desire, except a somewhat larger
proportion of elegance. That he might devote his whole
being to the art, Domenichino shunned all society, or if
he occasionally sought it in the public theatres and walks,
it was in order better to observe the play of the pas¬
sions in the features of the people,—those of joy, anger,
grief, terror, and every affection of the mind, and to com¬
mit them vividly to his tablets; and thus, says Belloni, it
was that he succeeded in delineating the soul, in colouring
life, and calling forth heartfelt emotions, at which his works
all aim, as if he waved the same wand which had belong¬
ed to the poetical enchanters Tasso and Ariosto.
After several years’ severe study at Bologna, Domeni¬
chino went to Parma, in order to examine the beautiful
DOM
DOM
99
works of the Lombards, and thence proceeded to Rome,
where he assisted Annibal Caracci, and obtained employ¬
ment through his recommendation from Cardinals Bor-
ghese, Farnese, and Aldobrandi, for all of whom he paint¬
ed works in fresco, which were justly admired. The dis¬
tinguished reputation which he had acquired excited the
jealousy of some of his contemporaries, who represented
his very excellencies as defects. Lanfranco in particular,
one of his most inveterate enemies, asserted that his Com¬
munion of St Jerome was an imitation from Agostino Ca¬
racci, and procured an engraving of this master’s picture of
the same subject, copies of which were circulated for the
purpose of showing up Domenichino as a plagiarist. But
this stratagem only tended to expose the calumnious in¬
tents of his rivals, as it was evident that there was no
other resemblance in the compositions than what must
necessarily be the case in the pictures of two artists treat¬
ing the same subject; and that every essential part, and
all that was admired in the work, were entirely his own.
If it had been possible for the exertions of modest merit
to have repelled the shafts of slander, the pictures which
he painted immediately afterwards, representing subjects
from the life of St Cecilia, might have silenced the at¬
tacks of envy and malevolence; but they only increased
the alarm of his competitors, and redoubled their injus¬
tice and malignity. Disgusted with these cabals, Do¬
menichino left Rome for Bologna, where he remained
until he was recalled by Pope Gregory XV., who appoint¬
ed him principal painter and architect to the pontifical
palace. But the persecutions of his enemies continued
unabated, and are said to have absolutely wearied out his
life. He died, not without suspicion of being poisoned, in
164d.
Domenichino, in correctness of design, expression of the
passions, and simplicity and variety in the airs of his heads,
is allowed to be little inferior to Raffaelle. “ We must, ’
says Lanzi, “ despair to find paintings exhibiting richer or
more varied ornaments, accessaries more beautifully adapt¬
ed, or more majestic draperies. The figures are finely dis¬
posed both in place and action, conducing to the general
effect; whilst a light pervades the whole, which seems to
rejoice the spirit, growing brighter and-brighter in the as¬
pect of the best countenances, whence they first attract
the eye and heart of the beholder.” The persons deli¬
neated could not tell their tale to the ear more plainly
than they speak it to the eye. The Scourging of St An¬
drew, which he executed in competition with Guido at
Rome, is a powerful illustration of this truthful expres¬
sion. Of the twofvorks of these'masters, Annibal Caracci
preferred that of Domenichino. It is said that in paint¬
ing one of the executioners the artist actually threw him-;
self into a passion, using threatening words and actions,
and that Annibal Caracci surprising him at that moment,
embraced him,, exclaiming with joy, “ To-day, my dear
Domenichino, thou art teaching me.” “So novel,” re¬
marks Lanzi, “ and at the same time so natural, it ap¬
peared to him, that the artist, like the orator, should feel
within himself all that he is representing to others.”
Domenichino is universally esteemed as the most distin¬
guished disciple of the Caracci. Algarotti prefers him
to the greatest masters; and Nicolo Poussin considered
him as the first painter after Raft’aelle. His pictures of the
Communion of St Jerome, Adam and Eve, and the Mar¬
tyrdom of St Agnes, are esteemed amongst his best works.
Domenichino was unrivalled in his frescos. He excelled
also in landscape painting. In that style the beauty aris¬
ing from the natural and simple elegance of his scenery,
his trees, his well-broken grounds, and in particular the
character and expression of his figures, gained him as
much public admiration as any of his other performances.
The worth of Domenichino, as Agucchi foretold, was Domesday,
never rightly appreciated during his lifetime. But the
spirit of party which set in so strongly against him whilst
living, soon passed away when he was no more; and im¬
partial posterity has done justice to the talents of this il¬
lustrious painter, whose works are in the highest esteem,
and fetch enormous prices. (z. z.)
DOMESDAY or Doomsday Book, a most ancient re¬
cord, made in the time of William the Conqueror, and
containing a survey of all the lands of England. It con¬
sists of two volumes, namely, a greater and a less. The
first is a large folio, written on 382 double pages of vel¬
lum, in a small but plain character, each page having a
double column. Some of the capital letters and principal
passages are touched with red ink, and some have strokes
of red ink run across them, as if scratched out. This vo¬
lume contains the description of thirty-one counties. The
other volume is in quarto, written upon 450 double pages
of vellum, but in a single column, and in a large but very
fair character. It contains the counties of Essex, Norfolk,
Suffolk, part of the county of Rutland, included in that of
Northampton, and part of Lancashire, in tire counties of
York and Chester.
This work, according to the red book in the exchequer,
was begun by order of William the Conqueror, with the
advice of his parliament, in the year 1080, and completed
in the year 1086. The reason given for taking this sur¬
vey, as assigned by several ancient records and historians,
was, that every man should be satisfied with his own
right, and not usurp with impunity what belonged to ano¬
ther. But besides this, it is stated by others, that all those
who possessed landed estates now became vassals to the
king, and paid him so much money by way of fee or ho¬
mage, in proportion to the lands they held; a circumstance
which appears very probable, as there was at that time
extant a general survey of the whole kingdom, made by
order of King Alfred.
For the execution of this survey recorded in Domesday-
book, commissioners were sent into every county and shire,
and juries summoned in each hundred, out of all orders of
freemen, from barons down to the lowest farmers. These
commissioners were to. be informed by the inhabitants,
upon oath, of the name of each manor and that of its
owner, also by whom it was held in the time of Edward
the Confessor; the number of hides ; the quantity of wood,
of pasture, and of meadow land ; how many ploughs tvere
in the demesne, and how many in the tenanted part of it;
how many mills, and how many fish-ponds or fisheries be¬
longed, to it; the value of the whole in the time of King
Edward, as well as when granted by King William, and at
the time of this survey; and also whether it was capable
of improvement or of being advanced in value. I hey were
likewise directed to return the tenants of every degree, the
quantity of lands then and formerly held by each of them,
what was the number of villeins or slaves, and also the
number and kinds of their cattle and live stock. Ihese
inquisitions being first methodized in the county, wTere af¬
terwards sent up to the king’s exchequer.
This survey, at the time when it was made, gave great
offence to the people, and occasioned a suspicion that it
was intended for some new impost. But notwithstand¬
ing all the precaution taken by the Conqueror to have the
survey faithfully and impartially executed, it appears that
a false return was given in by some of the commissioners,
probably, as is alleged, from a pious motive. This was
particularly the case with the abbey of Croyland in Lin¬
colnshire, the possessions of which were greatly under¬
rated, both with regard to quantity and value. Perhaps
more of these pious frauds were discovered, as it is said
Ralph Flambard, minister to William Rufus, proposed
100 DOM
Domestic, making a fresh and more rigorous inquisition; but this
was never carried into operation.
Notwithstanding the proof of its falsehood in some in¬
stances, which must throw a suspicion on all others, the
authority of Domesday-book was never permitted to be
called in question ; and when it has been necessary to dis¬
tinguish whether lands were held in ancient demesne or in
any other manner, recourse was always-had to Domesday-
book, and to it only, in order to determine the doubt. From
this definitive authority, from which, as from the sentence
pronounced at domesday, or the day of judgment, there
could be no appeal, the name of the book is said to have
been derived. But Stowe assigns another reason for this
appellation, namely, that Domesday-book is a corruption
of “ domus Dei book a title given it because heretofore
it was deposited in the king’s treasury, in a place of the
church of Westminster or Winchester called domus Dei.
From the great care formerly taken to preserve this sur¬
vey, we may learn the estimation in which it was held. In
the dialogue de Sacrariis it is said, Liber ille (meaning
Domesday-book) sigilli regis comes est individuals in the-
sauro. Until latterly it has been kept under three differ¬
ent locks and keys; one in custody of the treasurer, and
the others in that of the two chamberlains of the exche¬
quer. It is now deposited in the chapter-house at West¬
minster, where it may be consulted, on paying to the
proper officers a fee of six-and-eightpence for a search,
and fourpence per line for the matter transcribed from it.
Besides the two volumes above mentioned, there is also
a third made by order of the same king, and which differs
from the others in form rather than in matter. There is
likewise a fourth, which is kept in the exchequer, and
which, though a very large volume, is only an abridgment
of the others. In the remembrancer’s office in the exche¬
quer there is kept a fifth book, also called Domesday,
which is the same with the fourth book already mention¬
ed. King Alfred had a roll which he called Domesday;
and the Domesday-book made by William the Conqueror
referred to the time of Edward the Confessor, as that of
King Alfred did to the time of Ethelred. As the fourth
book of Domesday had many pictures and gilt letters in
the beginning, relating to the time of King Edward the
Confessor, this led some into an opinion altogether erro¬
neous, namely, that Domesday-book was composed in the
reign of King Edward.
DOMESTIC, any man who acts under another, and
serves to compose part of his family. Sometimes the term
domestics is applied to the wife and children, but most
frequently to servants, such as footmen, lacqueys, porters,
and the like.
Domestic, adj. is sometimes opposed to foreign. Thus
“domestic occurrences” signify those events which happen
in our own country, in contradistinction to those of which
we receive intelligence from abroad.
In its more usual acceptation, the term implies some¬
thing peculiar to home or household. Thus we speak of do¬
mestic happiness or pleasures, meaning the pleasures en¬
joyed in the bosom of one’s family; in opposition to those
which are found in the bustle of public life, or delusively
sought for in the haunts of dissipation.
The solace of domestic enjoyment has been coveted by
the wisest and greatest of men. Senators and heroes have
shut out the acclamations of an applauding world, in order
to enjoy the society of their little ones, and to partake the
endearments of family conversation. They knew that even
their best friends, in the common intercourse of life, were
in some degree actuated by interested motives in display¬
ing their affection; that many of their followers applauded
them in hopes of reward; and that the giddy multitude,
however zealous, were not always judicious in their appro-
D O M
bation. But the attentions paid them at their fire-side, Domest
and the smiles which exhilarated their own table, were "v>
the genuine result of undissembled love.
“ The nursery has often alleviated the fatigues of the
bar and the senate-house,” says an excellent essayist,
(Knox). “ Nothing contributes more to raise the gently
pleasing emotions than the view of infant innocence enjoy¬
ing the raptures of a game at play. All the sentiments of
uncontrolled nature display themselves to the view, and
furnish matter for agreeable reflection to the mind of the
philosophical observer. To partake with children in their
little pleasures is by no means unmanly. It is one of the
purest sources of mirth. It has an influence in amending
the heart, which necessarily takes a tincture from the com¬
pany that surrounds us. Innocence as well as guilt is com¬
municated and increased by the contagion of example.
And the great Author of evangelical philosophy has taught
us to emulate the simplicity of the infantine age. He seems
indeed himself to have been delighted with young child¬
ren, and found in them what he in vain sought among
those who judged themselves their superiors, unpolluted
purity of heart.
“ Among the great variety of pictures which the vivid
imagination of Homer has displayed throughout the Iliad,
there is not one more pleasing than the family-piece
which represents the parting interview between Hector
and Andromache. It deeply interests the heart, while it
delights the imagination. The hero ceases to be terrible,
that he may become amiable. We admire him while he
stands completely armed in the field of battle; but we
love him more while he is taking off his helmet, that he
may not frighten his little boy with its nodding plumes.
We are refreshed with the tender scene of domestic love,
while all around breathes rage and discord. We are
pleased to see the arm, which is shortly to deal death and
destruction among an host of foes, employed in caressing
an infant son with the embraces of paternal love. A pro¬
fessed critic would attribute the pleasing effect entirely
to contrast; but the heart has declared, previously to the
inquiries of criticism, that it is chiefly derived from the
satisfaction which we naturally take in beholding great
characters engaged in tender and amiable employments.
“ But after all that is said of the purity and the solidity
of domestic pleasures, they unfortunately appear to a great
part of mankind insipid, unmanly, and capable of satisfy¬
ing none but the weak, the spiritless, the inexperienced,
and the effeminate. The pretenders to wit and modern
philosophy are often found to renounce the received opi¬
nions of prudential conduct, and, while they affect a su¬
perior liberality, to regulate their lives by the most selfish
principles. Whatever appears to have little tendency to
promote personal pleasure and advantage, they leave to
be performed by those simple individuals who are dull
enough, as they say, to pursue the journey of life by the
straight road of common sense. It is true, they will allow
that the world must be replenished by a perpetual suc¬
cession ; and it is no less true, that an offspring once in¬
troduced into the world requires all the care of painful
attention. But let the task be reserved for meaner spi¬
rits. If the passions can be gratified without the painful
consequences of supporting a family, they eagerly seize
the indulgence; but the toil of education they leave to
those whom they deem fools enough to take a pleasure in
it. There will always be a sufficient number, say they,
whose folly will lead them, for the sake of a silly passion
called virtuous love, to engage in a life of perpetual anxi¬
ety. I he fool’s paradise, they add with derision, will
never be deserted.
“ Presumptuous as are all such pretenders to newly-in-
vented systems of life and conduct, it is not to be sup-
»
DOM ' DOM 101
I mestic. posed they will think themselves superior to Cicero. Yet itself, have become valuable members of the community, Domfront
v-y''-' Cicero, with all his liberality of mind, felt the tenderness and have arrived at a degree of moral improvement to li
of conjugal and parental attachment, and acknowledged which,they would not otherwise have attained. Domina-
that at one time he received no satisfaction in any com- “ The contempt in which domestic pleasures have in
pany but that of his wife, his little daughter, and, to use modern times been held, is a mark of profligacy. It is
his own epithet, his honied young Cicero. The great Sir also a proof of a prevailing ignorance of real enjoyment.
Thomas More, whom nobody will suspect of narrowness It argues a defect in taste and judgment as well as in mo-
of mind, who, by a very singular treatise, evinced that he rals; for the general voice of the experienced has in all
was capable of thinking and of choosing for himself, has ages declared, that the truest happiness is to be found at
left it on record that he devoted a great share of his time, home.”
from the united motives of duty and delight, to the amuse- DOMFRONT, an arrondissement in the department of
ment of his children. the Orne, in France. It is 510 square miles in extent,
“ It will be objected by those who pretend to have and, is divided into seven cantons, which are subdivided
formed their ideas of life from actual observation, that into a hundred communes, containing a population of
domestic happiness, however pleasing in description, like 117,093 persons. The chief place, a city of the same
many a poetic dream, is but an alluring picture, designed name, is situated on the river Varenne, and contains 358
by a good heart, and painted in glowing colours by a live- houses and 2244 inhabitants. Long. 0. 57. W. Lat. 48.
ly fancy. The constant company, they urge, even of 54. N.
those we love, occasions an insipidity. Insipidity grows DOMICILE, in NcofcAZaw, is the dwelling-place where
into disgust. Disgust long continued sours the temper, a person lives with an intention to remain.
Peevishness is the natural consequence. The domestic DOMIFYING, in Astrology, the dividing or distribut-
circle becomes the scene of dispute. Mutual antipathy ing the heavens into twelve houses, in order to erect a
is ingenious in devising mutual torment. Sullen silence theme, or horoscope, by means of six great circles, called
or malignant remarks fill up every hour, till the arrival of circles of position.
a stranger causes a temporary restraint, and excites that There are various ways of domifying. That of Regio-
good humour which ought to be displayed among those montanus, which is the most common, makes the circles
whom the bonds of affection and blood have already united, of position pass through the intersections of the meridian
“ Experience, indeed, proves that these remarks are and the horizon; but others make them pass through the
sometimes verified. But that there is much domestic mi- poles of the zodiac.
sery is no argument that there is no domestic happiness, DOMINANT (from the Latin word dominari, to rule
or that the evil may not be removed. Natural stupidity, or govern), among musicians, is used either as an adjec-
natural ill temper, acquired ill habits, want of education, tive or substantive; but these different acceptations are
illiberal manners, and a neglect of the common rules of far from being indiscriminate. In both senses it is ex¬
discretion, will render every species of intercourse dis- plained by Rousseau. The dominant or sensible chord
agreeable. When those are united by connubial ties who is that which is practised upon the dominant of the tone,
were separated by natural and inherent diversity, no won- and which introduces a perfect cadence. Every perfect
der if that degree of happiness which can only result from major chord becomes a dominant chord as soon as the
a proper union is unknown. In the forced alliance which seventh minor is added to it.
the poet of Yenusium mentions, of the serpent with the Dominant (sw&stowft'ae). Of the three notes essential to
dove, of the tiger with the lamb, there can be no love, the tone, it is that which is a fifth from the tonic. The
When we expatiate on the happiness of the domestic tonic and the dominant fix the tone, in which they are
group, we presuppose that all who compose it are origi- each of them the fundamental sound of a particular chord;
nally assimilated by affection, and are still kept in union whereas the mediant, which constitutes the mode, has no
by discreet friendship. When this is not the case, the chord peculiar to itself, and only makes a part of the chord
censure must fall on the discordant disposition of the of the tonic.
parties, and not on the essential nature of family inter- Rameau gives the general name of dominant to every
course. note which carries a chord of the seventh, and distin-
“ To form under the direction of prudence, and by guishes that which carries the sensible chord by the name
the impulse of virtuous love, an early conjugal attach- of a tonic dominant; but on account of the length of the
ment, is one of the best securities of virtue, as well as the word, this addition to the name has not been adopted by
most probable means of happiness. The duties which musicians, who continue simply to call that note a domi-
are powerfully called forth by the relations of husband nant which is a fifth from the tonic; and they do not call
and father, are of that tender kind which inspires good- the other notes which carry a fifth of the seventh domi-
ness and humanity. He who beholds a woman whom he nants, but fundamentals, which is sufficient to render their
loves, and a helpless infant looking up to him for support, meaning plain, and to prevent confusion,
will not easily be induced to indulge in unbecoming ex- A dominant, in that species of church music which is
travagance, or devote himself to indolence. He who has called plain-chant, is that note which is most frequently
a rising family to introduce into a vicious world, will be repeated or beaten, in whatever degree it may be from the
cautious of setting a bad example, the contagion of which, tonic. In this species of music there are dominants and
when it proceeds from parental authority, must be irre- tonics, but no mediant.
sistibly malignant. Thus many who, in their individual DOMINATION, or Dominion, in Theology, the fourth
and unconnected state, would probably have spent a life order of angels or blessed spirits in the celestial hierarchy,
not only useless to others, but profligate and careless in reckoning from the seraphim.
ST DOMINGO.
St Do- St Domingo, or Hispaniola, one of the largest and
mingo. most fertile of the West India islands, extending in length
''---V'—' from east to west about 390 miles, and in breadth from
60 to 150 miles, is situated between 17. 37. and 20. 0.
north latitude, and between 67. 35. and 74. 15. west lon¬
gitude. It is called Hayti or the Highland country by
the natives, from the mountains with which it abounds,
especially in the northern part. The country was formerly
divided between the Spaniards, who were the original oc¬
cupiers, and the French. The last, however, having been
expelled by the black population, it became an indepen¬
dent state under the appellation of Hayti; which in 1822,
when the Spanish government was overthrown, uTas ex¬
tended to the whole country, at that time united under
one head. The. line of demarcation which separated
these two divisions commenced on the south side from
the Pedernales or Flint River, and extended in a waving
direction to the river Massacre on the north side. The
country to the west of this line belonged to the French
part, whilst that on the east side formed the Spanish part
of the island. By far the greatest portion of the country
was in the possession of the Spaniards ; their division being
reckoned 220 miles in length by 120 in breadth, of which,
though a considerable part consists of mountains, these
are said to be little inferior in fertility to the champaign
country, and to be equally capable of cultivation. The
French division is of an extremely irregular figure. The
land is deeply penetrated by the Gulf of Gonave, and is in
some parts 170;miles in length, whilst in others it is not
thirty. It is nearly of the same breadth as the Spanish
division.
General Great part of the coast of this island is rocky and dan-
description gerous, affording but an imperfect shelter to vessels over-
ot the coast. taken ^ storms. Many of the shipping places on the
southern shore are nothing more than open bays, which
lie exposed to the storms and hurricanes of the autumnal
months. The harbour of St Domingo, formerly thought
so commodious and secure, has become too shallow to
admit vessels of large burden. There are, however, be¬
sides roadsteads and several small harbours, the bays of
Neyba and Ocoa on this coast. Into the first flows the river
Neyba, which receives vessels of thirty tons burden; its
stream, before entering the ocean, divides itself into vari¬
ous channels, which annually changing, confound the pilot,
and render the navigation difficult. These, if they were
collected into one, would afford a deeper and safer channel.
Ocoa Bay is a large and convenient watering-place, with se¬
veral small rivers falling into it. The entrance is twoleagues
across, and it gradually widens to near six. On the east
side of this bay is the safe and capacious port of Caldera.
On the south-east coast is the great bay of Samana, which,
in point of size and situation, is one of the most important
on the island. From Cape Raffael, which forms the south¬
ern point of entrance into the bay of Samana, to the oppo¬
site side of the island or peninsula of Samana, the distance
is eighteen miles, which is closed in by a bulwark of rocks
and sands, the entrance only being left clear, with a safe
and deep channel between the shore of Samana and several
detached islands. This bay is about sixty miles deep, and
is surrounded on every side by a fertile country, suited to
all the purposes of trade. Within the compass of this bay
whole fleets might ride at anchor in perfect security. The
river Yuna, after being joined by the Cambu, and mean¬
dering through the rich plains of La Vega Real, falls into
the bay of Samana after a course of nearly one hundred
miles. Bahia Ecossaise or Scotch Bay, which is situated on
the north side of the peninsula of Samana, is a dangerous D<
rocky place. From thence to Puerto Plata the coast ex- mingi
tends about sixty miles in a north-west direction, and in
this space stands Balsama Bay, which has only fourteen
feet depth of water, and is of difficult navigation. The
harbour of Puerto Plata was first discovered by Columbus;
the entrance is narrow but safe, and the neighbourhood is
rich in every species of woods. There are several other
small harbours and bays on this side of the island; but
the coast is in general rocky and dangerous.
A country of such magnitude as St Domingo, containing Soil am
mountains of great height, with valleys of corresponding surface,
extent, necessarily comprises great variety of soil. In gene¬
ral, however, it is fertile in the highest degree, being every¬
where watered by copious streams, and yielding in abun¬
dance every species of vegetable produce which can mini¬
ster either to the luxury or comfort of man. The soil con¬
sists principally of a rich clay, sometimes mixed with gravel,
lying on a substratum of rock. That part of the island
formerly occupied by the French is mountainous, but fer¬
tile and well wooded, and containing mines both of silver
and iron. The Spanish part of the island is mountainous
in many parts ; whilst in other parts the country is spread
out into extensive plains. These are generally in a state
of nature, covered with herbage, or with woods of immense
growth and the most luxuriant foliage. The mountains
intersect the island in two principal chains from east to
west. From these, secondary and partial ridges diverge
irregularly in different directions, forming beautiful and
fertile valleys watered by numerous streams. The highest
mountains of the interior, particularly those of Cibao, rise
to the height of 6000 feet above the level of the sea. To
the north of the capital is the valley called Vega Real or
Royal Field, which is by far the largest and finest in the
island. Westward it extends to the old French line of
demarcation, and in this part it is watered by the river
Yaque ; to the east, where it is watered by the river Yuna
for the space of fifty miles, it projects to the head of the
bay of Samana, and is watered by numerous smaller streams,
which cross it in various directions. This valley may be
said to extend in length about eighty leagues, and in
breadth from ten to fifteen.
Edwards, in his Account of the West Indies, is of opi¬
nion that this and several other districts would, under
proper management, yield a greater return of sugar and
other valuable commodities than all the British colonies
in the West Indies. Other plains also of less extent, but
of equal fertility and of easy access, are everywhere found
interspersed among the mountainous tracts. Westward
from St Domingo, along the southern coast, is the valley
of the river Banis, extending from Nisao to Ocoa. Here
the pasture is good; but the country is not so well water¬
ed as in the other parts of the island; an inconvenience
which is sensibly felt by the cattle during the dry months.
Farther to the westward and to the north other valleys
are found; but where the land, as in this island, is every¬
where intersected by ranges of mountains, it is impossible,
in any general sketch, to describe particularly that con¬
tinual succession of hill and dale which diversifies the face
of the country. Eastward from the capital are those im¬
mense plains called Los Llanos, which stretch out to a
vast extent on a dead level. They are covered with herb¬
age, and the eye wanders unobstructed over the wide ex¬
panse of waving grass, which is occasionally diversified by
natural clumps of trees, which seem planted by the hand of
man. These plains occupy almost one sixth part of the
S T D O
Do- island, extending nearly to its eastern coast, being a dis-
I ■ ngo. tance of more than ninety miles, by about thirty wide.
UY'***' They form an immense natural meadow, covered with pas¬
ture for vast herds of cattle, which belong to more than a
hundred different owners.
Cl mte Doming0 is of a hot and moist climate ; but the heat
is mitigated by the regularity of the sea-breeze, and by
the contiguity of the mountains. In the plains the ther¬
mometer rises to ninety-six degrees, sometimes to ninety-
nine degrees ; but in the mountainous tracts it seldom
rises above seventy-eight degrees. In the more elevated
parts a blanket is not unwelcome during the nights, and
in the highest mountains a fire is frequently necessary.
In those situations meat may be kept for several days, and
in the morning hoar frost is frequent. The seasons, as in
tropical countries, are divided into the w*et and the dry.
The rains are periodical, and are heaviest in May and
June, when the rivers, which at other times scarcely sup¬
ply water for a continued stream, overflow their banks,
and, with an impetuous torrent, sweep over the neighbour¬
ing plains. The climate of St Domingo is unhealthy to
Europeans, owing to these violent heats and heavy rains;
and hence all metals, however bright their original polish,
soon contract a tarnished appearance. This is more ob¬
servable on the sea-coa^t, which is also more unhealthy
than the interior parts of the island. Hurricanes are not
frequent, but in the southern parts of the island violent
gales of wind, generally preceded by a closeness and sul¬
triness in the atmosphere, frequently occur. These, how¬
ever, are not attended with such fatal effects as the hurri¬
canes in the Windward Islands.
Khrs. The island of St Domingo abounds in rivers and smaller
streams, which flow from the mountains in the interior, in
different directions, to the sea. Of these, the principal are
the Haina, the Nigua, the Nizao, the Ozama, the Neyba,
the Ocoa, the Yane, and the St Yago or river of Monte
Christi. Near the south part of the French line of demar¬
cation is the beautiful lake of Henriquillo, which is about
eighteen leagues in circumference ; and though it is about
eight leagues from the sea, its water is perfectly salt, and
of the same specific gravity as that of the ocean. The
same fishes are also found in it, such as the shark, seal,
porpoise, &c.
VViable The fertile soil of St Domingo is distinguished by the
Hue- variety of its vegetable productions, many of which are
1' rare and valuable. The mahogany tree grows to a great
size, and is of very fine quality. The manchineel tree af¬
fords a beautiful species of wood, richly veined like marble,
and susceptible of the finest polish. Several species of
dye-woods are produced in the forests, though none of
them have been tried except fustic. There is a tree call¬
ed the jagua, the fruit of which is accounted a delicacy
by the natives; and of which the juice, as clear as water,
makes a stain on linen which is indelible. Different kinds
of lignum vitae are found, as also of several other woods
with the same properties, which grow unnoticed and name¬
less in those unexplored forests. The quiebra hacha or
iron-wood, remarkable for hardness, as its name implies, is
abundant; and the oak also, which differs in appearance
from the European oak, frequently furnishes beams of from
sixty to seventy feet in length. On the north side of the
island are extensive forests of pine, which is much used
for the purposes of ship-building ; and Brazil-wood is found
in many parts of the coast. The satin-wood of this island
is heavier than that of the East Indies, and it takes so fine
a polish that it does not require to be varnished. The
cotton tree is the largest of all the vegetable productions,
and is formed into the lightest and most capacious canoes.
Every variety of the palm tree is found in the woods, of
which they form a principal ornament. The palmetto or
MINGO.
103
mountain cabbage is an erect and equal tree, which grows St Do-
to the height of seventy feet, with cabbage at the top. In mingo-
the congenial soil of this fertile island the sugar-cane,
cotton and coffee plants, grow in the greatest luxuriance.
There is also the calabash, the fruit of which serves as a
substitute for earthen-ware; the plantain, the staff of life
in the West Indies ; vanilla, which is found indigenous in
the unfrequented woods ; quassia ; simarouba, which is a
tall and stately plant, waving gracefully in the wind ; sar¬
saparilla, indigo, tobacco, turmeric, ginger, and rice plants.
The fruits and nutritive roots of St Domingo are nearly
the same as those of Jamaica; but they are more abun¬
dant, and extremely fine. Of these may be enumerated
the choux caraib or Indian kale, with a variety of other
vegetables that come under the same denomination; the
avocato or vegetable mallow, the melon, sapadillo, guava,
pine-apple, bread and jack fruit, mango, nuts, rose-apple,
plums, &c. of many different species. Flowers in endless
variety and splendour adorn the wild scenery of the woods,
and exhale their fragrance in the desert air.
In addition to all its other valuable productions, this Mines,
island formerly contained considerable mines of'gold, silver,
copper, and iron. But the mines of the two former metals
have, according to that strange and perverted policy by
which Spain has uniformly sought to depress her colonies,
been long closed against the industry of the inhabitants,
and a military force was even posted at the different min¬
ing stations, to prevent those hidden gifts of nature from
being brought to light, and converted into active and pro¬
ductive capital, for the improvement of commerce and
the benefit of the world at large. St Domingo also pro¬
duces jasper, porphyry, agates, antimony, of which there
is a mine yielding pieces of six and eight pounds ; mineral
copperas, red ochre in globules as large as a pigeon’s egg,
amethysts of a transparent violet colour *ind of an excel- »
lent water, and in the Neyba and Hincha rivers pebbles
have been found containing brilliants.
The indigenous quadrupeds of this island were confin-Animals,
ed to four species, which the Indians called Hutia, Quemi,
Mohuy, and Cory. Of these, all are extinct except the
first. St Domingo, however, has procured, by its inter¬
course with Europe, a new stock of animals, of far more
importance than the diminutive species which it has lost.
These consist particularly of horned cattle, hogs, sheep,
goats, horses, mules, and asses, which have multiplied
prodigiously in the wild and extensive pastures of the in¬
terior. Wild fowl are abundant, consisting of various spe¬
cies of ducks, wild pigeons, the flamingo, the wild peacock,
the nightingale or mocking bird, tke banana bird, the
Guinea fowl, the ortolan, and parrots of various species.
The x’ivers abound with fish, some of which are very de¬
licate. Turtle of all kinds are taken, and the land-crab is
much esteemed. The serpents are not dreaded ; but the
centipedes, which are frequent in old buildings, are large
and dangerous. The scorpion is rarely seen ; but the
venomous crab-spider, which is equally dangerous, is some¬
times met with.
The island of St Domingo was, as already mentioned, Popula-
divided between the Spaniards and the French ; the latter don-
possessing about a fourth part of it, and the remaining
three fourths belonging to the Spaniards. According to the
general and best authenticated estimate, the population
of the French portion of St Domingo amounted in 1789 to,
Whites  30,826
Free people of colour  27,548
Slaves 465,429
But other statements add about 10,000 or 11,000 to this
estimate.
In 1785 the population of the Spanish side of the island
amounted to,
104
ST DOMINGO.
St Do- Free people of all colours 122,640
ming°. Slaves  30,000
152,640
During the troubles which ensued, no records are to
be found, on the truth of which we can rely. But it is
certain that the population must have been greatly re¬
duced by emigration and death; many proprietors having
emigrated with their slaves both to the American continent
and to the neighbouring islands, and great destruction of
life having taken place in the bloody transactions which
occurred between 1791 and 1820. Humboldt has estimated,
though he does not tell on what data, the entire popula¬
tion at 375,000 in 1802; aftd after the death of Dessa-
lines it has been supposed, though still on uncertain data,
to amount to 400,000. Since tliis period it has greatly
increased; and Mr Placide Justin, on information received
since April 1825, considers the whole population as amount¬
ing to 700,000, whilst by Humboldt it is reckoned at
800,000. Mr Mackenzie, who was appointed in 1826 con¬
sul-general in Hayti by the British government, obtained
a population return, which was officially made out and laid
before the legislative body, in order to apportion the con¬
tribution for the purpose of liquidating the French indem¬
nity. According to this official account, in the accuracy
of which there is every reason to confide, the population
of the French part of St Domingo amounted to 351,716,
and that of the Spanish division to 71,223, making toge¬
ther 422,939.
History. This island was discovered by Columbus in 1492, and
was soon filled with adventurers, who crowded from Europe
to the new world in search of sudden wealth. The natives
were reduced to slavery by these settlers, who spread
themselves over the island, and by their industry the co-
• lony increased rapidly in wealth and prosperity. But as
it was chiefly by the desire of gold that settlers were
attracted to this distant shore, St Domingo was in its turn
abandoned for other countries of greater reputed wealth;
and the country gradually declined, and, instead of yield¬
ing a revenue, became a burden on the mother country.
About the middle of the sixteenth century the island of
St Christophers was taken possession of by a mixed colo¬
ny of French and English, who being attacked by the
Spaniards, were forced to fly to the barren isle of Tortu¬
ga, where they established themselves, and grew formi¬
dable, under the well-known appellation of buccaneers.
They at last obtained a firm footing in St Domingo, into
which they had made only predatory incursions ; and by
the treaty of Ryswick that part of the island of which
they had obtained possession was ceded to the king of
France, who acknowledged these adventurous colonists as
his subjects. The French colony languished for a- while
under the galling restrictions imposed on its trade by the
mother country ; but these being removed about the year
1722, it attained to the highest pitch of prosperity; and
such was its flourishing state when the French revolution
commenced in 1789. In St Domingo, as in all the Euro¬
pean colonies, the population is composed of three classes,
namely, the whites, the people of colour, and the blacks.
Of these the whites were the favoured class, who engrossed
all public honours and emoluments, and in whose hands
all power centred, both civil and military. They consi¬
dered the people of colour as a degraded caste, with whom
it was disgraceful to associate on terms of equality. The
black slaves ranked lowest in the scale, and they experi¬
enced from both classes all the evils of the most cruel
bondage. A society framed of such hostile elements con¬
tained in its very constitution the seeds of hatred and con¬
tention ; and in the course of the revolution which occurred
in the mother country these were brought into full activi¬
ty. The important discussions by which France was at that
time agitated kindled a corresponding sensation in the co- mirj
lonies; and the hostile races of the whites and mulattoes /
were already violently inflamed against each other by the
eagerness of their contests, when the national convention,
in 1791, passed the memorable decree, giving to the peo¬
ple of colour the unlimited enjoyment of all the rights
which were possessed by French citizens; thus at once
breaking down all the distinctions which had prevailed in
the colony, and which were sanctioned by custom and in¬
veterate prejudice. This decree was received as might
have been expected. It excited loud and general dis¬
approbation amongst the whites, who immediately adopt¬
ed the most violent measures. The national cockade, the
badge of their attachment to the revolution and to the
mother country, was openly trampled under foot, and the
authority of the governor-general and the supremacy of
the mother country were equally set at nought. The se¬
veral parishes proceeded to the election of a new assem¬
bly, which accordingly met on the 9th of August, under the
title of the general assembly of the French part of St Do¬
mingo. The mulattoes in the mean time, alarmed at these
proceedings, were collecting in armed bodies for their de¬
fence; and the whites were so intent on the meeting of the
new colonial assembly that they offered no opposition to
these assemblages.
Such was the state of affairs oetween the two hostile First
classes of the whites and the mulattoes, when a new andmoveit!
more powerful party, whom all united to oppress, now sud- of the
denly combined for their own protection and for the de-Sroes'
struction of their enemies. On the. 23d of August reports
reached the town of the Cape that the negro slaves in the
neighbouring parishes were in arms, and that they were
destroying the plantations and massacring the inhabitants.
This terrible intelligence was confirmed next day in its
full extent by crowds of wretched fugitives from the neigh¬
bouring country, who, having abandoned their property,
were flying to Cape Town from the fury of their savage
enemies. The success of this bold and deep-laid conspi¬
racy spread universal consternation amongst the white in- |
habitants. The citizens in Cape Town were immediately
summoned to arms. The women and children were at
the same time sent on board the ships in the harbour; the
domestic negroes in the town were placed under a strong
guard; and the free mulattoes, protected from the hatred
of the whites by the timely interposition of the governor
and colonial assembly, were enrolled in the militia, their
wives and children being left as hostages for their fidelity.
Other measures were also adopted to secure the place
against any sudden attack of the infuriated slaves. When
these precautions had been adopted, several small detach¬
ments of troops were sent out to act offensively against the
insurgents ; but although partial successes were obtained
in these encounters, the general result too fatally demon¬
strated to the white inhabitants their own weakness and
the strength of their enemies, whose fearful superiority of
numbers, it was evident, would finally decide the contest
in their favour. In this destructive war it was calculated
that, about two months after its commencement, upwards
of 2000 white inhabitants were massacred; that 180 sugar
plantations, and about 900 coffee, indigo, and cotton set¬
tlements were destroyed, and a thousand families reduced
from opulence to misery. Of the insurgents about 10,000
are supposed to have perished in the field, and some hun¬
dreds by the hands of the public executioner ; and the re¬
bellion, which had been hitherto confined to the northern
parts of the island, now began to spread through the west¬
ern districts, where the blacks were aided by the people of
colour, and where, under their united devastations, the coun¬
try was laid waste for an extent of more than thirty miles.
ST DOMINGO.
105
Do- At length they approached the town of Port-au-Prince
ingo- with the intention of setting it on fire; and it was with
great difficulty that a treaty was concluded by which the
place was saved from destruction. This treaty was ratified
by the colonial assembly, which also announced its inten¬
tion of granting an extension of privileges to the free peo¬
ple of colour. But in the mean time the national assembly
at home, under an impression of the ruinous consequences
of their rash concessions to the people of colour, had voted
a repeal of the law which gave them the same privileges
as the whites ; and the intelligence of this repeal reached
the colonies at the time when the colonial assembly was
holding out the expectation of general equality and free¬
dom. The mulattoes, therefore, when they heard that
the national assembly had repealed their former conciliat¬
ing act in their favour, imagining that the offer of the
whites was an act of concerted treachery to deceive them
into a false security, knew no bounds to their indignation.
All thoughts of peace were now abandoned; and the ge¬
neral sentiment was that the contest could only be ter¬
minated by the final extermination of one or other of the
hostile parties. The war assumed a diabolical character
of cruelty, each studying to outdo the other in acts of re¬
venge. On both sides all prisoners were either massacred
without mercy, or reserved for the more solemn barbarity
of a public execution.
The national assembly at home, alarmed by the intelli¬
gence of these disorders, sent out three civil commission¬
ers, with full powers to settle all disputes. But their au¬
thority soon fell into disrepute. Other commissioners
were sent, and along with them 8000 troops. Unlike their
predecessors, however, they adopted the most arbitrary
measures ; and about the beginning of the year 1793 they
became absolute masters of the colony. But their severi¬
ties at last provoked resistance to their authority; and
having displaced the governor Galbaud, an officer of ar¬
tillery, and ordered him to France, he, along with his
brother, collected about 1200 seamen, with whom they
landed, and being joined by other volunteers, attacked the
government house, where the commissioners were post¬
ed with their force. A fierce and bloody conflict now
took place, which terminated without any decisive advan¬
tage on either side, and next day the fighting was con¬
tinued in the streets of the town with various success. In
the beginning of these disorders, the commissioners had
sought to strengthen their party by the aid of the revolt¬
ed blacks; and a body of these auxiliaries, amounting to
3000, now entered the place, which immediately became
a horrid and revolting scene of conflagration and slaugh¬
ter. Men, women, and children, were massacred by these
barbarians without distinction. The white inhabitants,
flying to the sea for protection, were met by a body of
armed mulattoes, by whom they were put to the sword
without mercy; the half of the town was consumed by
the flames ; and the commissioners, themselves affrighted
at these disorders, escaped to the sea-shore, whence, under
cover of a ship of the line, they viewed with dismay the
wide-spreading mischief.
Ever since the commencement of these unhappy disor¬
ders, the wdiite inhabitants had emigrated in great num¬
bers to the neighbouring islands, and to the United States
of America; and some of the principal inhabitants having
repaired to Britain, induced the British government, by
their representations, to prepare an armament with a body
of troops to co-operate with such of the inhabitants as
were desirous of placing themselves under its protection.
At this period, according to the accurate information of
Edwards, the military force of St Domingo consisted of
from 14,000 to 15,000 effective troops, and 25,000 free
negroes, mulattoes, and slaves. About 100,000 blacks
VOL. VIII.
had retired to the mountains to enjoy a savage indepen- St Do-
dence, and in the northern districts 40,000 slaves still mingo.
continued in arms. It was in these circumstances that
the island was taken possession of in September 1793 by
a British force. But though the expedition gained some
partial advantages, the climate soon began to make the
most dreadful havock amongst the troops, and prevented
them from achieving any solid success. Toussaint 1’Ou-
verture, who was appointed general in chief of the black
armies of St Domingo in 1797, proved himself an able and
an indefatigable enemy; and at length the British were
obliged to evacuate the country in the year 1798. On
the 1st of July 1801 the independence of St Domingo was
formally proclaimed.
But the war in Europe between Great Britain and
France being by this time concluded by the peace of
Amiens, Bonaparte, now chief consul of France, sent out
an armament consisting of twenty-six ships of the line, and
25,000 troops, under the command of General Leclerc,
his brother-in-law, for the purpose of reducing the revolted
colony of St Domingo. To enter into the details of the
barbarous and bloody war now begun against the unfortu¬
nate inhabitants of St Domingo would not be consistent
with our limits, nor would such a narrative, we are persuad¬
ed, be interesting to our readers. It will be sufficient to ob¬
serve, that the numbers and discipline of the force now land¬
ed, joined to the skill of its leaders, overpowered all open
resistance in the field; so that the blacks, after several ob¬
stinate conflicts, and after burning some of the principal
towns, were finally compelled to retire into the inaccessible
mountains of the interior, whence they carried on, under
their undaunted leader Toussaint, a desultory war against
detached parties of their enemies. Elated by this success,
Leclerc now threw off the mask, and rashly issued an edict
proclaiming the former slavery of the blacks. Toussaint was
not slow to profit by this error. Having effected a junc¬
tion with Christophe, who had still 300 troops under him,
and being joined by the cultivators in great numbers, who
were no longer deaf to his call, he poured with this col¬
lected host like a torrent over the plain ; and having every¬
where forced the French posts, and driven before him
their detached corps, he surrounded the town, to relieve
which the French general was compelled to hasten to the
spot by forced marches with all the troops he could col¬
lect. Here he had recourse to his former arts, and he
was but too successful in cajoling the negro chiefs, wearied
of war, into a suspension of arms. Having watched his
opportunity, he privately seized on Toussaint with his fa¬
mily, and embarked him on board of a frigate for France,
where, being thrown into prison, he expired in April 1803.
~ This act of cruel treachery spread universal alarm among
the black chiefs; and Dessalines, Christophe, and Cler-
veaux soon appeared at the head of considerable bodies of
black troops. This last contest for the possession of St
Domingo was distinguished by a degree of barbarity which
surpasses belief. The whites and the blacks seemed to
vie with each other in deeds of cruelty and revenge. Re¬
taliation was the plea still used to sanction every enormi¬
ty, under which an arrear of vengeance was at length ac¬
cumulated on both sides, which nothing short of the utter
extermination of one of the parties could thoroughly satis¬
fy. The French, however, it was clear, were now gradually
losing ground. About the year 1803 they were confined
within their fortifications by the vigorous movements of
the black armies; and though reinforcements were receiv¬
ed from France, the French general was forced to enter
into a capitulation with Dessalines, by which he agreed in
1803 to evacuate the whole island. On the 30th Novem¬
ber of that year, the standard of the blacks was hoisted in
Cape Francois; and the French troops, amounting to 8000,
ST DOMINGO.
106
St Do- surrendered themselves prisoners of war to the British squa-
mingo. ^ dron, by which they were closely watched. In 1804 a for-
mai declaration of independence was issued, to which were
attached all the names of the generals and chiefs. The an¬
cient aboriginal name of Hayti was revived; while Dessa-
lines, whose military talents were in great esteem, was
elected governor-general for life ; and in October 1804 he
was crowned emperor with great pomp. In this situation
he began to display all the cruelties of a tyrant, massacring
without mercy the white inhabitants, and committing the
most barbarous depredations. A conspiracy was in con¬
sequence formed against him; and as he was advancing
against the insurgents at the head of a few troops, he fell
into an ambuscade where he was expecting his own ad¬
vanced guard, and fell pierced with balls. His power was
disputed by various chiefs, of whom those best known and
most successful were Petion and Christophe, the former
ruling over the north of the island, the latter over the
southern districts. Each having a powerful body of ad¬
herents, a civil war was the immediate consequence of
their rival claims. In this war, which continued for seve¬
ral years, many battles were fought and many lives were
lost; but the issue of the struggle was still doubtful, when
in the year 1810 a suspension of hostilities took place,
though no formal treaty was signed. From this period
civil war ceased in the island of St Domingo. Christophe
was declared king of Hayti under the title of Henry I.;
and, in imitation of other monarchs, he created various
orders of nobility, together with numerous officers of state.
He assumed to himself absolute power, and committed the
greatest cruelties, according to the mere caprice of his
own arbitrary will. His tyranny produced general discon¬
tent, and at last an insurrection against him. Being de¬
serted by his troops, he anticipated with his own hand the
fate which awaited him. On the 20th of October 1820 he
retired to his chamber, where he discharged- two pistols,
one through his head and the other through his heart, and
instantly fell dead, before any alarm could be given. Pe¬
tion died in March 1818, after having presided over the
republic upwards of eleven years. He was succeeded by
General Boyer, who ruled over the northern division of
the island until the year 1820; when taking advantage of
the death of Christophe, and the confusion occasioned by
that event, he pressed forward with a considerable force,
and took possession of every strong place in the kingdom ;
and in this manner the whole French division of St Do¬
mingo was for the first time united under one ruler. The
Spanish division of the island had been ceded to France in
1795 by the treaty of Basle, but it was restored to Spain
by the peace of 1814. The feeble government of the mo¬
ther country, however, was no longer able to control the re¬
volutionary spirit which prevailed in the colony ; and in No¬
vember 1821 the Spanish governor was arrested by the in¬
surgent party, headed by a lawyer of the name of Nunez,
and a declaration of independence immediately issued. A
strong party afterwards appeared in favour of a union of
the whole island under one chief. On the 21st of January
1822 the Haytian flag was first displayed in the city of
St Domingo; and on the 9th the keys of the city, and
with them the dominion of the whole island, vrere surren¬
dered to President Boyer. The independence of the new
state was recognised by the mother country in 1825, on
condition that its ports should be open to the ships of all
nations ; that French vessels should pay only half duties ;
and that 150,000,000 of francs should be paid as an in¬
demnity, in five equal payments, the first on the 31st De¬
cember 1825. Thus, after a series of struggles, beyond
all example bloody and ferocious, the whole island of His¬
paniola, with its adjacent islets, is now subject to one go¬
vernment, under the title of the Republic of Playti.
An independent nation of revolted slaves is a novelty St D.
in the political world; and its constitution, laws, policy, wing
and trade, form an interesting subject of inquiry. The ori-
ginal constitution of 1806, which was devised for this state,
was founded on the model of the American democracy,
but was in all respects very ill adapted to the emancipated
blacks of St Domingo. The report of the constituent as¬
sembly, on which it is founded, is a mere exposition of ab¬
stract principles inapplicable to the condition of the com¬
munity for whose use it was designed; and accordingly
this constitution, framed upon the American model, is in
practice an absolute elective monarchy, under the forms
of a republic. The president-general, Jean Pierre Boyer,
holds his office for life, and has the right of appointing his
successor. There are two legislative bodies, the senate
and house of representatives, who have the power of
making laws, of approving or rejecting all treaties, and of
negativing the president’s choice of a successor. But the
whole efficient authority is nevertheless wielded by the
first magistrate, who has the entire patronage of the state,
civil as well as military; and who has the means of con¬
trolling the legislative bodies, and rendering them sub¬
servient to his will. He proposes to the commons all the
laws except those connected with taxes; he is charged
with the duties of the executive, maintaining foreign and
domestic peace, and declaring war, subject, however, to
the approbation of the senate. Fie can also issue procla¬
mations in conformity to the laws, and to these he can
compel obedience ; and he has the command of the armed
force. In the case of every vacancy in the senate, he sup¬
plies three names, from which a new candidate must be
chosen; so that the senate are in some measure his no¬
minees. He has besides the appointment of every public
functionary, and the power to dismiss them; the practice
of the constitution thus varies entirely from its theory,
being little else than a rude military despotism. How far
the actual condition of the Haytians under their present
ruler is comfortable or otherwise, whether the laws are
duly administered for the protection of civil rights, and
how far a liberal spirit actuates the government on these
and other topics, we are not very fully informed. It is
certain that the education of the people is an object of
public solicitude. But though seminaries for this purpose
have been established by the government, no zeal for in¬
struction has been evinced by the people; and hence the
progress of improvement has hitherto been slow\ The
Catholic still continues the religion of the state, though the
various revolutions which have taken place have impaired
the wealth and influence of the priests. The most per¬
fect toleration is established; and public offices, whether
civil or military, are open to all, whatever may be their
religious creed. Besides the higher courts, which have a
supreme jurisdiction, there are eight local tribunals for the
trial of civil and criminal cases ; and in these trial by jury
has lately been introduced. From the peculiar origin and
character of the Flayti community, idleness, of which the
law of other countries takes no cognisance, is here punish¬
able by imprisonment and by flogging; and every successive
government has found it necessary to apply tins stimulus
to the languishing industry of the revolted negroes. The
last law on the subject is the code rural, which declares
that all persons must cultivate the earth, directs the mode
of managing landed property, of regulating the rural po¬
lice, of repressing vagrancy by converting reputed vaga¬
bonds, who may be condemned to labour on the public
works, or sent to prison until they make a contract to la¬
bour for individuals.
But notwithstanding those severe laws, this fertile island, Comm
according to Mr Mackenzie, has not yet become the seat
of industry and of commerce. It has never recovered from
DOM
;t Do- the fearful devastations to which it was exposed in the long
ningo courseofthewarsandbloody dissensions which followed the
II . emancipation of the slaves. It was formerly distinguished
iminica- aj)0Ve au the other West India islands for its beauty and fer-
tility, and for its fine cultivation, and abundant produce of
sugar, its great staple. Its sugar-works, and the magnificent
aqueducts for the irrigation of its fertile plains, are now de¬
stroyed, and scarcely any sugar is produced for exporta¬
tion. We learn, from the well-informed author of the
Notes on Hayti} that in 1789, the exportation of clayed
sugar from St Domingo amounted to 4*7,500,000 French
pounds; under Toussaint’s government it had diminished
to 16,500 pounds; and in 1818 to 190 pounds. The ex¬
portation of raw sugar in 1789 exceeded 93,500,000 French
pounds; in 1801 it had fallen off to 18,500,000 pounds;
and it progressively declined, till, in 1825 and 1826, it
again advanced to nearly 33,000 pounds. The produce
and exportation of coffee has declined in a similar propor¬
tion. In 1789 the export of this article amounted to
76,835,219 pounds, in 1801 it had declined to 43,420,270
pounds; and in 1825 and 1826 it amounted only to about
30,000,000 of pounds. Cacao was never exported in great
quantities by the French colonists ; nor was any great at¬
tention paid to the cultivation of indigo, of which the ex¬
port amounted in 1789 to 750,000 pounds. It has now
altogether ceased. Molasses or syrup was never exported
in any great quantity, owing to the greater perfection of
the colonists in the art of making sugar. With the de¬
cline of this more valuable cultivation, its export has in¬
creased from 25,749 pounds, its amount in 1789, to 211,927
pounds in 1822. The growth of tobacco has been greatly
extended; and cigars are manufactured in great quanti¬
ties, both for home and foreign use. The French export¬
ed no dye-woods, such as logwood, fustic, and lignum-vitae.
But the indolent natives of St Domingo, declining the
more laborious process of sugar-cultivation, for which they
have neither industry nor capital, have greatly enlarged
this branch of trade, having in 1801 exported of dye-
woods 6,768,634 pounds. This trade still continues to
flourish, about five or six millions of pounds of the com¬
modity being annually exported. For a like reason the
exportation of mahogany has increased from about 5000
cubic feet, its amount prior to the year 1800, to 2,000,000,
and in some years to 3,000,000 of feet; another fact, which,
according to Mr Mackenzie, proves the decline of syste¬
matic regular industry, “ and of the advance of whatever,
though chiefly done by nature, may be finished at uncer¬
tain periods by man.” Such is the account given by Mr
Mackenzie. But it is proper to add, that there are other
and different accounts from respectable eye-witnesses, who
DOMINIC de Guzman, founder of the Dominican or¬
der of monks, was born at Calahorra, anciently called Ca-
lagora, in Old Castille, in 1170. He preached with great
fury against the Albigenses when Pope Innocent III. pub¬
lished a crusade against that unhappy people ; and he was
appointed inquisitor in Languedoc, where he founded his
order, and had influence enough to get it confirmed by the
Lateran council in 1215. He died at Bologna in 1221,
in the fifty-first year of his age, and was afterwards ca¬
nonized. The Dominican order has produced many illus¬
trious men.
DOMINICA, one of the Caribbee Islands, in the West
Indies, about twenty-nine miles long and sixteen broad, si¬
tuated between 61 and 62 degrees of west longitude, and
bom 107
state, that the negroes are industrious of themselves, that St Bo-
agriculture is in a rapidly improving state, and that the mingo
products and wealth of the island are annually increasing. Ij
The principal imports are, from Great Britain printed
cottons and muslins of all kinds, cotton cambrics, hand-
kerchiefs, checks, dimities, stockings, quiltings, ginghams,
Irish and brown linens, osnaburgs, cotton and coffee bag¬
ging, woollen cloths, ironmongery, tin ware, Staffordshire
ware, glass, cutlery, and paints, France supplies wines,
cheese, taffetas, beer, liqueurs, brandy, oil, silk shawls,
silk stockings, satins, linens, boots and shoes, toys, rib¬
bons, parasols, gloves, cambrics, Indiennes, saddlery,
hardware, military accoutrements and decorations, per¬
fumery, confectionary, preserved fruits, &c. From Hol¬
land the importations are small, and consist of linens of
different qualities, chiefly Gex-man, cotton and coffee bag¬
ging, Russia duck, linen checks, inferior woollens, Ger¬
man wines, provisions, and hardware. The small ship¬
ments from Germany consist of the same articles; and
from the United States are received chiefly lumber, pro¬
visions, candles, mostly spermaceti, soap, tar, pitch, rosin,
turpentine and other naval stores, gunpowder, anchors,
cordage, copper, oils, nails, pig and sheet lead and shot,
leather, India silks, Madras handkerchiefs, besides other
lesser articles.
The commerce of the country is oppressed by burden¬
some restrictions and by heavy duties. All foreign mer¬
chants are obliged to take out, at an expense of from 1600
to 2000 dollars, a patent to allow them to carry on a
wholesale business at any of the ports, not with each
other, but only with the inhabitants. Heavy taxes have
also been imposed to pay the French indemnity given to
procure the acknowledgment of independence. All fo¬
reign merchandise is subjected to a duty of twelve per
cent., but French ships are only liable to half-duties. Cer¬
tain enumerated articles, such as arms, ammunition, and
warlike stores, gold, silver, &c. are admitted duty free.
The military force of the kingdom of Hayti consists of Military
thirty-three regiments of the line, amounting to 28,600 force,
men. Of these, according to the accurate account of Mr
Mackenzie, there are two regiments of dragoons, amount¬
ing to 576 men without the staff, and five regiments of
artillery, amounting to 4500 men. There is besides the
guard of the president, consisting of three troops of ca¬
valry, amounting to 864 men, and two regiments of in¬
fantry, amounting to 600 men. The corps of gens-d’ar-
merie consist of forty-eight troops of cavalry, fifty men
in each ; and there are, moreover, eight companies of po¬
lice. There is, besides, the national guard, in which every
Haytian serves from the age of fifteen to sixty. (f.)
between 15 and 16 of north latitude. It was so called by
Columbus, from its being discovered on a Sunday. The
value of this island must not be judged of merely by its
productions; for its situation enabled the British, in time
of war, to intercept the communication between France
and her colonies. The soil is light, and adapted for the
growth of coffee; the hills, from which several rivers de¬
scend, are covered with the finest wood in the West In¬
dies ; and several valuable sulphur mines have been dis¬
covered in it. Dominica, on account of its importance,
has been raised to the rank of a distinct government.
The staple commodities are maize, cotton, cocoa, and to¬
bacco. In this island the black and coloured population
is to the white nearly as twenty to one.
1 See Notes on Hoytiy by Charles Mackenzie, Esq. vol. ii. p. 158.
108 DOM
Dominica Dominica, one of the Marquesas Islands called Hi-
Do^ini waoa’ Heevaroa, O-heeva-oa, or Ohiwana, by the natives.
cans11" ^ *s about eighteen miles in length and forty-five in cir-
cumference, being full of rugged hills rising in ridges di¬
rectly from the sea, and separated by deep valleys, which,
as well as the sides of the hills, are clothed with wood.
It is separated by a channel two miles wide from Tuchu-
ata or St Christina Island.
DOMINICAL Letter, popularly called Sunday Let¬
ter, one of the seven letters A B C D E F G, used in al¬
manacks, ephemerides, and the like, to denote the Sundays
throughout the year. See Chronology. The word is
formed from Dominica or Dominions dies, the Lord’s day,
or Sunday. The dominical letters were introduced into
the calendar by the primitive Christians instead of the nun¬
dinal letters in the Roman calendar.
Dominical, in Ecclesiastical History. The council of
Auxerre, held in 578, decreed that women should com¬
municate with their dominical. Some authors contend
that this dominical was a linen cloth, in which they re¬
ceived the species, not being allowed to receive them in
the bare hand ; whilst others think it a kind of veil where¬
with they covered the head. The most probable account
is, that it was a sort of linen cloth or handkerchief in
which they received and preserved the eucharist in times
of persecution, to be taken upon occasion at home. That
this was the case appears by the practice of the first
Christians, and by Tertullian’s book Ad Uxorem.
DOMINICANS, an order of religious persons, called in
some places Jacobins, and in others Predicants or Preach¬
ing Friars.
The Dominicans took their name from their founder
Dominic de Guzman, a Spanish gentleman of Calahorra, in
Old Castille. He was first canon and archdeacon of Os-
suna; and afterwards, as above stated, preached with great
zeal and vehemence against the Albigenses in Languedoc,
where he laid the first foundation of his order. It was
approved of in 1215 by Innocent III., and confirmed in
1216 by a bull of Honorius III. under the title of St Au¬
gustin ; to which Dominic added several austere precepts
and observances, obliging the brethren to take a vow of
absolute poverty, to abandon entirely all their revenues
and possessions, and to assume the title of Preaching
Friars, because public instruction was the main object and
end of their institution.
The first convent was founded at Toulouse by the bi¬
shop of that place and Simon de Montfort. Two years
afterwards another was established at Paris, near the bi¬
shop’s house; and some time subsequently a third in the
rue St Jacques, whence the denomination of Jacobins.
Immediately before his death Dominic sent Gilbert de
Fresney, with twelve of the brethren, into England, where
they founded their first monastery at Oxford in the year
1221, and soon afterwards another at London. In the year
1276 the mayor and aldermen of the city of London gave
them two whole streets by the river Thames, where they
erected a very commodious convent, whence that place is
still called Black-Friars, from the name by which the Do¬
minicans were called in England.
St Dominic at first only took the habit of the regular
canons, that is, a black cassock and rochet; but this he
quitted in 1219 for that which the order afterwards wore,
and which, it is pretended, was shown by the blessed Vir¬
gin herself to the beatified llenaud d’Orleans.
This order gradually diffused itself throughout the whole
known world. It had forty-five provinces under the ge¬
neral, who resided at Rome; and twelve particular con¬
gregations or reforms, governed by twelve vicars general.
Out of this order proceeded three popes, above sixty
cardinals, several patriarchs, a hundred and fifty arch-
D O M
bishops, and about eight hundred bishops; besides mas- Domin
ters of the sacred palace, whose office has been constantly (j
discharged by a religious person of this order ever since ,,50mc
the time of St Dominic, who held it under Honorius III. if0'
in 1218.
Of all the monastic orders, none enjoyed a higher de¬
gree of power and authority than the Dominican friars,
whose credit was great, and their influence universal. But
the measures which they used in order to maintain and
extend their authority were so perfidious and cruel, that
towards the beginning of the sixteenth century their influ¬
ence began to decline. The tragic story of Jetzer, at Bern,
in 1509, during which there occurred an uninteresting dis¬
pute between them and the Franciscans, relating to the im¬
maculate conception, must ever reflect indelible infamy
on this order. An account of it will be found in Burnet’s
Travels through France, Italy, Germany, and Switzerland
(p.31), and also in Mosheim’s Ecclesiastical History (vol.
iii. p. 294, 8vo). They were indeed perpetually employed
in stigmatizing with the opprobrious name of heresy num¬
bers of learned and pious men; in encroaching upon the
rights and property of others, in order to augment their pos¬
sessions ; and in laying the most iniquitous snares and stra¬
tagems for the destruction of their adversaries. They were
also the principal counsellors by whose instigation and
advice Leo X. determined on the public condemnation of
Luther. The papal see never had more active and useful
abettors than this order and that of the Jesuits. The dog¬
mas of the Dominicans are usually opposite to those of the
Franciscans.
DOMINIS, Mark Antony de, archbishop of Spalatro,
in Dalmatia, at the close of the fifteenth and beginning of
the sixteenth century, wras a man whose fickleness in re¬
ligion proved his ruin. His preferment, instead of attach¬
ing him to the church of Rome, rendered him disaffected
to it. Having become acquainted with the English bishop
Bedell, whilst chaplain to Sir Henry Wotton, ambassador
from James I. at Venice, he communicated to that prelate
his books De Rcpublica Ecclesiastica, which were afterwards
published at London, with Bedell’s corrections. He came
to England with Bedell, where he was received with great
respect, and preached and wrote against the Roman Catho¬
lic religion. He is said to have had a principal hand in pub¬
lishing Father Paul’s History of the Council of Trent, at Lon¬
don, which was inscribed to James in 1619. But on the
promotion of Pope Gregory XIV. who had been his school¬
fellow and old acquaintance, he was deluded by Gondo-
mar the Spanish ambassador into the hopes of procuring
a cardinal’s hat, by which he fancied he should prove an
instrument of great reformation to the church. Accord¬
ingly he returned to Rome in 1622, recanted his errors,
and was at first well received; but he afterwards wrote
letters to England recanting his recantation, and these
being intercepted, he was imprisoned by Pope Urban VIII.
and died in 1625. He was also the author of the first
philosophical explanation of the rainbow, which before his
time was regarded as a prodigy.
DOMINIUM Directum, in Feudal Law, the right
which a superior retains in his lands, notwithstanding the
feudal grant to his vassal.
Dominium Utile, in Feudal Law, the right which the vas¬
sal acquires in the lands by the feudal grant from his superior.
DOMINUS, in ancient times, a title prefixed to a name,
usually to denote that the person was either a knight or a
clergyman. The title was sometimes also given to a gen¬
tleman not dubbed, especially if he were lord of a manor.
In Holland the title dominus is still retained, to distinguish
a minister of the reformed church.
DOMO d’Ossolo, a province of the kingdom of Sar¬
dinia, the northernmost of the whole dominion. Its ex-
I
DON
imus tent is 366 square miles, or 234,240 English acres. It con-
11 ^ tains sixty-nine market towns and villages, but no city,
^os‘ and only 20,750 inhabitants. The chief place, of the same
c name, is situated on the river Toccia, in a valley where the
road over the Simplon ends. It contains 1260 inhabitants.
DOMUS, a town of Hindustan, in the province of Guje-
rat, situated at the mouth of the Tuptee, fifteen miles
south-west from Surat. Long. 72. 53. E. Lat. 21. 5. N.
DON, or Tanais, a river of Russia, which takes its rise
from the small lake of St John, near Tula, in the govern¬
ment of Moscow, and passing through part of the province
of Voronetz, a small portion of the Ukraina-Slobodskaia,
and the whole province of Azof, divides itself near Tscher-
kask into three streams, and falls in these separate branches
into the Sea of Azof. This river has so many windings,
is in many parts so shallow, and abounds with such nu¬
merous shoals, as to be scarcely navigable, excepting in
the spring, upon the melting of the snows; and its mouth
is also so choked up with sand that only flat-bottomed ves¬
sels, excepting in the same season, can pass into the Sea
of Azof. The banks of the Don, and of the rivulets which
fall into it, are clothed with large tracts of forest, the tim¬
ber of which is floated down the stream to St Demetri and
Rostof, where the frigates for the Sea of Azof are chiefly
constructed. The navigation of the Don, Mr Cox observes,
may possibly hereafter be rendered highly valuable, by
conveying to the Black Sea the iron of Siberia, the Chinese
goods, and the Persian merchandise; which latter com¬
modities, as well as the products of India, formerly found
their way into Europe through this same channel.
Don is also the name of a river in Scotland, which is
noticed under the article Aberdeen.
Don Kossacks, land of, a province of Russia in Europe,
taking its name from the river anciently called the Ta¬
nais, which passes through it, and falls into the Sea of
Azof. It extends from 46. 7. to 51 .4. north latitude,
and from 37. 15. to 44. 34. east longitude, and contains
79,442 square miles, or 50,842,000 English acres, being
nearly equal to England and Scotland. The whole district
is a plain, except on the south-east part, where a low range
of hills, a continuation of the Caucasian range, extends into
the steppes. The soil is dry, consisting for the most part
of a sandy clay; but near the rivers it is highly fertile. The
grass on the land is not thick, and the herds of cattle re¬
quire a large space to feed upon. Besides the Don, it has
some streams which mostly empty themselves into that
river, but in summer they are nearly dry. Agriculture is
but little pursued, and the corn raised is barely sufficient
for the consumption. The breeding of cattle, especially of
horses, is the chief occupation. Even the common Kos¬
sacks have from ten to a hundred horses, and many of the
richer class from five hundred to a thousand. The fishing
on the rivers and lakes is the branch of industry next in
importance to the breeding of cattle. By a census taken
in 1796, the inhabitants were 366,247 : they are known to
have increased since, and were estimated in 1827 as amount¬
ing to at least 500,000. The feudal system prevails, the
land is held by military tenure, and every man is a soldier.
The country is divided into seven circles. The chief city
don 109
is Tscherkask, situated on an arm of the Don, and said to Donaldson,
contain about 15,000 inhabitants.
DONALDSON, Walter, a learned Scotish writer of
the seventeenth century, was a native of Aberdeen, but
the period of his birth has not been specified. His father
was Alexander Donaldson, who is described as an esquire,
his mother was Elizabeth the daughter of David Lamb of
Dunkenny.1 In his youth, as he himself informs us, he
attended David Cunningham, bishop of Aberdeen, and
Sir Peter Young, during their embassy to the king of
Denmark and to some of the princes of Germany. He
returned to Scotland, but after a short residence he again
visited the continent; and he now prosecuted his studies
in the university of Heidelberg, where the civil law was
ably taught by the elder Gothofredus. It was perhaps in
this university that he took the degree of LL. D.2 While
he resided at Heidelberg, he appears to have taken private
pupils; for he mentions that he there read to some stu¬
dents a synopsis of ethics, which a young man named
Werner Becker, a native of Riga, published without his
consent or knowledge. This work, which was reprinted
in Britain as well as in Germany, bears the title of “ Sy¬
nopsis Moralis Philosophic, in. libris.” J3x qfficina Pal-
theniorum, 1604, 8vo. He likewise complains that Keck-
ermann had too unscrupulously availed himself of his la¬
bours, and he specifies a curious instance of this plagia¬
rism. Donaldson afterwards settled in France, where he
was appointed principal of the College of Sedan, and at
the same time discharged the duties of professor of moral
and natural philosophy, and of the Greek language; so that
his attainments must have been various, and his labours
not inconsiderable. In this protestant seminary he was
associated with two of his learned countrymen : Andrew
Melville was one of the professors of divinity, and John
Smith was one of the professors of philosophy.3 His next
publication, an arrangement in Greek and Latin of pas¬
sages extracted from Diogenes Laertius, is entitled “ Sy¬
nopsis Locorum Communium, in qua Philosophise Ortus,
Progressus, &c. ex Diogene Laertio digeruntur.” Fran-
cof. 1612, 8vo. At Sedan he continued to reside for the
space of sixteen years, and was then invited to open a
college at Charenton, near Paris ; but the attempt was im¬
mediately resisted, and it seems to have been ultimately
frustrated by the jealousy of the papists. In order to oc¬
cupy himself during the dependance of the legal process,
he prepared for the press another learned work: “ Synop¬
sis Oeconomica, authore G. Donaldsono Scoto-Britanno,
Abredonensi, J. C. ad celsissimum Carolum, Wallise Prin-
cipem.” Paris. 1620, 8vo. It was reprinted at Rostock,
1624, 8vo. And another edition speedily followed, Fran-
cofurti, 1625, 8vo. Bayle considered this as a book which
deserved to be read.4 With respect to the subsequent
history of the author, we have not been able to collect
any information ; but it is not improbable that he resumed
his station at Sedan, and there ended his days. Elizabeth
Goffin, describing herself as the widow of Donaldson, ad¬
dressed to Sir John Scot a letter dated at Sedan on the
15th of April 1630.5 From this letter it appears that he
left several children. (x.)
1 Litera Prosapioe Alexandri Donaldson, Medicinae Doctoris, dated at Edinburgh 15 November 1C42, This is the son of Walter
Donaldson. MS. Adv. Lib. W. G. 26. p. 21. According to this account, one of his ancestors was Elizabeth Hay, daughter of George
earl of Errol.
* In the attested pedigree already quoted, we find mention made “ Walter! Donaldson, Armigeri, Utriusque Juris Doctoris apud
lluppellam in Gallia;” but as Rochelle was not the seat of a university, we cannot but suspect the accuracy of the statement. A
college, including a principal and four regents, was established there in the year 1561 ; but it did not obtain the privileges of a uni¬
versity, and had no law faculty, and no professor of law. (Expilly, Dictionnaire Geographique, Historique, et Politique des Gaules
et de la France, tom. vi. p. 354.)
J MlCrie’s Life of Melville, voL ii. p. 420.
4 Bayle, Dictionaire Historique et Critique, tom. ii. p. 1013.
4 Epistohe doctorum Virorum ad Jo. Scotum, N° 227. MS. Adv. Lib. In the pedigree, she is described as the legitimate daugh-
110 DON
Donaria DONARIA, among the ancients, in its primary signi-
II. fication, meant the places where the oblations offered to
^ie £°ds were kept; but it was afterwards used to denote
the offerings themselves, and sometimes, though impro¬
perly, the temples.
DONATION {Donatio), an act or contract by which a
man transfers to another either the property or the use of
the whole or a part of his effects as a free gift.
DONATISTS, ancient schismatics in Africa, so deno¬
minated from their leader Donatus. This sect arose in
the year 311, when, in the room of Mensurius, who died
in that year on his return to Rome, Csecilian was elected
bishop of Carthage, and consecrated by the African bishops
alone, without the concurrence of those of Numidia. The
people refused to acknowledge him, and set up in opposi¬
tion Majorinus, who, accordingly, was ordained by Donatus
bishop of Casae Nigrae. The Donatists were condemned,
in a council held at Rome, two years after their separation ;
again, in another held at Arles the year following; and a
third time at Milan in 316, before Constantine the Great,
who deprived them of their churches, sent their seditious
bishops into banishment, and even punished some of them
with death. Their cause was espoused by another Donatus,
called the Great, the principal bishop of that sect, who,
with numbers of his followers, was exiled by order of Con-
stans. Many of them were punished with great severity.
However, after the accession of Julian to the throne in
362, they were permitted to return, and restored to their
former liberty. But Gratian published several edicts
against them, and in 377 deprived them of their churches,
and prohibited all their assemblies. Yet notwithstanding
the severities which they suffered, it appears that towards
the close of this century they had a very considerable num¬
ber of churches; but about the same time they began to
decline, on account of a schism among themselves, occa¬
sioned by the election of two bishops, in the room of Par-
menian, the successor of Donatus; one party elected Pri-
mian, and were called Primianists, and another Maxi-
mian, and were called Maximianists. Their decline was
also precipitated by the zealous opposition of St Augus¬
tin, and by the violent measures which were pursued
against them by order of the Emperor Honorius, at the
solicitation of two councils held at Carthage, the one in
404, and the other in 411. Many of them were fined,
the bishops were banished, and some were put to death.
This sect revived and multiplied under the protection of
the Vandals, who invaded Africa in 427, and took pos¬
session of this province; but it sunk again under new se¬
verities, when their empire was overturned in 534. Ne¬
vertheless they remained in a separate body till the close
of this century, when Gregory, the Roman pontiff, having
used various methods for suppressing them, his zeal at
length succeeded, and there are few traces to be found of
the Donatists after this period. They were distinguished
by other appellations, as Circumcellioms, Montenses or
Mountaineers, Campites, llupites, and so on. They held
three councils, or conciliabules, one at Cyrta in Numidia,
and two at Carthage.
The errors of the Donatists, besides their schism, con¬
sisted in holding that baptism conferred out of the church,
that is, out of their sect, was null (for which reason they re¬
baptized those who joined their party from other churches,
and re-ordained their ministers), and that theirs was the
only true, pure, and holy church, all the rest of the
churches being regarded as prostitute and fallen.
D' O N
Donatus seems likewise to have inclined to the doctrine Donat
of the Arians, with whom he was closely allied; and ac- II
cordingly St Epiphanius, Theodoret, and some others, ac- ^onca'
cused the Donatists of Arianism ; nor is it improbable that
the charge was well founded, because they were patro¬
nized by the Vandals, who maintained that doctrine. But
St Augustin affirms that the Donatists, in this point, kept
clear of the errors of their leader.
DONATIVE {Donativum), a present made by any per¬
son, and called also gratuity.
The Romans made large donatives to their soldiers,
and hence the soldiers in time became the masters of the
Romans. Julia Pia, wife of the Emperor Severus, is call¬
ed on certain medals mater castrorum, because of the care
she took of the soldiery, by interposing for the augmenta¬
tion of their donatives.
Donative was properly a gift made to the soldiery, as
congiarium was a gift made to the people. Salmasius, in
his notes to Lampridius’s Life of Heliogabalus, in men¬
tioning a donative which that emperor gave of three pieces
of gold per head, observes, that this was the common and
legitimate rate of a donative. Casaubon, in his notes on
the Life of Pertinax by Capitolinus, observes, that Per-
tinax made a promise of 3000 denarii to each soldier, or
upwards of L.97 sterling. The same author writes, that
the legal donative was 20,000 denarii; that it was not
customary to give less, especially to the praetorian sol¬
diers ; and that the centurions had double, and the tri¬
bunes more in proportion.
Donative, in the canon law, a benefice given and col¬
lated to a person by the founder or patron, without either
presentation, institution, or induction by the ordinary.
DONATO, a town of Italy, in the grand duchy of Par¬
ma, at which is a medicinal bath. It contains 2200 inha¬
bitants.
Donato, a town of Italy, in the province Terra di
Lavoro, of the kingdom of Naples, with 2390 inhabitants.
DONATORY, in Scotch Law, that person to whom the
king bestows his right to any forfeiture which has fallen
to the crown.
DONATUS, a schismatic bishop of Carthage, founder
of the sect of Donatists. His followers honoured him
like a god. He died about the year 368.
Donatus, JElius, a grammarian, who lived at Rome
about the middle of the fourth century. He was one of
St Jerome s masters, and composed commentaries on Te¬
rence and Virgil.
DONAUESCHINGEN, a city of Baden, in the circle
of the Lake. The source of the Danube is here in the
court of the palace of the Prince of Furstenburg, who is
the chief proprietor. The city walls are destroyed. It
contains 350 houses, with 2083 inhabitants employed in
various handicraft trades.
DONAWERTH, a bailiwick in the circle of Upper
Danube, of the kingdom of Bavaria. It extends over
seventy-four square miles, or 47,360 English acres, and
contains one city and twenty-eight villages, with 8353 in¬
habitants. It is a fertile district, and yields good corn, to¬
bacco, and fruit. The capital, of the same name, is on the
Danube, and contains 503 houses, and 2431 inhabitants,
who are employed in manufactures from wool, hemp, and
flax.
DONCASTER, a large town in the wapentake of Straf-
forth and Tickhill, in the county of York, 158 miles from
London. It is a well-built town, and occupies a fine situa-
ter “ Joannis Goffan de Mostancells prope seden, et Joan, de Hen." For seden, we must apparently read Sedanum. The entire
transcript, which is in the hand-writing of Robert IVlyln, is far from being accurate. In the preceding line, Donaldson's wife is
called Hoffan. Her real name appears to have been Goffin.
?
DON DON in
ondra- tion on r‘ver Don, which is thus far navigable. It is
lead, celebrated for the wealth of its corporation, the races
|| which are annually held here, and for its magnificent
inegal. church. These attractions have drawn many residents, who
subsist on moderate fortunes. The first power-looms were
attempted here near forty years ago. There is some trade
by the river, and a large market held on Saturday. The
inhabitants amounted in 1801 to 5697, in 1811 to 6935,
in 1821 to 8544, and in 1831 to 10,801.
DONDR AHEAD, a low point of land which forms the
southern extremity of the island of Ceylon, adjacent to
which is a populous village, where are still to be seen the
remains of a Hindu temple, which bears marks of having
once been a magnificent structure, and contiguous to it a
smaller one dedicated to Boodha. Long. 80. 40. E. Lat.
5. 50. N.
DONEGAL, the most north-western county in the pro¬
vince of Ulster, in Ireland, is bounded on the north and
west by the Atlantic Ocean, on the east by the counties
of Londonderry and Tyrone, and on the south by those of
Fermanagh and Leitrim, and by the ocean. It contains
1,165,107 acres, or 1820 square miles, of which not more
than 520,736 acres are arable, the remainder, amounting
to 644,371 acres, being mountain and bog. In shape it
somewhat resembles arhomboidal quadrangle, indented on
its maritime sides by numerous deep bays and inlets; its
longer diameter, measured in a north-eastern direction
from Tellen Head to Malin Head, being eighty-five miles ;
its shorter, extending in a south-eastern line, from Bloody
Farland Point to the town of Lifford, forty-two miles.
According to Ptolemy, the Erdini and Yenicnii were its
ancient inhabitants. During the earlier period of its his¬
tory, subsequently to the time of Henry II., it was more
generally known by the name of Tyrconnell, and comprised
the country of the O’Doherties, and that of two branches of
the M'Swineys, besides whom the O’Gallaghers, O’Clerys,
O’Donells, O’Boyles, and M‘Canmeys, were leading fa¬
milies or septs. It is now divided into the six baronies of
Baimagh, Boylagh, Innishowen, Kilmacrenan, Raphoe,
and Tyrhugh, which are subdivided into fifty-nine pa¬
rishes, besides four parts of parishes, the remainders of
which extend into the adjoining counties. In the com¬
mencement of the reign of James I. the number of pa¬
rishes was eighty-nine.
The county comprises the whole of the episcopal see of
Raphoe, and a small part of that of Derry. The cathedral,
which is built in Raphoe, a town otherwise of little noto¬
riety, serves also for the parish church. Four clergymen’s
widows are lodged and maintained in the town upon a
foundation of a bishop of the name of Foster, who also
founded a free school here, and erected a building for a
library, the books of which are a bequest from Dr Hall
of Irinity College, Dublin. The diocese contains thirty-
seven parishes, in which there are thirty-three churches.
The total of the glebe land throughout the diocese is es¬
timated at 11,370 acres of ground of every quality, giv¬
ing an average of 307 acres to each parish. The bishop’s
income, according to a return made to parliament in 1831,
18 D5379. 14s. Id. The barony of Innishowen, and the
adjoining district, in the vicinity of the city of London¬
derry, are in Derry diocese.
The face of the country in the south and east is compa¬
ratively level; all the western and northern regions are
mountainous, interspersed, however, with valleys and oc¬
casional expanses of good land. The most fertile and im¬
proved part is the barony of Raphoe, containing the towns
ol Raphoe, Lifford, and Stranorlar, and embracing a tract
about twenty miles long by twelve broad. The soil is good
for potatoes, oats, barley, and flax; but wheat, though it
thrives in some parts, particularly along the course of the
Finn river, is not much cultivated. The southern extremi- Donegal,
ty of the county, in which the town of Ballyshannon stands,
can also boast of some rich soil. The mountainous district,
which spreads over more than one half of the county, after
sloping from Belleek, on the borders of Fermanagh, in the
south, to Barnesmore Hills northwards, turns westwards
along the sea coast, by Killibegs, to the great promontory
of 1 ellen Head ; thence it spreads northwards over the
waste expanse of the Rosses, and round by the north coast
to Lough Swilly, and by Londonderry through Innishowen
barony to Malin Head and Greencastle, where it is inter¬
rupted by Lough foyle, but shows itself again in the
northern parts of the counties of Londonderry and An¬
trim. The highest of these mountains is that of Arragh,
which rises 2220 feet above the level of the sea, and is
remarkable, not only for its superior elevation, but for one
of the whin-dikes that are to be met with in Ireland only
near the northern coasts ; the dike rising forty feet perpen¬
dicularly, like a partition wall. Muckish Mountain, in Kil¬
macrenan barony, and Slieve Snaght, in Innishowen, are
also of considerable height.
The soil is in general light, with a gravelly subsoil;
though in some parts, as in the neighbourhood of Bally¬
shannon and Donegal, in the south, it is deep and rich,
chiefly resting on a bed of limestone. The mountainous dis¬
tricts, though presenting little to excite the speculations of
the agriculturist, possess much to attract the attention of
the admirer of nature and the investigations of the scientific
inquirer. The rugged precipitous declivities, intersected
by winding bays and lakes imbedded in the valleys, exhi¬
bit an ever-changing variety of picturesque and magnifi¬
cent scenery. The geological aspect of these regions af¬
fords indications of internal wealth which give ample
grounds for regret that they have been so seldom made
the subject of scientific research. The minerals as yet
discovered are lead and iron. Mines of the latter of these
metals were formerly wrought in the parish of Temple-
carne, until relinquished in consequence of the failure of •
timber for fuel. Manganese, yellow pyrites, and clay for
potteries and brick-making, are also found. Siliceous sand,
raised in Muckish Mountain, was conveyed in large quan¬
tities to Belfast for the manufacture of glass. Indications
of coal have been observed near Lough Swilly, and at
Inver on the southern coast.
The rivers, with the exception of the Foyle, which forms
the boundary between this county and Tyrone and Lon¬
donderry, though numerous, are of very inferior size. The
branches of the Foyle which rise in Donegal are the Derg,
the Finn, and the Swilly, all of which originate in the cen¬
tral part of the county. The river itself, augmented by their
contributions, and by those of several other branches from
Tyrone and Londonderry, proceeds in a northern direc¬
tion, and discharges itself into the southern extremity of
Lough Foyle, at the city of Londonderry. It is navigable
for vessels of large burden to this place, where their farther
progress is prevented by a bridge; and thence by lighters
of fifty tons as far as Lifford. Boats of fourteen tons can
proceed up the Finn River as far as Castlefinn. The Erne
flows from Lough Erne through the southern extremity of
the countyjnto Ballyshannon Bay. Its navigation is pre¬
vented by a fall of twelve feet in the neighbourhood of
Ballyshannon, and by another of thirty feet at Belleek, on
the confines of Fermanagh. The Guibarra, the Awen Ea,
and the Eask, are the only other rivers of any note.
Lakes are numerous but small. Lough Derg, situate in
Tyrhugh barony, between the counties of Tyrone and Fer¬
managh, is the most celebrated, yet not so much on ac¬
count of its size, which is insignificant, or its scenic beau¬
ties, of which it possesses little, as from an island in it,
named St Patrick’s Purgatory, which is one of the most
112 DONEGAL.
Donegal, celebrated places of resort for pilgrims and devotees in
Ireland. The extent of the island is less than an acre.
The cave styled the Purgatory is formed of freestone; it
is sixteen feet in length, two and a quarter in breadth, and
so low that a man cannot stand upright in it. Several at¬
tempts made by the Roman Catholic hierarchy and by the
government to prevent the performance of the ceremonies
annually practised here have failed; it still continues to
be a favourite place of worship. Loughs Eask, Ea, Gar-
tan, Fearn, Finn, and Veagh, are worthy of note only as
being the sources of some of the rivers which irrigate the
country.
The bays and smaller inlets of the sea are numerous.
Ballyshannon harbour, the most southern of them, is small,
and has a bar at its mouth, as has Donegal and Inver har¬
bours farther west. Killibegs harbour is well sheltered,
and capable of receiving large vessels. On the western
coast are Bruckles or M'Swiney’s Bay, and Tellen har¬
bour, suitable for small vessels ; and on the north is Sheep
Haven, within which is Dunfanaghy Bay, where the lar¬
gest ships may lie in safety, as they may also in Mulroy
Bay, farther east. Still farther eastwards is Lough Swilly,
a capacious basin, plunging deep into the land, of easy
access, and fit for vessels of any burden. Lough Foyle,
the boundary between Donegal and Londonderry, may be
more properly considered to belong to the latter county.
The islands of Arran constitute a small archipelago on
the western coast, near the district called the Rosses.
The herring fishery was carried on here with great spirit
about fifty years ago, but is now nearly extinct, in conse¬
quence of the fish deserting the coast. A town called
Rutland was built on Innismacdurn, one of these islands,
for cflring and exporting the fish. Tory Island lies off the
northern coast, about eight miles from shore. The inha¬
bitants have little intercourse with the rest of the county;
they maintain themselves chiefly by fishing and making
kelp. An engagement between an English and French
squadron took place near this island in 1798. On Ennis-
trahul Island, off Malin Head, there is a lighthouse. Inch
Island, in the southern extremity of Lough Swilly, is of
considerable size.
The following table affords a correct view of the names,
extent, and population of the islands along the coast of
Donegal, as far as their points have been ascertained,
commencing with the most southern.
Name.
Situation.
Extent in
Acres.
Population.
1. Dromore 
2. Rosmore 
3. Innisduff 
4. Rockliburn....
5. Ronanish 
6. Inniskeel 
7. Inniskerah 
Donegal Bay 
Donegal Bay 
Killibeg’s Harbour
Tellen Head 
Daurus Head 
8. Eddernish 
9. Eighter 
10. Innisal 
11. Innisdurnorl
Rutland j
12. Inniscoo 
13. Tully 
14. Duck 
15. Islandcroan...
16. Arranmore....
17. Illanganna 
18. CruitorCroit..
19. Owey  
(Templecroan 1
( parish j
Ditto 
Ditto 
Ditto.
183
Ditto
Ditto
Ditto
Ditto
Ditto
Ditto
Ditto
Ditto
2500
13
16
5
47
11
42
32
173
53
44
5
Uninhab.
1010
335
76
Done
The last of these returns gives an average of one indivi¬
dual to every four acres, or one family to every twenty-
four acres ; but if the arable land alone be considered, the
average will be reduced to an individual to every two acres,
or one family to twelve acres.
The representation in parliament is limited to the two
county members. In the Irish parliament it had no less than
twelve members ; two for the county, and two for each of
the boroughs of Ballyshannon, Donegal, Killibegs, Lifford,
and Johnstown. The following table shows the variations
of the constituency arising from the disfranchisement of
the forty-shilling freeholders in 1829, and the subsequent
alterations arising out of the provisions of the reform
act:—
Situation.
Extent in
Acres.
Population.
20. Innisfree 
21. Gola 
22. Innismana 
23. Innisirhir 
24. Innisinny 
25. Reinrenny 
26. Innisbofin 
27. Innisduh or
Dowey
28. Innisbeg.
29. Tory 
30. Reagh or Ray
31. Inch 
32. Aughnish 
33. Big 
34. Manor Cun- 1
ningham... J
35. Clonmess 
36. Seal 
37. Ennistrahul...
f Templecroan ^
( parish j
Ditto   
Ditto 
Ditto 
Ditto  
Ditto... 
f Bloody Far- (
( land Point J
Ditto 
Ditto 
Ditto 
Mulroy Bay 
Lough Swilly...
Ditto 
Ditto 
Ditto 
Sheephaven 
Malin Head 
Ditto 
180
400
1200
2606
171
36
5
6
6
14
252
22
Uninhab.
296
33
1094
18
15
Uninhab.
Uninhab.
Uninhab.
The returns of the population, made at several periods
by different authorities, give the following result:—
1789 Gewas P. Bushe, Esq 140,000
1812 Parliamentary census No return.
1821 Ditto   248,270
1831 Ditto 298,194.
Number of Electors of the
Year. L.100. L.50.
1st Jan. 1829,   52
1st Jan. 1830,   35
1st May 1831,   811
1st Jan. 1832,  
40s. Total.
2310 2381
  667
92 66   969
  1458
various rates of Suffrage.
L.20. L.10.
19  
65 567
The preservation of the peace is entrusted to a force of
six chief and ninety petty constables, acting under the
authority of the magistrates, and maintained at an ex¬
pense of L.5840, being an average of somewhat more than
L.60 a man by the year.
The parliamentary returns as to the state of education
in 1821 and 1824-26 give the following results :—
Boys. Girls. Unascertained. Total.
1821 5866 3655 —  9521
1824-26 7991 5474 337 13,802
Of the number in the latter of these returns, 4055 were
of the established church, 6603 were Roman Catholics,
3058 dissenters, and eighty-six whose religious persuasion
had not been stated. The total number of schools was
399; of these, 258, containing 7764 pupils, were wholly
1
1
D O N E G A L.
113
J) erral. maintained by the fees of the pupils ; eighty-eight schools,
containing 4738 pupils, were supported by the voluntary
contributions of societies or individuals; and but fifty-three
schools, containing 3007 pupils, received grants of public
money through the agency of a public board. A gram¬
mar school was founded in the town of Raphoe by James
L, and endowed with a large grant of lands, which it still
continues to enjoy under the regulations of commissioners
appointed by the crown. Major Robinson, the son of a
clergyman in Donegal town, bequeathed a large property
for the maintenance of a school in every parish in the
diocese of Raphoe, from which every teacher was to re¬
ceive an annual salary of L.15.
The manners and habits of the people differ much, ac¬
cording to the local circumstances of the district they in¬
habit. The lowland and fertile districts are chiefly peopled
by an industrious and comfortable yeomanry, composed of
small farmers and artizans whose modes of life differ little
from those in similar circumstances in the adjoining coun¬
ties. In the mountainous and less cultivated tracts the
want of a free intercourse, and the consequent tardy
spread of manufacturing and agricultural improvement,
have occasioned a corresponding tardiness in refinement of
manners. Yet, so far as the state of crime may lead to a
conclusion on this point, the population, though backward
in the knowledge of the useful arts, are stained with few
of the vices which indicate a demoralized state of society.
Out of the total number of committals in 1830, amounting
to 781, there were but 406 convictions ; but three of these
were capital, for horse stealing, and were commuted to
transportation for life, and four were for transportation for
seven years. Of the remainder, ninety were for illicit dis¬
tillation, and thirty-seven for riotous assemblages, arising
in many cases from the previously named offence. The
nature of the country peculiarly favours the operations of
the unlicensed distiller; but late statutes, mitigating the
demoralizing severity of the revenue code, have already
in some degree checked the practice. The houses, parti¬
cularly in the mountainous parts, are poor. Little atten¬
tion is paid to cleanliness. The pigs and other cattle, if
any, are housed in them along with the family. The fuel
is everywhere turf; the food potatoes and oaten bread,
with milk and butter occasionally, and fish if near the sea.
The men are clothed in home-made frieze, the women
chiefly in cheap cottons. The Irish language still main¬
tains its ground in the retired parts, though its use is every
year diminishing. Adepts in the language consider the
dialect spoken in this county as the purest known.
The modes of agriculture present little peculiar to the
county. The spade still supplies the place of the plough
in those parts where the rocky nature of the soil prevents
the profitable application of the latter implement. In the
southern parts a narrow spade with a long handle, and a
resting place for the foot only on one side, is in common
use. It is called a loy, and is peculiarly adapted to stiff
clayey soils. Potatoes are planted with an implement
called a steveen or kibbin, formed of a stake about four
feet long, shod with iron, and having near the point a cross
rest for the foot to act on when forcing it into the ridge ;
and the seed is dropt into the hole thus made. The cattle
which are grazed on the coarse mountain pastures are sub¬
ject to a kind of rheumatic affection called the cruppan.
The animal becomes crippled, and, in the more aggravated
stages of the disorder, is totally deprived of the use of its
limbs; the hair on the back starts up, and atrophy succeeds,
which terminates in death. The means of cure found
most successful is the removal of the diseased animal to
soil of another quality. If, however, it should remain for
a year on the soil which cures this disorder, it is liable to
VOL. VIII.
be attacked by another, called the galar, which causes a Donegal,
discharge of blood, followed by death unless prevented by
a transfer to the pastures which had produced the former
complaint. Horses are not subject to this latter malady.
Feeding on cabbage and sea-rack has been suggested as a
means for preventing the ravages of the cruppan. On the
shores of Innisfree, one of the islands of North Arran, a
species of grass, called by the inhabitants sweet-grass,
springs up twelve feet under tide-mark of spring tides. It
grows to the length of two or three yards, and is about
the breadth of a compressed wheaten straw. At the
lowest ebb of the spring tide the cattle run instinctively
from the mountains to feed on this herb, as the greatest
luxury, and persevere in so doing regularly at the particular
period when the recess of the water leaves the plant ex¬
posed. In the mountain farms the fences are very bad,
being formed of low turf ditches. In many cases the use
of fences is disregarded, as a person is either sent to herd
the cattle, or they are confined by tethers. The care ge¬
nerally taken to house cattle, in order to prevent the at¬
tacks of the cruppan, and to collect manure, renders the
want of fences less injurious.
The manures in the neighbourhood of the sea are chiefly
sea-weed, shelly sand, and house dung. Although the
tract from Ballyshannon to Killibegs abounds with lime¬
stone and marl, the use of these as manures is not so great
as their value, and the facilities of procuring them, would
lead those unacquainted with the habits of the people to
expect. Irrigation is general, and much encouraged by
the landlords. Farming societies have been formed, and
premiums offered, in order to excite a spirit of emulation
in introducing improved modes of agriculture.
The herring fishery was carried on about fifty years ago
to a great extent, and with considerable success, in the dis¬
trict of the Rosses, on the western coast. In the years
1784-85 the winter fishing produced LAO,000, and supplied
cargoes for 300 vessels each year. Such was the success,
that a fishing town, named Rutland, with suitable stores
and curing houses, was built on the island of Innismacdurn ;
but the fishery shortly after declined, and has never re¬
gained its former character. The decay has been attri¬
buted to the summer fishing of what are called sprats, but
thought to be the young herrings, which are thus car¬
ried off in myriads in a less profitable shape, and the full-
grown fish deterred from the coast. Still, however, the
fishery is carried on, though on a very reduced and fluctu¬
ating scale. The white fishery has latterly been more pro¬
fitable. The following table will show the progress of both
kinds, and the state of the fishing vessels during the period
that the fisheries of Ireland were under the superinten¬
dence of a board empowered to make grants and loans of
public money for their improvement.
Number of Vessels and of Men registered and employed in
the Fisheries of Donegal.
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
Decked.
Half
Decked.
^afl1 L°w Boats.
9
13
15
16
17
17
19
19
21
505
1092
1114
892
987
1050
1125
1187
1259
Men.
4628
5789
5900
4693
5245
5484
5943
6361
6633
DON
DON
114
Donegal.
Number of Barrels of Herrings, and Cwts. of White Fish, marked for the Production Bounty, with the
amount of Bounty granted.
BARRELS HERRINGS.
Years.
1822
1828
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
Gutted
with a
Knife.
346
766
1488
934
1821
1981
2083
356
Gutted
other¬
wise.
122
20
6
Bounty.
L.99 5 9
131 16 10
323 12 7
203 1 10
366 6‘ 9
299 16 6
247 0 6
17 16 6
Cod.
40
224
196
747
263
1546
893
1952
4126
CWTS. WHITE FISH.
Ling.
26
75
52
138
155
280
72
148
181
Hake.
71
201
728
1783
3695
3019
2885
3186
3740
Had¬
dock.
Glassen.
82
127
66
347
279
2342
628
2176
3461
Total
Cwts.
219
627
1042
2272
4398
7187
4478
7462
11508
"1
Bounty.
L.47 9 0
131 19 0
222 1
640 19
874 14
1215 4
1052 2
1831 12 0
1636 6 0
Donj
Bonis
The fishery board also granted money in aid of building
fishing piers at Green Castle in Lough Foyle, and Doagh-
beg in Lough Swilly. In the project for the plantation of
Ulster, drawn up in the early part of the reign of James
L, twenty-five places in this county are named as being
approved stations for the salmon, herring, and ling fishery".
The principal salmon fishery at present is at Ballyshannon.
Whale and sun-fish have been taken near the coast.
Manufactures never extend much beyond what the im¬
mediate demand of the population calls for. They are
chiefly confined to linens and coarse woollens called friezes,
of which latter a light blue is the favourite colour.
Numerous x*uins of ancient castles along the coast prove
that much attention was formerly paid to the defence of
the country from invasion, or, what was more to be dread¬
ed, piratical depredations. The principal are, Kilbarron
Castle, near Ballyshannon ; Donegal Castle, built by
O’Donell; Burt and Inch Castles, both built in Lough
Swilly, by Sir Cahir O’Dogherty, to whom is also attribut¬
ed the erection of Green Castle on Lough Foyle. Near
the Castle of Doe, or M‘Swiney’s Castle, at Horn Head, is
a natural perforation in the roof of a cave, wrought by the
woi'kings of the ocean into the overhanging clilf. It is
called M‘Swiney’s Gun. When the wind blows due north,
and the tide is at half flood, the gun is seen to spout up
jets of sea water to a great height, attended with ex¬
plosions which are said to be beard in favourable weather
at more than twenty miles distance. Culmore Fort, on
the coast of Lough Swilly, is still maintained as a military
station, at least so far as to afford a respectable income to
some military person who performs the nominal duties of
governor there.
Traces of religious houses, some however existing only
in traditionary or documental records, are also numerous.
Ashroe Abbey, on the Erne river, near Ballyshannon, was
of great extent. The ruins of that of Donegal also afford
proofs of its ancient grandeur. But its memory will be
held in greater veneration by the lovers of antiquity for
another reason. In it was written the celebrated collec¬
tion of ancient Irish annals, still known by the name of the
Annals of the Four Masters, compiled in the year 1632,
by Michael O’Clery and his learned coadjutors, fellow
brothers in that house, by the instigation and at the ex¬
pense of Fergal O’Gara, lord of.Moy O'Gara and Cool-
avin, in the county of Sligo. The original of this curious
and highly valuable manuscript is now lodged in the li¬
brary of the Royal Irish Academy.
The towns in this county are few and insignificant.
Lifford, the county town, is situated near its south-eastern
extremity, on the river Foyle, and communicates by a
bridge with Strabane, on the eastern bank of the same
river, insomuch that it might almost be considered rather
as a suburb of this more populous town, than as the me¬
tropolis of a county. Its population in 1821 amounted only
to 976 souls. It can boast of no public buildings but those
which owe their existence to the rank for which its posi¬
tion is so ill adapted, as attendance at the assizes here
must be extremely inconvenient to residents in most of
the other towns, which are chiefly near the sea-coas.t, at
the other extremities. The buildings are a court-house,
a prison, and an infirmary.
The reason given for fixing on a situation for the county
town so inconvenient to the resident inhabitants, was,
that the judges and barristers were saved the trouble of
travelling far into a county in which the roads at that time
were few and ill constructed, and the accommodation in
the inns very inferior. The other towns of any consequence,
with their population in 1821, are as follows:
Name. Population.
Ballyshannon 3831
Letterkenny 2458
llaphoe 1433
Name. Population.
Ramelten 1247
Ballybofey  920
Donegal  696
Ballyshannon, situate at the embouchure of the Erne,
which is here crossed by a bridge of nine arches, is worthy
of notice for its trade, the chief articles of which are corn
and salmon ; for the remains of antiquity in its immediate
vicinity ; and for the picturesque scenery with which it is
surrounded, and which is much heightened by the salmon
leap across the river.
DONGOLA, or Dankala, a town on the Nile, and ca¬
pital of the district of Nubia. It stands on the declivity
of a dry, arenaceous hill, and the streets are almost choked
with sand brought down from the mountains behind by the
floods. The houses are low and ill built. The castle is
situated in the middle of the town, and is spacious, but
badly fortified. The horses of Dongola are highly prized ;
they are remarkably beautiful, and their riders are very
skilful. When the Mamelukes were expelled from Egypt,
a party of those who escaped took possession of Dongola,
and erected there a species of petty sovereignty. Their
number, however, does not exceed 500, with from 3000 to
6000 negro slaves. Long. 32. 0. E. Lat. 19. 20. N.
DONKAW, a circle in the Russian government of
Riasan, bounded on the north by Skopin, on the north¬
east by Miahsh, on the east by Ranenburg, on the south
by Tambow, and on the west by Tula. It is watered by the
river Don, and has but little wood, but some good arable
land, producing rye and other corn, and feeding black
D O O
)nnne cattle. The inhabitants amount to 75,500. The chief
|| town, of the same name, is situated on the Don, and con-
oonah. ta;ns six churches, a monastery, 351 houses, and 2100
inhabitants.
DONNE, Dr John, a poet and divine, was born in tbe
city of London in 1753. His parents were of the Catholic
religion, and used their utmost efforts to keep him firm in
the same persuasion ; but an early examination of tbe con¬
troversy between the church of Rome and the Protestants
determined him to adhere to the creed of the latter. He
travelled into Italy and Spain, where he made many use¬
ful observations, and learned the languages of both coun¬
tries to perfection. Soon after his return to England, Sir
Thomas Egerton, keeper of the great seal, appointed him
his secretary, and in this post he continued during five
years. He married privately Anne, the daughter of Sir
George Moore, then chancellor of the garter, and niece
to the lord keeper’s lady, in consequence of which he was
dismissed from his place and thrown into prison. But he
was afterwards reconciled to Sir George by the good offices
of Sir Francis Wooley. In 1612 he accompanied Sir Ro¬
bert Drury to Paris. During this time many of the nobi¬
lity solicited the king to give him some secular employ¬
ment. But his majesty, who took pleasure in his conver¬
sation, had engaged him in writing his Pseudo-Martyr,
printed at London in 1610 ; and he was so highly pleased
with that work, that, in 1614, having prevailed on the au¬
thor to enter into holy orders, he appointed him one of his
chaplains, and procured him the degree of doctor of divi¬
nity from the university of Oxford. In 1619 Dr Donne
attended the Earl of Doncaster in his embassy into Ger¬
many. In 1621 he was made dean of St Paul’s; and the
vicarage of St Dunstan in the West soon afterwards fell
to him. Besides the above work, he wrote, 1. Devotions
upon emergent Occasions; 2. The Ancient History of the
Septuagint, translated from the Greek of Aristeas, 1633,
in 12mo ; 3. Three volumes of Sermons, 1640, 1649, 1660,
folio ; 4. A considerable number of Poems; and other
works.
Donne’s writings show him to have been a man of wit
and learning; but his greatest excellence consisted in
satire. Lord Falkland, no mean judge, styles him one of
the most witty and most eloquent of modern divines. Flis
reputation as a poet was higher in his own time than it
has been since. Dryden, with his usual judgment and
discrimination, characterises him as “ the greatest wit,
though not the best poet, of our own nation and adds,
that “ he affects metaphysics, not only in his satires, but
in his amorous verses, where nature only should reign,
and perplexes the minds of the fair sex with nice specula¬
tions of philosophy, when he should engage their hearts,
and entertain them with the softnesses of love.” Donne’s
numbers, if they may be so called, are certainly the most
rugged and uncouth of any of our poets ; yet he was cer¬
tainly not ignorant nor unskilled in the higher attributes
of style, for he wrote elegantly in Latin, and displays con¬
siderable taste in some of his smaller pieces and epigrams.
DONNINGTON, a market-town of the hundred of Kir-
ton, in the county of Lincoln, 106 miles from London, and
situated in a fenny district, having a water communication
with Boston. The market is on Saturday. The inhabi¬
tants amounted in 1801 to 1321, in 1811 to 1528, in 1821
to 1638, and in 1831 to 1759.
DONSKAIA, a fortress of Asiatic Russia, situated on
the brook Taschle, the first of a chain of posts established
between the Sea of Azof and the Caspian. It contains
about forty bouses; and adjacent to it is a village of Cos¬
sacks. It is 116 miles nortb-nortb-west of Ekaterinograd.
DOOMSDAY Book. See Domesday Book.
DOONAH, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
DOR
Gundwana, thirty miles south from the town of Gurrah.
Long. 80. 3. E. Lat. 22. 48. N.
DOONDEAKERA, a town of Hindustan, in the pro¬
vince of Oude, situated on the north-east side of the Gan¬
ges. The adjacent country abounds with game and wild
cattle of a small breed. Long. 80. 40. E. Lat. 26. 12. N.
DOORNICK. See Tournai.
DOORYGHAUT, a town of Hindustan , in the province
of Allahabad, and district of Gazypoor, situated on the
south side of the Goggrath, and seventy miles north-east
from Benares. Long. 83. 31. E. Lat. 26 15. N.
DOORYDROOG, a fortress of the south of India, in
the province of Mysore, situated on a rock. Long. 77.
25. E. Lat. 13. 27. N.
DOOSHAK, a town of Persia, the capital of the province
of Seistan, situated in an open country, about eight or
nine miles from the river Heermund or Helmund. The
modern city is small, but compact; and the ruins cover a
vast extent of ground. It is populous, has a good bazar,
and the inhabitants, dressed in the Persian manner, have a
more civilized appearance than the other natives of Seis¬
tan, who are either Patan or Balouche shepherds, and
live a wandering life, pitching their tents amidst the ruins
of ancient palaces. The neighbouring country produces
wheat and barley in sufficient quantities to be exported to
Herat. The pasturage is also good and abundant. This
place is called also Julallabad, and is governed by an inde¬
pendent prince, who calls himself king of Seistan. Long.
61. 13. E. Lat. 31. 26. N.
DOR, the English name of the common black beetle.
Some apply the term also to the dusty beetle, which flies
about hedges in the evening.
DORADO, in Astronomy, a southern constellation, not
visible in our latitude. It is also called xiphias.
DORAK, or Fee a hi, a town of Persia, in the province
of Kuzistan, situated on two branches of the river Jerahi,
in low and marshy ground. It is surrounded by walls about
two miles in circumference, built of mud, sixteen feet in
thickness, and flanked at regular distances with round
towers. It contains few houses within the walls, as the
majority of the people, amounting to 8000, prefer living
in the suburbs, under the shade of date trees. The palace
of the scheik covers a large space of ground, but is in
reality a miserable structure, built of bricks dried in the
sun, and rapidly going to decay. It is celebrated for its
manufacture of Arabian cloaks, which are exported in
great numbers all over Arabia and Persia, but it has little
other trade. It is seventy-five miles south of Shuster.
DORAN, a town of Arabia, in the county of Yemen,
the residence of a chief or governor. It was formerly
surrounded by a wall with three gates. It is twenty-
eight miles south of Sana. Long. 44. 4. E. Lat. 14. 55. N.
DOR AT, a town of the department of the Upper Vienne,
in France, on the river Sevre. It is in an agreeable situ¬
ation, contains 349 houses, and 2264 inhabitants, who are
mostly makers of hats. Long. 1. L E. Lat. 46. 10. N.
DORCHESTER, a town in Oxfordshire, in the hun¬
dred of tbe same name, fifty-two miles from London, on the
banks of the Thame. It was formerly the see of a bishop,
and the cathedral, which still remains, is used as the pa¬
rish church. The inhabitants amounted in 1801 to 777,
in 1811 to 754, in 1821 to 854, and in 1831 to 866.
Dorchester, a town, the capital of the county of Dor¬
set, 120 miles from London. It rises gradually from the
banks of the Frome, and is a well-built town, formerly cele¬
brated for its breweries of strong beer, but now with little
trade, and no manufactures. It was a Roman station, and
near it are an amphitheatre and two camps constructed
by that nation, together with the remains of their wall.
The assizes and elections are held here. The market i&
115
Doondea-
kera
II
Dorches¬
ter.
116 DOR
Dordogne held on Saturday. It returns two members to parliament,
ll. chosen by the householders and freeholders; but the ad-
, °™' J joining parish of Fordington has now been added to it. The
inhabitants amounted in 1801 to 2402, in 1811 to 2546, in
1821 to 2743, and in 1831 to 3033.
DORDOGNE, a department of France, formed out
of the country of the ancient Perigord and a small part
* of Limousin. It is bounded on the north by Upper
Vienne, on the east by Correze and Lot, on the south by
Lot and Lot Garonne, on the west by the Gironde and
Lower Charente, and on the north-west by the depart¬
ment of Charente. Its extent is 3740 square miles, or,
according to the royal almanack, 898,274 hectares. Its
surface consists of mountains, many small hills, and nar¬
row valleys. The soil in general is stony, and by no means
fruitful. The calcareous hills are mixed with sandy and
clayey soils abounding in flints. It is well watered both
by rivers and small streams, of which more than 1400 are
enumerated in the statistical and topographical descrip¬
tion of the department. The agriculture is in a backward
state, the chief corn is maize, which forms the principal
bread of the people; but of late the great extension of the
potato culture has provided a useful substitute for bread.
The chestnut woods, which are said to occupy one fifth of
the surface, furnish also a large portion of the subsistence
of the inhabitants. Sheep and goats are bred in consider¬
able numbers, and large herds of swine are supported near
the chestnut woods. Some districts yield a good white
wine; but the whole quantity produced is inconsiderable.
The chief exports consistof wdne, chestnuts, wall and hazel¬
nuts, nut oil, truffles, cattle, wool, and leather. The ma¬
nufactures are few. Some iron wares are made, from mines
in the department. The inhabitants amount to 424,113,
of whom 8500 are Protestants. The language is a patois of
Italian and French. The capital of the department is the
city of Perigueux.
DORHEIM, a circle in the province of Hanau, in the
duchy of Hesse-Cassel, comprising two market-towns, two
villages, and 3812 inhabitants. The chief place, of the
same name, situated on the river Wetter, contains 1194
inhabitants.
DORIA, Andrew, a gallant Genoese sea officer, born
in 1466. He entered into the service of Francis I. of
France, but preserved that spirit of independence which is
so natural to a sailor and a republican. When the French
attempted to render Savona, long the object of jealousy
to Genoa, its rival in trade, Doria remonstrated in a high
tone against the measure; and this bold action, represent¬
ed by the malice of the courtiers in the most odious light,
irritated Francis to such a degree that he ordered his ad¬
miral Barbesieux to sail for Genoa, then in the hands of
the French troops, to arrest Doria, and to seize his galleys.
But Doria got a timely hint of this rash order; retired
with all his galleys to a place of safety; and, whilst his
resentment was warm, closed with the offers of the empe¬
ror Charles V. returned his commission with the collar
of St Michael to Francis, and hoisted the imperial colours.
To deliver his country, now weary alike of the French and
the imperial yoke, from the dominion of foreigners, was
Doria’s highest ambition ; and the favourable moment had
presented itself. Genoa was afflicted with the pestilence,
and the French garrison being ill paid and greatly redu¬
ced, the inhabitants were sufficiently disposed to second
his views. He sailed to the harbour with thirteen galleys,
landed five hundred men, and made himself master of the
gates and the palace with very little resistance. The
French governor with his feeble garrison retired to the
citadel, but was soon forced to capitulate; upon which
the people ran together, and levelled the citadel with the
ground. It was now in Doria’s power to have rendered
DOR
himself the sovereign of his country ; but, with a magna- Dori
nimity of which there are few examples, he assembled the /
people in the court before the palace, disclaimed all pre- !
eminence, and recommended to them to settle what form
of government they chose to establish. The people, ani¬
mated by his spirit, forgot their factions, and fixed that
form of government which, with little variation, subsisted
until the year 1815. This event happened in 1528. Do¬
ria lived to a great age, respected and beloved as a pri¬
vate citizen; and he is still celebrated in Genoa by the
most honourable of all appellations, the father of his coun¬
try, and the restorer of its liberty.
DORIANS, a people of Greece, who derived their ori¬
gin from those districts in which the Grecian nation bor¬
dered towards the north upon numerous and dissimilar
races of barbarians. According to Herodotus, they were
from early times one of the chief races of that nation,
which, in fact, was composed of Dorians and lonians; the
one of Hellenic and the other of Pelasgic origin, the for¬
mer a migratory and the latter an aboriginal race. In this
definition it is assumed that the Pelasgi were Greeks and
spoke the Grecian language in its elder form ; an opinion in
support of which many arguments might easily be produced.
But all the races whose migrations took place at a compa¬
ratively late period, such as the Achaeans, lonians, and
Dorians, particularly the last, were not sufficiently nume¬
rous or powerful to effect a complete change in the cus¬
toms of a barbarous population: many districts, as Arca¬
dia and Perrhaebia, remained entirely Pelasgic, without
being inhabited by any nation not of Grecian origin: the
most ancient names either of Grecian places, or those men¬
tioned in the traditions of the Grecian race, belonged in¬
deed to a different era of the dialect, but not to a difierent
language: and, lastly, the great similarity between the
Latin and the Greek can only be explained by supposing
the Pelasgic language to have formed the connecting link.
The Dorians are mentioned in ancient legends and poems
as having been established in one extremity of the great
mountain chain of Upper Greece, namely, at the foot of
Mount Olympus; but there are, nevertheless, many rea¬
sons for supposing that, at a period still earlier than that to
which these monuments refer, they dwelt at its other extre¬
mity, reaching to the farthest limit of the Grecian nation.
Indeed the Doric Hylleans had a tradition that they came
originally from those northern districts which bordered on
the Illyrians, and were afterwards occupied by that people;
a tradition, we may observe, which many facts and circum¬
stances unite to confirm, or at least to render highly pro¬
bable. Be this as it may, however, the earliest ascertained
seat of the Dorians was the district of Mount Olympus.
But, either from a restless and wandering disposition, or
impelled by the pressure of some northern hordes, they
seem to have migrated from this district into Crete, that is,
from one end of the Grecian world to the other; thus pre¬
senting a striking anomaly in the history of the ancient
colonies. The earliest trace of this circumstance is found
in the Odyssey, where it is mentioned that the “ thrice
divided” (rg/^a/xss) Dorians formed part of the population
of Crete. Though originally inhabiting a mountainous re¬
gion, they appear, in course of time, to have become, as it
were, the Normans of Greece, and to have sought settle¬
ments wherever they could find them. But the most im¬
portant, and the most fertile in consequences, of all the mi¬
grations of the Grecian races, and that which continued even
to the latest period to exert its influence upon the Greek
character, was the expedition of the Dorians into the Pelo¬
ponnesus. This circumstance is mentioned by Herodotus,
who states that, under Deucalion, they dwelt in Phthiotis,
and in the time of Dorus, the son of Helen, inhabited the
country at the foot of Ossa and Olympus, called Hestiaeotis;
1
DOR
rians. that, afterwards, being driven from Hestiaeotis by the Kad-
means, they dwelt under Mount Pindus, and were called
the Macednian nation ; that thence they again migrated to
Dryopis, and from Dryopis passed into the Peloponnesus,
where they were called the Doric race. The traditionary
name of the expedition in question is “ the Return of the
descendants of Hercules,” who are admitted to have been of
Doric origin ; and, in process of time, successive conquests
were effected by them in the Peloponnesus, until the whole
of that country was at length subdued and occupied by the
Dorians. Argos was captured by this people; Sicyon was
conquered from Argos, Phlius from Sicyon, and Cleonae
from Argus. The Dorians expelled the lonians from Epi-
daurus, and afterwards reduced iEgina and Trcezen ; they
appear also to have made themselves masters of Corinth
and Megara; and, under Aristodemus, they conquered La¬
conia, which soon afterwards rose into great importance
among the states of Greece. In due time, Doric colonies
from Argos, Epidaurus, and Troezen established them¬
selves on the south-west coast of Asia Minor; and other
colonies of the same race also settled in different parts of
the same country, where, at a very early period, we find
them forming a league against the lonians, whom they had
either encroached upon or expelled. In fact, there is no¬
thing so remarkable in the history of this remarkable race
as its extraordinary propagation and diffusion. In course
of time it spread itself on all sides, from Greece to Asia
Minor, Byzantium, Syracuse, and the country which
sweeps round the Gulf of Tarentum, including the terri¬
tory afterwards known by the name of Magna Graecia,
with Crotona, Locri, and Lyctus, to say nothing of Chalcis,
Solium, Ambracia, Anactorium, Leucadia, Corcyra, Epi-
damnus, Apollonia, Potidaea, Chalcedon, Trogilus, Thap-
sos, Selinus, and other places, wdiich it conquered or colo¬
nized. It is remarkable that, wherever any portion of Doric
invaders or settlers proceeded, they not only carried along
with them, but gave a permanent ascendancy to the peculi¬
arities and characteristics of their race. Their religion, their
laws, their literature, their manners, and in short all that dis¬
tinguished them as a separate people, appear to have taken
root wherever they pitched their tents; and it is by the
vestiges which still remain of their migrations, settlements,
and power, that we are enabled to trace with some degree
of certainty events which either took place before the com¬
mencement of authentic history, or in regard to which his¬
tory, tradition, and even fable, are alike silent. The limits
of this article, howevei', preclude our entering into details,
which in fact would require volumes for their full deve¬
lopment and illustration. We shall therefore confine our¬
selves to some general remarks on the character of the
Dorians, deduced from the masterly analytical investiga¬
tions of Professor Muller in his History and Antiquities of
the Doric Race; a w ork not more distinguished for its al¬
most boundless erudition, than for the cidtical sagacity and
philosophic spirit which is displayed in it throughout.
And the first peculiarity in the Doric character which we
shall notice, is the tendency which it exhibited to produce
uniformity and unity. Every individual was destined to re¬
main within those limits which wrere prescribed by the will
of the whole; evex’y one was bound to obey in his own place.
All the smaller associations were x’egulated on the same
principle; there was a gradation of power, but never inde¬
pendent equality. The Dorians, also, had little inclina¬
tion to admit the customs of others, and a strong desire
to disconnect themselves from foreigners; their instinct
seems to have been to adhere scrupulously to their own
national habits, and to preserve that distinct individuality
of national character which appears to have given them
so decided an ascendency over all the races amongst which
they intermingled or settled. They loved independence,
DOR 117
and knew well how to maintain and defend it. A calm and Dorians,
steady courage was the natural quality of the Dorians;
and though they sometimes yielded to the impetuosity of
excitable and enthusiastic enemies, their fortitude and
pertinacity commonly secured them the"victory, and al¬
most always prevented defeat from degenerating into dis¬
aster. As they were not ready to receive, neither were they
prone to communicate, outw ard impressions; and hence,
both in their poeti'y and px-ose, the narrative is often con¬
cealed by expx-essions of the feeling, and tinged as it were
with the hue and colour of the mind. They endeavoured
always to condense and concentrate their thoughts, which
was the cause of the gi’eat brevity and obscurity of their
language; and as their attention was turned to the past
rather than the future, they cherished an ardent attach¬
ment to the usages and manners of their forefathers, as
embodied and preserved in their actual institutions. Hence
the Dorians preseiwed most x’igidly, and represented most
truly, the customs of the ancient Greeks. They wex-e not
a stationary, far less a retrograding people ; but the advan¬
ces which they made were slow, and all their changes im¬
perceptible.
With the desire to attain uniformity, for which the
Dorians were distinguished, there was also combined in
their character another remarkable peculiarity; namely,
a love for measure and proportion. Their woi'ks of art
are conspicuously marked by this attention to singleness
of effect; and every thing discordant or useless was pruned
off with an unsparing hand. Their moral system also
pi’escribed the observance of the pi’oper medium in all
things; and it was in this that the temperance which so
distinguished them consisted ; it was the synonyme, not
of abstinence, but of moderation. One great object of
the woi'ship of Apollo, which the Dorians introduced into
Gi'eece, was to maintain undisturbed the balance of the
mind, and to remove every thing calculated to disquiet the
thoughts, inflame the passions, or ovei'cloud the serenity
of the soul. The nature of this singular race seems to
have required an equal and x-egular harmony; and for this
reason dissonances, even if combined into harmony, were by
no means suited to their taste. The national song was doubt¬
less not remarkable for soft or pleasing melody ; and the
genei'al accent of the language had the tone and charac¬
ter of command, without any of that delicacy or flexibi¬
lity which are required in Elysian airs or Lydian rnea-
sui'es. But the Dorians wei’e contented with themselves,
and with the powers to which they owed their existence
and their happiness; in almost evei’y sense, they were a
self-concentred i-ace, living in themselves and for them¬
selves ; they looked not to future, but to present exist¬
ence, and tlxey loved their own laws, religion, institutions,
manners, customs, literature, and arts, too much to envy
those ofother nations, or even to desire to imitate them. Man
was the chief and almost only object which attracted their
attention. This feeling may be detected in their religion,
which was always unconnected with the worship of" any
natural object, and originated solely from their own reflec¬
tions and conceptions; and to the same source may per¬
haps be traced their aversion to mechanical and agricul¬
tural labour, a feeling which belongs and is indeed natural
to minds of a contemplative turn. In a word, the whole
Doric race bears the stamp and character of the male sex
among nations; the desire of assistance and connection,
of novelty and cui’iosity, the characteristics of the weaker
sex, being directly opposed to the nature of the Dorians,
which, from first to last, was mai'ked by severe simplicity,
inflexible independence, subdued strength, and unquench¬
able nationality. (See Muller’s History and Antiquities of
the Doric Race, English translation, Oxford, 1830, 2 vols.
8vo.) (a.)
ns DOR
Doric DORIC, in general, any thing belonging to the Dorians.
. II. r Doric, in Architecture, is the second of the five orders,
being that between the Tuscan and Ionic. See Arciii-
1 TECTURE.
Doric Dialect, one of the five dialects, or forms of
speech, which prevailed among the Greeks. It was first
used by the Lacedaemonians, and particularly by those
of Argos; and thence it passed into Epirus, Libya, Sicily,
and the islands of Rhodes and Crete. In this dialect
wwote Archimedes and Theocritus, who were both of Syra¬
cuse, as likewise Pindar.
In strictness, however, we should rather define Doric
the manner of speaking peculiar to the Dorians, and which
afterwards came to prevail among the Lacedaemonians and
other states. Some even distinguish between the Lace¬
daemonian and Doric; but in reality, setting aside a few
particularities in the language of the Lacedaemonians,
these dialects were the same; as indeed is shown by Ru-
landus in his treatise De Lingua Grceca ejusque Dialectis.
Besides the authors already mentioned as having writ¬
ten in the Doric dialect, we might add Archytas of Ta-
rentum, Bion, Callinus, Simonides, Bacchylides, Cypselas,
Alcmeon, and Sophron.
Most of the medals of the cities of Graecia Magna and
Sicily savour of the Doric dialect in their inscription:
thus, AMBPAKLQTAN, ADGAADNIATAN, AXEOPON-
TAN, AXTPITAN, HP AX AEGEAN, TPAXINIGN, ©EPMI-
TAN, KATA ONI ATAN, KOMATAN, TATPOMENITAN.
These names indicate the countries in which the Doric
dialect was used.
The general rules of this dialect are laid down by the
grammarians of the Port-Royal; but they are much better
explained in the fourth book of Rulandus, where he even
notes the minuter differences of the dialects of Sicily,
Crete, Tarentum, Rhodes, Lacedaemon, Laconia, Mace¬
donia, and Thessaly. The omega abounds everywhere in
the Doric; but this dialect bears so close a conformity to
the iEolic, that many reckon them but one. (See Mul¬
ler’s History and Antiquities of the Doric Race, vol. ii. ap¬
pendix.)
Doric Mode, in Music, the first of the authentic modes
of the ancients. Its character is severity tempered with
gravity anjl joy ; and it was proper upon religious occasions,
as also used in war. Plato admires the music of the Do¬
ric mode, and judges it proper for preserving good man¬
ners, from being masculine in its character ; on which ac¬
count he allows it in his commonwealth. The ancients
had likewise their subdoric or hypodoric mode, which was
one of the plagal modes. Its character was also very grave
and solemn, and it begins a fourth lower than the Doric.
DORING, or Daring, among sportsmen, a term used
to express a method of taking larks, by means of a clap¬
net and a looking glass. For this sport there must be
provided four sticks very straight and light, about the
size of a pike; and two of these must be about four feet
nine inches long, and all notched at the edges or the ends.
At one end of each of these sticks there is fastened another
of about a foot long on one side; and on the other side a
small wooden peg about three inches long. Then four or
more sticks are prepared, each of them one foot in length ;
and every one of these must have a chord of nine feet long
fastened to it at the end. Each should be provided with
a buckle for the commodious fastening on of the respective
sticks when the net is to be spread. A cord must also
be provided, having two branches. The one must be nine
feet and a half, and the other ten feet long, with a buckle
at the end of each; the rest of the cord must be twenty-
four yards long. All these cords, as well the long ones as
those about the sticks, must be well twisted, and of the
thickness of one’s little finger. The next thing to be pro-
D O R
vided is a staff four feet long, pointed at one end, and with Dork
a ball of wood at tbe other, for carrying these conveni- ||f
ences in a sack or wallet. There should also be carried a hord
spade to level the ground where there may be any little V'T
irregularities, with two small rods, each eighteen inches
long, and having a small rod fixed with a pack-thread at
the larger end of one of them. To these are to be tied
some pack-thread loops, in order to fasten the legs of some
larks; and there must also be reels, that the birds may
fly a little way up and down. When all this is done, the
looking-glass is to be prepared in the following manner.
Take a piece of wood about an inch and a half thick, and
cut it in the form of a bow, so that there may be about
nine inches space between the two ends; and let it have
its full thickness at the bottom, that it may receive into
it a false piece, in the five corners of which there are to be
set in five pieces of looking-glass. These must be so fix¬
ed as to dart their light upwards ; and the whole machine
must be supported on a moveable pin, with the end of a
long line fixed to it, and made in the manner of the chil¬
dren’s plaything called an apple and a plumstone; so
that one end of the cord being carried through a hedge,
the barely pulling it may set the whole machine of the
glass a turning. This and the other contrivances are to
be placed in the middle between the two nets. The larks
fixed to the place, and termed calls, with the glittering of
the looking-glasses as they twirl round in the sun, invite
the other larks down; and the cord which communicates
with the nets, and goes through the hedge, gives the per¬
son behind an opportunity of pulling up the nets, so as to
meet over the whole, and take every thing that is between
them. The places where this sort of sporting succeeds
best are open fields remote from any trees and hedges,
except one by way of shelter for the sportsman; and the
wind should always be either in the front or back, for if it
blows sidewise, it prevents the playing of the net.
DORKING, a market-town of the hundred of Wooton,
in the county of Surrey, twenty-four miles from London.
It is in a good situation, at the junction of two valleys, on
a gentle elevation. There is a fine church, formerly col¬
legiate. The market is held on a Thursday. The inha¬
bitants amounted in 1801 to 3058, in 1811 to 3259, in
1821 to 3812, and in 1831 to 4711.
DORMANS, a city of the department of the Marne, in
France, on the left bank of the river Marne, with 428
houses, and 2275 inhabitants, who carry on a great trade
both in corn and in wine of Champagne.
DORMANT, in Heraldry, is used for the posture of a
lion, or any other beast, lying along in a sleeping attitude,
with the head on the fore paws ; by which it is distinguish¬
ed from the couchant, where, though the beast is lying, yet
he holds up his head.
DORMER, in Architecture, signifies a window made in
the roof of a house, or above the entablature, being raised
upon the rafters.
DORMITORY, a gallery in convents or religious houses,
divided into several cells, in which the religious sleep or
lodge.
DORNBERG, a circle in the grand duchy of Hesse-
Darmstadt, comprising the town of that name, and twenty-
seven villages, with 1093 houses, and 7732 inhabitants.
DORNBIRN, a market-town of the circle of Bregentz,
and Austrian province of Tyrol. It stands on the river
Fussach, and is a flourishing place, owing to its manufac¬
tories of muslins and cotton cambrics, and its mills for spin¬
ning flax. It contains more than 4000 inhabitants.
DORNOCH, a royal burgh of Scotland, in the county
of Sutherland. It is situated on the northern coast of the
Frith of Dornoch, on a low sandy beach, nearly opposite the
burgh of Tain, which lies on the south side of the frith.
DOR
DOR
119
llrnoch
rith
111
irset-
lire.
It is of considerable antiquity, and was formerly the seat
of the bishops of Caithness, who had here a spacious castle.
The parish church is part of the cathedral, which is sup¬
posed to have been erected in the eleventh century. Dor¬
noch, although the seat of the county courts, is a mere vil¬
lage, with little or no trade. The population of the town
and parish amounted in 1821 to 3100, and in 1831 to 3380.
Dornoch Frith, an arm of the sea on the eastern coast
of the Highlands of Scotland, serving as the boundary
between the counties of Ross and Sutherland for several
miles. It is twelve miles broad at its mouth, and here has
more the character of a bay than of a frith. It gradually be¬
comes narrower, till, within three miles west from the town
of Dornoch, its breadth decreases to two miles. Above
this point it becomes much broader, forming an inner har¬
bour or bay. There are several ferries upon this frith, and
near its head it is crossed by an iron bridge, where also
the rivers Oykel and Shin empty their waters.
DOROBAT, a small town of Arabia, in the country of
Yemen, the capital of a district situated on the crest of a
mountain, remarkable for a prison excavated from the rock,
where malefactors are secured by long chains. It is twelve
miles west of Taas.
DORONINSK, a town of Asiatic Russia, in the govern¬
ment of Irkutsk, situated on the river Ingoda, 208 miles
east-south-east from Irkutsk.
DORPAT, a circle in the Russian province of Livonia,
but formerly of Esthonia. It extends over 3420 square
miles, and contains a population of 137,415 souls, in two
cities and twenty parishes, with 206 noble residences, and
15,331 peasants’ dwellings. The chief place, the city of
the same name, is situated on the great Embach. It is
an open city, built in the German style, and by far the
best constructed of any place in Livonia. It has a Greek
and a Lutheran church, 1200 houses, and about 10,000
inhabitants. It is chiefly remarkable on account of its uni¬
versity, which is the best in Russia, both as regards its
professors, and the appropriate collections necessary for
instruction in the higher branches of science, particularly
of astronomy. There are also good preparatory schools.
Long. 26. 37. 45. E< Lat. 58. 22. 47. N.
DOROGOBUSH, a circle in the European Russian
government of Smolensko. It occupies both sides of the
river Dnieper, and is tolerably fruitful and well cultivated.
The chief place is the city of the same name. It is the
seat of a bishop ; is neatly built, mostly of stone ; and con¬
tains 3990 inhabitants, who chiefly subsist by the trade on
the river Dnieper.
DOROHOE, a circle of Moldavia, in the northernmost
part of that principality, watered by the rivers Pruth,
Sireth, Schiga, and Bascheu. The capital is of the same
name. It is situated on the side of a lake, is a large but
not compact town, and, like the other towns in Moldavia,
is filthy and badly built. It contains many churches and
monasteries, has a weekly market, and is the seat of the
court of law for a part of the province.
DORSETSHIRE, an English county, situated on the
south-western coast. In British times, and previous to the
landing of Caesar, it was inhabited by the Durotriges and
Morini, two appellations derived from the British language,
and signifying dwellers on the coasts of the ocean. By
the Romans this county constituted a portion of Britannia
Prima; and the Saxons called it Dorsetta (a word having
the same meaning as the above British appellation), and
included it in the kingdom of Wessex. Kingston Hall
and Corfe Castle are mentioned as royal residences.
On the north Dorsetshire is bounded by Somersetshire
and Wiltshire, on the east by Hampshire, on the west by
Devonshire and a part of Somersetshire, while the British
Channel bounds it on the south. The irregularities of
its form prevent its being compared to any determinate Dorset-
figure ; the northern boundary has a considerable angular shire,
projection in the middle ; the southern coast runs out in
various points and headlands; and the western coast in¬
clines towards Devonshire, with an irregular line. Its
greatest length from north to south is about thirty-five
miles, and its breadth from east to west fifty-five; its
circumference, including about 775,000 acres, is nearly
160 miles.
Dorsetshire is divided into thirty-four hundreds, con¬
taining more than 390 parishes, nine boroughs, and twenty-
two market-towns, the principal of which are Dorchester,
Bridport, Sherborne, Lyme-Regis, Shaftesbury, Wareham,
Weymouth, Melcombe Regis, Poole, and Blandford. This
county formerly returned twenty members to the House
of Commons; but by the recent law it will only elect thir¬
teen, viz. three for the county, two for Dorchester and for
Poole, and the two boroughs of Weymouth and Melcombe
Regis, now formed into one, will elect two members; Brid¬
port, Lyme, Shaftesbury, and Wareham, each of which
towns returned two, will in future elect but one. Corfe
Castle has been disfranchised. Dorsetshire forms part of
the see of Bristol. Its bishop was established at Sher¬
borne by Henry the Eighth, but was shortly added to the
diocese of Bristol. In remote times it had been a part of
the sees of Oxford, of Salisbury, and of Winchester suc¬
cessively.
The surface of Dorsetshire is hilly and uneven. A
great portion of the county has the appearance of downs,
open and uninclosed portions, covered with sheep. More
sheep are pastured in the neighbourhood of Dorchester
than in any other district, though great numbers of both
sheep and oxen are fed in the valley of Blackmore, which
is celebrated as rich pasture land, containing upwards of
170,000 acres. There are also in this district several
orchards, producing excellent cider. On the south-west¬
ern side there are many vales of great luxuriance ; but on
the south-eastern there is much waste land, dreary and
barren, hardly supporting, even in the summer months, a
few sheep and cattle, and supplying the neighbouring
villages with heath for fuel. Even in this region, how¬
ever, cultivation is advancing, and detached portions are
improved. The turnpike-roads in this county are nume¬
rous, rendering travelling easy and commodious.
These downs are principally of a light chalky soil, with
a turf remarkably fine, producing hay, in the inclosed
parts, of an excellent quality, on which beasts will thrive
well in winter without any other food. About Bridport
the lower lands are mostly a deep rich loam; but on the
hills, throughout the western district, the soil is a sandy
loam, intermixed with flint, well adapted for the growth
of beech. To the north of Sherborne, where is some of
the best land in the county for the plough, it is a stone
brack, which is the case in the Isle of Portland and the
Isle of Purbeck. In the centre of the county the soil is
good and the land well managed.
Dorsetshire is not a well-wooded county; and, in gene¬
ral, native timber is scarce and dear. In some local spots,
where the land is cold and wet, such as Duncliff in the
vale of Blackmore, Heycombe Wood in the vale of Sher¬
borne, and others of a similar nature, some plantations
may be seen.
The air of Dorsetshire is remarkably mild and salubri¬
ous ; which, added to the beauty of its scenery, has ob¬
tained for it the appellation of the Garden of England.
Weymouth has long been celebrated as a fashionable wa¬
tering-place; and, owing, to the general calmness of the
sea there, its pleasant situation, and its commodiousness
for bathing, it has, through the frequent visits of the royal
family, risen to great consequence.
1
120 DOR
Dorset- The chief port in the county is Poole, situated on an
shire, estuary formed by the mouth of the Frome. Its entrance is
defended by Brownsea Castle, and it is very secure in all
winds. It is the chief place for equipping ships for the
Newfoundland fishery; and considerable trade is carried
on from it with Spain, Portugal, and the Mediterranean.
Swanage, Weymouth, Bridport, and Lyme have harbours
capable of admitting small vessels only.
The rivers of Dorsetshire are the Frome, the Stour, the
Piddle, and the Ivel. The Frome rises in the north-west¬
ern part of the county, near Evershot; and, passing by
Dorchester, reaches Poole, and falls into its bay. The
Stour enters this county from Wiltshire, near Gillingham,
and, pursuinga southern and south-eastern direction, enters
Hampshire. The Piddle rises in the north, and, flowing
to the south-east, unites with Poole Bay. The Ivel, an¬
ciently Yoo, has its origin from several springs near Hore-
thorn, in a hill north-east from Sherborne, from which
town it flows into Somersetshire, and falls into the Parret.
Although neither coal nor any metallic ores have ever
been worked in Dorsetshire, the stone quarries of Purbeck
and Portland have long been celebrated. Purbeck, though
called an island, is more properly a peninsula, of an irre¬
gular oval form, about twelve miles in length and seven in
breadth. The soil is altogether calcareous, and for the
most part a continued mass, either of white or a brownish
limestone, the latter having a mixture of sea-shells. The
quarries on the south side of the isle afford an inexhaus¬
tible fund of natural curiosities. The best quarries are at
Kingston, Worth, Langton, and Swanwick. The Swan-
wick stone is white, full of shells, takes a polish, and looks
like alabaster. About Wareham and Morden is found a
stone of an iron colour, called fire-stone. Near Dunshay,
marble of various colours, blue, red, gray, and spotted,
is dug up; but all of a coarse grain. Much of the stone
of this district was used in the building of St Paul’s Ca¬
thedral, Westminster Bridge, and Ramsgate Pier, and
may be discovered in many of our ancient cathedrals,
churches, grave-stones, and monuments. One of the
most valuable products of Purbeck is a white clay used
for making pipes, and very extensively applied to the ma¬
nufacture of China. Large quantities of it are dug, and
many vessels loaded with it for Staffordshire, at Russell
Quay, within the port of Poole.
The rocks in the Isle of Portland rise frequently to 100
or 150 feet in height, and large masses lie scattered on the
shore. These are composed of calcareous grit, containing
moulds or larox of various shells, and emitting, when rubbed
with steel, a bituminous smell. The grit is cemented to¬
gether by a calcareous paste. The quarries are scattered
among these rocks, more or less, in every part of the isle;
but those of most repute are at Kingston. At this place
there is a pier, whence upwards of 6000 tons of stone, on an
average, are supposed to be shipped off annually. The first
stratum in these quarries is about one foot of blackish or
reddish ear th ; then six feet of stone, not fit for exportation.
Below this is the bed of good stone, ten or twelve feet
deep, and beneath it flint or clay. The stratum of stone
that is worked for sale lies nearly parallel with the upper
surface of the island, and without much earth or rubbish
on it. When the beds are cleared, the quarrymen pro¬
ceed to cross-cut the large flats, which is done with wedges.
The beds being cut into distinct lumps, are squared by the
hammer to the largest size which it will admit; and blocks
are thus formed from half a ton to six or eight tons weight.
The colour of the Portland stone, or free stone as it is some¬
times called, from the freedom with which it may be broken
into any shape, is well known, as almost white, and as
composing the materials of the most splendid erections in
London, as well as in other parts of the British empire.
DOR
The general practice and management of tillage in this Dor'
county is less attended to than any part of agriculture; for shii
it appears to be the plan of the farmers to put the seed
into the ground with as few ploughings as possible. The
sowing of wheat is often effected with one ploughing ; and
symmetry and neatness are so much disregarded, that, in
small pieces of land, the ploughman will vary three or four
yards from a straight line. The plough used is called a
sull, and is long, large, and heavy, with one small wheel
at the side of the beam, and worked by four horses or six
oxen, two abreast. In the neighbourhood of the towns,
land lets for from forty to fifty shillings the acre; and, in
general, arable land from twenty to thirty.
Barley is found to make the best returns; and from
10,000 to 12,000 bushels of salt are annually made in
some of the towns. Flax and hemp are objects of great
importance about Bridport, Bradford, and Beminster. The
seed is imported from Riga, and the average crop is from
fifty to sixty dozen pounds per acre, worth from four shil¬
lings and sixpence to seven shillings per dozen. It is a
precarious crop, depending very much on the season ; and
hence the quantity cultivated has of late years been gra¬
dually diminished.
The sheep of Dorsetshire have long been celebrated.
They are horned, white faced, with long small white legs,
the carcass rather long and thin, the mutton fine grained
and of good flavour, weighing per quarter, in wethers at
three years and a half old, from sixteen to twenty pounds. •
Their wool is fine and short; and the breed has the pecu¬
liar property of producing lambs at any period. The stock
of the county is supposed to be 800,000, of which num¬
ber 150,000 are annually sold and sent out of the county.
The produce of the wool yearly is estimated at 90,000
weight, of thirty-one pounds each.
The breed of horses is not particularly regarded. The
oxen are principally of the red Devon breed, crossed with
the Hampshire and Wiltshire; and are frequently em¬
ployed in agriculture. Cows are much used for the dairy,
very little account being made of their size or colour, if
they produce much milk. Butter is the greatest produce,
though some cheese is also manufactured.
The mackerel fishery is of considerable consequence to
this county. Vast numbers are taken near Abbotsbury,
and along the shore from Portland to Bridport. The sea¬
son for taking them is from the middle of March till mid¬
summer, in nets or seines. Herrings and other fish com¬
mon in these seas are also taken in abundance.
The manufactures of Dorsetshire are not extensive.
The principal are those of flax and hemp, in the neigh¬
bourhood of Bridport and Beminster, and also on a small¬
er scale in the Isle of Purbeck; of all sorts of buttons,
chiefly at Blandford, and to a smaller extent at Shaftes¬
bury; and of a sort of flannel or coarse woollen cloth,
called swanskin, at Sherminster. At Stalbridge is a ma¬
nufacture for spinning silk, and at Sherborne is another
upon a larger scale. Some worsted stockings are made at
Wimborne.
On the extended downs in the neighbourhood of Dor¬
chester several tumuli are thrown up in all directions,
proving this town to have been an important place in Bri¬
tish times. Maiden Castle, situated on the apex of a hill
about one mile south of the town, is undoubtedly the re¬
mains of an original British fortress. Nearly two miles
north-west of Kingston-Hall, in the parish of Shapwicke,
is a celebrated encampment called Bradbury Rings, which
occupies the summit of a considei’able eminence. This
camp is of a circular form, with treble ramparts and
ditches, having two entrances, one on the north-east and
another on the western side. The circumference of the
outer rampart is nearly a mile. In the parish of Lullworth
DOR
’orset- is another British fortification, consisting of three ramparts
hire, and ditches, including an area of about five acres. It is
generally called Flowers’ Barrow, from the prevalence of
these ancient sepulchres within its compass. Many of
these barrows have been opened, and found to contain
burnt bones, corroded metal, and remains of ancient war¬
like instruments. A barrow was opened some years ago
at Stowborough, in which a body was discovered in an
excavated oak trunk, wrapped in folds of skin. Between
three and four miles from Corfe Castle eastward is Nine
Barrow Down, an eminence which derives its name from
the nine large barrows situated on it in a line. About a
mile from Winterbourn Abbas is a small druidical circle,
the diameter of whose area is twenty-eight feet; and the
adjacent downs are much fuller of Celtic barrows than
even Salisbury Plains. There is an endless field in many
parts of the country for those fond of British antiquities.
The Via Iceniana, or Icennine Way, enters the county
near Woodyates; and passing through Dorchester, takes
its course to Seaton in Devonshire. There are several
smaller ways proceeding from Dorchester, Winborne
Minster, and some other places in the county. The Ro¬
man stations in Dorsetshire appear, from the best authori¬
ties, to have been, Londinis, now Lyme-Regis; Canca-
Arixa, Charmouth; Durnovaria, Dorchester; Vindogla-
dia, Winborne; Clavinio, Weymouth; Morinio, Wareham;
and Bolclannio, Poole. Near Dorchester are the remains
of a Roman amphitheatre, which is computed to have held
nearly 13,000 spectators. A large circular entrenchment
maybe traced upon Woodbury Hill, supposed to have been
the Castra Stativa of the Romans. On Hambledon Hill
is another encampment; and also the remains of what has
been thought to be a labyrinth. In the parish of Rampisham
a beautiful tessellated pavement, about fourteen feet by ten,
was discovered in 1799 ; and in the vale between Maiden-
Newton and Frampton, at the distance of 150 yards from
the river Frome, another of much larger dimensions was
found in 1794. At Sturminster-Newton are the ruins of
a castle, in the form of the letter D.
The remains of ancient castles are numerous in Dorset¬
shire. The principal are the following: Corfe, whose ruins
are large, and allowed to be the noblest and grandest in
the kingdom; Abbotsbury, a little north of East Bexing-
ton; Brownsea Castle, in the island of the same name;
and Portland Castle.
The abbeys whose ruins may yet be discovered are
those of the monastery of Benedictines at Cranborne, a
part of which now forms the parish church, one of the
oldest in the county; Cerne Abbey, said to be founded by
St Augustin, the remains of which are not many, but in¬
teresting; Abbey Milton, whose church is now converted
into a private chapel; and the monastery of Shaftesbury,
the ruins of which are discernible near the mansion of Sir
Thomas Arundel. Some parts of the cloister and domestic
buildings of the Abbey of Sherborne are now occupied by
silk-machinery; besides inconsiderable remains of several
more.
The church of Fordington is partly in the Saxon style;
that of Corfe is Gothic. The churches of Dorchester,
Sherborne, Millbourne, St Andrew, Rapisham, Weymouth,
and Shaftesbury, are all venerable buildings ; but Dorset¬
shire cannot boast of many instances of ancient ecclesias¬
tical buildings.
Amongst the modern erections of this county should be
mentioned the new jail of the county towm. It was built
according to Howard’s plan, under the direction of Brad-
burn the architect. In its external appearance it is pecu¬
liarly handsome and characteristic ; and the interior pos¬
sesses every convenience appropriate to its destination.
The principal noblemen and gentlemen’s seats of Dor-
VOI„ VIII.
DOS 121
setshire are, Encombe, the seat of the Earl of Eldon; Dorsife-
Grange, that of John Bond, Esq.; Moer Critchel, that of rous
C. Sturt, Esq.; Parnham, that of Sir William Oglander, II.
Bart.; Lullworth Castle, that of Cardinal Weld; Abbey tP0S1'
Milton, that of Dawson Darner, Esq.; Sherborne Castle,
that of the Earl of Digby; Kingston Hall, that of H.
Bankes, Esq.; and Bridehead, that of E. Williams, Esq.
This county affords the following titles to different noble
families; Earl of Dorchester, to the family of Carleton;
Earl of Sherborne, to the family of Dutton; Earl of Shaftes¬
bury, to that of Ashley Cooper ; Viscount Bridport, to that
of Hood; Duke of Portland, to that of Bentinck; Duke
of Dorset, to that of Sackville; and Earl Digby, to that
of Digby.
The inhabitants of this county were estimated in 1700
at 90,000, and in 1750 at 96,000. By the four decennial
censuses, they appear to have been as follows: in 1801
115,319, in 1811 124,693, in 1821 144,499, and in 1831
150,400. The annual value of the real property of the
county, according to theassessmentof 1815, wasL.698,395.
DORSIFEROUS Plants, among botanists, such as are
of the capillary kind, without stalks, and which bear their
seeds on the back side of their leaves.
DORT, or Dortkecht, a circle in the province of
Holland, in the Netherlands, divided into the four can¬
tons of Dort, Old Beaverland, Ridderkerk, and Stryen,
and containing 51,361 inhabitants.
Dort, a city of Holland, the capital of the circle of the
same name, situated on the rivers Merve and Biesbosch. It
is celebrated from the theological synod held there in the
years 1618 and 1619. It is a place of great trade, espe¬
cially in Rhine wine, timber, flax, stock-fish, and train-
oil ; and there are many refineries for sugar and salt, dis¬
tilleries of Geneva, and mills for spinning cotton, wool,
and flax. It contains 3954 houses, and 17,387 inhabit¬
ants. Long. 4. 33. 12. E. Lat. 51. 47. 52. N.
DORTMUND, a circle in the Prussian province of
Westphalia, in the government of Arensberg. It extends
over 180 square miles, or 51,200 acres, and comprehends
five cities, one market-town, and several villages, with a
population of 32,509 persons.
DORY Harbour, a harbour on the northern coast of
Papua, At this harbour are neither fowls nor goats;
but wild hogs, fish, greens, fruit, &c. Wood is plentiful,
and the wild nutmeg grows in the vicinity. Long. 134.
35. E. Lat. 48. S.
DORYPHORI (from spear, and pegca, I bear), an
appellation given to the life-guardmen of the Roman em¬
perors. They were held in such high estimation as fre¬
quently to have the command of armies conferred on
them. It was usual also for commanders-in-chief to have
their doryphori or life-guard to attend them.
DOSITHEANS (Dosithei), an ancient sect among the
Samaritans in the first century of the Christian era.
Mention is made by Origen, Epiphanius, Jerome, and va¬
rious other Greek and Italian fathers, of one Dositheus, the
chief of a faction among the Samaritans; but the learned
are not all agreed as to the time when he lived. St Jerome,
in his dialogue against the Luciferians, places him before
the time of our Saviour; and in this he is followed by
Drusius, who, in his answer to Serrarius, places him about
the time of Sennacherib, king of Assyria. But Scaliger
contends that he was posterior to our Saviour’s time; and
in effect Origen intimates that he must have been con¬
temporary with the apostles, observing that this man en¬
deavoured to persuade the Samaritans that he was the
Messiah foretold by Moses.
Dositheus had many followers ; and his sect subsisted
at Alexandria in the time of the patriarch Eulogius, as ap¬
pears from a decree of that patriarch published by Pho-
Q
n
122 D O U D O U
Dosser tius. In this decree Eulogius accuses Dositheus of abus-
II ing the ancient patriarchs and prophets, and of attributing
ou, er to himself the spirit of prophecy; makes him contempo-
ment." rary wifch Simon Magus; and accuses him of corrupting
the Pentateuch in various places, as well as of composing
several books directly contrary to the law of God.
Archbishop Usher conceives Dositheus to have been the
author of all the changes made in the Samaritan Penta¬
teuch, which he infers on the authority of Eulogius. But
all that we can justly gather from the testimony of Eulo¬
gius is, that Dositheus corrupted the Samaritan copies
since used by that sect. This corruption, however, did
not pass into all the copies of the Samaritan Pentateuch
now in use amongst us, which vary but little from the
Jewish Pentateuch; and hence we are to understand the
passage in a Samaritan chronicle, where it is said that
Dousis or Dositheus altered several things in the law of
Moses, in the sense here indicated. The author of that
chronicle, who was a Samaritan by religion, adds, that the
high priest sent several Samaritans to seize Dousis and his
corrupted copy of the Pentateuch.
Epiphanius takes Dositheus to have been a Jew by
birth, and to have abandoned the Jewish party for that
of the Samaritans. He imagines him likewise to have
been the founder of the sect of the Sadducees. But this
seems inconsistent with his being later than our Saviour;
and yet the Jesuit Serrarius agrees to make Dositheus the
master of Sadok, from whom the Sadducees were derived.
Tertullian, in mentioning the same Dositheus, observes
that he was the first who dared to reject the authority of
the prophets, by denying their inspiration. But he charges
as a crime peculiar to that sectary, what in reality was
common to the whole sect, who never allowed any but the
five books of Moses to be of divine inspiration.
DOSSER, a sort of basket to be carried on the shoul¬
ders of men. It is used in carrying the surplus earth from
one part of a fortification to another where it is wanted.
There are likewise small carts and wheel-barrows for the
same use.
DOTIS, a market-town of Hungary, in the circle of
Farther Danube. It is situated on the river Tata, near a
small lake. There is an ancient castle and keep belong¬
ing to Prince Esterhazy. It contains two Catholic and
one Lutheran church, a synagogue, two monasteries, 850
houses, and 8580 inhabitants. It is a place of consider¬
able trade. Long. 18. 13. 6. E. Lat. 47. 38. 45. N.
DOUAY, an arrondissement in the department of the
North, in France, extending over 450 square miles, divided
into thirteen cantons, and these subdivided into 146 com¬
munes, containing 183,560 inhabitants. The city which
gives its name to the arrondissement is on the river Scarpe,
which is divided into several channels in passing through
it. The fortifications are strong, and more easily defend¬
ed, from the ease with which the environs may be inun¬
dated. It is a large but not well-built city, containing
2730 houses, and 18,460 inhabitants. It was once cele¬
brated as the place of education of Catholic priests for the
British dominions. It is now the seat of large manufac¬
tories of various kinds. Long. 2. 59. 42. E. Lat. 50. 22.
12. N.
DOUBLE ; two of a sort, one corresponding to the
other.
Double Children, Double Cats, &c. See Monster.
Double Employment, in Music, a name given by Ra¬
meau to the two different modes in which the chord of
the sub-dominant may be regarded and treated, namely, as
the fundamental chord of the sixth superadded, or as the
chord of the great sixth, inverted from a fundamental
chord of the seventh. In reality the chords carry exactly
the same notes, are figured in the same manner, and are
employed upon the same chord of the tone, in such a man- b0ul
ner that frequently we cannot discern which of the two Empi
chords the author employs, except by the assistance of the mer
subsequent chord, which resolves it, and which is differ-
ent in these different cases.
To make this distinction, we must consider the diatonic
progress of the two notes which form the fifth and the
sixth, and which, constituting between them the interval of
a second, must one or the other constitute the dissonance
of the chord. Now this progress is determined by the
motion of the bass. Of these two notes, then, if the su¬
perior be the dissonance, it will rise by one gradation into
the subsequent chord, the lower note will keep its place,
and the higher note will be a superadded sixth. If the
lower be the dissonance, it will descend into the subse¬
quent chord, the higher will remain in its place, and the
chord will be that of the great sixth.
With respect to the composer, the use which he may
make of the double employment is to consider the chord
in its different points of view, that he may thence know how
to make his entrance to it, and his exit from it; so that
having, for instance, arrived at the chord of the superadded
sixth, he may resolve it as a chord of the great sixth, and
reciprocally.
D’Alembert has shown that one of the chief uses of the
double employment is, that we may be able to carry the
diatonic succession of the gamut even to an octave, with¬
out changing the mode, at least whilst we rise; for in de¬
scending we must change it. Of this gamut, and its fun¬
damental bass, an example will be found in Rousseau’s
Musical Dictionary. It is evident, according to the sys¬
tem of Rameau, that all the harmonic successions which
result from it are in the same tone; for, in strictness, no
other chords are there employed but three, namely, that of
the tonic, that of the dominant, and that of the sub-domi¬
nant; which last, in the double employment, constitutes
the seventh from the second note, and is employed upon
the sixth.
With respect to what D’Alembert says in his Elements
of Music (p. 70), and repeats in the Encyclopedic (article
Double Emploi), that the chord of the seventh re fa la
ut, though we should even regard it only as an inver¬
sion of fa la ut re, cannot be followed by the chord ut
mi sol ut, Rousseau declares, “ I cannot be of his opi¬
nion in this point.” The proof which he gives in support
of this dissent is, that the dissonance ut of the first cannot
be resolved in the second. And this is true, since it re¬
mains in its place; but in the chord of the seventh, re fa
la ut, inverted from the chord of the superadded sixth,
fa la ut re, it is not the ut, but the re, which is the dis¬
sonance ; and consequently it ought to be resolved in as¬
cending upon mi, as it really does in the subsequent chord;
so that this procedure in the bass itself is forced, which,
from re, cannot without an error return to ut, but ought
to ascend to mi, in order to resolve the dissonance.
D’Alembert afterwards shows that this chord re fa la,
ut, when preceded and followed by that of the tonic, can¬
not be authorized by the double employment; and this is
likewise true; because, in fact, this chord, though figured
with a 7, is not treated as a chord of the seventh, neither
when we make our entrance to it nor our exit from it;
or at least that it is not necessary to treat it as such, but
simply as an inversion of the superadded sixth, of which
the dissonance is the bass ; in which case we ought by no
means to forget that this dissonance is never prepared.
Thus, though in such a transition the double employment
is not in question, and though the chord of the seventh be
no more than apparent, and impossible to be resolved by
the rules, this does not hinder the transition from being
proper and regular.
D O U
D O U
123
’lubie This inversion of the chord of the sixth superadded,
*khy which transfers the dissonance to the bass, has been cen-
II sured by Rameau, who, taking it for a fundamental chord,
jublet. jjjg chord 0f the seventh, which results from it, rather
chose to make the fundamental bass descend diatonically,
and resolve one seventh by another, than to unfold this
seventh by an inversion. But Rousseau has dissipated
this error, and many others, in some papers which long
ago passed into the hands of D’Alembert when he was
composing his Elements of Music. In other respects, the
double employment cannot be used with too much reserve,
and the greatest masters are the most temperate in put¬
ting it in practice.
Double Fichy, or Fiche, in Heraldry, the denomina¬
tion of a cross, when the extremity has two points; in
contradistinction to fiche, where the extremity is sharp¬
ened away to one point.
Double Octave, in Music, an interval composed of fif¬
teen notes in diatonic progression, and which, for that
reason, is called a fifteenth. It is, says Rousseau, an inter¬
val composed of two octaves, called by the Greeks, dis-
diapason.
It deserves, however, to be remarked, that in intervals
less distant and compounded, as in the third, the ffth, the
simple octave, and so on, the lowest and highest extremes
are included in the number from whence the interval takes
its name. But, in the double octave, when termed a fif¬
teenth, the simple number of which it is composed gives
the name. This is by no means analogical, and may occa¬
sion some confusion. We should rather choose, therefore,
to run any hazard which might occur from uniformly in¬
cluding all the terms of which the component intervals con¬
sist, and call the double octave a sixteenth, according to
the general analogy.
DOUBLET, among lapidaries, implies a counterfeit
stone, composed of two pieces of crystal, and sometimes
glass softened, together with proper colours between them ;
so that they make the same appearance to the eye as if
the whole substance of the crystal had been tinged with
these colours.
The impracticability of imparting tinges to the body of
crystals, while in their proper and natural state, and the
softness of glass, which renders ornaments made of it
greatly inferior in wear to crystal, offer inducements to
the introduction of colouring the surface of crystal wrought
in a proper form, in such a manner that the surfaces of
two pieces so coloured being laid together, the effect may
appear the same as if the whole surface of the crystal had
been coloured. The crystals, and sometimes white trans¬
parent glass so treated, were called doublets, and at one
time prevailed greatly in use, on account of the advan¬
tages with respect to wear which such doublets had, when
made of crystal, over glass, and the brightness of the co¬
lours which could with certainty be given to counterfeit
stones in this way, when coloured glass could not be pro¬
cured, or at least not without a much greater expense.
Doublets have not indeed the property which the others
have, of bearing to be set transparent, as is frequently
required in drops of ear-rings and other ornaments ; but
when mounted in rings, or used in such a manner that the
sides of the pieces where the joint is made cannot be in¬
spected, they have, w'hen formed of crystal, the title to a
preference over the coloured glass; and the art of manag¬
ing them is therefore, in some degree, of the same import¬
ance with that of preparing glass for counterfeiting gems,
and is properly an appendage to it, as being entirely sub¬
servient to the same intention. The manner of making
doublets may be shortly described.
Let the crystal or glass be first cut by the lapidaries in
the manner of a brilliant, except that, in this case, the
figure must be composed of two separate stones, or parts Doublets,
of stones, formed in the manner of the upper and under
parts of a brilliant, if it was divided into a horizontal di¬
rection, a little lower than the middle. After the twm
plates of the intended stone are thus cut, and fitted so
exactly that no division can appear when they are laid to¬
gether, the upper part must be polished ready for setting;
and then the colour must be put betwixt the two plates
by the following method. Take of Venice or Cyprus tur¬
pentine two scruples; and add to it one scruple of the
grains of mastich chosen perfectly pure, free from foul¬
ness, and previously powdered. Melt them together in
a small silver or brass spoon, ladle, or other vessel, and add
to them gradually any of the coloured substances men¬
tioned below, but well powdered ; stirring them together
as the colour is put in, that they may be thoroughly com¬
mixed. Then warm the doublets to the same degree of heat
as the melted mixture, paint the surface of the lower part,
and put the upper one instantly upon it, pressing them to
each other, but taking care that they may be conjoined in
the most perfectly even manner. When the cement or
paint is quite cold and set, the redundant part of it, which
has been pressed out of the joint of the two pieces, should
be gently scraped off the side, till there be no appearance
of any colour on the outside of the doublets ; and they
should then be skilfully set; observing to carry the mount¬
ing over the joint, that the upper piece may be well se¬
cured from separating from the under one.
The colour of the ruby may be best imitated by mix¬
ing a fourth part of carmine with some of the finest crim¬
son lake that can be procured. The sapphire may be
counterfeited with very bright Prussian blue, mixed with
a little crimson lake, to give it a cast of the purple. The
Prussian blue should not be very deeply coloured, or but
little of it should be used, otherwise it will give a black
shade that will be injurious to the lustre of the doublets.
The emerald may be well counterfeited wdth distilled ver¬
digris, to which is added a little powdered aloes. But
the mixture should not be strongly heated, or kept long
over the fire after the verdigris has been added. The re¬
semblance of the garnet may be made with dragon’s blood ;
which, if it cannot be procured of sufficient brightness,
may be helped by a very small quantity of carmine. The
amethyst may be imitated with the mixture of some Prus¬
sian blue with the crimson lake; but the proportions can
only be regulated by direction, as different parcels of the
lake and Prussian blue vary extremely in the degree of
strength of the colour. The yellow topazes may be counter¬
feited by mixing the powdered aloes with a little dragon’s
blood, or by good Spanish arnotto; but the colour must
be very sparingly used, or the tinge will be too strong for
the appearance of that stone. The chrysolite, hyacinth,
vinegar garnet, aqua-marine, and other such weaker or
more diluted colours, may be formed in the same manner,
by lessening the proportions of the colours, or by com¬
pounding them together corresponding to the hue of the
stone to be imitated; for which purpose it is proper to
have an original stone, or an exact imitation of one, at
hand when the mixture is made, in order to adapt the
colours to the effect desired.
There is an easy method of distinguishing doublets,
which is only to behold them betwixt the eye and light,
in such a position that the light may pass through the
upper part and corners of the stone; when it will easily
be perceived that there is no colour in the body of the
stone.
DOUBLETS, a game on dice within tables. The men,
fifteen in number, are placed thus; Upon the six, cinque,
and quatre points, there stand three men a piece; and
upon the trey, deuce, and ace, only two. He who throws
124 D O V D O U
Doubling highest has the benefit of throwing first, and what he tatio sterilis, and dubitatio efficax. The former is that where Lomu
Doubting. tlro^s he down, and so does the other; what the no determination ensues; and in this manner doubted the ||f!
  one. t,irows and has not, the other lays down for him, but Sceptics and Academics, who withheld their assent from AoJ
on his own account ; and thus they proceed until all the every thing. The latter is followed by judgment, which
men are down, and then they bear, as it is called. He distinguishes truth from falsehood; and such is the doubt-
who is first do wn bears first, and will doubtless win the ing of the Peripatetics and the Cartesians. The dubitatio
game it the other throws not doublets to overtake him; perpetually inculcates the deceitfulness of our
which he is sure to do, since he advances or bears as senses, and teaches us that we are to doubt of every one of
Jfie d°ub.lets make, namely, eight for two fours. their reports till they have been examined and confirmed
UUUliLINCr, in the military art, is the putting of two by reason. On the other hand, the Epicureans teach that
ranks or files, of soldiers into one. Thus, when the word our senses always tell truth ; and that if we deviate ever so
or command is double your ranks, the second, fourth, and little from them, we come within the province of doubting
sixth ranks march into the first, third, and fifth, so that DOUDEVILLE, a market-town of the department of
the six ranks are reduced to three, and the intervals be- the Lower Seine, with 386 houses and 2984 inhabitants,
tween the tanks become double what they were before. DOUDPOOR, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
• c’iV*0’’ :iam.c,nS hunters, is when a hare keeps in Gundwana, possessed by independent Goand chiefs. It
plain fields, and winds about in .order to deceive the hounds, is thirty-five miles south by east from Bustar. Lono-. 83.
Doubling, in the manege, is a term applied to a horse, 10. E. Lat. 19. 36. N.
who is said to double his reins, when he leaps several DOUPARRA, a town of Hindustan, in the south of
times together, in order to throw his rider. Thus it is said, India, and district ofCommin. It is eighty-seven miles
“ the ramingue doubles his reins, and makes pontlevis.” north from Cudapab. Long. 79. 4. E. Lat. 15. 43. N.
Doubling) in Navigation^ the art of sailing round or DOUGLAS, Gavin, bishop of Dunkeld, was the third
passing beyond a cape or promontory, so that the cape or son of Archibald earl of Angus, and of Elizabeth the
point of land separates the ship from her former situation, daughter of Robert Lord Boyd, who for some time filled
°r T^riPT^n,vr ber anc^ any distant observer. the office of high chamberlain. He appears to have been
JJUUbLON, or Dubloon, a Spanish and Portuguese born in 1474, or the ensuing year. With the place of his
tbe double of a pistole. birth or education we are not acquainted, but we may sup-
HOUBS, a department of Prance, formed out of the pose his course of study to have been suitable to his pro¬
ancient province of, Franche-Comte, and the lordship of fession. Having entered into holy orders, he was collated
Mompejgard, to which in 1816 were added the cantons of to the rectory of Hawick d and as the dormant energies
Montbehard and Audincourt, which were taken from the of the human mind are awakened by external objects,^his
department of the Upper Rhine. It is bounded on the early residence amid the fine pastoral scenery of Teviot-
north by the departments of the Upper Rhine and Upper dale may have had a strong tendency to cherish in his
Saone, on the east and south by Switzerland, and on the imagination the seeds of genuine poetry. In the year 1509
west by the department of Jura. It extends over 2230 we find him described as provost of the collegiate church
square miles, and the inhabitants amount to 242,597. The of St. Giles in Edinburgh.1 2 This preferment was in the
divisions are four arrondissements, and the subdivisions gift of the crown : it placed him in a situation of no small
twenty-seven cantons and 633 communes. It is generally dignity and emolument, and he appears to have held it
a mountainous country; the ranges traverse it in different with his other benefice. It was while he occupied these
directions, but none exceeds 2000 feet, and they are all of less elevated stations that he composed the very ingenious
calcareous formation. Between the mountains are pictu- works which have rendered his name so conspicuous in the
resque and fertile valleys, with the exception of which the literary annals of his country.
w hole department may be described as an ungrateful soil, His father, who is sometimes denominated the great
and nearly one fifth of the surface is covered with scanty earl of Angus, and sometimes Bell-the-cat, followed the
woods. The land on the hills scarcely ever brings even standard of James the Fourth when he invaded England;
oats to perfect ripeness; but in some parts the pasture but finding his prudent counsels disregarded, he excused
land is good, apd especially for the dairy; and many himself on account of his advanced age,"and withdrew from
calves are bred for the neighbouring departments. The the army. His two eldest sons, George and William, to-
sheep are £:w, but the goats are numerous. There are gether with about two hundred gentlemen of the name
some iron names and iron works, and some small manu- of Douglas, perished in the fatal battle of Fioddon-field.
factures made from iron, besides articles made of wood, This calamity to the nation in general, and to his own
which comprise the industry of the district. The wine of family in particular, made so deep an impression on his
late years has increased both in quality and in quantity, heart, that having retired to St Mains, a religious house in
1 1nAf?ttSr'rTT etan9°n* 1- . Gahoway, he died there within the space of twelve months.3
DUUD i4 UL Island lies in the South Pacific Ocean, His title and estates descended to his grandson Archibald,
in ong. I4L oB. Vv. and lat. 1/. 20. S. It was so named a young nobleman whose personal attractions were so un-
by Captain Cook, and was seen by the French navigator rivalled that he speedily obtained the tender regard of the
Bougainville. I here is another small island of this name widowed queen, and their nuptials were solemnized be-
near the south coast of New Ilolland, so called by Captain fore she had completed the year of mourning. This pre-
Vancouver, from his uncertainty whether it was connected cipitate match, which had been concluded without the
with the Continent. Long. 119. 49. E. Lat. 34. 23. S. concurrence of the principal nobility, excited general in-
UUUDlliNCr, the act of withholding assent from any dignation : the queen was no longer willingly acknowledg-
proposition, on suspicion that we are not thoroughly ap- ed as regent; the pre-eminence of her husband rendered
prised of its merits, or from not being able peremptorily him odious in the eyes of the more powerful subjects;
to decide betvyeen the reasons lor and against it. Doubt- and the house of Douglas was involved in persecutions
ing is distinguished by the schoolmen into two kinds, dubi- which this resentful spirit of jealousy excited.
1 Alexandri Myln Vitse Episcoporum Dunkeldensium, p. 72. Edinb. 1823, 4to.
* Keith’s Catalogue of the Scottish Bishops, p. 03.
3 Hume’s History of the Houses of Douglas and Angus, p. 235. Edinb. 1644, fol.
DOUGLAS. 125
Djglas. Among those who perished at Floddon were the arch- month of January 1515, presented him with new pros- Douglas.
Uv—/ bishop of St Andrews, the bishop of the Isles, the abbot pects, and exposed him to new mortifications. The queen
of Kilwinning, the abbot of Inchaffray, and other warlike nominated him to the vacant see, and, as is supposed, by
sons of the church. Ihe archbishop of St Andrews, the intervention of her brother the king of England, ob-
Alexander Stewart, who was the king’s natural son, and tained a papal bull in his favour. But, in the mean time,
a young man of very promising talents, had likewise held the earl of Athole had induced the chapter to postulate
the abbacies of Aberbrothock and Dunfermline, together his brother Andrew Stewart, prebendary of Craig, who
with the priory of Coldingham. In a letter addressed to had not yet taken subdeacon’s orders.5 The enemies of
Pope Leo the lenth, the queen, after extolling Gavin the queen did not neglect this opportunity of disgracing
Douglas as second to none in learning and virtue, earnest- an individual so nearly allied to her husband : Douglas
ly requested that he might be secured in the possession of was cited before the competent judges, and was accused
the abbacy of Aberbrothock, till his singular merit should of having violated the laws, by procuring bulls from Home,
be rewarded by some more ample preferment.1 After the Such practices had indeed been prohibited by several
death of the late primate, William Elphinstone, bishop of statutes, but these had very seldom been enforced. Of
Aberdeen, had been nominated to the vacant see; but his this offence he was however convicted ; and being com-
modesty or infirmities induced him to decline this splen- mitted to the charge of his former rival Hepburn, he was
did offer, and the queen afterwards attempted to elevate successively confined in the castles of Edinburgh, St An-
Douglas to the primacy. Confiding in the royal nomina- drews, and Dunbar, and again in that of Edinburgh. Be-
tion, and in the influence of his own family, he took pos- fore the period of his trial, the queen’s party had almost
session of the archiepiscopal palace ; but his claims were entirely lost its influence : the duke of Albany, who was
disputed by two powerful rivals, John Hepburn, prior of the grandson of James the Second, and the cousin of the
St Andrews, and Andrew Foreman, bishop of Moray in late king, arrived from France on the 10th of May, and
Scotland, and archbishop of Bourges in France. Hepburn within the space of about two months was declared regent
having prevailed upon the canons to elect him to the see, of the kingdom. A compromise at length took place
laid siege to the castle, and after meeting with some re- between the two parties: Douglas obtained his liberty
sistance, expelled the retainers of his competitor; nor did after an imprisonment of more than twelve months ; and
the earl of Angus, with a party of two hundred horse, his claim to the bishopric was secured by Beaton’s media-
succeed in his attempt to recover the possession of this tion with the new regent. He was consecrated at Glas-
strong hold.2 In the mean time, Foreman, who was a per- gow by the same prelate, who defrayed the expenses
son of great influence, found means to obtain from Rome attending this ceremony; and having paid a visit to the
a grant of the archbishopric of St Andrews, and the metropolitan city of St Andrews, he proceeded to Dun-
other preferments which had been held by the late pri- keld, where the clergy and laity testified the utmost joy
mate.3 Douglas, actuated by a decent spirit of modern- at the arrival of so noble, learned, and pious a bishop,
tion, resolved to abandon the pursuit of this high object The bulls having with the usual solemnities been read at
of ecclesiastical ambition; but the other competitors seem the high altar, he retired to the residence of the dean,
to have been alike insensible to motives of private virtue George Hepburn, by whom he was suitably entertained,
and of public decorum. Foreman being afraid to publish The episcopal palace was still occupied by the retainers
the papal bulls, prevailed upon Lord Hume, by bestowing of Stewart; and the bishop finding next day that they
on his brother the priory of Coldingham, to undertake the had likewise seized the tower of the cathedral, was obli-
support of his cause; and this border chieftain enabled ged to perform divine service at the deanery. In the
him to appear at Edinburgh, attended by ten thousand afternoon he held a consultation with the nobility, gentry,
men in arms. Having performed the necessary ceremony, and clergy, by whom he was attended; but their delibe-
they hastened to St Andrews in order to complete their rations were speedily interrupted by the intelligence that
pious task, but they found the prior sufficiently prepared Stewart had taken up arms, and was advancing to support
for their reception: in the castle and in the cathedral he his adherents ; and at the same time they were alarmed
had placed so considerable a garrison, that Foreman was by the commencement of a fire from the palace and the
unwilling to hazard an attack, and deemed it more pru- cathedral. Lord Ogilvy, with the eldest son of the earl
dent to adjust their claims by an amicable negociation ; it of Crawford, and many other friends, including a con-
was finally stipulated that he should be put in quiet pos- siderable number of ecclesiastics, with the dean among
session of the primacy, that Hepburn should receive a the rest, immediately began to prepare for action ; and
yearly pension from the bishopric of Moray, and should messengers having been dispatched to the neighbouring
retain such rents as he had already levied from the arch- districts, his party was next day strengthened by the ar-
bishopric of St Andrews.4 5 rival of a formidable reinforcement of armed men. Stew-
hrqm this negociation Douglas derived no advantage; art, who did not find himself strong enough to hazard an
and, to complete the measure of his disappointments, the attack, retired into the woods. His retainers, who gar-
abbacy of Aberbrothock, which he had regarded as se- risoned the palace and the cathedral, were now summoned
cure, was transferred to James Beaton, archbishop of to surrender, under the pain of excommunication; and on
Glasgow, and chancellor of the kingdom. The death of their refusing to obey this summons, the bishop’s servants,
George Brown, bishop of Dunkeld, which occurred in the led by a valiant prebendary, and by James Carmichael,
1 Epistoke Regum Scotorum, vol. i. p. 183. Etlinb. 1722-4, 2 topi. 8vo.
! Buchanani Rerum Scoticarum Hist. p. 25C. Pinkerton’s Hist, of Scotland, voL ii. p. 124.
3 Epistolse Regum Scotorum, vol. i. p. 269.
* Buchanan, p 257. Lindsay’s Cronicles. of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 291.
5 It may not be unnecessary to remark, that in the popish church there are seven orders, namely, those of porter, lector, exorcist,
acolyte, subdeacon, deacon, and priest; and that no person can regularly be elected a bishop, unless he has at least taken subdeacon’s
or ers. Although he cannot be elected, he may however be postulated by the chapter; and if this postulation is admitted by the
pope, he is then considered as elected and confirmed. “ Postulatio est ejus, qui eligi non potest, in prselatum concors capituli fac-
a petitio.” (Lancelotti Institutiones Juris Canonici, lib. ii. tit. viii.) There are other canonical impediments, which we need not
enumerate; for Stewart’s disqualification is particularly specified by Myln.
DOUGLAS.
126
Douglas, took possession of the cathedral. Intimidated by this
event, those who occupied the palace requested that a
truce might be granted, and the sentence of excommuni¬
cation delayed for a few hours ; but when the stipulated
time had elapsed, they still refused to surrender. The in¬
terference of the regent at length enabled Douglas to take
possession of his palace without the effusion of blood ; a cir¬
cumstance, as one of his biographers has remarked, which
“ was certainly very acceptable to the good bishop ; who in
all the actions of his life discovered a gentle and merciful
disposition, regulating the warlike and heroic spirit of his
family by the excellent laws of the Christian religion.”1
After these events, Stewart hastened to the court, accom¬
panied by his brother the earl; and Douglas having like¬
wise made his appearance, their respective claims were
taken into consideration by the regent and council. It
was finally agreed that Stewart should relinquish his pre¬
tensions to the see of Dunkeld, but should retain such
rents as he had already levied, and should be confirmed
in the possession of the two benefices of Alyth and Car¬
gill, under the condition of paying the bishop a certain
annual contribution in grain.2 Although Douglas had so
recently been punished for soliciting bulls from Rome,
yet the regent did not scruple to apply to the pope for a
ratification of this agreement: in a letter dated on the
28th of September 1516, he entreated his holiness that all
informalities might be removed, and the stipulations ren¬
dered valid by his sanction.3
Having at length been installed in his cathedral, he was
speedily called from the discharge of his episcopal func¬
tions. During the ensuing year, an ambassador arrived
from France, with a proposition for the renewal of the an¬
cient league between the twokingdoms; and it was thought
expedient that the duke of Albany should himself repair
to Paris, accompanied by Bishop Douglas, and by Pa¬
trick Panter, chancellor of Dunkeld, and secretary of state.
The negociation having been brought to a satisfactory con¬
clusion, the bishop was employed to convey the earliest
intelligence to Scotland.4 His professional duties seem
again to have been interrupted during some part of the
year 1518: in the British Museum there is an origi¬
nal letter, signed by the earl of Angus and others, and
recommending him to the English king as a proper per¬
son to transact certain affairs in which they were con¬
cerned.5 Though thus exposed to occasional distractions,
he yet presided over his diocese with exemplary piety.
The various troubles in which he was formerly involved
had not merely prevented him from accumulating riches,
but had even encumbered him with debts; yet the bene¬
volence of his disposition prompted him to perform many
acts of charity and munificence.6 The revenues of this
see are represented as ample,7 and he was again so fortu¬
nate as to fix his residence in a delightful part of the
country: the situation of Dunkeld, which no intelligent
lover of our early literature can visit without recollecting
the name of Douglas, has a romantic beauty of which it is
difficult to convey an adequate idea.
When the duke of Albany was preparing to quit the
kingdom, he delegated his authority to the archbishops of
St Andrews and Glasgow, and the earls of Arran, Angus, Loi 4
Argyle, and Huntley: but the predominating power of ^ j
Angus excited the apprehensions or the jealousy of his
colleagues ; and they resolved to unite their strength with
the view of circumscribing the influence of so formidable
a rival. On the 29th of April 1520, Arran with many
others of the nobility assembled at Edinburgh in the house
of Archbishop Beaton : they formed the resolution of in¬
stantly seizing the person of Angus, whose power, they
pretended, was so exorbitant that, while he continued at
liberty, his fellow-subjects could enjoy no security. Aware
of their hostile intentions, he requested his uncle the bishop
of Dunkeld to mitigate their resentment, and persuade
them to adopt a more lawful method of redress. He ac¬
cordingly addressed himself to the archbishop, whom he
found in the church belonging to the monastery of the
black friars, and entreated him to act the part of a peace¬
maker : the crafty and turbulent prelate protested that he
was at once ignorant of their designs, and unable to pre¬
vent them from being carried into execution ; and to con¬
firm this averment, he made a solemn appeal to his con¬
science, but having too forcibly applied his hand to his
breast, he discovered to his indignant companion, that his
sacred habit concealed a coat of mail. “ My Lord,” ex¬
claimed the bishop, “ I perceive your conscience is not
good, for I hear it clattering” that is, telling tales. He
next accosted Sir Patrick Hamilton, requesting him to in¬
terpose with his brother the earl of Arran: this gentle¬
man was inclined to peaceable measures, when the earl’s
natural son Sir James, a man of a ferocious disposition,
rudely upbraided him with cowardice. This charge he
repelled with indignation ; and having drawn his sword,
he rushed furiously into the street, where the earl of
Angus had stationed a numerous body of his retainers:
perceiving him advance before the other assailants, the
earl called aloud to his followers to save Sir Patrick Ha¬
milton’s life; but in the heat of battle it is difficult to spare
those who are eager to destroy, and he was speedily slain,
together with the eldest son of the earl of Eglintoun.
The encounter, which was long and fierce, was at length
decided by the interference of some of the citizens, who
were favourably disposed to the queen, and therefore
espoused the cause of her husband. Seventy-two of his
antagonists perished in the battle. During this scene of
disgraceful violence, the bishop of Dunkeld had retired to
his chamber, and spent the anxious interval in a manner
suitable to the profession ; but when the contest was de¬
cided, he hastened to prevent the wanton effusion of blood.
The archbishop, who appears to have been personally en¬
gaged, had taken refuge behind the altar of Black-friars
church, and the rocket was already torn from his shoulders,
when the interposition of Douglas saved his life.8
The duke of Albany, after an absence of upwards of
four years, returned to Scotland in 1521; and one of his
earliest measures was to reduce the inordinate power of
the Douglasses. Angus and his principal adherents, having
been summoned to answer for their violent proceedings,
fled for refuge to the Kirk of Steill. The bishop of Dun¬
keld was dispatched to London as their accredited agent,
1 Sage’s Life of Douglas, p. 7-
2 Myln, Vitae Episcoporum Dunkeldensium, p. 75-
* Epistolse Itegum Scotorum, vol. i. p. 222.
4 Leslaeus de Itebus gestis Scotorum, p. 385-9. Pinkerton’s Hist, of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 165.
5 Pinkerton’s List of the Scotish Poets, p. xcv. « Myln, p. “lb.
7 Winton’s Cronykil of Scotland, vol. i. p. 167* Pinkerton’s Hist, of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 127. The bishopric of Dunkeld was
reckoned the third see in the kingdom.
8 Buchanan, p. 261. Lindsay s Cronicles of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 285. Hume’s Hist, of the Houses of Douglas and Angus,
p. 245—Lindsay refers this event to the year 1515, but other historians, with greater probability, add five years to the number.
The encounter was long remembered in Edinburgh by the name of Cleanse the Causey.
DOUGLAS.
jvMas. and was instructed to represent their safety as necessarily
connected with that of their young sovereign.1 At the
court of Henry the Eighth, where his poetical talents had
probably found many admirers, he experienced a gracious
reception; and the king is said to have provided for his
maintenance by the grant of a liberal pension.2 He
now contracted a friendship with Polydore Virgil, who
was engaged in composing a history of England. The re¬
cent publication of Mair’s history of Scotland, in which he
ventured to expose the Egyptian fables of his predecessors,
had excited the indignation of such of his countrymen as
delighted to trace their origin to the daughter of Pharaoh.
Douglas was studious to warn his Italian friend against
the opinions of this worthy doctor of the Sorbonne ;3 and
presented him with a brief commentary, in which he pur¬
sued the fabulous line of our ancestry from Athens to
Scotland; nor was a poet to be easily induced to relin¬
quish so fine a tissue of romantic narrative. This tract,
which was probably written in Latin, seems to have shax-ed
the common fate of the manuscripts entrusted to Poly¬
dore ; who, in order to secure the errors of his work from
detection, is said to have destroyed many valuable monu¬
ments of antiquity.4 Vossius has stated that Douglas
wrote a history of Scotland, consisting of several books ;5
but Bishop Bale, to whose authority he refers, only men¬
tions a single book;6 and it is evident that the historical
work to which both these writers and Dempster7 allude, is
merely the brief commentary quoted by Polydore Virgil.
While the accomplished prelate was thus employed in
England, his enemies were not inactive in Scotland. His
mission to the English king furnished a sufficient pretext
for accusing him of treason : on the 21st of February 1522
he was declared a traitor, and the revenues of his see were
placed in a state of sequestration ; the king’s subjects were
prohibited, under the pain of treason, from affording him
any pecuniary assistance, or maintaining with him any
correspondence either by letters or messages. An account
of these proceedings was transmitted to the pope, accom¬
panied with a remonstrance against the nomination or re¬
commendation of the traitor Gavin Douglas to the arch¬
bishopric of St Andrews and the abbacy of Dunfermline,
or to either of those preferments.8 The extent of his in¬
fluence had manifestly excited the alarm of Beaton, who
was determined at all hazards to secure these ample pre¬
lacies, recently become vacant by the death of Foreman.
Nor were these the only expedients to which he resorted :
as chancellor of the kingdom, he addressed a letter to the
king of Denmark, entreating him to represent Douglas to
the sovereign pontiff as a person altogether unworthy of
his favour and protection.9 Beaton became archbishop of
St Andrews, and Douglas died in exile. He had been
cited to appear at Rome, and, according to his own de¬
claration, he intended to obey the summons;10 but in the
course of the same year, and before he began to decline
from the vigour of manhood, he was seized with the
plague, and speedily fell a victim to its dreadful contagion.11
Fie died at London in 1522, and was interred in the Sa¬
voy church, on the left side of Thomas Flalsay, bishop of
Leighlin in Ireland; whose monument also contained a
short inscription of his name and addition.12 The charac¬
ter which he left behind him was that of a “ man learned,
wise, and given to all vertue and goodness.”13 With the
splendour of his birth and the dignity of his person he
united many accomplishments and many virtues. Al¬
though he lived in an age of lawless violence, and was
connected with a powerful and turbulent family, he was
uniformly distinguished by the moderation of his conduct.14
The fruits produced by the celibacy of the Romish clergy
are sufficiently known: the bishop of Dunkeld left a na¬
tural daughter, from whom Semple of Foulwood derived
his lineage.15 Transgressions of this nature were so com¬
mon, that they must almost have ceased to be regarded as
criminal: Patrick Hepburn, bishop of Moray, had two sons
legitimated in one day, and five daughters in another.
It is the secular learning of Bishop Douglas that has
chiefly attracted the attention of posterity; but Myln,
1 In the British Museum, Calig. B. vi. 223, there is an original paper, dated “ at the Kirk of the Steill,” 14 December 1521,
and containing “ Instructions and Commissioun for my Lord of Dunkeld, to be schawin vnto the Kyngis Grace of Ingland, on the
behalf of my Lord of Anguss, his kyn and frendis, Lord Hwme, Lord Sommervel, thar kyn and frendis.” This document states
that, for the fulfilment of the articles mutually agreed upon, the said lords are bodily sworn upon the gospels, “ befor a reuerend
liider, Gawin Bischop of Dunkeld, and Thomas Lord Dacre.”
2 Holinshed’s Chronicles, vol. iii. p. 872.
a Polydori Yirgilii Anglica Historia, p. 52. edit. Basil. 155G, fob
4 Peacham’s Compleat Gentleman, p. 51. edit. Lond. 1G34, 4to.—“ He is said to have borrowed books out of the publick library
at Oxford, without taking any care to restore them : upon which the university (as they had good reason) declined lending any
more, till forced to it by a mandate which he made a shift to procure from the king. In other places he likewise pillaged the libra¬
ries at his pleasure ; and, at last, sent over a whole ship-load of manuscripts to Itome.” (Nicolson’s English Historical Library, p. 70.)
5 Yossius de Historicis Latinis, p. G8G. 6 Balei Scriptores Britanniae, cent. xiv. p. 218.
7 Dempsteri Hist. Ecclesiast. Gent. Sector, p. 221.
8 Epistolae Begum Scotorum, vol. i. p. 328. 9 Ibid. vol. p. 333.
10 Pinkerton’s Hist, of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 194—In a letter from the bishop of Bath to Cardinal Wolsey, dated at Rome on the 19th
of March, the following passage occurs: “ The bisbope of Dunkell his servant is come; and I doo the best I cane to helpe and assist
hyme in his masters causes, accordyng your grace is commandment.” (H. Ellis’s Original Letters, second series, vol. i. p. 316.) See
likewise p. 323. The earl of Morton was accused of treason, and, among other grounds, “ for the tresonable counsale, help, sup-
portacioun, and assistance, gevin to Gawyne bischop of Dunkeld, in his tresonable passing in Ingland:” but an act of parliament,
passed in 1524, declared the charge against him, “ in all the punctis it contenit, vane, vntrew, and had na veritie.” (Acts of the Par¬
liaments of Scotland, vol, ii. p. 290.)
11 Polydori Virgilii Anglica Historia, p. 53—According to Hume’s calculation, he had reached the forty-sixth year of his age in
1520. His testament may be found in the appendix to Mr Riddell’s Reply to the Misstatements of Dr Hamilton, in his late Memoirs
of the House of Hamilton corrected. Edinb. 1828, 4to. On the 19th of September 1522, it was proved by one of the executors, Mat¬
thew Geddes, vicar of Tippermuir, his chaplain. The inventory of the bishop’s goods was taken “ apud hospitium Domini Dacris.”
In the British Museum, Calig. B. i. 27, there is an original letter from Douglas to Lord Dacre, in which he says, “ our houssys ar
ot the auld allya’t.” Mr Riddell has suggested that the testament makes no allusion to the pension mentioned by Holinshed; and
that “ the bishop seems to have been reduced to straits, as he is obliged to pawn some of his silver plate.” But as his mission to
England was considered as treasonable, he had an obvious reason for avoiding the mention of an English pension; and in most cases
there is no great difficulty in supposing a man’s expenses to exceed his income.
12 VVeever’s Ancient Funeral Monuments, p. 44G.
13 Spotswood’s Hist, of the Church of Scotland, p. 101.—This historian states that “ he died of the plague at London in Savoy
house.” 14 Ruchanani Rerum Scoticarum Historia, p. 262.
1 s Hume’s Hist, of the Houses of Douglas and Angus, p. 220.
r
DOUGLAS.
128
Douglas, who was one of the canons of his cathedral, represents
'whim as eminently skilled in divinity and the canon law.
He was perhaps the most learned of the early Scotish
poets. Among the ancient poets, his favourites were ap¬
parently Virgil and Ovid; among the Christian fathers,
his favourite was St Augustin, whom he denominates the
chief of clerks. Of the Latin language his knowledge was
certainly extensive; and as he states that Lord Sinclair
had requested him to translate Homer, we may venture
to infer that he was not unacquainted with Greek. It is
highly probable that he had completed his education on
the continent, and had thus given his studies a more ele¬
gant and classical direction. Nor were his talents less
conspicuous than his learning. In all his writings he
evinces an excursive fancy, with much of the fervour of
genius. His allegorical sketches are efforts of no common
ingenuity ; but what chiefly renders his works interesting
is the frequent occurrence of those picturesque and cha¬
racteristic touches, which can only be produced by a man
capable of accurate observation and original thinking. He
exhibits perpetual vestiges of a prolific and even exube¬
rant imagination, and his very faults are those of super¬
abundance rather than deficiency. In his descriptions,
which are often admirable, he occasionally distracts the
attention by a multiplicity of objects, nor is he sufficiently
careful to represent each new circumstance in a definite
and appropriate manner. His style is copious and impe¬
tuous, but it cannot be commended for its purity. In his
translation of Virgil he professes to be scrupulous in re¬
jecting Anglicisms, and indeed his diction is often remote
from that of the English poets: but he has imported
many exotic terms from another quarter; his familiarity
with the Latin language betrays itself in almost every
page of his writings. His verses, though less smooth and
elegant than those of Dunbar, are not unskilfully con¬
structed.
Of Douglas's original compositions the longest is the
Police of Honour ;x an allegorical poem which displays
much versatility of fancy and a ready command of striking
imagery. Still however it is to be considered as a Gothic
structure, and as exhibiting many of the peculiarities
which belong to that order: ancient and modern usages,
classical and Christian subjects, are almost constantly
blended together; and a nymph of Calliope’s train ex¬
pounds the scheme of human redemption. This poem
appears to have been composed in 1501, when the author
was twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age. It has
been surmized that Douglas’s work is probably founded
on the Sejour d'Honneur of Octavien de St Gelais.1 2 The
titles have indeed an obvious resemblance to each other,
but there is little or no affinity in the plan and execution
of the two poems. The successive appearance of the dif¬
ferent courts described in the Palice of Honour, may pos¬
sibly remind some readers of the Triumphs of Petrarch,
in which various shadowy trains succeed each other in a Dou
somewhat similar manner; but notwithstanding these dif-y,
ferent suggestions, Douglas’s poem must still be regarded
as entitled to the praise which belongs to an original de-
sign.
King Hart, another allegorical poem of the same au¬
thor, exhibits a very ingenious adumbration of the pro¬
gress of human life.3 It is a singular composition, and
may remind the reader of Phineas Fletcher’s Purple
Island; a work which furnishes a striking example of the
misapplication of fine poetical talents. From the occur¬
rence of several incorrect passages, it has been supposed
to be one of Douglas’s earliest performances. Incorrect
passages we may expect to find in all the vernacular poe¬
try of that age; and the versification appears to us supe¬
rior to that of the Palice of Honour. As he has not enu¬
merated it among his early works, we may perhaps ven¬
ture to conclude that it was written after his translation
of Virgil. The heart, being the fountain of vital motion,
is here personified as man himself, and is conducted through
a great variety of adventures.
But the most remarkable of Douglas’s works is perhaps
his translation of the iEneid.4 In the original poems
which accompany it, he has fortunately specified the ori¬
gin and progress of this undertaking: he there informs us
that it was begun at the request of his cousin Lord Sin¬
clair, whom he represents as a zealous collector of books,
and protector of science and literature; and that it was
the labour of only sixteen months, being completed on the
22d day of July 1513, about twelve years after he had
composed the Palice of Honour. This task must appa¬
rently be understood to comprehend, not merely a version
of Virgil’s twelve books, but likewise of the supplemen¬
tary book of Mapheus Vegius, together with the original
poems which he has interspersed in the volume. Whe¬
ther we consider the state of British literature at that pe¬
riod, or the rapidity with which he executed so extensive
a work, it is impossible to withhold from this version a
large share of our approbation. In either of the sister
languages, few translations of classical authors had hither¬
to been attempted. Even in England, it has been remark¬
ed, no metrical version of a classic had yet appeared; ex¬
cept of Boethius, who scarcely merits that appellation.5
On the destruction of Troy, Caxton had published a kind
of prose romance, which he professes to have translated
from the French; and the English reader was taught to
consider this motley composition as a version of the JEneid.
Douglas bestows severe castigation on Caxton for his per¬
version of the classical story; and affirms that his work
no more resembles Virgil than the devil resembles St
Austin. He has however fallen into one error which he
exposes in his precursor; proper names are so completely
disfigured in his translation, that they cannot be recog¬
nized without some degree of difficulty. In various in-
1 The Palis of Honoure, compeled by Gawyne Dowglas, Bysshope of Dunkyll. Imprinted at London in Fletstret, at the sygne
of the Rose garland, by Wyllyam Copland. 4to. This edition, which is without a date, was probably printed about the same time
with the author’s translation of Virgil. They are uniformly printed, and both title-pages have the same ornamental border. Ano¬
ther early edition bears the following title: “ Heir beginnis ane treatise callit the Palice of Honovr, compylit be M. Gawine
Dowglas, Bischop of Dunkeld. Imprentit at Edinburgh be lohne Bos for Henrie Charteris, anno 1579. Cum Privilcgio Regali. 4to.
The epistle “ To the lleidar” begins thus : “ Quhen we had sene and considderit the diuers impressiones befoir imprentit of this
notabill werk, to haue bene altogidder faultie and corrupt, not onlie that quhilk lies bene imprentit at London, bot also the copyis
set furth of auld amangis our selfis.” Copland’s edition is however the earliest which bibliographers have been able to trace. The
Edinburgh edition has lately been reprinted for the Bannatyne Club. Edinb. 1827, 4to.
2 Le Seiour d’Honneur, compose par reuerend Pere en Dieu Messire Octouien de Sainct Gelaiz, Euesque d’Angoulesme, nou-
uellement imprimd, Paris, 1519, 8vo. ,
3 King Hart was first printed in Mr Pinkerton’s Ancient Scotish Poems, vol. i. Lond. 1788, 2 vols. 8vo.
4 The xiii. bukes of Eneados of the famose poete Virgill, translatet out of Latyne verses into Scottish metir, hi the Eeuerend
Father in God, Mayster Gawin Douglas, Bishop of Dunkel, & vnkil to the Erie of Angus : euery buke hauing hvs perticular Pro-
loge. Imprinted at London, 1553, 4to. Another edition, with a life of the translator by Sage, and a glossary by lluddiman, ap¬
peared after a long interval. Edinb. 171G, fol.
* Warton’s Hist, of English Poetry, vol. iii. p. 112.
D O TJ
vias. stances, he has been guilty of modernizing the notions of
^ his original • the Sibyl, for example, is converted into a
nun, and a amonishes iEneas, the Trojan baron, to persist
in counting his beads.
Douglas’s translation of Virgil is certainly executed with
no mean ability; it is the effort of a bold and energetic wri¬
ter, whose knowledge of the original language,1 and prompt
command of a copious and variegated phraseology, quali¬
fied him for the performance of so arduous a task. It is
indeed to be regretted that he did not devote a much
longer period to this undertaking: he might thus have
been enabled to render his versification more terse and
finished; but the work, in its present state, is a singular
monument of his genius and industry. One of his princi¬
pal objects was to write in plain and intelligible language,
so that his favourite poet might be readily understood by
his countrymen; and by keeping this object constantly in
view, he has frequently attained to less elevation of style
than might have been expected. His translation possesses
one merit which he probably did not contemplate: as a
version of a well-known classic, it presents an ample fund
of philological information; and Ruddiman’s excellent glos¬
sary has long recommended it to all those who have paid
any particular attention to the etymology of the Scotish
language. The felicity of this translation has been very
warmly commended by another Scotish prelate, Dr Lesley,
the celebrated bishop of Ross; who, in enumerating its
various excellencies, has stated that it always renders one
verse by another. But this regularity of correspondence, for
which it has likewise been praised by Dempster, must not
be too literally understood ; and it may be proper to recol¬
lect that the verses of the two poets, although they might
be equal in number, could not be equal in length, as a
hexameter line may consist of seventeen, and cannot con¬
sist of fewer than thirteen syllables.
The bishop of Dunkeld’s version of the iEneid seems
to have suggested a similar plan to the earl of Surrey,
who translated the second and fourth books into English.
In this translation he has exhibited the earliest specimen
of blank verse that occurs in the history of English poe¬
try. Dr Nott has remarked that “ we meet with so
many expressions which Surrey has evidently borrowed,
with so many lines adopted with hardly any other altera¬
tion than that which the difference of the dialect, and the
measure made necessary, and so many taken without any
alteration at allv that all doubt ceases. It becomes a mat¬
ter of certainty that Surrey must have read and studied
the Scottish translation before he began his own.”2 This
assertion he has verified by a long series of parallel pas¬
sages, which it is impossible to read without acquiescing
in his opinion.
The several books of Douglas’s translation are introdu¬
ced by prologues, which, in the opinion of Warton, are
often highly poetical, and shew that his proper walk was
original poetry. They have likewise received warm com¬
mendation from Hume of Godscroft, who was himself a
scholar and a poet. “ In his prologues before every book,”
he remarks, “ where he hath his liberty, he sheweth a
natural and ample vein of poesy, so pure, pleasant, and
judicious, that I believe there is none that hath written
before or since, but cometh short of him. And, in my
D O V 129
opinion, there is not such a piece to be found as his pro- Douglas,
logue to the eighth book, beginning Of drevilling and
dreams, &c. at least in our language.”
These are the only works of Bishop Douglas with which
we are now acquainted. On concluding his translation of
Virgil, he avowed a resolution to devote his future days
to the service of the commonwealth and the glory of God.
The earliest of his poetical performances appears to have
been a translation of Ovid De Remedio Amoris; but of
this translation no copy is known to be extant.
Lo thus, followand the floure of poetry,
The battellis and the man translate haue I,
Quhilk zore ago in myne undantit zouth,
Unf'ructuous idilnes fleand, as I couth,
Of Ovideis Lute the Remede did translate,
And syne of hie Honour the Palice wrate.
Bale mentions another of his compositions under the title
of “ Aureae Narrationes;” which Sage supposes to be the
short commentary noticed in the concluding address to
Lord Sinclair:
I haue also ane schorte commend compyld,
To expone strange historiis and termes wylde.
This comment, as the same biographer conjectures, may
have been merely a brief explanation of the classical my¬
thology. If we may rely on the authority of Bale and
Dempster, he likewise composed comedies ; but both these
writers are apt to multiply books as well as authors. An¬
other biographer is inclined to suppose that he may have
written the Flowers of the Forest, a song which displays
no small portion of pathetic simplicity. “ It may be con¬
jectured,” says Mr Scott, “ that he was the author of that
celebrated elegaic song, which describes the devastation
occasioned by the battle of Flow don, in that part of the
country with which he had long been well acquainted.”3
It was published by Mr Lambe in the year 1774, and is
described by him as an old Scotish song;4 and Mr Ritson,
who thought it “ as sweet and natural a piece of elegaic
poetry as any language can boast,” had no hesitation in
believing it to have been composed immediately after the
battle of Floddon-field ;5 a decision which sufficiently
evinces that, notwithstanding his confidence in his own
judgment, and his undisguised contempt for almost all his
predecessors, his critical opinions on such subjects were
very far from being infallible. According to a more au¬
thentic account, the tune and two detached verses of this
song are ancient; and all the others were composed by a
lady connected with the county of Roxburgh.6 The lan¬
guage and versification are evidently of a more recent date
than the year 1513 ; nor could such a composition be safely
referred to any period preceding the last century, (x.)
Douglas, a town of Scotland, in Lanarkshire, lying on
the south side of the Douglas water, on the road between
Edinburgh and Ayr. It is a place of great antiquity, and
possesses at present one or two manufactories of cotton ;
but it is chiefly celebrated for a great annual fair which
is held here in the church-yard. The population of the
town and parish amounted in 1821 to 2195, and in 1831
to 2542.
Douglas, a sea-port town of the Isle of Man, situated
on the south-eastern shore, and occupying the banks of
1 See however the remarks of Francis Junius, which are contained in a letter published in “ The Life, Diary, and Correspondence
of Sir William Dugdale,” p. 383. Lond. 1827, 4to.
3 Nott’s Dissertation on the State of English Poetry before the Sixteenth Century, p. cciv.
3 J. Scott’s Life of Douglas (p. xxvi.), prefixed to his Select Works. Perth, 1787, 12mo.
4 History of the Battle of Floddon, with notes by Robert Lambe, Vicar of Norham upon Tweed, app. p. 129. Berwick upon Tweed,
1774, 12mo.
5 Ritson’s Ancient Songs, p. 117.
* Scott’s Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. iii. p. 127.—This lady is elsewhere said to have been Jane Elliot, who was born
at Minto in the year 1728.
VOL. VIII. I R
D O U
two small streams. The streets, though irregular, possess
some good houses. This is the principal town of the
island. It has a safe and spacious harbour, which is de¬
fended by a strong fort. Long. 4.44. W. Lat. 58. 52. N.
DOULEIA (AoaXs/oc), among the Athenians, a kind of
punishment by which the criminal was reduced to the con¬
dition of a slave. It was never inflicted upon any except
the uti'miji, sojourners and. freed servants.
DOULENS, an arrondissement of the department of
the Somme, in France, extending over 310 square miles,
and divided into four cantons and eighty-nine communes,
containing 52,626 inhabitants. The capital is a town of
the same name, situated at the junction of the two rivers
the Authie and the Grouche. It contains 460 houses
and 1323 inhabitants.
DOUNE, a village of Scotland, in the southern part of
Perthshire, pleasantly situated on the northern bank of the
Teith. It consists of three streets radiating from a cen¬
tre, where stands the market-cross. Its general appear¬
ance was much improved in 1826 by the erection of a
parish church in the Gothic style, with a handsome tower.
In the immediate vicinity is an extensive cotton manufac-
tory.
DOUR, a town in the circle of Mons, and province of
Hennegau, in the Netherlands. Near to it are some very
extensive coal mines. The inhabitants amount to 4549.
DOURDAN, a market-town of France, in the depart¬
ment of the Seine and Oise, situated on an elevation over¬
looking the river Orge, with 450 houses and 2592 inhabit¬
ants.
DOUW, Gerhard, a celebrated painter, was born at
Leyden in 1613, and received his first instruction in draw¬
ing and design from Bartholomew Dolendo, an engraver,
and also from Peter Kouwhoorn, a painter on glass. At the
age of fifteen he became a disciple of Rembrandt; and in
that famous school he continued for three years, at the
expiration of which he found himself qualified to study
nature, the most unerring director.
From Rembrandt he learned the true principles of co¬
louring, and obtained a complete knowledge of the chiaro¬
scuro ; but to that knowledge he added a delicacy of pen¬
cil, and a patience in working up his colours to the high¬
est degree of neatness, superior to any other master. He
therefore was more pleased with those pictures of Rem¬
brandt which were painted in his youth than with those
by which he was distinguished in his more advanced age;
because the first seemed finished with more care and at¬
tention, the latter with more boldness, freedom, and ne¬
gligence, which was quite opposite to the taste of Douw.
But although his manner appears so different from that
of his master, yet it was to Rembrandt alone that he ow¬
ed that excellence in colouring by which he triumphed
over all the artists of his own country.
His pictures are usually of a small size, with figures so
exquisitely touched, so transparent, so wonderfully deli¬
cate, as to excite astonishment as well as pleasure. He
designed every object after nature, and with an exactness
so singular, that each object appears as perfect as nature
itself, in respect to colour, freshness, and force. Flis ge¬
neral manner of painting portraits was by the aid of a
concave mirror, and sometimes by looking at the object
through a frame with many exact squares of fine silk.
But the latter custom is disused, as the eye of a good
artist seems a more competent rule, though the use of the
former is still practised by painters in miniature.
It is almost incredible what sums have been given and
are given at this day for the pictures of Douw, even in
his own country, as also in Italy and every polite part of
Europe ; for he was exceedingly curious in finishing them,
and patiently assiduous beyond example. Of that pa-
D O V
tience Sandrart gives a very strong proof in a circumstance d,
which he mentions relative to this artist. Having once,
in company with Bamboccio, visited Gerhard Douw, they ho
could not forbear admiring the prodigious neatness ofa^^
picture which he was then painting, and inparticular noticed
a broom, at the same time expressing their surprise at the
excessive neatness of the finishing of that minute object;
upon which Douw told them he would spend three days
more in working on that broom before he should account
it entirety complete. In a family picture of Mrs Spiering,
the same author observes, that the lady sat five days for the
finishing of one of her hands that leaned on an arm chair.
For this reason not many would sit to him for their por-
traits ; and he therefore indulged himself mostly in works
of fancy, in which he could introduce objects of still life,
and employ as much time on them as suited his own in¬
clination. Houbraken states, that his great patron Mr
Spiering allowed him a thousand guilders a year, and paid
besides whatever he demanded for his pictures, having
purchased some of them for their weight in silver; but
Sandrart, with more probability, assures us, that the thou¬
sand guilders a year were paid to Gerhard, on no other
consideration than that the artist should give his benefac¬
tor the option of every picture he painted, for which
he was immediately to receive the utmost he demanded.
This great master died in 1674, aged sixty-one.
DOVE. See Ornithology.
Dove Island, a small island in Torres Strait, on the
north coast of New Holland, about a mile and a half in
circuit. The fragrance of the trees and shrubs with which
it is covered perfumes the air.
Dove-Tailing, in carpentry, is the manner of fastening
boards together by letting one piece into another in the
form of the tail of a dove. The dove-tail is the strongest
of the assemblages or joinings, because the tenon, or piece
of wood which is put into the- other, goes widening to the
extreme, so that it cannot be drawn out again, by reason
that the extreme or tip is bigger than the hole.
DOVER, a sea-port in the hundred of Bensborough, in
the county of Kent, seventy-two miles from London. It
is built at an opening between two cliffs, and the streets
run in a circular form under the western hill. The old
streets are narrow, but of late years many new parts have
been added on the eastern shore, which are handsome
and airy. It is defended by forts and an ancient castle.
The harbour has been formed by means of great labour and
expense, and is dry at low water, but, when entered, safe.
As the principal place by which communication with the
Continent is kept up, it contains numerous inns and hotels,
and the trade of the town arises in a great measure from
casual visitors and travellers. Dover had formerly five
churches, which are now reduced to three. It is governed
by a corporation, with a mayor at the head of it. Two
members are returned to parliament, formerly elected by
the freemen, but now householders have also votes. There
are markets on Wednesday and Saturday. The inhabit¬
ants amounted in 1801 to 14,845, including the liberty,
in 1811 to 9074, in 1821 to 10,327 in the borough alone,
and in 1831 to 11,924.
Dover Straits, the narrow channel between Dover and
Calais, which separates our island from the opposite Con¬
tinent. These celebrated straits are only twenty-one miles
wide in the narrowest part. From the pier at Dover to
that at Calais is twenty-four.
Dover, a post-town of New Hampshire, and capital of
the county ot Stratford. It is situated on the western side
of the Piscataqua, and the Cochecho flows through it.
This river has several large falls, which afford a consider¬
able water power, which has much facilitated the progress
of manufactures here. Dover has thus been rendered one
DOW
DOW 131
irer
iwn.
of the most flourisliing towns in the state. It contains a
court-house, a jail, a bank, an academy, three places of
public worship, and other public buildings. The greater
part of the timber exported from the state is brought to
this tovfn. Dover owns considerable shipping; it is the
oldest town in the state, having been settled in the year
1623 by two Englishmen. The population amounted in
1826 to 4160. It lies sixty miles north of Boston. Long.
70.54. W. Lat. 43. 13. N.
Dover, a post-town of Delaware, in the county of Kent,
and seat of the government of the state. It is situated on
Jones’ Creek, seven miles above its entrance into Dela¬
ware Bay. The town is well built, chiefly of brick, and
carries on a considerable trade with Philadelphia in flour.
Long. 75. 30. W. Lat. 39. 10. N.
DOWAGER, Dotisca (a widow endowed, or that has
a jointure), a title, or addition, applied to the widows of
princes, dukes, earls, and persons of high rank only.
Queen dowager is the widow of the king, and as such
she enjoys most of the privileges belonging to her as queen
consort.
DOWER {Dotarium or Dos), a portion of lands or te¬
nements which a widow enjoys for life from her husband
in case she survive him, and which at her death descends
to their children.
DOWLETABAD, a celebrated city and fortress of
Hindustan, in the province of Aurungabad, deemed im¬
pregnable by the natives. The fort stands on the sum¬
mit of a mountain, which is surrounded with several stone
walls, the lowest of which incloses the town. The two
lower fortifications are in this manner completely command¬
ed by the upper. Like all the other hill forts of India, it is
unhealthy, but is still considered as the key of the Deccan.
This placd, though it be remarkably strong, has been fre¬
quently taken. When the Mahommedan powers carried
their arms into this part of the Deccan, about the year
1203, it was the residence of a powerful rajah, and was
plundered of immense riches. In 1306 it was reduced by
Mallek Naib, the emperor of Delhi’s general. In the early
part of the fourteenth century, the Afghan emperor Ma-
hommed III. attempted to render this place, as its present
name implies, the “ abode of prosperity,” and with this
view he endeavoured to force the inhabitants of Delhi to
quit their habitations and to emigrate to the Deccan ; but
he was unable to carry this violent scheme into effect.
About the year 1595 Dowletabad surrendered to Ahmed
Nizam, shah of Ahmed Muggur ; and on the fall of his dy¬
nasty it was taken possession of by Mallek Amber, an
Abyssinian slave. His successors reigned till 1634, when
it was taken by the Moguls, and is now comprehended in
the territories of the Nizam, but has much declined since
the foundation of Aurungabad in its vicinity. Long. 76.
2. E. Lat. 19. 52. N. The district of Dowletabad is situ¬
ated chiefly between the 19th and 20th degrees of north
latitude, and extends along the north side of the Godavery.
DOWN, a county in the eastern part of the province
of Ulster, in Ireland, is bounded on the north by the
county of Antrim and Carrickfergus Bay, on the east by
the Northern Channel and the Irish Sea, on the south by
the same sea, and on the west by the county of Armagh.
It measures, in its greatest length, from Cranfield Point in
the south to Gray Point in the north, fifty-one miles, and in
breadth, from the junction of the Newry Canal with the
Bann near Portadoun, to Ballyhalbert Point in the Ardes,
forty miles, comprehending an area of 611,404 acres, or
955 square miles, of which 502,677 acres are, cultivable,
108,569 are mountain and bog, and 158 are covered with
water.
This county was anciently inhabited by the tribes of the
Uinderii and Voluntii. After the arrival of the English,
who early formed a settlement here under the guidance Down,
of the celebrated John de Courcey, the principal families
were a branch of the Oheils, distinguished by the name of
Clanneboy, the M‘Guinnesses, and the M£Artans, of Irish
descent, and the Whites and Savages, descendants of the
English settlers. Queen Elizabeth made it shire ground,
but at what particular period of her reign has not been
precisely ascertained. It is now divided into the eight
baronies of Ardes, Castlereagh, Dufferin, Upper Iveagh,
Lower Iveagh, Kinalearty, Lecale, and Mourne, and the
lordship of Newry. These are again subdivided into fifty-
seven parishes, and five parts of parishes, the remainders
of which are in some of the adjoining counties.
According to the ecclesiastical arrangements of Ireland,
the county comprises the diocese of Down, the greater
part of that of Dromore, and the lordship of Newry. The
former of these dioceses contains forty-nine parishes, con¬
solidated into thirty-four benefices, having thirty-one
churches. The cathedral was fixed at Downpatrick by
James L, with a chapter consisting of a dean, four digni¬
taries, and three prebendaries; but in consequence of its
subsequent decayed state, Charles II. erected the church
of Lisburn into the cathedral of the united dioceses of
Down and Connor. The part of Dromore diocese includ¬
ed in this county contains 21 parishes. Its cathedral is
in the town of Dromore ; also within the same limits, and
near it, is the bishop’s palace. The lordship of Newry is
exempt from episcopal jurisdiction, a privilege which it
enjoys from having appertained to a monastery before
the reformation. The proprietor of the lordship exer¬
cises episcopal jurisdiction in his peculiar court, granting
marriage licenses, probates of wills, &c. under the ancient
monastic seal.
As far as inequality of surface is essential to scenic
beauty, this county has strong claims to it, as it presents
every variety of plain, hill, and mountain. The plains are
chiefly confined to the vicinity of the rivers; the hills oc¬
cupy by much the greater portion of the soil, insomuch
that its appearance has been quaintly compared to a dish of
spinach set over with eggs cut in two; and the mountains
are piled together in one immense mass in the barony of
Mourne in the south. The summit of Slieve Donard, the
highest, is 2809 feet above the level of the sea. Slieve
Croob and Slieve-na-boly, to the north of the principal
group, and in a great degree detached from it, are also ol
considerable elevation.
The Mourne Mountains give rise to the four principal
rivers, the Bann, the Lagan, the Ballynahinch, and the
Newry water. The first-named of these rivers flows
north-eastward by Banbridge and Portadoun into Lough
Neagh. The Lagan, after flowing northwards, takes an
eastern direction, and passing by Lisburn and Belfast,
separates the counties of Down and Antrim. The Bally¬
nahinch discharges itself into the southern extremity of
Strangford Lough. The Newry water is an insignificant
stream, except where it is affected by the influence of the
tide, and would be wholly undeserving of special notice,^
were it not that it has been made the commencement of
a communication by water with Lough Neagh. The
Newry navigation, the first canal completed in Ireland,
commences at Fathom, two miles and a half below Newry,
to which town it conveys vessels drawing nine or ten feet
water. From Newry to the Bann is a canal for twelve
miles, navigable for boats of from forty to sixty tons. Its
summit-level is sixty-five feet above the sea, and twenty-
two above the surface of Lough Neagh. The navigation
thence to the lake is carried on in the river, a distance of
nine miles, whence a communication by water to Belfast
is maintained by the Lagan navigation. The chief trade
on the Newry Canal is the import of bleaching materials,
132 DOWN.
Down, flax seed, iron, timber, and foreign produce ; the exports
are grain, yarn, linen, cottons, and coal in small quantities.
Lakes, properly so called, are numerous, but insignifi¬
cant in extent. Strangford Lough, otherwise called Lough
Cone, is a spacious gulf, extending ten miles northwards
into the land, and affording a secure roadstead to large
v.essels in its interior. Strangers, however, are unwilling
to have recourse to it, through an apprehension that the
rapid current of the tide, which rushes through the nar¬
row strait between Portaferry and Strangford at the rate
of eight or ten miles an hour, might drive them on some
sunken rocks near its entrance. This gulf is studded
with numerous islands, some beautifully wooded, others
affording rich pasturage, but none inhabited. Bangor, Kil-
lough, and Ardglass, have each a harbour for fishing boats
and small craft. An artificial harbour has been construct¬
ed at Donaghadee for the accommodation of the packet-
boats to Scotland; but the introduction of steam naviga¬
tion has rendered it comparatively useless. Near the coast
of the Ardes, a long narrow peninsula between Strangford
Lake and the sea, are the Green Island, Bird Island, and
Burr Island; and at the entrance of Carrickfergus Bay is
a group of three, called the Copeland Islands, upon one
of which stands a lighthouse. There is another light¬
house on a sunken reef, called the South Rock, near the
northern entrance of Strangford Lough.
The predominating soil is a loam of little depth, hut
good in quality. In most places it is intermixed with con¬
siderable quantities of stones of various sizes; a circum¬
stance easily accounted for, as quarries are to be found
everywhere not far from the surface. Clay is mostly con¬
fined to the eastern coast of the Ardes, and to the north¬
ern parts of Castlereagh. Of sandy soil the quantity is
small, and chiefly on the sea coasts near Dundrum, where
in some places its abundance and shifting nature have pre¬
vented any attempt at improvement. Moor grounds are
mostl3r confined to the skirts of the mountains. Bogs,
though frequent, are scarcely sufficient to form a supply
of fuel to the numerous and increasing population. The
husbanding and apportioning of them among the tenantry
forms no small part of an agent’s or land-steward’s duties.
There are several quarries of fine freestone. The best is
that on Scrabo Hill, where a very close-grained and clear-
coloured stone is raised. The quarries of Kilwarlin afford
flags of large dimensions, varying in hue from a clear stone
colour to a brownish red ; the former are superior in beau¬
ty and hardness. Slates are raised in several parts; and
though they cannot compete with the Welsh in lightness
and colour, they are superior in hardness and durability.
Limestone is not very general. Large blocks of a yellow¬
ish magnesian species are found near Hollywood, hut this
kind is not used for manure, except where the white is
not easily attainable. Near Comber, on the shores of
St'rangford Lough, is a very hard and sparkling kind of
reddish granular limestone. But the greatest magazine of
this most valuable mineral is found in the vicinity of Moi¬
ra. It is supposed to he a continuation of that mass which
is perceptible, with little interruption, from Magilligan, in
Londonderry, round the headlands of Antrim, to the range
of mountains that lie north of Lisburn, whence turning
westward, it is lost in the acclivities that border the La¬
gan between Moira and Magheralin. Here the quarries
lie very near the surface. They consist of horizontal stra¬
ta intermixed with flints, in some cases stratified, in others
in detached pieces of various form and size. It is not un¬
usual to see three of these large flints, like rollers, each a
yard long and twelve inches in diameter, standing per¬
pendicularly over one another, and held together by a
narrow neck of limestone, funnel-shaped, as if they had
been poured in a liquid state into a cavity formed to re¬
ceive them. Various kinds of shells and other marine ho
exuviae are found in this stone. Granite occurs in many i
places in detached masses, but the great body of it is con¬
fined to the southern and western regions, chiefly in the
barony of Mourne. Yet though it is here the prevailing
mineral, it does not wholly exclude the schist or slate,
which is often seen in contact with it, raising itself from
out of the middle of a surrounding mass of the former
stone, which is itself in turn imbedded, or, as it were, set
in the schist.
The mineral springs found here are of two qualities,
sulphuro-chalybeate and purely chalybeate. The most ce¬
lebrated of the former kind is at the foot of Slieve Croob
Mountain, about two miles from Ballynahinch. In appear¬
ance, taste, and effects, it strongly resembles the waters
of Aix-la-Chapelle. It is used both externally and inter¬
nally, and has been found peculiarly effective in scorbutic
affections. The town is much frequented in summer by
invalids to enjoy its benefits. The chalybeate springs are
numerous, and widely scattered through the county. The
richest is that of Granshaw, in the Ardes. An alum spring
has been discovered near Clough.
According to an account of the number of houses taken
in 1751, the population, at an average of 5|ths to a house,
amounted to 110,800, and, by a similar account, taken in
1791, to 220,519, thus doubling in forty years. Beaufort
estimates it in the following year at 201,500. Dubour-
dieu, in 1802, states it to be 226,632. According to the
parliamentary returns in 1812, 1821, and 1831, it increas¬
ed progressively to 287,290, 325,410, and 352,571, having
more than trebled itself in a period of eighty years.
The state of education, as collected from the parlia¬
mentary returns in 1821 and 1824-26, is as follows:—
Boys.
1821 13,081
1824-26 13,456
Girls.
64,65
83,75
Sex not
ascertained.
997
Total.
19,564
22,828
Of the total number contained in the latter of these re¬
turns, 4347 were Protestants of the established church,
6120 were Roman Catholics, and 11,615 dissenters; the
religious persuasion of the remaining 411 -was not ascer¬
tained. The number of schools was 550; of which ninety-
four, containing 6667 pupils, were educated by grants of
public money ; sixteen, containing 972 pupils, by the vo¬
luntary contributions of societies and individuals ; the re¬
maining 440, containing 15,595 pupils, were pay schools.
The diocesan grammar school of Down is now formed into
a joint district school for Down and Dromore.
The presbyterian form of worship predominates, espe¬
cially in the towns and low country. In the mountainous
part the Roman Catholic religion prevails to a very great
extent.
During the existence of the Irish parliament this coun¬
ty returned fourteen members, two for the county at large,
and two for each of the boroughs of Downpatrick, Bangor,
Killyleagh, Hillsborough, Newry, and Newtownarder.
Since the union it is represented by four members, two
for the county, one for Downpatrick, and one for Newry.
I he reform act has made no change in this respect. The
state of the constituency, as affected by the changes made
by the disfranchisement of the forty-shilling freeholders in
1829, and the subsequent alterations which terminated in
the reform act, is as follows:—
1st Jan. 1829,
1st Jan. 1830,
1st Jan. 1831,
1st May 1832,
1st Jan. 1833,
I,.50.
713
720
267
887
L.20.
176
252
189
338
L.10.
1,018
1,058
1,902
40s.
10,775
Total.
11,664
1,990
1,514
3,127
3,127
DOWN.
133
l) n. The land is very unequally portioned out among the in-
rW habitants. There are many landed proprietors, mostly re¬
sident, each of whom holds large tracts in his own hands.
Under these is a numerous tenantry of every grade, from
those who deem themselves entitled to rank on an equal
footing in society with the proprietors of the soil, to the
holders of a few acres, who depend on their manual labour
for the support of their families. The connection of all
ranks hence arising has had a great effect upon the state
of society. The great bulk of the population is orderly
and industrious; their dwellings are better constructed
and furnished than those of a similar class in most other
parts of Ireland. The small farmers form a respectable
body, honest, yet quickwitted and clever in their dealings,
as might be expected from the density of the population,
the constant intercourse, and the frequent traffic carried
on in fairs and market. They are anxious to secure and
to enjoy such of the comforts of life as are attainable by
a vigorous exertion of industry and intellect. The pro*
cesses of agriculture, owing in a great degree to the ex¬
ample set by the resident gentry, are as skilfully carried
on as in any part of the united kingdom. The fields are
well laid out and fenced, the crops laid down in a judicious
succession, the progress of their growth carefully attend¬
ed to, and the harvest well saved and secured. The most
improved implements of husbandry are generally known,
and their value is duly appreciated. The crops commonly
cultivated are wheat, rye, bear, barley, oats, peas, flax,
and potatoes. Barley is extensively grown, particularly in
the light soil of Lecale. Green crops are also in general
use. Much attention is paid to the culture of grass, par¬
ticularly on the borders of the larger rivers, where exten¬
sive tracts of fine meadow land are annually enriched, by
the overflowing of the banks, with deposits of the finer
particles of mould washed down from the higher grounds.
Lime and marl are in general use as manure. Horned
cattle are principally reared for dairies, and therefore the
same attention to figure and flesh is not paid as in some
other agricultural districts. The resident gentry are, how¬
ever, laudably emulous in the improvement of their respec¬
tive stocks. The breed of horses is also an object of
much attention. In the reign of James II. a public body
was incorporated under the name of the Royal Corporation
of Horsebreeders of Down, under whose auspices races
are held annually at Downpatrick and at the Maze near
Hillsborough. Some of the best racers in Ireland have
been bred in this county. The native breed of sheep is
confined to the mountains. They are a small hardy race,
mostly horned, but in some instances not so. Though
born in the mountains, they are removed during the first
winter after birth to the more genial atmosphere ol the
lower country, and brought back on the return of spring.
Many of this breed are well made and finely woolled. It
is also much prized for the delicacy of its mutton. The
various other kinds of sheep have been much improved
by judicious crosses from the best British breeds. Hogs
are reared in great numbers, chiefly for the Belfast mar¬
ket, where the large exportation occasions a constant and
brisk demand for them. Hams of very superior quality
are prepared from them in that town. Rabbits form a
part of farm stock in the sandy southern tracts. Bees
are found to thrive well, and hives have been constructed
for the purpose of saving the honey without destroying the
swarm.
Manufactures are carried on largely in the neighbour¬
hood of Belfast and Newry. Several of the smaller towns
also support some branches on a smaller scale. The linen
manufacture still continues to be much attended to, but
by no means so extensively as formerly; it is more and
more superseded by the cotton every year. The finer
fabrics of linen were the object of particular attention. Down.
The woollen manufacture is confined to a coarse cloth
wrought solely for home consumption. Kelp is made in
large quantities along the shores.
The fisheries are by no means so extensive or flourish¬
ing as the great scope of sea-coast might lead to suppose.
Belfast market is chiefly supplied from Carrickfergus,
yet fish of every description abounds. Shoals of herrings
frequently go up Strangford Lough, but they are not so
much esteemed as those caught in the open sea. Smelts
are taken in large quantities at the entrance of the same
lough. The fishing for sand-eels at Newcastle is deemed
to be of importance sufficient to require a code of regula¬
tions, adopted and enforced by the people themselves, to
prevent the injuries and losses resulting from indiscrimi¬
nate fishing. Shell-fish abound along the rocky shores,
particularly in the neighbourhood of the Copeland Islands.
Oysters are dredged at Ringhaddy, Carlingford, and Ban¬
gor. Mussels in inexhaustible numbers cover the shallow
banks that stretch out before Holy wood. They are chief¬
ly consumed by the families in the immediate neighbour¬
hood.
Several remains of antiquity, supposed to be coeval with
the rudest ages of society, are to be found in this county.
At Slidderyford, near Dundrum, is a group of pillar stones,
consisting of ten or twelve, forming a circle. They are
from eight to ten feet in height. A remarkable cairn stands
on the summit of Slieve Croob. It is nearly eighty yards
in circumference at the bottom and fifty at the top, form¬
ing a platform, on which several cairns of various heights
and dimensions are erected. Another cairn near the vil¬
lage of Anadorn was found to cover a cave containing
ashes and a number of human bones. Several cromlechs
or stone altars have been discovered at various times. The
most remarkable is in the Giant’s Ring, on the summit of
a hill between Lisburn and Belfast. The altar is formed
of an unwrought stone seven feet long by six and a half
broad, resting in an inclined position on several rude pil¬
lars from two to three feet high. It stands nearly in the
centre of an enclosure about one third of a mile in circum¬
ference, formed of a rampart of earth about twenty feet
high, sloping in on each side, and broad enough at the top
for two persons to ride abreast upon it. Near Downpatrick
is a rath or mount of earth three quarters of a mile in cir¬
cumference. Its exterior consists of three artificial ram¬
parts, the largest of which is thirty feet broad. The num¬
ber of monastic ruins is also considerable. The most an¬
cient and celebrated is the Abbey of Downpatrick, where
the three favourite saints of the Irish, St Patrick, St Co-
lumb, and St Bridget, are said to have been buried. Near
the abbey was a round tower, which was thrown down
some years ago, when the abbey, now converted into the
cathedral church, was rebuilding. Beneath the founda¬
tion of the tower a wall was found to proceed, crossing it,
and extending to the main building of the abbey. Struel
Wells, to the east of Downpatrick, merit notice from their
connection with former religious observances. They are
four in number, each covered by a stone vault, and hav¬
ing the water conveyed from the others by subterraneous
aqueducts. Great numbers assemble here at midsummer’s
eve, and on the Friday before Lammas, to perform religi¬
ous ceremonies, chiefly consisting of penances, and to ob¬
tain recovery from their bodily complaints. The ruins
of many castles, particularly upon the coast, are still vi¬
sible. Amongst the most remarkable is Greencastle, built
on an islet in the barony of Mourne, and intended to
maintain a communication between the English settlers
in this county and those in the county of Louth. This
castle was considered of such importance that no person
but one of English birth was permitted to be constable ot
134
DOW
D R A
Down
II
Downton.
it. Dundrum Castle, erected on a rock near a small har¬
bour in a bay of the same name, still preserves consider¬
able vestiges of its former grandeur. At Ardglass are the
remains of considerable fortifications.
Downpatrick, the county town, is situated at the extre¬
mity of the southern branch of Strangford Lough. It is
said to owe its name to St Patrick, the founder of the
abbey here, in which he was interred. The town, which
consists of four streets meeting in the bottom of a valley
formed by hills of some elevation, comprehends a surface of
1486 acres, and contains a population of 4780, according to
the latest return. Vessels coming to the town are obliged to
discharge their cargoes at the QuoillQuay, about a mile dis¬
tant. The public buildings are, the cathedral, the court¬
house and assembly rooms, the jail, the barracks, the pa¬
rish church, the Catholic chapel, some dissenting meeting¬
houses, the county infirmary, and the fever hospital. Near
the court-house is an asylum for clergymen’s widows, and
an hospital for the decayed tenants of the Southwell estate.
Two miles from the town is the race course, under the. su¬
perintendence of the corporation of horsebreeders. The
town is an ancient manor, governed by a seneschal. Pre¬
viously to the reform act it was the most open borough in
Ireland, as all persons who payed scot and lot, or boiled a pot
in the town, were electors. Newry, situated in the south¬
western extremity, and extending into the adjoining coun¬
ty of Armagh, is of much greater size and of more com¬
mercial importance than Downpatrick. It covers 2500
acres, contains 13,370 inhabitants, and ranks as the twelfth
of the principal towns of Ireland as to population. Situat¬
ed at the extremity of Carlingford Bay, and connected by
its canal with Lough Neagh and the Tyrone collieries, it
enjoys peculiar advantages. Even in the earlier periods
of British domination it maintained a high position, from
being at the extremity of the pale, and serving as the key
to the then unsubdued and generally hostile province of
Ulster. In 1641 the town was taken and cruelly treated.
In 1689 it was again stormed and reduced to ashes by the
Duke of Berwick, to secure his retreat from Duke Schom-
berg. The public buildings are, a court-house, jail, ex¬
change, assembly rooms, custom-house, theatre, and seve¬
ral places of worship. The environs of this town are of
great beauty. The prospect towards the Bay of Carling¬
ford is magnificent, and the villages of Narrow-water and
Rosstown on its northern coast are objects of much inte¬
rest to numerous visitors. The lordship, of which men¬
tion has been already made, is the property of the Need¬
ham family.
Harris’s History of the County of Down ; Dubourdieu’s
Statistical Survey of Down ; Shaw Mason’s Parochial Sur¬
vey; Rutty’s Mineral Waters; Nimmo’s Sailing Direc¬
tions; Parliamentary Reports on Population, Education,
and State of the Poor.
Down, the fine feathers on the breasts of several birds,
particularly of the duck kind. Those of the eider duck
are the most valuable. These birds pluck the down from
their breasts and line their nests with it. Three pounds of
this down may be compressed into a size scarce larger than
one’s fist; yet it is afterwards so dilatable as to fill a quilt
five feet square. That found in the nests is most valued,
and termed live down; it is infinitely more elastic than
that plucked from the dead bird.
DOWNHAM, a town in the hundred of Clackclose,
in the county of Norfolk, eighty-four miles from London,
and situated on the borders of Cambridgeshire. The river
Ouse, which receives the Cam, runs near it. It has mar¬
kets on Mondays and Saturdays. The inhabitants amount¬
ed in 1801 to 1512, in 1811 to 1771, in 1821 to 2044, and
in 1831 to 2198.
DOWNTON, a town in the hundred of the same name.
in the county of Wilts, ninety miles from London. There D0
was a castle here in former times. It has some trade in '
making paper, and in linen goods. It is an ancient burgage brl
tenure borough belonging to the Earl of Radnor, and one
of those recently disfranchised. The inhabitants amounted
in 1801 to 2426, in 1811 to 2624, in 1821 to 3114, and in
1831 to 3652.
DOWNIE, a town of Central Africa, on the Niger. It
has a manufactory of pottery ware, which is neatly made,
and sold to advantage in the neighbouring countries. It
lies twenty miles west-south-west of Timbuctoo.
DOWNS, a bank or elevation of sand, which the sea
gathers and forms along its shores, and which serves it as
a barrier. The word is formed from the French dune, or
the Celtic dun, a mountain. Charles de Visch (Compend.
Chronolog. Exord. et Progress. Abhat. Clariss. B. Maria,
de Dutiis) says, Vallem reperit arenarum collibus, quos in¬
voice Duynen vacant, undique cinctam.
Downs is particularly applied to a famous roadstead for
ships along the eastern coast of the county of Kent, from
Dover to the North Foreland, where both the outward
and homeward bound ships frequently make some stay,
and squadrons of men of war rendezvous in time of war.
It alfords excellent anchorage, and is defended by the cas¬
tles of Deal, Dover, and Sandwich.
DOWRY, the money or fortune which the wife brings
her husband in marriage; it is otherwise called mari-
tagium, or marriage goods, and differs from dower. See
Dower.
DOXOLOGY, a hymn used in praise of the Almighty,
and distinguished by the title of greater and lesser. The
lesser doxology was anciently only a single sentence, with¬
out response, running in these words, “ Glory be to the
Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost, world
without end, Amen.” Part of the latter clause, “ As it
was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be,” was in¬
serted some time after the first composition. Some read
this ancient hymn, “ Glory be to the Father, and to the
Son, with the Holy Ghost;” and others, “ Glory be to
the Father in or by the Son, and by the Holy Ghost."
This difference of expression occasioned no dispute in the
church till the reign of the Arian heresy ; but when the
followers of Arius began to make use of the latter as a dis¬
tinguishing character of their party, it was entirely laid
aside by the Catholics, and the use of it was enough to
bring any one under suspicion of heterodoxy. The dox¬
ology was used at the close of every solemn office. The
western church repeated it at the end of every psalm,
and the eastern church at the end of the last psalm.
Many of their prayers were also concluded with it, parti¬
cularly the solemn thanksgiving or consecration prayer at
the eucharist. It was also the ordinary conclusion of their
sermons. The greater doxology, or angelic hymn, was
likewise of much consequence in the ancient church. It
began with these words, which the angels sung at our Sa¬
viour’s birth, “ Glory be to God on high,” &c. It was
chiefly used in the communion service, and in private de¬
votions. Both the doxologies have a place in the church
of England, the former being repeated after every psalm,
and the latter used in the communion service.
DRABLER, in nautical language, a small sail in a ship,
which is the same to a bonnet as a bonnet is to a course,
and is only used when the course and bonnet are both
too shoal to clothe the mast.
DRABS, in the salt works, a kind of wooden boxes for
holding the salt when taken out of the boiling pan. The
bottoms of these are made shelving or inclining forwards,
in order that the briny moisture of the salt may drain off.
DRACHM, a Grecian coin, of the value of sevenpence
three farthings. Drachm is also a weight used by our
D R A
ilico physicians, containing sixty grains, or three scruples, or
the eighth part of an ounce.
D'wn. DRACO, a celebrated lawgiver of Athens. When he
eXercised the office of archon, he framed a code of laws for
the use of his fellow-citizens, which, on account of their
severity, were said to be written in letters of blood. By
them idleness was punished with as much severity as mur¬
der, and death was denounced against the one as well as
the'other. The rigour of this code of laws induced a cer¬
tain Athenian to ask of the legislator why he had been so
severe in his punishments; upon which Draco answered,
that as the smallest trangression had appeared to him de¬
serving of death, he could not find any punishment more
rigorous for atrocious crimes. These laws were at first en¬
forced, but they were often neglected on account of their
excessive severity ; and Solon totally abolished them, ex¬
cepting that one which punished a murderer with death.
The popularity of Draco was uncommon ; but the gratitude
of his admirers proved fatal to him. When he appeared
at the theatre, he was received with repeated applause;
and the people, according to the custom of the Athenians,
showed their respect to their lawgiver by throwing gar¬
ments upon him. But this was done in such profusion,
that Draco was soon hid under them, and smothered to
death by the kindness of his fellow-citizens. He lived
about 624 years before the Christian era. See the ar¬
ticle Attica.
Draco, in Astronomy, a constellation of the northern
hemisphere.
DRACONARIUS, in Antiquity, Dragon-bearer.
Several nations, as the Persians, Parthians, and Scythians,
bore dragons on their standards ; and hence the standards
themselves were called dracones, or dragons. The Ro¬
mans are generally supposed to have borrowed the same
custom from the Parthians; but Casaubon thinks they
took it from the Daci; while Codin is of opinion that they
owe it to the Assyrians.
The Roman drat, ones were figures of dragons painted
in red upon the flags, as appears from Ammianus Marcel-
linus ; but amongst the Persians and Parthians they were,
like the Roman eagle, figures in full relievo; so that the
Romans were frequently deceived, and took them for real
dragons.
The soldier who bore the dragon or standard was call¬
ed by the Romans draconarius, and by the Greeks docuo-
►ag/oj and bpaxovTiwcpogog; for the emperors carried the cus¬
tom with them to Constantinople.
DRACONTIC Month, the time of the revolution of
the moon from her ascending node, called caput draconis,
to her return thither.
DRAGOMAN, or Drogueman, a term of general use
throughout the East for an interpreter, whose office it is
to facilitate intercourse between the orientals and occiden¬
tals. Dragomans are kept by the ambassadors of Christian
nations residing at the Porte.
The word is formed from the Arabic targeman or targi-
man, of the verb taragem, he has interpreted, from dra¬
goman the Italians formed dragomano, and, with a nearer
relation to its Arabic etymology, turcimano; whence comes
trucheman, as well as dragoman and drogueman.
DRAGON, in Astronomy. See Draco.
Dragon's Head and Tail {caput et cauda draconis'), are
the nodes of the planets, or the two points in which the
ecliptic is intersected by the orbits of the planets, and
particularly that of the moon, making with it angles of five
degrees and eighteen minutes. One of these points looks
D R A
135
northward, the moon beginning then to have north lati-Dragonnee
tude; and the other southward, where she commences II
south. Thus her deviation from the ecliptic seems, ac-
cording to the fancy of some, to make a figure like that of J"—'
a dragon, whose belly is where she has the greatest lati¬
tude, the intersection representing the head and tail, from
which resemblance the denomination arises. But these
points abide not always in one place, but have a motion of
their own in the zodiac, and retrograde 3 minutes 11 se¬
conds per day, completing their circle in 18 years 225
days; so that the moon can be but twice in the ecliptic
during her monthly period, and at all other times she will
have a latitude or declination from the ecliptic. It is
about these points of intersection that all eclipses happen.
They are usually denoted by these characters, & dragon’s
head, 23 dragon’s tail.
DRAGONNEE, in Heraldry. A lion dragonee is where
the upper half resembles a lion,whilst the other half goes
off like the hinder part of a dragon. The same may be
said of any beast as well as a lion.
DRAGOON, in military affairs. See Army.
DRAGOONING, one of the methods used for convert¬
ing refractory heretics, and bringing them within the pale
of the true church. The following is the method of dra¬
gooning the French Protestants, after the revocation of
the edict of Nantz, under Louis XIV. as described in a
French work translated in 1686. “ The troopers, soldiers,
and dragoons, went into the Protestants’ houses, where
they marred and defaced their household stuff, broke their
looking glasses, and other utensils and ornaments, let their
wine run about their cellars, and threw about their com
and spoiled it. And as to those things which they could
not destroy in this manner, such as furniture of beds, linen,
wearing apparel, plate, and the like, they carried them to
the market-place, and sold them to the Jesuits and other
Roman Catholics. By these means the Protestants in
Montaubon alone were, in four or five days, stripped ot
above a million of money. But this was not the worst.
They turned the dining-rooms of gentlemen into stables
for their horses ; and treated the owners of the houses
where they quartered with the highest indignity and
cruelty, lashing them about from one to another, day and
night, without intermission, not suffering them either to
eat or drink; and when they began to sink under the fa¬
tigue and pains they had undergone, they laid them on a
bed, and when they thought them somewhat recovered,
made them rise, and repeated the same tortures. When
they saw the blood and sweat run down their faces and
other parts of their bodies, they sluiced them with water,
and, putting over their heads kettle-drums turned upside
down, they made a continual din upon them till these un¬
happy creatures lost their senses. When one party ot
these tormenters were weary, they were relieved by an¬
other, who practised the same cruelties with fresh vigour.
Such is persecution in its naked form.
DRAGUIGNAN, an arrondissement of the department
of the Var, in France, extending over 1078 square miles.
It is divided into ten cantons and fifty-eight commons,
and contains 75,387 inhabitants. The chief place is a city
of the same name, situated on a fine plain, rich in vines
and olives. It is a well-built town, and stands on the river
Pis, where there is a public library, a museum of natural
history, and many oil and silk mills. It contains 8010 inha¬
bitants. Long. 6. 29. E. Lat. 43. 44. N.
DRAIN, a cut or ditch for carrying off water from the
soil, to improve it for the purpose of agriculture.
136
DRAINING.
Draining. To drain land means simply to make land dry. This
definition is satisfactory in regard to the ancient art of
draining, the object of which was to render land which was
wetted by springs, or had become marshy by stagnant
water, or subjected to the periodical overflowings of rivers,
sufficiently dry to permit the exercise of arable culture.
It is not so applicable to the modern practice of drain-
ing. Draining is now practised on land that is appa¬
rently dry, as well as on really wet land. Land that con¬
tains a superabundance of water produces plants of a
peculiar nature, such as rushes, flags, sprots, and many
others; and obstructs the operations of arable culture.
The very existence of such plants is sufficiently indica¬
tive of the wet state of land. But land that contains
no such superabundance of water as to obstruct its arable
culture, but which, by its inherent wetness, may never¬
theless prevent the luxuriant growth of the cereal grains
and the cultivated grasses, requires draining as much as
wet land, though wetness is not so apparent in it as in
the other. The deficiency of the crop on apparently dry
lands is naturally attributed to unskilful husbandry, till
experience proves that no management, however skilful,
can counteract the baneful influence of concealed stag¬
nant water. Observation teaches us that stagnant water,
whether on the surface or immediately under the surface
of land, injures all the useful classes of plants. How the
injury arises is not very clear; perhaps by obstructing
perspiration and intro-susception, and thus diseasing their
roots; or, what is more probable, it prevents their food
from being presented in a nutritious state, by checking
the chemical decomposition of the substances which supply
the food of plants. Whether the true cause of the bad
effects of stagnant water on the vegetation of useful plants
will ever be discovered, the future progress of vegeto-phy-
siological science can alone determine. In the mean time,
experience assures us that draining will remove these
bad effects.
It thus appears there are two species of draining; the
one draws oft' the larger bodies of water which are collect¬
ed from the discharge of springs in isolated spots, and the
other absorbs the superabundance of water from and un¬
der the surface of the land. The first is called under-
draining, because it intercepts the passage of the water
from springs at some distance under ground. The second
makes channels for conveying away the water which falls
on the surface of the ground, and is therefore called sur¬
face-draining. Surface-draining is again divided into two
kinds; the one consists only in making small open channels
and furrows immediately on the surface of the ground;
the other is effected by means of small drains constructed
at a short distance under the surface of the ground, in
order to collect the water which would otherwise remain
on a retentive subsoil at the bottom of the plough furrow.
This latter kind derives its name from the particular con¬
struction of the drain.
The theory on which these different kinds of draining
are founded is sufficiently explicit. WRere the upper sur¬
face of land is at all permeable to water, and where it
rests on beds of matter of different depths, of various
lengths and breadths, each possessing a consistency of re¬
tentiveness or permeability, the water produced from rain,
snow, or dew, in its progress along the porous bed, will
be interrupted and retained by the retentive beds, and
will accumulate in them in larger or smaller quantities,
according as they present a basin shape, over the edge of
which it will burst through the upper surface in the form
of springs. Hence the necessity of under-draining to
draw off the wmter contained in the basin-shaped curves
of the retentive layers. Where the upper surface is per¬
meable, and the subsoil immediately under it retentive,
water will accumulate on the subsoil, to the injury of
plants growing on the surface soil. Hence the origin of
surface-draining, by laying land in ridges, and forming
small open channels, along which the water percolating
through the surface soil may have a free passage. Where
the subsoil is so porous as to permit the water to perco¬
late through it beyond the reach of the plough, these open
surface gutters will have no effect in removing the super¬
abundant water. Hence the second class of surface drains
must then be constructed to absorb it. Where the sur¬
face soil and the subsoil are both permeable, they will
hold water only by capillary attraction; and what is not
so retained will sink down into the inferior permeable
beds by its gravity. Hence in such land draining is un¬
necessary. Of these excessive supplies of water, that
from springs, is most injurious to the vegetation of useful
plants, as being colder, and generally more permanent in
their operation. Capillary attraction will retain as much
water in the surface soil as vegetation requires, excepting
under the extraordinary occurrence of excessive drought.
Hence the abstraction of water by draining is quite inde¬
pendent of its supply as a manure, as a meliorator of the
soil, as a menstruum for food, or as a regulator of tempera¬
ture to plants.
These statements prove the necessity of a knowledge of
geology for a perfect understanding of the principles of
draining; and fortunately practice in this department of
rural economy is not at variance with scientific principle.
On the contrary, he who is best acquainted with geology
and the principles of hydraulics, will constitute the most
scientific drainer. But such a character cannot yet be
easily acquired by any man; for that department of geo-
logy> the knowledge of which is most applicable to the art
of draining, is the most difficult to be understood, and has
hitherto been the least explored. Most of the arable soil
is contained within the tertiary and alluvial formations of
rocks. 1 he intricate relations of the newer beds, which
compose the alluvial class of rocks, and which are the most
intimately connected with arable culture and draining,
present almost insurmountable obstacles to the thorough
acquirement of the art of draining. They at least throw
an uncertainty over its operations; and this uncertainty
must continue till the relations of the alluvial rocks are
discovered to be as fixed as those of the other classes.
Perhaps this certainty is unattainable; because it maybe
that the newer members of the alluvia strata do not bear
a strictly relative position to one another. But till this
fact is ascertained one way or the other, draining must be
conducted in a great measure in these alluvial deposites by
trial. In undertakings on trial, error generally ensues, and
unnecessary expense is often incurred. One very unfor¬
tunate circumstance, arising from the uncertainty attend¬
ing draining, is the uselessness of the experience acquired
in one set ot operations, in guiding to a means of securing
a more certain result in another. As uncertainty attends
on the number and depth, and even direction, of the drains
which are required to dry one field sufficiently, so a similar
uncertainty prevails over the similar operations in the ad¬
joining field. Every drainer will concur in the justness
of these remarks. A deeper study by geologists in this
DRAINING. 137
n Min*, branch of geology would therefore confer everlasting obli-
„ations on the drainer; and would they also direct their
^ particular attention to the connection between the upper
surface of the earth’s crust, and the one immediately
subjacent, that connection would perhaps be found to be
intimate; or, at all events, the investigation would sup¬
ply desirable materials for a correct nomenclature and
classification of soils.
It does not appear that the ancients practised draining.
The Egyptians, Indians, and Persians, and indeed the inha¬
bitants of the tropical regions, rather practise the opposite
though almost sister art in effect, namely, irrigation, on land
which is beyond the influence of the great periodical over¬
flowings of rivers. The Greeks had neglected draining; and
indeed they did not attend much to agriculture. The Ro¬
mans, on the other hand, skilful husbandmen in every de¬
partment of agriculture, drained their lands with the great¬
est care and assiduity. Cato, their oldest writer on agricul¬
ture, enters so minutely into the importance of draining,
as even to prescribe the dimensions and shapes of open and
covered drains. The Romans had only been acquaint¬
ed with the draining of springs, and the clearing away
of surface water. For the former purpose the drains were
left open at both ends, and the water from the springs was
conveyed away by them out of the field, as particularly
described by Columella. For taking away surface water
they used open ditches in stiff soils, as Palladius informs
us; and Cato directs that when the rain commences in
autumn, all the servants should go out with sarcles, or
other iron tools, open drains, turn the water into the chan¬
nels, and take care of the corn fields, that it flow from
them. It thus appears that the Romans were unacquaint¬
ed with the deeper kind of surface-draining. In our own
country draining has been practised for a long period.
Ingulphus mentions that a chamberlain of William the
Conqueror, Richard de Rulos, lord of Brunne and Deep¬
ing, drained a great extent of country, and embanked the
river Wielland, which used to overflow the neighbouring
county every year. It is more than probable that drain¬
ing was practised in this country long before that period,
as the Romans invariably introduced the arts of life into
every country which they conquered. Fitzherbert’s Boke
of Husbandries which was published in 1534, during Henry
VIII.’s reign, contains minute directions for draining. But
the greatest impulse which draining received in Britain
was in the latter half of the last century; and that was
given by a practical discovery of the seat of springs, by
a farmer, Mr Elkington of Princethorp, in Warwickshire.
Being an uneducated man, Elkington was not able to com¬
municate his ideas to the public. Mr Johnstone, a drainer
residing in Edinburgh, under the authority of the Board
of Agriculture, published a full and satisfactory account of
Elkington’s mode of draining wet land. Elkington was ig¬
norant of geology, and cotild not therefore have acted on
scientific principles. These principles Farey, in his report
of the agriculture of Derbyshire, maintains that many con¬
temporaries of Elkington understood better than he did.
But whatever might have been Elkington’s personal qua-
; lifications, it cannot be denied that the mode of draining
which he practised himself, and which he showed to many
farmers and country gentlemen, produced a complete re¬
volution in that art in this country. His principle was
simple and strictly scientific, though he was probably not
aware of its scientific character, or of the science which
it involved; but it was undoubtedly its scientific nature
which caused it to be attended with such success. He
applied his principle chiefly to the draining of springs,
which was simply to intercept the water by a drain at its
source or spring; and the wetness in the land arising from
that source will of course be removed. The cutting the
VOL. vm.
drains deep is almost essential to the success of his system. Draining.
The difficulty in the application of the principle consists in
discovering the seat of the spring. A minute knowledge of
the alluvial rocks would overcome this difficulty. In the
present state of that knowledge, shrewdness must perform
the part of science, assisted by trials in digging pits or
cutting straight ditches through the beds of earth, in or¬
der to ascertain which of them contains the spring.
The drains which our forefathers made rested on the
subsoil, immediately under the surface soil; and their
depth under the surface depended on the depth of the
upper soil. But as the depth of the arable soil, when it is
of a different nature from the subsoil, is never very great,
these drains were necessarily shallow. As experience,
however, would soon teach men the impropriety of pla¬
cing the stones in a drain within reach of the plough, few
stones were placed in them, often not exceeding three, one
on each side of the cut, and another above them, forming
a sort of conduit. These conduits being near the surface,
and of small areas, an additional quantity of water, or
moles digging across them, placed such obstructions in
them as to prevent entirely the flow of the water. They
then became receptacles of water, and produced the mis¬
chief they were intended to remedy. Many of these drains
are met with in the soil; and they appear to have been
formed on the notion that a conduit to convey the stag¬
nant jvater between the upper and subsoils was quite
sufficient to render the soil permanently dry. The dis¬
covery of these trifling drains compels us to the belief of
the fact, that the mode of draining practised by the Ro¬
mans, and which without doubt they had introduced into
this country, had been neglected or forgotten in the dark
ages, previously to the revival of agriculture in Britain in
the reign of Henry the Eighth.
Compared with the paltry method just described, the
system of Elkington is super-excellent. No wonder that
it produced at the time of its introduction a revolution in
the art. It was as much more effective than the old sys¬
tem in changing the quality of the land, as blood-letting
with a lancet from a vein affects the general constitution
in a greater degree than the topical application of leeches.
Elkington’s discovery also created discussion, which ter¬
minated in the permanent establishment of the present
method of draining practised in this country. This me¬
thod is a modification of that of Elkington; and it is an
improvement, in as far as it effectually drains a species of
wetness in land, for which his method is perhaps not so
suitable. It is fully granted, that to drain bursts of water
and marshy ground, it is necessary to cut off the springs
which supply them with water ; and that whatever depth
of drain or strength of materials are required to effect
these purposes, they ought to be executed. In this man¬
ner many extensive properties have been drained, at great
expense it is true, but so effectually, that the increased
income derived from the improved quality of the soil, and
the more rapid growth of the trees, will continue as a per¬
manent fund, from which the expense of the improvements
will be amply repaid. Granting these advantages, with
which, however, it is not intended to intermeddle, it is
nevertheless maintained by many that the portion of land
which is wetted by water springing from below, bears a
very small proportion to that which is in a wet state from
the retention of rain water on an impervious subsoil. A
great extent of land may be wetted by the bursting out
of a spring of water; and the obvious mode of drying that
land is to remove the spring; but will the same mode of
draining, dry land which is wetted to a great extent by
rain water being retained in the surface soil like water in
a sponge, in consequence of a retentive subsoil ? Obvi¬
ously not. A drain in a retentive subsoil cannot draw wa-
$
DRAINING.
138
Draining, ter from a distance. A number of drains should therefore
be made, all to co-operate by their absorbing power, in
order to remove the water from the retentive subsoil;
and as drains cannot draw water from a distance in a re¬
tentive subsoil, so in such a subsoil they need not be made
deeper than to contain a sufficient quantity of materials to
ensure their durability. This method of draining may be
as expensive or more expensive than the system of drain¬
ing springs; but whatever may be its expense, the in¬
creased produce and the improved quality of the subse¬
quent crops will soon repay it. The theory on which this
method is founded is also purely scientific. In the natural
circumstances of the upper and subsoils, varying from light
dry loam resting on beds of sand and gravel, to a thin
steril crust, incumbent on impervious clay, the drainage
must be various. In the former no water springs from be¬
low ; and what falls upon the surface is immediately ab¬
sorbed and carried down beyond the reach of vegetation.
In the latter case, water, whether springing from below or
falling on the surface in the shape of rain, must, where
there is a declivity, run slowly off over the surface, how¬
ever great the distance; or, in the event of a level sur¬
face, must remain stagnant till evaporated by the sun. On
such a subsoil, a sufficient depth of active soil cannot be
long maintained; for even if enriched with lime and ma¬
nure, it will bear scanty crops ; and if laid out for pasture,
it will in a few years revert to its natural state, aiyl pro¬
duce only coarse herbage. Some soils rest on subsoils
partially permeable by water. Such, in dry seasons, with
judicious management, produce good crops; but in rainy
seasons the crops are thin and the grain inferior in quality.
When soil is immediately incumbent on open rock, such
as the trap rocks, which contain many fissures, the land is
uniformly fertile. Thus carefully copying the operations
of nature, if drains were made in retentive subsoils, so as
to give water frequent opportunities of escape, the soil
would then become fertile, like the soil which rests on
the open rock. Hence the drains are made straight and
parallel to one another, and as near to each other as is
necessary for the effectual drying of the land. These pa¬
rallel drains are placed down the inclination, instead of
across the land.
Strong objections are urged against this system of sur¬
face-draining by those who are strenuous advocates of El-
kington’s mode of cutting deep drains across the face of
inclined ground. They maintain that fewer of these cross
drains will dry the land than those which run straight
down the inclined ground, and that these small drains will
only serve a temporary purpose, and will have to be re¬
newed at no great distance of time, at a greater cost than
the making of cross drains. Such objections to the pa¬
rallel straight drains are not so strong as they appear. It
might be supposed, indeed, at first sight, that a drain pass¬
ing across a piece of inclined ground will more readily in¬
tercept the descent of water than drains passing down in
a direction parallel to the course of the wTater. But the
fact is, in all pieces of ground which lie at an inclination,
there is a double inclination, the one down the face of the
inclination, which is always the greatest, and the other
across its face. Water running down a double inclination
will of course take the direction of the diagonal, in the
exact proportion the angles of inclination bear to one ano¬
ther, provided the substance of the subsoil were homoge¬
neous. As it is very improbable that the subsoil should be
homogeneous, there is a risk of cutting the cross drains pa¬
rallel to the course of the water, in which case they would
not intercept any of it; whereas numerous drains cut pa¬
rallel to the direction of the ridges on the inclined ground,
would certainly intercept the water in its diagonal and de¬
vious course. Should the adoption of small drains cause
them to be superficially constructed, this defect would be Dra
a strong objection against the whole system; but substan-
tial drains are as necessary in this as in the other system.
Drains which are to contain broken stones, and no other
material wfill answer the purpose in a retentive but spon¬
gy subsoil, should not be less than thirty inches in depth;
one foot for the passage of the plough over the stones,
and eighteen inches of small stones. . This is the least size
the drains should be, and of this size they will endure for
generations. In this mode of draining it is proposed to
make the drains three feet deep.
Having explained the ratioziale of different modes of
draining, it will be necessary to give a minute detail of the
mode of forming the different kinds of drains.
It is scarcely necessary to state that all drains must be
cut in a direction to permit the water in them to run
down hill. No drain should be made more level than
an inclination in the bottom of one foot in twenty-five
yards. With this fall water will easily gravitate in a drain.
Drains formed for the purpose of drying springs which
are not in the immediate vicinity of marshy ground, should
be four feet in depth at the least. A reservation is made
in case of marshy ground, for it is probable that its vici¬
nity will not afford a fall of four feet. All drains of four
feet in depth should be filled with small stones gathered
from the fields, or stones from the quarry broken small for
the purpose; and such drains should always be built with
a conduit of dry masonry, of a size in the opening propor¬
tionate to the quantity of water which it is supposed will
run through them; and the size of this conduit will of
course regulate the breadth of the bottom of the drain to
be cut out. In all cases of conduits they should be built
on a bottom floored on stones; for in many kinds of clay
which have a mixture of sand (and in all drainable clays
such a mixture does exist), the water, if considerable,
will wear away the clay from under the conduit, and
cause sinkings in the drain. The small stones should be
carefully packed around the conduit with the hand till it
be covered, and the remainder thrown in from the side of
the drain by the hand, to within eighteen or fifteen inches
of the surface of the ground. When the filling is com¬
pleted, the stones should be neatly levelled; the filling
should commence immediately after the cutting is finished,
which should be executed in small portions at a time.
The stones should be covered over with any material which
will prevent the loose earth trickling down through them
into the drain, such as straw, which is perhaps too valu¬
able an article for this purpose, turf with the grass side
downwards, or quicken well shaken of its earth gathered
from the fallow fields. The levelling of the earth which
has been cast out should be executed as soon after the
filling of the stones as possible, and it should be carefully
and not slovenly performed; as a ridge of earth, however
small, placed across a piece of inclined ground, and which
cannot afterwards be removed till the field is ploughed up
again, will intercept the water in its descent down the
furrows, and there cause that moisture in the ground
which the draining was intended to remove. An easy
method of levelling the earth is to put some of it in the
first place with the spade over the covering of the stones,
and then to pass the plough and turn the earth over into
the drain in the same direction, returning the plough
empty. This operation may be repeated twice or thrice,
according to the quantity of earth to be levelled, and then
a space of the adjoining ground may be ploughed with
that thrown out, in the manner of a common ridge, till the
■whole is flat. It is almost always recommended to fill
drains from their upper end towards the mouth. This
may be a desirable arrangement when the drain is neces¬
sarily very level, in order to preserve the fall, but never
draining.
139
otherwise • for the risk which is incurred should wet wea-
!3 ther set in, by the falling in of the sides, while waiting for
perhaps a great length of cutting, would more than coun¬
teract any advantage of preserving a minute level. These
general observations on the cutting and filling and cover-
Lr of drains apply to every species of drain. Other ge¬
neral observations are, that main drams, into which the
lateral drains empty themselves, should be larger than the
lateral ones. Main drains should be cut in the nearest and
most convenient hollows for the outlet of water from the
fields. All lateral drains should enter the main dram, or
other lateral drains, with an acute angle of confluence^ to
expedite the water in its course. The mouths of main drains
should be left open, strongly built, and defended with
wooden or iron bars, to prevent the ingress of the larger
class of vermin, such as badgers, foxes, and polecats.
Where square stones cannot be easily procured for the
building of conduits, and where flat stones are more plen¬
tiful, they should be used in coupling, that is, one should
be laid flat on the bottom of the drain, and other two set
up on it, meeting at the top, the three forming an isosceles
triangle. Small stones should then be packed carefully
with^the hand along the side and over the apex of the
triangle. This coupled drain is perhaps not so strong as
a built conduit, but it may be made very durable if the
stones are of compact structure, and it is less expensive,
as it requires a narrower cut than the conduit.
Drains from three and a half to two and half feet deep
should be wholly filled with small stones. They are termed
rubble drains. They need not exceed the breadth of a
garden spade at the bottom. The small stones with
' which they are filled should not exceed the size of the
fist, and they should be thrown in by the hand from the
side of the drain; not carelessly against the sides and on
the bottom of the drain, but rolled down, as it were, the
inclined face of the stones already filled in. In this man¬
ner they will arrive easily at the bottom, and find their
own position. When rubble drains are formed in hazel
loams, they become the favourite resort of earthworms in
search of fresh and unexhausted soil. Moles soon follow
them, and these may cause damage to the drains if pre¬
cautionary measures be not adopted. I he pressing of
the smallest stones by the foot into the bottom of the
drain, to form a sort of causeway upon which the other
stones are placed, is an insuperable obstacle to moles
running under it, and heaving the earth up into the drain.
It has always been recommended to build conduits in
quicksands; but the circumstance most deserving notice
in the drainage of these troublesome things is the laying
the bottom of the drain with flat stones, and building up^
its sides with a sort of masonry, in which pieces of turf
should act as mortar, to prevent the sand running into
the middle of the drain. Instead i)f leaving the conduit
open, it should be filled up with small stones carefully
packed in with the hand, because this construction is
the strongest for resisting the lateral pressure of the
quicksand.
In regard to the comparative advantages of a conduit
and rubble drain, where no necessity exists of making the
drain so deep as the stones at the bottom would be pressed
into the earth by the weight of those above them, and this
injurious effect will not be produced at a less depth than
three and a half feet, no better materials can be employed
to fill drains than hard round stones not exceeding the
size of a goose’s egg. It will be quite unnecessary to be
at the expense of conduits and couples in all those shallow
drains formed in retentive subsoils not containing springs.
Water in the quantity generally found in drains, percolates
through rubble stones with less injury to the drains them¬
selves than in conduits ; because, after a tract of wet wea¬
ther, when the water in all drains is more or less turbid, ac- Draining,
cording to-the soil through which it passes, the rubble drain
retards its current throughout its whole course, and causes
it to deposite what portion of earth may be mechanically
suspended in it, in a gradual manner; whereas the rather
rapid current in a conduit will deposite its earth in quanti¬
ties in every eddy which it forms, and in the course of time
banks of earth will be formed in the conduit at different
places, so as to affect the depth of the drain above those
deposites.
Tiles made on purpose for drains are now very frequently
used instead of stones. They are sometimes made in the
shape of long truncated cones which fit into one another,
but more commonly in semicircular pieces placed upon
flat tiles. Where stones can be procured for the gather¬
ing, or quarried near at hand, and a sufficient quantity can
be obtained of them, they are in every case superior to
tiles for draining. Tiles may be beneficially used in con¬
junction with stones when the latter are carefully packed
around, and of a sufficient depth above the former. They
may also be used in clay soils, if well packed in a mass of
peat moss. Clay soils seldom contain stones, but are often
associated with peat. Tiles at present (1833) are for the
most part used in furrow-draining, that is, in drains cut
in any furrow between the ridges, these drains are ge¬
nerally made twenty inches in depth, one foot wide at the
top, and two or three inches at the bottom. Sometimes
small broken stones to the height of ten inches are used
in these drains instead of tiles. With whatever materials
they are filled, such a size of drains is objectionable. It
intended to drain springs, they are incompetent to reach
their source ; if surface water arising from rain lodging on
an impervious subsoil, the paucity of materials in them de¬
prives them of utility and durability. Such a system can
only serve a temporary purpose; and in a permanent im¬
provement such a motive should always be proscribed.
Draining insufficiently performed is nearly as bad as leav¬
ing it undone. Its defects cannot frequently be discovered
till a great loss has been sustained.
Another method of draining has lately been introduced,
and is termed plug-draining. It is exclusively confined to
the draining of tenacious clay, and chiefly practised on pas¬
ture land. It consists of removing the turf with a common
spade twelve inches in width and six inches in depth.
The clay under the turf is removed with a narrow-shaped
instrument called a grafting iron, on the side of which is
raised a cutting bit six inches long, to the depth of eigh¬
teen inches. The drain is made two feet deep, one foot
in breadth at the top, and one inch and three quarters at
the bottom. Plugs of wood to fit the bottom of the diain,
one and three quarters of an inch wide at bottom, four
inches at the top, and six inches in height, and of any
length, perhaps a foot, are then placed in the bottom.
The clay last taken out of the drain is returned into it
and rammed hard down, until the whole clay thrown out
is replaced in a solid mass into the drain. Upon the clay
the grass turf is replaced in its original position. ffhe
plugs are then withdrawn from below the clay to within
eight inches of their length, by means of a lever acting
upon it with a chain attached to the end of the plugs.
Three or four of these plugs are united together by iron
slips, which permit them to have as much play as to ac¬
commodate themselves to any curvature or inequality in
the cutting of the drain. Expedients for draining the
surface of grass lands have frequently been attempted;
such as turning over a turf slice wdth the plough, paring
the earth off the bottom of the turf slice with a spade, and
replacing it. The drain thus made is like a large mole gal¬
lery, and hence it is called mole-draining. But this and the
plug-draining, and all other expedients of the like kind, are
140
DRAINING.
Draining, but temporary shifts. They all originate in a false notion
of economy. The advantages of draining can only be ob¬
tained when it is effectually executed, and it cannot be so
executed without a considerable expense. Its operations
being beyond the reach of daily observation, is a strong
reason for executing it effectually. To be obliged to rec¬
tify the errors of draining is a serious evil, and will always
cost more than a judicious primary outlay.
The minor adjuncts connected with Elkington’s mode
of draining springs should not be overlooked. They con¬
sist of boring with the auger, and sinking pits. Where
tenacious beds of clay of moderate thickness forming re¬
tentive subsoils rest on gravel or sand, or open rock, holes
bored through them with the auger when their depth is
considerable, or pits sunk through them when they are
less so, may effect a very considerable saving of expense.
There is obviously no use of cutting a great length of a
main drain, merely as a conveyance for water, when a hole
or a pit opened on the spot would effect a similar purpose.
In many cases, rich marshy land, and land-locked lakes,
cannot be drained in any other way. A correct knowledge
of geology is essentially necessary in this department of
draining, in order to arrive at the desirable result with the
least trouble.
These various modes of draining, which have been but
imperfectly described, are executed in what may be term¬
ed different styles. Elkington’s mode presents a ramified
or dendritic appearance. The main drains occupy the
lowest parts, or the hollows of fields. From them the la¬
teral drains branch out in various lengths in a sloping di¬
rection along the inclined face of the ground. Where
springs abound at the foot of mountain ridges, and where
the substratum consists of beds of sand, however thin, in-
terlayed with thick beds of impervious clay, and where
the water evidently rises from below, this is the most
beneficial system of draining which can be followed. The
upper soil on such a substratum is generally a clay loam,
unprofitable when wet, but extremely grateful when dried.
With deep ploughing, plentiful liming, and liberal manur¬
ing, after drainage, such land will continue for ages to
produce wheat, clover, beans, and Swedish turnips, in
abundance. The expense of this method of draining is
considerable by the rood, though not by the acre. It
will be more than a shilling per rood of six yards; but
not exceeding L.3 or L.4 per imperial acre. These clay
loams almost always rest on inferior kinds of clay, of
various qualities and colours. They rest on retentive
subsoils, generally occupy large flats, large detached
patches, knolls, and often run in bands across part of
the country. In hollow portions of ground, mossy soils
of little depth rest on these clays. In examining the
structure of the subsoil on which these clay loams rest, it
is probable they have been deposited when the retiring
waters were nearly in a quiescent state. Though the dif¬
ferent kinds of clay, often exhibiting different colours, are
not arranged in horizontal or parallel beds, they appear in
undulating beds of different lengths, and of contempora¬
neous formation, and these are frequently divided by thin
beds of sand. These undulations act as basins to inter¬
cept and collect the water which permeates gradually
through the detached beds of sand. This permeant pro¬
perly permits them to contain large quantities of water,
and hence this class of soil is very wet, and difficult to
manage before they are drained. Very frequently a thick¬
er bed of sand than the rest divides the mixed clayey sub¬
soil from clay of a different and generally more homoge¬
neous structure below it; and in cases where this homo¬
geneous clay is not more than six feet below the surface,
and it is often less, it forms an excellent flooring for a
main drain.
Another style of draining has lately assumed the appel- bra
lation of the frequent-drain. It consists of cutting parallel ^ ^
rows of drains down the face of inclined ground, which
terminate in a main drain in the lowest part of the field.
Contrary to the mode of draining just mentioned, this will
cost little per rood, and much per acre. The expense in
the hardest clay subsoil will not exceed tenpence per rood
of six yards; but from the number of drains required, it
will cost in such a subsoil nine or ten pounds per imperial
acre. The cost of course will be in proportion to the ob¬
duracy of the material to be operated upon. In clayey
subsoils generally of a reddish hue, containing small round
and angular stones, frequently round masses of slaty sand¬
stone, sometimes water-worn boulders of the older forma¬
tions, and isolated veins of sand, this species of draining is
admirably adapted, provided the drains are made of a suffi¬
cient depth to contain eighteen inches of small stones. This
subsoil often continues of the same structure to a great
depth, and it is very retentive of water, which has its ori¬
gin in it chiefly from above in the shape of rain and snow.
Deep draining is quite inapplicable to this subsoil. From
the very structure of the subsoil, it is clear that digging the
drains beyond a certain depth will confer no advantage.
Water permeates such a subsoil only through the sand
which it contains; and as that exists in an isolated state,
it is not in the power of any drain to attract moisture from
a distance. Dark hazel-coloured loams and black mould
generally rest on these subsoils. These soils, when drain¬
ed, form good turnip land, are sound for the rearing and
feeding of live stock, raise barley of fine quality, and will
carry good winter and spring wheat, when clay enters
into their composition. In deep loams, where the influ¬
ence of moisture is remote, draining, at least deep drain¬
ing, is unnecessary. It is more necessary in thin loams,
as the proximate relation of the subsoil to them in regard
to a state of wetness has a direct influence on the produc¬
tive powers of the soil.
Furrow-draining consists of cutting a drain in every fur¬
row between the ridges, and these drains will be crooked
or straight as the furrows are so: the drains terminate in
a main drain at the lowest part of the field. The only
instance where furrow-draining can be safely recommended
is in pure clays, where the soil from time immemorial has j
been formed into broad, high, crooked ridges, the furrows
of which cannot with propriety be changed in ploughing I
the land, as may be done with most other soils. Many of
these furrows contain surface water during a great part of
the year, which frequently destroys the crops half way up
the sides of the ridges, the general declivity of the surface
of the land being unable to convey away the water without
the assistance of drains. But instead of making these fur¬
row-drains two or three inches wide at the bottom, as is
usually done, they should never be less than the breadth of
a common spade, and filled eighteen inches high with small
stones or gravel, or tiles with peat moss, and the remainder
to the top with porous earth. Pure clays, which extend
to some depth, and which have the upper and subsoils
composed of homogeneous clay, if judiciously managed,
require no draining at all, not because they are not wet
soils (on the contrary they are very wet soils), but because
water cannot permeate through them, except as far as
the plough reaches. Such soils may be effectually dried
by deep ploughing, and keeping the furrows always clear
with the spade. To keep such a soil dry, a practice might
be beneficially taken from Irish agriculture. It is called
double shovelling. This is done after the land is water-
furrowed. A cutting plough drawn by two horses, one
before the other, is passed along the furrow. The plough
goes and returns close to the sides of the ridges, and at
six inches deep, thus furnishing fresh mould, and pre-
DRAINING. • 141
Li. serving a narrow furrow, the shovelling with the shovel
Li ^ or spade being completed from its depth instead of its
width ; and if the mould be thus ploughed in dry weather,
it can be shovelled even after receiving rain. In retentive
soils these furrows are absolutely necessary; and by the
foregoing method, the extra covering for the ridge, by
which some harrowing is saved after the sowing of the
seed, is produced with nearly as little waste of ground as
by the common water-furrow drawn by the plough. All
flat clay deposites, or what are called Carses in Scotland,
are composed of this kind of soil, and many detached
fields on the sides of winding rivers may be found of a
similar character. They cover a very inconsiderable
portion of the face of the country, though in productive
powers they stand in the first rank of soils.
Sandy soils resting on sand require no draining. They
are found occupying extensive flats on the estuaries ot
large rivers. All soils resting on a subsoil of gravel are
naturally dry. Drought alone injures them. It is re¬
markable that all soils which rest on gravel are a light
loam, of a light hazel-brown colour, whether they have
a siliceous or alluminous basis. These constitute the true
turnip soils, and are to be found on the banks and haughs
of straight-running rivers, rapid streams, and fresh-water
lakes.
A thorough knowledge of the various modes ot drain¬
ing is not alone sufficient to constitute a good drainer ; he
should know the principles as well as the practice of his
art. The difficulty is not so great in constructing a
drain, as in knowing where it should be made. A true
knowledge of whether the wetness in land arises from
springs or stagnant water under the surface of the soil,
can alone teach a man where to open up the ground. Every
manager of land unfortunately thinks he possesses that
knowledge, and the consequence has frequently happened
that small drains have been opened where only deep ones
should have been, and much money expended in making
deep drains where smaller ones would have answered the
purpose. But the former error is greater than the latter.
In neither case, however, has the money expended been
thrown away. A certain degree of success has attended
every attempt at draining; and this favourable result,
perhaps, more than any other circumstance, has beguiled
many into the belief that they are accomplished drainers ;
for no one, however incapable he might be of directing the
operation aright, would even make the attempt to drain
land until he had actually experienced an obvious injury
arising from wet land. It must be confessed that many
improvements effected by draining have been purchased
at a greater cost than was necessary to accomplish the
end. Many attempts have been made at draining land by
men who did not know how to accomplish it to the best
advantage either to themselves or the land. The outlay
of their money has therefore been ill directed. Were the
evil effects of ignorance confined to the squandering of a
little money, they might be counteracted by superior ma¬
nagement in the other operations of the farm. But, un¬
fortunately, the sinking of valuable capital in injudicious
draining, deprives the farmer of the means of pursuing
other improvements, and prevents his reaping all the ad¬
vantages derivable from draining itself. Thus crippled in
his resources, he cannot put and maintain his farm in the
highest condition ; for such is the generous character of
our farmers, as promoters of improvement, that they can¬
not be accused of the desire of hoarding up riches through
the love of gain, so long as they can improve the condition
of their farms in any way, even though they themselves
may riot ultimately reap the advantages arising from those Draining,
improvements. Were draining an operation which could
be executed at little cost and trouble, it would be of little
importance to urge its accomplishment in the most effec¬
tual way; but as it is an expensive operation, when con¬
ducted even in the most economical manner, much thought
is requisite before attempting to break up the ground to a
great extent. A knowledge of the structure ot the upper
portion of the earth’s crust is absolutely necessary to direct
our thoughts aright on this subject. That knowledge may
even now be partially acquired by any farmer. Let him
therefore, in the first place, contemplate the facts it un¬
folds to his view, and endeavour through them to acquire
that wisdom which will direct him to expend his money in
draining with prudence as well as skill. It will assist him
much in ascertaining what are the kinds of soil which re¬
quire deep draining, and what kinds may be treated equal¬
ly well under a different management. Inattention to this
distinction has given rise to the inordinate application of
a general principle, which, as a general principle, but sub¬
ject to great and necessary limitations, must receive the
approbation of every man who knows and feels the impor¬
tance of this improvement in husbandry.
Much has already been effected in Great Britain, but
much yet remains to be done, by draining. A vast extent
of the arable land of England and Scotland, and we may
more especially include Ireland, generally esteemed dry,
is yet so far injured by the tardy and imperfect escape of
the water, especially in winter, and during long periods
of wet weather in summer, that the working of it is often
difficult and precarious, and its fertility much below what
would uniformly exist under a thorough dryness. A sys¬
tem of drainage, therefore, generally applicable, and effect¬
ing complete and uniform dryness, is of the utmost im¬
portance to the agricultural interest, and through them to
every other interest in the country.
The advantages arising from draining land are both nu¬
merous and various. Manures and stimulants can never
impart their peculiar benefits to any soil which rests con¬
tinually on a wet bottom ;—the operations of husbandry
can never be accomplished in due season ;—and the pro¬
duce is never abundant or of good quality in such circum¬
stances. Draining removes all these evils. It is truly an
operation, as Pliny terms it, of the highest utility,—Hu-
midiorem agrum fossis concidi citcpie siccari, utilissimurn est;
 it is not only the meliorator, but the maker of soil. Let
no one despair of his soil, however forbidding; let him
really drain it, and the results will encourage him.
The general improvement of the soil by draining would
lower the value of high-rented land ; but it would greatly
increase the aggregate rental of the kingdom. It would
diminish the general cost of produce, thereby affording
cheaper provisions to the consumer. Both landlord and
tenant would have greater returns from the land; and
these returns being permanent, the landlord ought to bear
the greatest share of the expense. Increased production
would create a demand for labour, and the labourers of
all professions would be enabled to live more comfortably.
From this only true mode of cheapening labour, the Bri¬
tish manufacturer would be aided in his competition with
foreign labour ;—the general revenue of the country would
increase ;—the salubrity of the climate, and the genera!
beauty of the country, would be greatly promoted, dhere
is no subject, therefore, more worthy the attention of the
landed interest, than the encouragement of thorough
drainage, and, as a necessary and beneficial consequence of
draining, the deep working of the soil. (k. k. k.)
142
D R A
rake. DRAKE, Sir Francis, a celebrated English admiral,
was the son of Edmund Drake, a sailor, and was born
near Tavistock, in Devonshire, in the year 1545. He was
brought up at the expense and under the care of Sir
John Hawkins, who was his kinsman, and, at the age of
eighteen, was the purser of a ship trading to Biscay. At
twenty he made a voyage to Guinea, and at twenty-two
he was made captain of the Judith. In that capacity he
was in the harbour of San Juan de Ulloa, in the Gulf of
Mexico, where he behaved most gallantly in the actions
under Sir John Hawkins, and returned with him to Eng¬
land, having acquired great reputation, though not worth
a groat. Upon this he projected an attack against the
Spaniards in the West Indies; a project which he no
sooner published than he found volunteers enow ready to
accompany him. In 1570 he undertook an expedition
with two ships, and the next year with only one, in which
he returned safe, if not with such advantages as he had
expected. In 1572 he made another expedition, in which
he did the Spaniards some mischief, and gained consider¬
able booty. In these expeditions he was much assisted
by a nation of Indians, who were then engaged in a sort
of chronic warfare with the Spaniards. The prince of
these people was named Pedro, to whom Drake present¬
ed a fine cutlass from his side, which he saw the Indian
greatly admired. Pedro, in return, gave him four large
wedges of gold ; which Drake threw into the common
stock, saying that he thought it but just that such as on
his credit bore the charge of so uncertain a voyage, should
share the utmost advantage which that voyage produced.
Ihen having embarked his men with all the wealth he
had obtained, which was very considerable, he bore away
for England, where he arrived in August 1573.
Plis success in this expedition, joined to his honourable
behaviour towards his owners, gained him high reputa¬
tion, and the use which he made of his riches a still
higher. Havipg fitted out three frigates at his own ex¬
pense, he sailed with them to Ireland; and there, under
Walter earl of Essex, the father of the famous but unfor¬
tunate earl, he served as a volunteer, and performed many
glorious actions. After the death of his patron, he re¬
turned to England, where Sir Christopher Hatton intro¬
duced him to her majesty Queen Elizabeth, and procur¬
ed him countenance and protection at court. By this
means he acquired the means of undertaking that grand
expedition which has rendered his name immortal. The
first proposal he made was to undertake a voyage into the
South Seas through the Straits of Magelhaens ; an achieve¬
ment which no Englishman had hitherto ever attempted.
This project having been well received at court, the queen
furnished him with means; and his own fame quickly
drew together a sufficient force. The fleet with which
he sailed on this enterprise consisted only of five vessels,
small when compared with the size of modern ships, and
having on board no more than a hundred and sixty-four
able men. Having sailed on the 13th of December 1577,
he on the 25th fell in with the coast of Barbary, and on
the 29th with Cape Verde. On the 18th of March he
passed the equinoctial, made the coast of Brazil on the
5th of April, and entered the river Plata, where he part¬
ed company with two of his ships; but having met them
again, and taken out their provisions, he turned them adrift.
On the 29th of May he entered the port of St Julian’s,
where he continued two months for the sake of laying in
a stock of provisions. On the 20th of August he entered
the Straits of Magelhaens, and on the 25th of September
passed them, having then only his own ship. On the 25th
of November he arrived at Macao, which he had appoint¬
ed as the place of rendezvous in the event of his ships
being separated; but Captain Winter, his vice-admiral,
D R A
having repassed the straits, had returned to England. He Di
thence continued his voyage along the coast of Chili and'
Peru, taking all opportunities of seizing Spanish ships, and
attacking them on shore, till his men were satiated with
plunder; and then, coasting America to the height of
forty-eight degrees, he endeavoured to find a passage that
way back into the Atlantic, but could not, because none
exists. However, he landed, and called the country New
Albion, taking possession of it in the name and for the
use of Queen Elizabeth ; and having careened his ship, he
set sail from thence on the 29th September 1579, for the
Moluccas. He is supposed to have chosen this passage
round, partly to avoid being attacked by the Spaniards
at a disadvantage, and partly because, from the lateness
of the season, dangerous storms and hurricanes were ap¬
prehended. On the 13th of October he fell in with cer¬
tain islands inhabited by the most barbarous people he
had met with in all his voyage. On the 4th of November
he got sight of the Moluccas; and, arriving at Ternate,
was extremely well received by the king of that place,
who appears from the most authentic relations of this
voyage to have been a wise and politic prince. On the
10th of December he made the Celebes, where his ship
unfortunately struck upon a rock on the 9th of January
following; but, beyond all expectation, they got her off,
and continued their course. On the 16th of March he
arrived at Java, whence he intended to have directed his
course to Malacca; but he found himself obliged to alter
his purpose, and to think of returning home. On the 25th
of March 1580, he put this design in execution; and on
the 15th of June he doubled the Cape of Good Hope,
having then on board only fifty-seven men and three
casks of water. On the 12th of July he passed the line,
reached the coast of Guinea on the 16th, and there water¬
ed. On the 11th of September he made the island of
Terceira, and on the 3d of November he entered the
harbour of Plymouth. This voyage round the world was
performed in two years and about ten months. Short¬
ly after his arrival, the queen having gone to Deptford,
went on board his ship, and there, after dinner, conferred
upon him the honour of knighthood, at the same time
declaring her entire approbation of all that he had done.
She likewise gave directions for the preservation of his
ship, that it might remain a monument of his own and his
country’s glory. In the year 1585, he sailed with a fleet
to the West Indies, and took the cities of St Jago, St Do¬
mingo, Carthagena, and St Augustine. In 1587 he went
to Lisbon with a fleet of thirty sail; and having received
intelligence of a great fleet being assembled in the bay of
Cadiz, and destined to form part of the armada, he with
great courage entered the port, and there burnt upwards
of 10,000 tons of shipping; a feat which he afterwards
merrily called “ burning the king of Spain’s beard.” In
1588, when the Spanish armada was approaching our
shores, Sir Irancis Drake was appointed vice-admiral un¬
der Charles Lord Howard of Effingham, high-admiral of
England ; and here fortune favoured him as remarkably as
ever ; for he made prize of a very large galleon, command¬
ed by Don Pedro de Valdez, who was reputed the pro¬
jector of the invasion. This affair deserves to be particu¬
larly stated. On the 22d of July, Sir Francis observing a
great Spanish ship floating at a distance from both fleets,
sent his pinnace to summon the commander to yield.
Valdez replied, with much Spanish solemnity, that they
were four hundred and fifty strong, that he himself was
Don Pedro, and stood much upoh his honour; and there¬
upon propounded several conditions, upon which he was
willing to yield. But the vice-admiral replied, that he had
no leisure to parley; that if the Don thought fit instantly
to yield, he might; if not, he should soon find that Drake
D R A
D R A
143
was no coward. Pedro, hearing the name of Drake, im¬
mediately yielded, and with forty-six of his attendants
came on board the admiral’s ship. This Don Pedro re¬
mained about two years Sir Francis Drake’s prisoner in
England ; and when he was released, paid for his own and
his captain’s liberty a ransom of L.3500. Drake’s soldiers
were well recompensed with the plunder of this ship, for
they found in it 55,000 ducats of gold, which were divid¬
ed amongst them.
A little before this formidable Spanish armament put
to sea, the ambassador of his Catholic majesty had the
confidence to propose to Queen Elizabeth, in Latin verse,
the terms upon which she might hope for peace. The
lines embodying this singular diplomatic communication
are as follow:
Te veto ne pergas hello defendere Belgas ;
Quae Dracus eripuit nunc restituantur oportet:
Q,uas pater evertit jubeo te condere cellas :
Iteligio Papse fac restituatur ad unguem.
To these the queen made this extempore response:
Ad Graecas, bone rex, fiant mandata kalendas.
In the year 1559, Sir Francis Drake commanded the
fleet sent to restore Dom Antonio, king of Portugal, the
land forces being under the orders of Sir John Norris;
but they had hardly put to sea when the commanders
differed, and thus the attempt proved abortive. But as
the war with Spain continued, a more formidable expedi¬
tion was fitted out, under Sir John Hawkins and Sir Fran¬
cis Drake, against their settlements in the West Indies,
than had hitherto been undertaken during the whole course
of it. Here, however, the commanders again disagreed
about the plan ; and the result in like manner disappoint¬
ed public expectation. Before these two last expeditions,
all difficulties had given way to the skill and fortune of
Sir Francis Drake; and this probably was the reason why
he did not bear these disappointments so well as he might
otherwise have done. A strong sense of them is suppos¬
ed to have thrown him into a melancholy, which occasion¬
ed a bloody flux, of which he died on board his own ship,
near the town of Nombre de Dios, in the West Indies, on
the 28th of January 1595-96. His death was lamented
by the whole nation, and particularly by his countrymen,
who had great reason to love him from the correctness of
his private life, as well as to esteem him on account of his
public character. He was elected burgess for the town of
Bossiny, otherwise called Tintagal, in the county of Corn¬
wall, in the twenty-seventh parliament of Queen Elizabeth ;
and for Plymouth, in Devonshire, in the thirty-fifth of the
same reign. This town was under very particular obliga- Draken-
tions to him; for, in the year 1587, he undertook to bring borch
into it water, from want of which it had till then been 11
grievously distressed; and he performed this undertaking L,rama-
by conducting thither a stream from springs at eight miles
distance, but by a course of upwards of twenty miles.
DRAKENBORCH, Arnold, a celebrated scholar and
editor, was a native of Utrecht, where he was born on
the 1st of January 1684; and in that city he was after¬
wards professor of rhetoric and history, an office which
he filled with great reputation. Graevius and Burmann
taught him the belles lettres, and Cornelius Van Eck was
his preceptor whilst he devoted his attention to the law.
He succeeded Professor Burmann in the year 1716, and
terminated his mortal career in 1748, in the sixty-fourth
year of his age. He was an author of distinguished emi¬
nence, as his publications sufficiently evince. His disser¬
tation entitled Disputatio philologico-historica de Prcefecto
urbis, in 4to, proves him to have been an able philologist,
and gave flattering indications of future eminence. Its
intrinsic merit caused it to be reprinted at Frankfort, in
1752, by Professor Uhl, accompanied with a life of its
learned author. His next work, entitled Disputatio de
officio prcefeclorum prcetorio, was published in the year
1707; and ten years afterwards he gave to the world his
edition of Silius Italicus, in seventeen books, 4to. In
order to render this edition as perfect as possible, nothing
was omitted ; and many historical subjects were engraved
for the purpose of elucidating the text, to which his own copi¬
ous and learned annotations greatly contributed. But his
splendid edition of Livy, with a life of that eminent his¬
torian, is that on which his fame as a scholar chiefly rests.
It is entitled T. Livii Patavini historiarum ab urbe con-
dita libri, qui supersunt, omnes. Lugd. Batav. 1738 and
1746, 7 tom. The preface to this work is very long, and
replete with erudition, giving a particular account of all
the literary characters who have at different periods com¬
mented on the works of Livy. He took the edition of
Gronovius as his model, because in his estimation it was
the most correct; but he made many important alterations
on the authority of manuscripts which it is probable Gro¬
novius had either never seen, or not taken the pains to
consult. Upon the whole, this edition of Livy is at once
the most elaborate, interesting, and instructive, ever given
to the world, since he has introduced into it the criticisms
of Duchier, Gronovius, Perizonius, and Sigonius, in ad¬
dition to his own, which, though somewhat prolix, are
certainly fraught with much literature and deep discern¬
ment.
DRAMA.
A drama (we adopt Dr Johnson’s definition, with some
little extension) is a poem or fictitious composition in
dialogue, in which the action is not related, but repre¬
sented.
A disposition to this fascinating amusement, considered
in its rudest state, seems to be inherent in human nature.
It is the earliest sport of children to take upon themselves
some fictitious character, and sustain it to the best of their
skill, by such appropriate gesture and language as their
youthful fancies suggest, and such dress and decoration
as circumstances place within their reach. The infancy
of nations is as prone to this pastime as that of indivi¬
duals. When the horde emerges out of a nearly brutal
state, so far as to have holidays, public sports, and general
rejoicings, the pageant of their imaginary deities, or of
their fabulous ancestors, is usually introduced as the most
pleasing and interesting part of the show. But however
general the predisposition to the assumption of fictitious
character may be, there is an immeasurable distance.be-
twixt the rude games in which it first displays itself, and
that polished amusement which is numbered among the
fine arts, which poetry, music, and painting have vied to
adorn, and to whose service genius has devoted her most
sublime efforts; whilst philosophy has stooped from her
loftier task, to regulate the progress of the action, and
give probability to the representation and personification
of the scene.
The history of Greece—of that wonderful country, whose Outline,
days of glory have left such a never-dying blaze of ra¬
diance behind them—the history of Greece affords us the
means of correctly tracing the polished and regulated
drama, the subject of severe rule, and the vehicle for ex-
DRAMA.
144
j^raina^ pressing the noblest poetry, from amusements as rude in
their outline as the mimic sports of children or of savages.
The history of the Grecian stage is that of the dramatic
art in general. They transferred the drama, with their
other literature, to the victorious Romans, with whom it
rather existed as a foreign than flourished as a native art.
Like the other fine arts, the stage sunk under the decay
of the empire, and its fall was accelerated by the intro¬
duction of the Christian religion. In the middle ages dra¬
matic representation revived, in the shape of theliomely
Mysteries and Moralities of our forefathers. The revival
of letters threw light upon the scenic art, by making us
acquainted with the pitch of perfection to which it had
been carried by the genius of Greece. With this period
commences the history of the modern stage, properly so
called. Some general observations on the drama, and its
present state in Britain, will form a natural conclusion to
the article.
Rise ot the The account which we have of the origin of Grecian
drama1” thefltrical representations, describes them as the fantastic
orgies of shepherds and peasants, who solemnized the rites
of Bacchus by the sacrifice of a goat, by tumultuous dances,
and by a sort of masquerade, in which the actors were
disguised like the ancient Mornce-dancers of England, or
the Guisards of Scotland, who have not as yet totally dis¬
used similar revels. Instead of masks, their faces were
stained with the lees of wine, and the songs and jests cor¬
responded in coarseness to the character of the satyrs and
fawns, which they were supposed to assume in honour of
their patron Bacchus. Music, however, always formed a
part of this rude festivity, and to this was sometimes added
the recitations of an individual performer, who, possessed
of more voice or talent than his companions, was able to
entertain an audience for a few minutes by his own indi¬
vidual exertions.
Out of such rude materials, Thespis is supposed to have
been the first who framed something like an approach to
a more regular entertainment. The actors under this, the
first of theatrical managers, instead of running about wild
among the audience, were exalted upon a cart, or upon a
scaffold formed of boards laid upon tressels. In these im¬
provements Thespis is supposed to have had the aid of
one Susarion, whose efforts were more particularly directed
to the comic drama. But their fortunes have been un¬
equal, for whilst the name of Thespis is still united with
every thing dramatic, that of Susarion has fallen into obli¬
vion, and is only known to antiquaries.
The drama in Greece, as afterwards in Britain, had
scarcely begun to develope itself from barbarism, ere, with
the most rapid strides, it advanced towards perfection.
Thespis and Susarion flourished about four hundred and
forty or fifty years before the Christian era. The battle
of Marathon was fought in the year 490 before Christ;
and it was upon .ZEschylus, one of the Athenian generals
on that memorable occasion, that Greece conferred the
honoured title of the Father of Tragedy. We must ne¬
cessarily judge of his efforts by that which he did, not by
that which he left undone; and if some of his regulations
may sound strange in modern ears, it is but just to com¬
pare the state in which he found the drama, with that
in which he left it.
.ZEschylus was the first, who, availing himself of the in¬
vention of a stage by Thespis, introduced upon the boards
a plurality of actors at the same time, and converted into
action and dialogue, accompanied or relieved at intervals
by the musical performance of the chorus, the dull mono¬
logue of the Thespian orator. It was iEschylus, also, who
introduced the deceptions of scenery, stationary indeed,
and therefore very different from the decorations of our
stage, but still giving a reality to the whole performance, Dj
which could not fail to afford pleasure to those who beheld -u
for the first time an effort to surround the player, while
invested with his theatrical character, with scenery which
might add to the illusions of the representations. But this
was not all. A theatre, at first of wood, but afterwards of
stone, circumscribed, whilst it accommodated, the specta- I
tors, and reduced a casual and disorderly mob to the qua¬
lity and civilization of a regular and attentive audience.
The most remarkable effect of the tragedy of ZEschylus
was the introduction of the chorus in a new character,
which continued long to give a peculiar tone to the Gre¬
cian drama, and to make a striking difference betwixt
that original theatre and those which have since arisen
in modern nations.
The chorus who sung hymns in favour of Bacchus, the
musical part, in short, of the entertainment, remained in
the days of Thespis, as it had been in the rude village
gambols which he had improved, the principal part of the
dramatic entertainment. The intervention of monologue,
or recitation, was merely a relief to the musicians and a
variety to the audience. iEschylus, whilst he assigned a
part of superior consequence to the actor in his improved
dialogue, new-modelled the chorus, which custom still
enjoined as a necessary and indispensable branch of the
performance. They were no longer a body of vocal mu¬
sicians, whose strains were as independent of what was
spoken by the personages of the drama, as those of our
modern orchestra when performing betwixt the acts. The
chorus assumed from this time a different and com¬
plicated character, which forms a marked peculiarity in
the Grecian drama, distinguishing it from the theatrical
compositions of modern Europe.
The chorus, according to this new model, was composed
of a certain set of persons, priests, captive virgins, ma¬
trons, or others, usually of a solemn and sacred charac¬
ter, the contemporaries of the heroes who appeared on
the stage, who remained upon the scene to celebrate in
hymns set to music the events which had befallen the
active persons of the drama; to afford them alternately
their advice or their sympathy; and, at least, to moralize,
in lyrical poetry, on the feelings to which their history
and adventures, their passions and sufferings, gave rise.
The chorus might be considered as, in some degree, the
representatives of the audience, or rather of the public,
on whose great stage those events happen in reality
which are presented in the mimicry of the drama. In the
strains of the chorus, the actual audience had those feel¬
ings suggested to them as if by reflection in a mirror,
which the events of the scene ought to produce in their
own bosom ; they had at once before them the action of
the piece, and the effect of that action upon a chosen band
of persons, who, like themselves, were passive spectators,
whose dignified strains pointed out the moral reflections
to which the subject naturally gave rise. The chorus
were led or directed by a single person of their number,
termed the coryphaeus, who frequently spoke or sung
alone. I hey were occasionally divided into two bands,
who addressed and replied to each other. But they al¬
ways preserved the character proper to them, of specta¬
tors, rather than agents in the drama.
I he number of the chorus varied at different periods,
often extending to fifty persons, and sometimes restricted
to half that number; but it is evident that the presence
of so many persons on the scene, officiating as no part of
the dramatis personce, but rather as contemporary specta¬
tors, involved many inconveniences and inconsistencies,
lhat which the hero, however agitated by passion, must
naturally have suppressed within his own breast, or ut¬
tered in soliloquy, was thus necessarily committed to the
DRAMA.
145
I !ma. confidence of fifty people, less or more. And when a deed
0f violence was to be committed, the helpless chorus,
instead of interfering to prevent the atrocity to which the
perpetrator had made them privy, could only, by the rules
of the theatre, exhaust their sorrow and surprise in dithy-
rambics. But still the union which iEschylus accomplished
betwixt the didactic hymns of the chorus and the events
which were passing upon the stage, was a most important
improvement upon the earlier drama. By this means the
two unconnected branches of the old Bacchanalian revels
were combined together ; and we ought rather to be sur¬
prised that iEschylus ventured, whilst accomplishing such
an union, to render the hymns sung by the chorus subor¬
dinate to the action or dialogue, than that he did not take
the bolder measure of altogether discarding that which,
before his time, was reckoned the principal object of a
religious entertainment.
Gr ian The new theatre and stage of Athens were reared, as
thJre, we have seen, under the inspection of iEschylus. He also
aniinoite introduced dresses in character for his principal actors, to
which were added embellishments of a kind which mark
the wide distinction betwixt the ancient and modern
stage. The personal disguise which had formerly been
. attained by staining the actor’s face, was now, by what
doubtless was considered as a high exertion of ingenuity,
accomplished by the use of a mask, so painted as to
represent the personage whom he performed. To aug¬
ment the apparent awkwardness of this contrivance, the
mouths of these masks were frequently fashioned like
the extremity of a trumpet, which, if it aided the actor’s
voice to reach the extremity of the huge circuit to which
he addressed himself, must still have made a ridiculous
appearance upon the stage, had not the habits and expec¬
tations of the spectators been in a different tone from
those of a modern audience. The use of the cothurnus
or buskin, which was contrived so as to give to the per¬
former additional and unnatural stature, would have fallen
under the same censure. But the ancient and modern
theatres may be said to resemble each other only in name,
as will appear from the following account of the Grecian
stage, abridged from the best antiquaries.
The theatres of the Greeks were immensely large in
comparison to ours; and the audience sat upon rows of
benches, rising above each other in due gradation. In
form they resembled a horse-shoe. The stage occupied a
platform, which closed in the flat end of the building, and
was raised so high as to be on a level with the lowest row
of benches. The central part of the theatre, or what we
call the pit, instead of being filled with spectators, accord¬
ing to modern custom, was left for the occasional occupa¬
tion of the chorus, during those parts of their duty which
did not require them to be nearer to the stage. This
space was called the orchestra, and corresponded in
some measure with the open space which, in the modern
equestrian amphitheatres, is interposed betwixt the au¬
dience and the stage, for the display of feats of horse¬
manship. The delusion of the scene being thus removed
to a considerable distance from the eye of the spectator,
was heightened; and many of the objections oft’ered to
the use of the mask and the buskin were lessened or
totally removed. When the chorus did not occupy the
orchestra, they ranged themselves beside the thymele,
a sort of altar, surrounded with steps, placed in front of
their stage orchestra. From this, as a post of observation,
they watched the progress of the drama, and to this point
the actors turned themselves when addressing them. The
solemn hymns and mystic dances of the chorus, perform¬
ed during their retreat into the orchestra, formed a sort of
interludes, or interruptions of the action, similar in effect
to the riiodern division into acts. But, properly speaking,
VOL. VIII.
there was no interruption of the representation from be¬
ginning to end. The piece was not, indeed, constantly
progressive; but the illusion of the scene was always be¬
fore the audience, either by means of the actors them¬
selves or of the chorus. And the musical recitation and
character of the dances traced by the chorus in their in¬
terludes, were always in correspondence with the charac¬
ter of the piece, grave, majestic, and melancholy; in tra¬
gedy, gay and lively; in comedy, and during the repre¬
sentation of satirical pieces, wild, extravagant, and bor¬
dering on buffoonery. The number of these interludes,
or interruptions of the action, seems to have varied from
three to six, or even more, at the pleasure of the author.
The music was simple and inartificial, although it seems
to have produced powerful effects on the audience. Two
flute-players performed a prelude to the choral hymns, or
directed the movement of the dances, which in tragedy
were a solemn, slow, modulated succession of movements,
very little resembling anything termed dancing among the
moderns.
The stage itself was well contrived for the purposes of
the Greek drama. The front wras called the logeum, and
occupied the full width of the flat termination of the thea¬
tre, contracted, however, at each extremity by a wall,
which served to conceal the machinery necessary for the
piece. The stage narrowed as it retired backwards; and
the space so restricted in breadth was called the prosce¬
nium. It was terminated by a flat decoration, on which
was represented the front of a temple, palace, or whatever
else the poet had chosen for his scene. Suitable decora¬
tions appeared on the wings, as in our theatres. There
were several entrances, both by the back scene and in
front. These were not used indiscriminately, but so as
to indicate the story of the piece, and render it more
clear to apprehension. Thus, the persons of the drama
who were supposed to belong to the palace or temple in
the flat scene, entered from the side or the main door, as
befitted their supposed rank; those who were inhabitants
of the place represented, entered through a door placed
at the side of the logeum; while those supposed to come
from a distance were seen to traverse the orchestra, and
to ascend the stage by a stair of communication, so that
the audience were made spectators, as it were, of their
journey. The proscenium was screened by a curtain,
which was withdrawn when the piece commenced. The
decorations could be in some degree altered, so as to
change the scene; though this, we apprehend, was sel¬
dom practised. But machinery for the ascent of phan¬
toms, the descent of deities, and similar exhibitions, were
as much in fashion among the Greeks as on our own mo¬
dern stage; with better reason, indeed, for we shall pre¬
sently see that the themes which they held most proper
to the stage called frequently for the assistance of these
mechanical contrivances.
In the dress and costume of their personages the Greeks
bestowed much trouble and expense. It was their object
to disguise as much as possible the mortal actor who was
to represent a divinity or an hero; and while they hid his
face and augmented his height, they failed not to assign
him a mask and dress in exact conformity to the popu¬
lar idea of the character represented; so that, seen across
the orchestra, he might appear the exact resemblance of
Hercules or of Agamemnon.
The Grecians, but in particular the Athenians, became
most passionately attached to the fascinating and splen¬
did amusement which iEschylus thus regulated, which So¬
phocles and Euripides improved, and which all three, with
other dramatists of inferior talents, animated by the full
vigour of their genius. The delightful climate of Greece
permitted the spectators to remain in the open air (for
T
Drama.
146
DRAMA.
Drama, there was no roof to their huge theatres) for whole days,
during which several plays, high monuments of poetical
talent, were successively performed before them. The en¬
thusiasm of their attention may be judged of by what hap¬
pened during the representation of a piece written by He¬
gemon. It was while the Athenians were thus engaged
that there suddenly arrived the astounding intelligence of
the total defeat of their army before Syracuse. The thea¬
tre was filled with the relations of those who had fallen;
there was scarcely a spectator, who, besides sorrowing as a
patriot, was not called to mourn a friend or relative. But,
spreading their mantles before their faces, they command¬
ed the representation to proceed; and thus veiled, con¬
tinued to give it their attention to the conclusion. Na¬
tional pride, doubtless, had its share in this singular con¬
duct, as well as fondness for the dramatic art. Another
instance is giyen of the nature and acuteness of their feel¬
ings, when the assembly of the people amerced Phrynicus
in a fine of a thousand drachma;, because, in a comedy
founded upon the siege of Miletos, he had agitated their
feelings to excess, in painting an incident which Athens
lamented as a misfortune dishonourable to her arms and
her councils.
The price of admission was at first one drachma; but
Pericles, desirous of propitiating the ordinary class of citi¬
zens, caused the entrance-money to be lowered to two o&o/«,
so that the meanest Athenian had the ready means of in¬
dulging in this luxurious mental banquet. As it became
difficult to support the expense of the stage, for which
such cheap terms of admission could form no adequate
fund, the same statesman, by an indulgence yet more pe¬
rilous, caused the deficiency to be supplied from the trea¬
sure destined to sustain the expense of the war. It is a
sufficient proof of the devotion of the Athenians to the
stage, that not even the eloquence of Demosthenes could
tempt them to forego this pernicious system. He touch¬
ed upon the evil in two of his ofhtions; but the Athenians
were resolved not to forego the benefits of an abuse which
they were aware could not be justified, and they passed a
law making it death to touch upon that article of reforma¬
tion.
It must not be forgotten, that the Grecian audience en¬
joyed the exercise of critical authority, as well as of clas¬
sical amusement, at their theatre. They applauded and
censured, as at the present day, by clapping hands and
hissing. Their suffrage at those tragedies acted upon the
solemn feasts of Bacchus, adjudged a laurel crown to the
most successful dramatic author. This faculty was fre¬
quently abused; but the public, on sober reflection, sel¬
dom failed to be ashamed of such acts of injustice, and
faithful, upon the whole, to the rules of criticism, evinced
a fineness and correctness of judgment, which never des¬
cended to the populace of any other nation.
Peculiar To this general account of the Grecian stage, it is pro¬
character per to add some remarks on those peculiar circumstances
of the Gre-from which it derives a tone and character so different
ciandrama.fronj that of the modern drama; circumstances affecting
at once its style of action, mode of decoration, and gene¬
ral effect on the feelings of the spectators.
The Grecian drama, it must be remembered, derived
its origin from a religious ceremony; and, amid all its
refinement, never lost its devotional character, unless it
shall be judged to have done so in the department of sa¬
tirical comedy.
When the audience was assembled, they underwent a
religious lustration, and the archons or chief magistrates
paid their public adoration to Bacchus, still regarded as
the patron of the theatrical art, and whose altar was al¬
ways placed in the theatre.
The subject of the drama was frequently religious. In
tragedy especially, Sophocles and Euripides, as well as
iEschylus, selected their subjects from the exploits of the
deities themselves, or of the demigods and heroes whom
Greece accounted to draw an immediate descent from the
denizens of Olympus, and to whom she paid nearly equal
reverence. The object of the tragic poets was less to
amuse and interest their audience by the history of the
human heart, or soften them by the details of domestic
distress, than to elevate them into a sense of devotion or
submission, or to astound and terrify them by the history
and actions of a race of beings before whom ordinary mor¬
tality dwindled into pigmy size. This they dared to at¬
tempt ; and, what may appear still more astonishing to the
mere English reader, this they appear in a great measure
to have performed. Effects were produced upon their au¬
dience which we can only attribute to the awful impression
communicated by the idea of the immediate presence of
the divinity. The emotions excited by the apparition of
the Eumenides or furies, in Aeschylus’s tragedy of that
name, so appalled the audience that females are said to
have lost the fruit of their womb, and children to have
actually expired in convulsions of terror. These effects
may have been exaggerated ; but that considerable incon¬
veniences occurred from the extreme horror with which
this tragedy impressed the spectators, is evident from a
decree of the magistrates, limiting the number of the
chorus, in order to prevent in future such tragical con¬
sequences. It is plain that the feeling by which such im¬
pressions arose must have been something very different
from what the spectacle of the scene alone could possibly
have produced. The mere sight of actors disguised in
masks, suited to express the terrific yet sublime features
of an antique Medusa, with her hair entwined with ser¬
pents,—the wild and dishevelled appearance, the sable and
bloody garments, the blazing torches, the whole apparatus,
in short, or properties as they are technically called, with
which the classic fancy of iEschylus could invest those ter¬
rific personages,—nay more, even the appropriate terrors
of language and violence of gesture with which they were
bodied forth, must still have fallen far short of the point
which the poet certainly attained, had it not been for the
intimate and solemn conviction of his audience that they
were in the performance of an act of devotion, and to a
certain degree in the presence of the deities themselves.
It was this conviction, and the solemn and susceptible
temper to which it exalted the minds of a large assembly,
which prepared them to receive the electric shock pro¬
duced by the visible representation of those terrible be¬
ings, to whom, whether as personifying the stings and
terrors of an awakened conscience, or as mysterious and
infernal divinities, the survivors of an elder race of deities,
whose presence was supposed to strike awe even into Jove
himself, the ancients ascribed the task of pursuing and
punishing atrocious guilt.
It was in consistency with this connection betwixt the
drama and religion of Greece, that the principal Grecian
tragedians thought themselves entitled to produce upon the
stage the most sacred events of their mythological history.
It might have been thought that in doing so they injured
the efiect of their fable and action, since suspense and
uncertainty, so essential to the interest of a play, could
not be supposed to exist where the immortal gods, beings
controlling all others, and themselves uncontrolled, were
selected as the agents in the piece. But it must be re¬
membered, that the synod of Olympus, from Jove down¬
wards, were themselves but limitary deities, possessing
indeed a certain influence upon human affairs, but unable
to stem or divert the tide of fate or destiny, upon whose
dark bosom, according to the Grecian creed, gods as well
as men were embarked, and both sweeping downwards to
DRAMA.
, some distant yet inevitable termination of the present sys-
tem 0f the universe, which should annihilate at once the
race of divinity and of mortality. This awful catastrophe
is hinted at not very obscurely by Prometheus, who, when
chained to his rock, exults, in his prophetic view, in the
destruction of his oppressor Jupiter; and so far did fEs-
chylus, in particular, carry the introduction of religious
topics into his drama, that he escaped with some difficulty
from an accusation of having betrayed the Eleusinian
mysteries.
‘Where the subject of the drama was not actually taken
from mythological history, and when the gods themselves
did not enter upon the scene, the Grecian stage was, as
we have already hinted, usually trod by beings scarcely
less awful to the imagination of the audience ; the heroes
namely of their old traditional history, to whom they at¬
tributed an immediate descent from their deities, a frame
of body and mind surpassing humanity, and after death
an exaltation into the rank of demigods.
It must be added, that, even when the, action was laid
among a less dignified set of personages, still the altar was
present on the stage; incense frequently smoked; and
frequent prayers and obtestations of the deity reminded
the audience that the sports of the ancient theatre had
their origin in religious observances. It is scarcely neces¬
sary to state how widely the classical drama, in this re¬
spect, differs in principle from that of the modern, which
pretends to be nothing more than an elegant branch of
the fine arts, whose end is attained when it supplies an
evening’s amusement, whose lessons are only of a moral
description, and which is so far from possessing a religious
character, that it has with difficulty escaped condemna¬
tion as a profane, dissolute, and antichristian pastime.
From this difference of principle there flows a difference
of practical results, serving to account for many circum¬
stances which might otherwise seem embarrassing.
The ancients, we have seen, endeavoured by every
means in their power, including the use of masks and of
buskins, to disguise the person of the actor; and, at the
expense of sacrificing the expression of his countenance,
and the grace, or at least the ease, of his form, they re¬
moved from the observation of the audience every associ¬
ation which could betray the person of an individual play¬
er, under the garb of the deity or hero he was designed
to represent. To have done otherwise would have been
held indecorous, if not profane. It follows, that as the
object of the Athenian and of the modern auditor in at¬
tending the theatre was perfectly different, the pleasure
which each derived from the representation had a distinct
source. Thus, for example, the Englishman’s desire to
see a particular character is intimately connected with
the idea of the actor by whom it is performed. He does
not wish to see Hamlet in the abstract, so much as to see
how Kemble performs that character,1 and to compare him
perhaps with his own recollections of Garrick in the same
part. He comes prepared to study each variation of the
actor’s countenance, each change in his accentuation and
deportment; to note with critical accuracy the points
which discriminate his mode of acting from that of others ;
and to compare the whole with his own abstract of the
character. The pleasure arising from this species of cri¬
tical investigation and contrast is so intimately allied with
our ideas of theatrical amusement, that we can scarce ad¬
mit the possibility of deriving much satisfaction from a
147
representation sustained by an actor whose personal ap- Drama,
pearance and peculiar expression of features should be
concealed from us, however splendid his declamation, or
however appropriate his gesture and action. But this
mode of considering the drama, and the delight which we
derive from it, would have appeared to the Greeks a fool¬
ish and profane refinement, not very different in point of
taste from the expedient of Snug the joiner, who intimat¬
ed his identity by letting his natural visage be seen un¬
der the mask of the lion which he represented. It was
with the direct purpose of concealing the features of the
individual actor, as tending to destroy the effect of his
theatrical disguise, that the mask and buskin were first
invented, and afterwards retained in use. The figure was
otherwise so dressed as to represent the deity or demigod,
according to the statue best known, and adored with most
devotion, by the Grecian public. The mask was, by artists
who were eminent in the plastic art, so formed as to per¬
fect the resemblance. Theseus or Hercules stood before
the audience in the very form with which painters and
statuaries had taught them to invest the hero, and there
was certainly thus gained a more complete scenic decep¬
tion than could have been obtained in our present mode.
It was aided by the distance interposed betwixt the audi¬
ence and the stage; but, above all, by the influence of
enthusiasm acting upon the congregated thousands, whose
imaginations, equally lively and susceptible, were prompt
to receive the impressions which the noble verse of their
authors conveyed to their ears, and the living personifica¬
tion of their gods and demigods placed before their eyes.
It is scarcely necessary to add, that, while these obser¬
vations plead their apology for the mask and the buskin
of the ancients, they leave, where it stood before, every
objection to those awkward and unseemly disguises, con¬
sidered in themselves, and without reference to the pecu¬
liar purpose and tendency of the ancient theatre. In fact,
the exquisite pleasure derived from watching the elo¬
quence of feature and eye, which we admire in an accom¬
plished actor, was not, as some have supposed, sacrificed
by the ancients for the assumption of these disguises.
They never did, and, according to the plan of their thea¬
tres, never could, possess that source of enjoyment. The
circuit of the theatre was immense, and the eyes of the
thousands whom it contained were so far removed from
the stage, that, far from being able to enjoy the minute
play of the actor’s features, the mask and buskin were
necessary to give distinction to his figure, and to convey
all which the ancients expected to see, his general resem¬
blance, namely, to the character he represented.
The style of acting, so far as it has been described to
us, corresponded to the other circumstances of the repre¬
sentation. It affected gravity and sublimity of movement
and of declamation. Rapidity of motion and vivacity of
action seem to have been reserved for occasions of parti¬
cular emotion; and that delicacy of bye-play, as well as
all the aid which look and slight jesture bring so happily
to the aid of an impassioned dialogue, were foreign to
their system. The actors, therefore, had an easier task
than on the modern stage, since it is much more easy to
preserve a tone of high and dignified-declamation, than to
follow out the whirlwind and tempest of passion, in which
it is demanded of the performer to be energetic without
bombast, and natural without vulgarity.
The Grecian actors held a high rank in the republic,
1 It is proper to state here, once for all, that, contrary to our usual practice, this article is reprinted as it originally appeared in the
Supplement to the fourth, fifth, and sixth editions of this work, without any of those adaptations which the course of time and change
of circumstances render necessary in ordinary cases. We have deemed this homage due to the genius and fame of the illustrious
author (Sir Walter Scott), whose splendid view of the origin and progress of the dramatic art we have accordingly presented to the
reader exactly as it proceeded from his own hand, leaving every contemporaneous allusion and illustration untouched.
r
DRAMA.
.148
Drama, and those esteemed in the profession were richly recom-
pensed. Their art was the more dignified, because the
poets themselves usually represented the principal cha¬
racter in their own pieces ; a circumstance which corro¬
borates what we have already stated concerning the com¬
parative inferiority of talents required in a Grecian actor,
who was only expected to move with grace and declaim
with truth and justice. His disguise hid all personal im¬
perfections ; and thus a Grecian poet might aspire to be¬
come an actor without that extraordinary and unlikely
union of moral and physical powers which would be ne¬
cessary to qualify a modern dramatist to mount the stage
in person, and excel at once as a poet and as an actor.
Principal It is no part of our present object to enter into any mi-
tragic nute examination of the comparative merits of the three
Athens ^ 8reat tragedians of Athens, iEschylus, Sophocles, and Eu¬
ripides. Never, perhaps, did there arise, within so short
a space, such a succession of brilliant talents. Sophocles
might, indeed, be said to be the contemporary of both his
rivals, for his youthful emulation was excited by the suc¬
cess of iEschylus, and the eminence of his latter years
was disturbed by the rivalry of Euripides, whom, however,
he survived. To iEschylus, who led the van in the dra¬
matic enterprise, as he did in the field of Marathon, the
sanction of antiquity has ascribed unrivalled powers over
the realms of astonishment and terror. At his summons,
the mysterious and tremendous volume of destiny, in
which are inscribed the doom of gods and men, seemed
to display its leaves of iron before the appalled spectators;
the more than mortal voices of Deities, Titans, and de¬
parted Heroes, were heard in awful conference; heaven
bowed, and its divinities descended; earth yawned, and
gave up the pale spectres of the dead, and the yet more
undefined and grisly forms of those infernal deities who
struck horror into the gods themselves. All this could
only be dared and done by a poet of the highest order,
confident, during that early age of enthusiasm, that he
addressed an audience prompt to kindle at the heroic
scene which he placed before them. It followed almost
naturally, from his character, that the dramas of iEschy¬
lus, though full of terrible interest, should be deficient in
grace and softness; that his sublime conciseness should
deviate sometimes into harshness and obscurity; that,
finding it impossible to sustain himself at the height to
which he had ascended, he should sometimes drop, “ flut¬
tering his pinions vain,” into great inequalities of compo¬
sition ; and, finally, that his plots should appear rude and
inartificial, contrasted with those of his successors in the
dramatic art. Still, however, iEschylus led not only the
way in the noble career of the Grecian drama, but out¬
stripped, in point of sublimity at least, those by whom he
was followed.
Sophocles, who obtained from his countrymen the title
of the JBee of Attica, rivalled iEschylus when in the pos¬
session of the stage, and obtained the first prize. His
success occasioned the veteran’s retreat to Sicily, where
he died, commanding that his epitaph should make men¬
tion of his share in the victory of Marathon, but should
contain no allusion to his dramatic excellencies. His more
fortunate rival judiciously avoided the dizzy and terrific
path which iEschylus had trode with so firm and daring a
step. It was the object of Sophocles to move sorrow and
compassion, rather than to excite indignation and terror.
He studied the progress of action with more attention than
iEschylus, and excelled in that modulation of the story
by which interest is excited at the beginning of a drama,
maintained in its progress, and gratified at its conclusion.
His subjects are also of a nature more melancholy and
less sublime than those of his predecessor. He loved to
paint heroes rather in their forlorn than in their triumph¬
ant fortunes, aware that the contrast offered new sources Dra ,
of the pathetic to the author. Sophocles was the most ^y
fortunate of the Greek tragedians. He attained the age
of ninety-one years ; and, in his eightieth, to vindicate
himself from a charge of mental imbecility, he read to the
judges his CEdipus Coloneus, the most beautiful, at least
the most perfect, of his tragedies. He survived Euripides,
his most formidable rival, of whom also we must say a
few words.
It is observed by Schlegel, that the tone of the trage¬
dies of Euripides approaches more nearly to modern taste
than to the stern simplicity of his predecessors. The pas¬
sion of love predominates in his pieces, and he is the first
tragedian who paid tribute to the passion which has been
too exclusively made the moving cause of interest on the
modern stage,—the first who sacrificed to
Cupid, king of gods and men.
The dramatic use of this passion has been purified in
modern times, by the introduction of that tone of senti¬
ment which, since the age of chivalry, has been a princi¬
pal ingredient in heroic affection. This was unknown to
the ancients, in whose society females, generally speaking,
held a low and degraded place, from which few individuals
emerged, unless those who aspired to the talents and vir¬
tues proper to the masculine sex. Women were not for¬
bidden to become competitors for the laurel or oaken
crown offered to genius and to patriotism; but antiquity
held out no myrtle wreath as a prize for the domestic vir¬
tues peculiar to the female character. Love, therefore,
in Euripides, does not always breathe purity of sentiment,
but is stained with the mixture of violent and degrading
passions. This, however, was the fault of the age rather
than of the poet, although he is generally represented as
an enemy of the female sex; and his death was ascribed
to a judgment of Venus.
When blood-hounds met him by the way,
And monsters made the bard their prey.
This great dramatist was less happy than Sophocles in
the construction of his plots; and, instead of the happy
expedients by which his predecessor introduces us to the
business of the drama, he had too often recourse to the
mediation of a prologue, which came forth to explain in de¬
tail the previous history necessary to understand the piece.
Euripides is also accused of having degraded the cha¬
racter of his personages, by admitting more alloy of human
weakness, folly, and vice, than was consistent with the
high qualities of the heroic age. Hischylus, it was said,
transported his audience into a new and more sublime
race of beings ; Sophocles painted mankind as they ought
to be, and Euripides as they actually are. Yet the vari¬
ety of character introduced by the latter tragedian, and
the interest of his tragedies, must always attract the mo¬
dern reader, coloured as they are by a tone of sentiment,
and by his knowledge of the actual business, rules, and
babits of actual life, to which his predecessors, living, as
they did, in an imaginary and heroical world of their own,
appear to have been strangers. And although the judg^
ment of the ancients assigned the pre-eminence in trage¬
dy to iEschylus or Sophocles, yet Euripides has been found
more popular with posterity than either of his two great
predecessors.
I he division betwixt tragedy and comedy, for bothGre i
sprung from the same common origin, the feasts, namely,com ‘
in honour of Bacchus, and the disguises adopted by his
worshippers, seems to have taken place gradually, until the
jests and trolics, which made a principal part of these revels,
were found misplaced when introduced with graver mat-
drama.
149
fcnina. ter, and were made by Susarion, perhaps, the subject of a
r,%^/ separate province of the drama. The Grecian comedy was
divided into the ancient, the middle, and the modern style
of composition.
lt The ancient and original comedy was of a kind which
y. may, at first sight, appear to derogate from the religious
purposes which we have pointed out as the foundation of
the drama. They frequently turn upon parodies, in which
the persons and adventures of those gods and heroes who
were the sublime subjects of the tragic drama, are intro¬
duced for the purpose of buffoon-sport and ridicule, as in
Carey’s modern farces of Midas and the Golden Pippin.
Hercules appears in one of those pieces astonishing his
host by an extravagant appetite, which the cook in vain
attempts to satiate, by placing before him, in succession,
all the various dishes which the ancient kitchen afforded.
In another comedy, Bacchus, in whose honour the so¬
lemnity was instituted, is brought in only in order to ridi¬
cule his extreme cowardice.
At other times, allowing a grotesque fancy its wildest
range, the early comic authors introduced upon the stage
animals, and even inanimate things, as part of their dra¬
matis personae, and embodied forth on the stage the fan¬
tastic imaginations of Lucian in his True History. The
golden age was represented in the same ridiculous and
bizarre mode of description as the Pays de la Cocagne of
the French minstrels, or the popular ideas of Lubber-land in
England; and the poets furnished kingdoms of birds, and
worlds, in the moon.
Had the only charm of these entertainments consisted
in the fantastic display with which the eyes of the spec¬
tators were regaled at the expense of the over-excited
imagination of the poet, they would soon have fallen into
disuse; for the Athenians were too acute and judicious
critics to have been long gratified with mere extravagance.
But these grotesque scenes were made the medium for
throwing the most bold and daring ridicule upon the mea¬
sures of the state, upon the opinions of individuals, and
upon the religion of the country.
This propensity to turn into ridicule that which is most
serious and sacred, had probably its origin in the rude
gambols of the sylvan deities who accompanied Bacchus,
and to whose petulant and lively demeanour rude jest was
a natural accompaniment. The audience, at least the
more ignorant part of them, saw these parodies with
pleasure, which equalled the awe they felt at the per¬
formance of the tragedies, whose most solemn subjects
were thus burlesqued; nor do they appear to have been
checked by any sense that their mirth was profane. In
fact, when the religion of a nation comes to consist chiefly
in the practice of a few unmeaning ceremonies, it is often
found that the populace, with whatever inconsistence, as¬
sume the liberty of profaning them by grotesque parodies,
widiout losing their reverence for the superstitions which
they thus vilify. Customs of a like tendency w^ere com¬
mon in the middle ages. The festival of the Ass in
France, of the Boy-Bishop in England, of the Abbot of
Unreason in Scotland, and many other popular practices
of the same kind, exhibited, in countries yet Catholic,
daring parodies of the most sacred services and ceremo¬
nies of the Roman church. And as these were practised
openly, and under authority, without being supposed to
shake the people’s attachment to the rites which they thus
ridiculed, we cannot wonder that similar profanities were
well received among the Pagans, whose religion sat very
loosely upon them, and w ho professed no fixed or neces¬
sary articles of faith.
It is probable that, had the old Grecian comedy conti¬
nued to direct its shafts of ridicule only against the inha¬
bitants of Olympus, it would not have attracted the coer¬
cion of the magistracy. But its province was far more ex- Drama,
tensive, the poets claiming the privilege of laying their
opinions on public affairs before the people in this shape.
Cratinus, Eupolis, and particularly Aristophanes, a daring,
powerful, and apparently unprincipled writer, converted
comedy into an engine for assailing the credit and charac¬
ter of private individuals, as well as the persons and poli¬
tical measures of those who administered the state. The
doctrines of philosophy, the power of the magistrate, the
genius of the poet, the rites proper to the deity, were al¬
ternately made the subject of the most uncompromising
and severe satire. It was soon discovered that the more
directly personal the assault could be made, and the more
revered or exalted the personage, the greater was the ma¬
lignant satisfaction of the audience, who loved to see wis¬
dom, authority, and religious reverence brought down to
their own level, and made subjects of ridicule by the
powers of the merciless satirist. The use of the mask
enabled Aristophanes to render his satire yet more point¬
edly personal; for, by forming it so as to imitate, probably
with some absurd exaggeration, the features of the object
of his ridicule, and by imitating the dress and manner of
the original, the player stepped upon the stage a walking
and speaking caricature of the hero of the night, and was
usually placed in some ludicrous position, amidst the fan¬
ciful and whimsical chimeras w'ith which the scene was
peopled.
In this manner Aristophanes ridiculed with equal free¬
dom Socrates, the wisest of the Athenians, and Cleon, the
demagogue, wrhen at the height of his power. As no one
durst perform the latter part, for fear of giving offence to
one so powerful, the author acted Cleon himself, with his
face smeared with the lees of wine. Like the satire of
Rabelais, the political and personal invective of Aristo¬
phanes was mingled with a plentiful allowance of scurril
and indecent jests, which were calculated to insure a fa¬
vourable reception from the bulk of the people. He re¬
sembles Rabelais also in the wild and fanciful fictions
which he assumes as the vehicle of his satire; and his
comedy of the Birds may even have given hints to Swift,
when, in order to contrast the order of existing institutions
with those of an Utopian and fantastic fairy land, he car¬
ries Gulliver among giants and pigmies. Yet though his
indecency, and the offensive and indiscriminate scurrility
of his satire, deserve censure;—though he merits the blame
of the wise for his attack upon Socrates, and of the learn¬
ed for his repeated and envenomed assaults on Euripides,—^
Aristophanes has nevertheless added one deathless name
to the deathless period in which he flourished; and, from
the richness of his fancy, and gaiety of his tone, has de*
served the title of the Father of Comedy. When the style
of his sarcasm possessed the rareness of novelty, it was
considered of so much importance to the state, that a
crown of olive was voted to the poet, as one who had
taught Athens the defects of her public men. But unless
angels were to write satires, ridicule cannot be considered
as the test of truth. The temptation to be w itty is just
so much the more resistless, that the author knows he will
get no thanks for suppressing the jest which rises to his
pen. As the public becomes used to this new and piquant
fare, fresh characters must be sacrificed for its gratifica¬
tion. Recrimination adds commonly to the contest, and
those who were at first ridiculed out of mere wantonness
of wit, are soon persecuted for resenting the ill usages
until literature resembles an actual personal conflict, where
the victory is borne away by the strongest and most sa¬
vage, who deals the most desperate wounds with the least
sympathy for the feeling of his adversary.
The ancient comedy was of a character too licentious
to be long tolerated. Two or three decrees having been
150
DRAMA.
Drama, in vain passed, in order to protect the citizens against
libels of this poignant description, the ancient comedy was
finally proscribed by that oligarchy which assumed the
government of Athens upon the dov/nfall of the popular
government towards the end of the Peloponnesian war.
By order of these rulers, Anaxander, an actor, was pu¬
nished capitally for parodying a line of Euripides, so as
to infer a slight of the government. He was starved to
death, to which, as an appropriate punishment, the public
has since his time often indirectly condemned both actors
and dramatists. Aristophanes, who was still alive, bowed
to the storm, and relinquished the critical and satirical
scourge which he had hitherto exercised in the combined
capacity of satirist, reformer, and reviewer; and the use
of the chorus was prohibited to comic actors, as it seems
to have been in their stanzas chiefly that the offensive
satire was invested. To this edict Horace alludes in the
well known lines:
Successit vetus his comoedia, non sine multa
Laude: sed in vitium libertas excidit, et vim
Dignam lege regi. lex est accepta, chorusque
Turpiter obticuit, sublato jure nocendi.1
Middle In the middle comedy, Thalia and her votaries seemed
comedy, to have retraced their steps, and, avoiding personal satire,
resorted once more to general subjects of burlesque rail¬
lery. We learn from history, real or fabulous, or from the
works of the elder poets, that these plays had the fanciful
wildness without the personal satire of the ancient comedy;
for the authors were obliged to take care that there was
no “ offence” in their pleasantry. At most, they only ven¬
tured to touch on matters of instant interest in the way of
inuendo, under feigned titles and oblique hints, and had
no longer the audacity to join men’s vices or follies to
their names. Aristophanes re-cast several of his pieces in
this manner. But the same food, without the poignant
seasoning to ftfliich the audience had been accustomed,
palled on their taste, and this cast of pieces soon gave
place to that which the ancients called the New Comedy,
so successfully cultivated by Menander and others.
New co- Notwithstanding what modern critics have said to the
medy. contrary, and particularly the ingenious Schlegel, the new
tone which comedy thus assumed seems more congenial
to true taste as well as to public decorum, and even to the
peace and security of the community, than that of Aris¬
tophanes, whose satiric wit, like a furious bull, charged
upon his countrymen without respect or distinction, and
tossed and gored whatever he met with in his way.
The new comedy had for its object the ludicrous inci¬
dents of private life (celebrare domestica facta, says Ho¬
race); to detail those foibles, follies, and whimsical acci¬
dents, which are circumstances material and serious to the
agents themselves, but, as very usually happens on the
stage of the world, matters only of ludicrous interest to
the on-lookers. The new comedy admitted also many inci¬
dents of a character not purely ludicrous, and some which,
calling forth pathetic emotion, approached more nearly to
the character of tragedy than had been admitted in the
ancient comedies of Aristophanes, and in this rather re¬
sembled what the French have called Tragedie Bourgeoise.
It is scarce necessary to remark, that the line cannot be
always distinctly drawn betwixt the subjects which excite
mirth and those which call forth sympathy. It often hap-
A;
pens that the same incident is at once affecting and ludi¬
crous, or admits of being presented alternately in either
point of view. In a drama, also, which treats of the faults
and lighter vices, as well as of the follies of mankind, it is
natural that the author should sometimes assume the high
tone of the moralist. In these cases, to use the language
of Horace, comedy exalts her voice, and the offended fa¬
ther, the pantaloon of the piece, swells into sublimity of
language. A pleasant species of composition was thus
attained, in which wit and humour were relieved by
touches both of sentiment and moral instruction. The
new comedy, taken in this enlarged point of view, formed
the introduction to the modern drama; but it was neither
so comprehensive in its plan, nor so various in character
and interest. ,
The form which the Greeks, and in imitation of them Gem
the Romans, adopted, for embodying their comic effusions, chan
was neither extended nor artificial. To avoid the charge0^*1 p
of assaulting, or perhaps the temptation to attack privateconi£
persons, the actors in their drama were rather painted as
personifications of particular classes of society, than living
individual characters. • The list of these personages was
sufficiently meagre. The principal character, upon whose
devices and ingenuity the whole plot usually turns, is the
Geta of the piece, a witty, roguish, insinuating, and ma¬
lignant slave, the confident of a wild and extravagant son,
whom he aids in his pious endeavours to cheat a suspicious,
severe, and griping father. When to these three are add¬
ed a wily courtezan, a procuress, a stolen virgin, who is
generally a mute or nearly such, we have all the stock-
characters which are proper to the classic comedy. Upon
this limited scale of notes the ancients rung their changes,
relieving them occasionally, however, by the introduction
of a boastful soldier, a boorish clown, or a mild and good-
natured old man, to contrast with the irascible Chremes
of the piece, the more ordinary representative of old age.
The plot is in general as simple as the cast of the cha¬
racters. A father loses his child, who falls into the hands
of a procuress or slave merchant. The efforts of the
youth, who falls in love with this captive, to ransom her
from her captivity, are seconded by the slave, who aids
him in the various devices necessary to extort from his
father the funds necessary for the purchase, and their
tricks form the principal part of the intrigue. When it is
necessary that the play shall close, the discovery of the
girl’s birth takes place, and the young couple are married.
The plots are indeed sometimes extended or enlarged by
additional circumstances, but very seldom by any novelty
of character or variety of general form.
It is a necessary consequence, that the ancient comic
authors were confined within a very narrow compass. The
vast and inexhaustible variety of knavery, folly, affecta¬
tion, humour, &c. as mingled with each other, or as mo¬
dified by difference of age, sex, temper, education, pro¬
fession, and habit of body, are all within the royalty of
the modern comic dramatist, and he may summon them
up, under what limitations and in what circumstances he
pleases, to play their parts in his piece. The ancients
were much more limited in their circle of materials, and,
perhaps, we must look for the ruling cause once more in
the great size of their theatres, and to the use of the
mask, which, though it easily presented the general or
generic character of the personage introduced, was inca-
1 The ancient comedy next play’d its part,
Well-famed, at first, for spirit and for art:
But Liberty o’erleaping decent awe,
Satiric rage required restraint from law ;
The edict spoke, dishonour’d silence bound
The chorus, and forbade their ancient right to wound.
DRAMA.
151
pable of the endless variety which can be given to ridicule
of a more minute, refined, and personal kind, by the flex¬
ible organs of a modern actor.
But besides this powerful reason for refraining from
any attempt to draw characters distinguished by peculiar
habits, there is much reason to think that the mode of
life pursued by the ancient Athenians was unfavourable
to the formation of whimsical, original, or eccentric cha¬
racters. Citizens of the same state, they lived much to¬
gether, and the differences of ranks did not make the
same distinction in taste and manners as in modern Eu¬
rope. Their occupation, also, was the same. They were
all public men, and had a common interest in the manage*
ment of the state ; and it probably followed that, in men
whose pursuits were all bent the same way, the same ge¬
neral similarity of manners might be found to exist, which
is remarked in those who follow the same profession. The
differences of youth and age, of riches and poverty, of
good or bad temper, &c. must have been much modified
in Attica, where all free citizens were, to a certain degree,
on a level—discussed the same topics of state, and gave
the same vote to forward them—enjoyed, without restric¬
tion, the same public amusements; and where the same
general cast of manners might descend to the lowest of
the citizens, for the very reason that even a poor herb-
woman understood the delicacy of the Attic dialect so
perfectly, as to distinguish a stranger by the first words he
addressed to her.
The chorus, silenced, as we have seen, owing to the li¬
cense of the old comedy, made no appendage to that which
was substituted in its place. The exhibition of the Gre¬
cian comedy did not, in other respects, in so far as we
know, materially differ from that of the tragedy. Instead
of the choral interludes, the representation was now divid¬
ed, by intervals of cessation, into acts, as upon the modern
stage. And the number five seems to have been fixed
upon as the most convenient and best adapted for the pur¬
poses of representation. The plot, as we have seen, and
the distinct and discriminated specification of character,
were, in either case, subordinate considerations to the
force of style and composition. It follows, of consequence,
that we can better understand and enjoy the tragedies
than the comedies of the ancients. The circumstances
which excite sublime or terrific sensations are the same,
notwithstanding the difference of age, country, and lan¬
guage. But comic humour is of a character much more
evanescent. The force of wit depends almost entirely
upon time, circumstance, and manners, insomuch that a
jest which raises inextinguishable laughter in a particular
class of society, appears flat or disgusting if uttered in
another. It is, therefore, no winder that the ancient co¬
medy, turning upon manners so far removed from our own
time, should appear to us rather dull and inartificial. The
nature of the intercourse between the sexes in classic
times was also unfavourable for comedy. The coquette, the
fine lady, the romp, all those various shades of the female
character which occupy so many pleasant scenes on the
modern stage, were totally unknown to ancient manners.
The wife of the ancient comedy was a mere household
drudge, the vassal, not the companion, of an imperious
husband. The young woman whose beauty is the acting
motive of the intrigue, never evinces the slightest intel¬
lectual property of any kind. And the only female cha¬
racter admitting of some vivacity is that of the courtezan,
whose wit as well as her charms appeared to have been
professional.
After subtracting the large field afforded by female art
or caprice, female wit, or folly, or affection, the realm of
the ancient comedy will appear much circumscribed; and
we have yet to estimate a large deduction to be made on
account of the rust of antiquity, and the total change of
religion and manners. It is no wonder, therefore, that the
wit of Plautus and Terence should come forth diminished
in weight and substance, after having been subjected to
the alembic of modern criticism. That which survives the
investigation, however, is of a solid and valuable character.
If these dramas do not entertain us with a display of the
specific varieties of character, they often convey maxims
evincing a deep knowledge of human passion and feeling;
and are so admirably adapted to express, in few and pithy
words, truths which it is important to remember, that
even the Apostle Paul himself has not disdained to quote
a passage from a Grecian dramatist. The situation, also,
of their personages is often truly comic; and the modern
writers who have borrowed their ideas, and arranged them
according to the taste of their own age, have often been
indebted to the ancients for the principal cause of their
success.
Drama.
Having dwelt thus long upon the Grecian drama, we Homan
are entitled to treat with conciseness that of Rome, which, drama,
like the other fine arts, that people, rather martial than
literary, copied from their more ingenious neighbours.
The Romans were not, indeed, without a sort of rude
dramatic representation of their own, of the same nature
with that which, as we have already noticed, usually arises
in an early period of society. These were called Fabulcs
Atellanee; farces, for such they were, which took their
name from Atetta, a town belonging to the Osci, in Italy.
They were performed by the Roman youth, who used to
attack each other with satirical couplets during the inter¬
vals of some rude game, in which they seem to have re¬
presented the characters of fabulous antiquity. But, 361
years before the Christian era, the Romans, in the time
of a great pestilence, as we learn from Livy, introduced a
more regular species of theatrical entertainment, in order
to propitiate the deities by a solemn exhibition of public
games; after which, what had hitherto been matter of
mere frolic and amusement, assumed, according to the
historian, the appearance of a professional art; and the
Roman youth, who had hitherto, appeared as amateur per¬
formers, gave up the stage to regular performers.
These plays continued, however, to be of a very rude
structure, until the Grecian stage was transplanted to
Rome. Livius Andronicus, by birth a Grecian, led the
way in this improvement, and is accounted her first dra¬
matist.
Seneca the philosopher is the only Roman tragedian
whose works have reached our time. But his tragedies
afford no very favourable specimen of Roman art. They
are in the false taste which succeeded the age of Augus¬
tus, and debased the style of composition in that of Nero;
bombastic, tedious, and pedantic ; treating, indeed, of Gre¬
cian subjects, but not with Grecian art.
By a singular contrast, although we have lost the more
valuable tragedies of Rome, we have been compelled to
judge of the new Greek comedy through the medium of
the Latin translations. Of Menander we have but a few
fragments, and our examples of his drama are derived ex¬
clusively from Plautus and Terence. Of these, the for¬
mer appears the more original, the latter the more ele¬
gant author. The comedies of Plautus are much more
connected with manners, much more full of what may
be termed drollery and comic situation, and are believed
to possess a greater portion of Roman character. The
Romans, indeed, had two species of comedy, the Palliata,
where the scene and dress were Grecian ; the Togata,
where both were Roman. But besides this distinction,
even the Mantled, or Grecian comedy, might be more or
less of a Roman cast; and Plautus is supposed to have
Drama.
' ~Y^-/
Degrada¬
tion of the
theatrical
profession.
DRAM A.
infused a much stronger national tone into his plays than
can be traced in those of Terence. They are also of a
ruder cast, and more extravagant, retaining, perhaps, a
larger portion of the rough horse-play peculiar to the Fa-
bulce Atellance. Terence, on the contrary, is elegant, re¬
fined, and sententious ; decorous and regular in the con¬
struction of his plots ; exhibiting more of wit in his dia¬
logue, than of comic force in his situations; grave often
and moral, sometimes even pathetic ; and furnishing, upon
the whole, the most perfect specimens of the Grecian
comedy, both in action and character.
The alterations which the Romans made in the practice
of the theatrical art do not seem to have been of great
consequence. One circumstance, however, deserves no¬
tice. The orchestra, or, as we should say, the pit of the
theatre, was no longer left vacant for the occasional occu¬
pation of the chorus, but was filled with the senators,
knights, and other more respectable citizens. The stage
was thus brought more near to the eye of the higher class
of the audience. It would also seem that the theatres
were smaller; for we read of two so constructed that
each turned upon a pivot, so that, when placed back to
back, they were separate theatres, yet were capable of
being wheeled round, with all the audience, so as to bring
their oblong ends together, then forming a single amphi¬
theatre, in which the games of the circus succeeded to
dramatic representation. It is not easy to conceive the
existence of such machinery; but the story, at any rate,
seems to show that their theatres must have been greatly
smaller than those of Greece, to admit the supposition of
such an evolution as being in any degree practicable.
This diminution in the size of the house, and the occupa¬
tion of the orchestra by the most dignified part of the au¬
dience, may have afforded a reason why masks were, at
least occasionally, disused on the Roman stage. That
they were sometimes disused is certain ; for Cicero men¬
tions Roscius Gallus as using a mask to conceal a defor¬
mity arising from the inequality of his eyes, which implies
plainly that other comedians played with their faces dis¬
closed. It is therefore probable that the imperfections of
the mask were felt so soon as the distance was diminish¬
ed between the performer and the spectators; and we
may hazard a conjecture that this disguise was first laid
aside in the smaller theatres.
But the principal change introduced by the Romans
into the drama, and which continues to affect it in every
country of Europe, respected the status or rank of the ac¬
tors in society. We have seen that Athens, enthusiastic
in her attachment to the fine arts, held no circumstances
degrading which were connected with them. iEschylus
and Sophocles were soldiers and statesmen, yet lost no¬
thing in the opinion of their countrymen by appearing on
the public stage. Euripides, who was also a person of
consequence, proved that “ love esteems no office mean
for he danced in a female disguise in his own drama, and
that not as the Princess Nauticlea, but as one of her
handmaidens, or, in modern phrase, as a figurante. The
Grecians, therefore, attached no dishonour to the person
of the actor, nor esteemed that he who contributed to
giving the amusement of the theatre was at all degraded
beneath those who received it. It was otherwise in Rome.
The contempt which the Romans entertained for players
might be founded partly upon their confounding this ele¬
gant amusement with the games of the circus and amphi¬
theatre, performed by gladiators and slaves, the meanest,
in short, of mankind. Hence, to use the words of St Au¬
gustine, “ the ancient Romans, accounting the art of
stage-playing and the whole scene infamous, ordained that
this sort of men should not only want the honour of other
citizens, but also be disfranchised and thrust out of their
tribe, by a legal and disgraceful Censure, which the cen- u
sors were to execute ; because they would not suffer their ^ !
vulgar sort of people, much less their senators, to be de¬
famed, disgraced, or defiled with stage-players which
act of theirs he styles “ an excellent true Roman pru¬
dence, to be enumerated among the Romans’ praises.”
Accordingly, an edict of the praetor stigmatized as in¬
famous all who appeared on the stage, either to speak or
act; but it is remarkable that from this general proscrip,
tion the Roman youth were excepted; and they continu¬
ed to enact the Fabulce Atellance, namely, the farces or
drolleries of ancient Italian origin, without incurring any
stigma. This exception seems to indicate that the edict
originated in the national pride of the Romans, and their
contempt for Grecian literature, and for foreigners of
every description. Under any other view it is impossible
they should have preferred the actors in these coarse
farces, who, by the bye, are supposed to have been the
originals of no less persons that Harlequin and Punchi¬
nello, to those who possessed taste and talents sufficient
to execute the masterly scenes borrowed from the Gre¬
cian drama.
Injustice, however, and we call that law unjust which
devotes to general infamy any profession of which it
nevertheless tolerates the practice, is usually inconsist¬
ent. Several individual play-actors in Rome rose to high
public esteem, and to the enjoyment of great wealth.
Roscius was the friend and companion of Piso and of
Sylla, and, what was still more to his credit, of Cicero
himself, who thus eulogises the scenic art, while comme¬
morating the merit of his deceased friend: Quis nostrum
tarn animo agresti ac duro fuit, ut Roscii morte nuper non
commoveretur ? qui quum esset senex mortuus, tamen, prop¬
ter excellentem artem ac venustatem, videbatur omnino mori
non debuisse.
Paris, another Roman actor, reached a height of cele¬
brity as distinguished as Roscius, and exercised, as many
of his profession have since done, an arbitrary authority
over the unfortunate dramatic authors. It is recorded by
the satirist that Statius the epic poet might have starved
had he not given up to this favourite of the public, upon
his own terms doubtless, the manuscript of an unacted
performance. Paris was put to death by Domitian out of
jealousy.
If the actors rose to be persons of importance in Rome,
the dramatic critics were no less so. They had formed a
code of laws for the regulation of dramatic authors, to
which the great names of Aristotle and Horace both con¬
tributed their authority. But these will be more properly
treated of when we come to mention their adoption by the
French stage.
Having thus hastily given some account of the ancient he
stage, from its rise in Greece to its transportation to Rome,11'5
we have only to notice the circumstances under which it.
expired.
a
Uti
ai
ta;
Christianity from its first prigin was inimical to the insti¬
tution of the theatre. The fathers of the church inveigh
against the profaneness and immodesty of the theatre. In
the treatise of Tertullian, I)e Spectaculis, he has written
expressly upon the subject. The various authorities on
this head have been collected and quoted by the enemies
of the stage, from Prynne down to Collier. It ought,
however, to be noticed, that their exprobation of the theatre
is founded, first, upon its origin, as connected with heathen
superstition ; and secondly, on the beastly and abominable
license practised in the pantomimes, which, although they
made no part of the regular drama, were presented never¬
theless in the same place, and before the same audience.
“ We avoid your shows and games,” says Tertullian, “ be-
DRAMA.
153
P
rjna.
brdatic
rq, cn-
tatiis of
the iid-
dle .'es.
cause we doubt the warrant of their origin. They savour
of superstition and idolatry, and we dislike the entertain¬
ment,as abhorring the heathen religion on which it is found¬
ed.” In another place he observes, the temples were unit¬
ed to theatres, in order that superstition might patronize
debauchery; and that they were dedicated to Bacchus and
to Venus, the confederate deities of lust and intemperance.
It was not only the connection of the theatre with
heathen superstition that olfended the primitive church,
but also the profligacy of some of the entertainments which
were exhibited. There cannot be much objected to the
regular Roman dramas in this particular, since even Mr
Collier allows them to be more decorous than the British
stage of his own time; but, as we have already hinted, in
the Ludi Scenici, the intrigues of the gods and the heroes
were represented upon the stage with the utmost gross¬
ness. These obscene and scandalous performances thus
far coincided with the drama, that they were acted in the
same theatres, and in honour of the same deities, and
both were subjected to the same sweeping condemnation.
They were not, however, absolutely or formally abolished,
even when Christianity became the religion of the state.
Tertullian and St Augustin both speak of the scenic re¬
presentations of their own day, under the distinct charac¬
ters of tragedy and comedy ; and although condemned by
the church, and abhorred by the more strict Christians,
there is little doubt that the ancient theatre continued to
exist until it was buried under the ruins of the Roman
empire.
Modern Drama.
The same proneness to fictitious personification, which
we have remarked as a propensity common to all countries,
introduced, during the dark ages, a rude species of drama
into most of the nations of Europe. Like the first efforts
of the ancients in that art, it had its foundation in religion ;
with this great difference, that as the rites of Bacchus be¬
fore, and even after the improvements introduced by Thes¬
pis, were well enough suited to the worship of such a
deity, the religious dramas, mysteries, or whatever other
name they assumed, were often so unworthy of the Chris¬
tian religion, on which they were founded, that their be¬
ing tolerated can be attributed only to the gross ignorance
of the laity, and the cunning of the Catholic priesthood,
who used them, with other idle and sometimes indecorous
solemnities, as one means of amusing the people’s minds,
and detaining them in contented bondage to their spiritual
superiors.
In the empire of the East, religious exhibitions of a
theatrical character appear to have been instituted about
the year 990, by Theophylact, patriarch of Constantinople,
with the intention, as Warton surmises, of weaning the
minds of the people from the Pagan revels, by substituting
Christian spectacles, partaking of the same spirit of license.
His contemporaries give him little credit for his good in¬
tentions. “ Theophylact,” says Cedrenus, as translated
by Warton, “ introduced the practice, which prevails to
this day, of scandalizing God and the memory of his saints,
on the most splendid and popular festivals, by indecent
and ridiculous songs, and enormous shoutings, even in the
midst of those sacred hymns which we ought to offer to
divine grace for the salvation of our souls. But he having
collected a company of base fellows, and placing over them
one Euthynicus, surnamed Casnes, whom he also appoint¬
ed the superintendent of his church, admitted into the
sacred service diabolical dances, exclamations of ribaldry,
and ballads borrowed from the streets and brothels.” The
irregularities of the Greek clergy, who, on certain holi-
days, personated feigned characters, and entered even the
choir in masquerade, are elsewhere mentioned. (Warton’s
VOL. vm.
History of English Poetry, vol. ii. p. 370.) These pas- Drama,
sages do not prove that actual mysteries or sacred dramas
were enacted on such occasions; but probably the inde¬
cent revels alluded to bore the same relation to such re¬
presentations, as the original rites of Bacchus to the more
refined exhibitions of Thespis and Susarion.
There has been some dispute among theatrical antiqua¬
ries, in which country of Europe dramatic representations
of a religious kind first appeared. The liberal and ingeni¬
ous editor of the Chester Mysteries has well remarked, in
his introduction to that curious and beautiful volume, that
a difficulty must always attend the inquiry, from the doubts
that exist, whether the earliest recorded performances of
each country were merely pantomimes, or were accom¬
panied with dialogue.
The practice of processions and pageants with music,
in which characters, chiefly of sacred writ, were present¬
ed before the public, is so immediately connected with
that of speaking exhibitions, that it is difficult to discri¬
minate the one from the other.
We are tempted to look first to Italy; as it is natural
that the tragic art should have revived in that country in
which it was last exercised, and where traditions, and
perhaps some faint traces, of its existence were still pre¬
served.
“ The first speaking sacred drama,” says Mr Walker,
“ was Della Passione di nostro Signor Giesu Christo, by
Giuliano Dati, bishop of San Leo, who flourished about
the year 1445.” (Walker’s Essay on the Revival of the
Drama in Italy, p. 6.) This elegant author does, indeed,
show that Italian scholars, and particularly Mussato, the
Paduan historian, had composed two Latin dramas upon
something like the classical model about the year 1300.
Yet, although his play upon the tyranny and death of
Ezzlino obtained him both reputation and honour, it does
not appear to have been composed for the stage, but rather
to have been a dramatic poem, since the progress of the
piece is often interrupted by the poet speaking in his own
person.
The French drama is traced by M. Legrand as high
as the thirteenth century; and he has produced one curi¬
ous example of a pastoral entitled Un Jeu. He mentions
also a farce, two devotional pieces, and two moralities, to
each of which he ascribes the same title. It may be sus¬
pected that these are only dialogues recited by the tra¬
velling minstrels and troubadours, such as Petrarch ac¬
knowledges having sometimes composed for the benefit of
the strolling musicians. Such were probably the spec¬
tacles exhibited by Philip the Fair in 1313, on account of
the honour of knighthood conferred on his children. Ri-
coboni, anxious for the honour of Italy, denies to these
amusements the character of a legitimate drama; with
what justice we have no information that can enable us to
decide.
Amidst this uncertainty,, it is not unpleasant to record
the fair claim which Britain possesses to be one of the
earliest, if not the very first nation in which dramatic
representation seems to have been revived. The Chester
Mysteries, called the Whitsun Plays, appear to have been
performed during the mayoralty of John Arneway, who
filled that office in Chester from 1268 to 1276. The very
curious specimen of these mysteries, which has been of
late printed for private distribution by Mr Markland of
the Temple, furnishes us with the banes or proclamation,
containing the history and character of the pageants
which it announces.
Iteverende forties and ladyes all.
That at this tyme here assembled bee,
By this messauge understande you shall,
That sometymes there was mayor of this citie,
154 DRAMA.
Drama. Sir John Arnway, Knyghte, who most worthilye
Contented hymselfe to sett out an playe
The devise of one Done liondali, moonke of Chester Abbey.
This moonke, moonke-like in scriptures well scene,
In storyes travelled with the best sorte ;
In pagentes set fourth, apparently to all eyne,
The Okie and Newe Testament with livelye comforte ;
Intermynglinge therewith, onely to make sporte,
Some things not warranted by any writt,
Which to gladd the hearers he woulde men to take yt.
This matter he abrevited into playes twenty-foure,
And every playe of the matter gave but a taste,
Leavinge for better learninge scircumstances to accomplishe,
For his proceedinges maye appeare to be in haste:
Yet all together unprofitable his labour he did not waste,
For at this daye, and ever, he deserveth the fame
Which all monkes deserves professinge that name.
This worthy Knihte Arnway, then mayor of this citie,
This order toke, as declare to you I shall,
That by twentye-fower occupations, artes, craftes, or misteries,
These pagentes shoulde be played after breeffe rehearsall;
For every pagente a cariage to be provyded witkall,
In Avhich sorte we purpose this Whitsontyde,
Our pageants into three partes to devyde.
I. Now you worshippfull Tanners that of custome olde
The fall of Lucifer did set out,
Some writers awarrante your matter, therefore be boulde
liustelye to playe the same to all the rowtte :
And yf any thereof stand in any double.
Your author his author hath, your she.we let bee,
Good speech, fyne players, with apparill comelye.
Chester Mysteries.
Such were the celebrated Mysteries of Chester. To
Mr Markland’s extracts from them is prefixed a curious
dissertation upon their age and author. They were so
highly popular, as to be ranked, in the estimation of the
vulgar, with the ballads of Robin Hood; for a character in
one of the old moralities is introduced as boasting,
I can rhimes of Robin Hood, and Randal of Chester,
But of our Lord and our Lady I can nought at ail.
The poetical value of these mysteries is never consider¬
able, though they are to be found among the dramatic an¬
tiquities of all parts of Europe. It was, however, soon
discovered that the purity of the Christian religion was
inconsistent with these rude games, in which passages
from scripture were profanely and indecently mingled
with human inventions of a very rude, and sometimes an
indecorous character. To the Mysteries, therefore, suc¬
ceeded the Moralities, a species of dramatic exercise,
which involved more art and ingenuity, and was besides
much more proper for a public amusement, than the imi¬
tations or rather parodies of sacred history, which had
hitherto entertained the public.
Moralities. These Moralities bear some analogy to the old or ori¬
ginal comedy of the ancients. They were often founded
upon allegorical subjects, and almost always bore a close
and poignant allusion to the incidents of the day. Public
reformation was their avowed object, and, of course, satire
was frequently the implement which they employed. Dr
Percy, however, remarks that they were of two characters,
serious and ludicrous ; the one approaching to the tragedy,
the other to the comedy of classical times; so that they
brought taste as it were to the threshold of the real drama.
The difference between the Catholic and reformed religion
was fiercely disputed in some of these dramas; and in
Scotland, in particular, a mortal blow was aimed at the
superstitions of the Roman church, by the celebrated Sir
David Lindsay, in a play or morality acted in 1539, and
entitled The Satire of the Three Estates. The objects of
this drama were entirely political, although it is mixed
with some comic scenes, and introduced by an interlude, I 4
in coarseness altogether unmatched. The spirit of Aris- ^ N
tophanes, in all its good and evil, seems to have actuated
the Scottish king-at-arms. It is a singular proof of the
liberty allowed to such representations at the period, that
James V. and his queen repeatedly witnessed a piece, in
which the corruptions of the existing government and re¬
ligion were treated with such satirical severity. The play,
as acted, seems to have differed in some respects from the
state in which it exists in manuscript.
In a letter to the Lord Privy Seal of England, dated
26th January 1540, Sir William Eure (envoy from Henry
VIII.) gives the following account of the play, as it had
then been performed “ in the feast of Ephipanie at
Lightgowe, before the king, queene, and the whole coun-
saile, spirituall and temporall. In the firste entres come
in Solace (whose parte was but to make mery, sing bal¬
lets with his fellowes, and drinke at the interluydes of
the play), whoe showed firste to all the audience the play
to be played. Next come in a king, who passed to his
throne, having nae speche to thende of the play, and then
to ratify and approve, as in parliament, all things done by
the rest of the players, which represented The Three i
Estates. With hym came his cortiers, Placebo, Pic-
thank, and Flatterye, and sic alike gard; one swering
he was the lustiest, starkeste, best proportionit, and most
valyeant man that ever was; ane other swere he was the
beste with long-bowe, crosse-bowe, and culverin, and so
fourth. Thairafter there come a man armed in harness,
with a swerde drawn in his hande, a Bushop, a Burges-
man, and Experience, clede like a Doctor; who set
them all down on the deis under the King. After them
come a poor man, who did go up and down the scaffblde,
making a hevie complainte that he was hereyet, throw
the courtiers taking his fewe in one place, and his tackes
in another; wherthrough he had sceyled his house, his
wyfe and childrene beggyng thair brede, and so of many
thousands in Scotland; saying thair was no remedy to be
gotten, as he was neither acquainted with controller nor
treasurer. And then he looked to the king, and said he
was n6t king in Scotland, for there was ane other king i
in Scotland that hanged Johne Armstrang, with his fel¬
lowes, Sym the Laird, and mony other mae ; but he had
lefte ane thing undone. Then he made a long narracione j
of the oppression of the poor, by the taking of the corse- I
presaunte heists, and of the berrying of poor men by the
consistorye lawe, and of many other abusions of the Spi-
ritualitie and Church. Then the Bushop raise and re- I
buked him. Then the Man of Armes alledged the con-
traire, and commanded the poor man to go on. The poor
man proceeds with a long list of the bishop’s evil practices, j
the vices of cloisters, &c. This is proved by Experience, I
who, from a New Testament, shows the office of a bushop.
The Man of Armes and the Burges approve of all that
was said against the clergy, and alledge the expediency of
a reform, with the consent of parliament. The Bushop
dissents. The Man of Armes and the Burges said they
were two, and he but one, wherefore their voice should
have most effect. Thereafter the king, in the play, rati¬
fied, approved, and confirmed all that was rehersed.”
The other nations of Europe, as well as England, had
their mysteries and moralities. In France, Boileau, fol¬
lowing Menestrier, imputes the introduction of these spec¬
tacles to travelling bands of pilgrims.
Chez nos ddvots ayeux, le the'atre abhorre
Fut long-temps dans la France un plaisir ignore;
Des pelerins dit-on, une troupe grossiere
En public a Paris y monta la premiere;
Et sottement zelee en sa simplicite
Jo'ua les saints, la Vierge, et Dieu par piete.
L'Ait Poctiquc, chant, ill.
r
DRAMA.
155
La. i
D na. In Spain the Autos Sacramentales, which are analogous
1^^ t0 the mysteries of the middle ages, are still presented
without shocking a nation whose zeal is stronger than their
taste ; and, it is believed, such rude and wild plays, found¬
ed on scripture, are also occasionally acted in Flanders.
In the History of the Council of Constance, we find that
mysteries were introduced into Germany by the English,
about 1417, and were first performed to welcome the Em¬
peror Sigismund, on his return from England ; and, from
the choice of the subjects, we should almost suppose that
they had transferred to that country the Chester Mysteries
themselves. “ Les Anglois,” says the historian, “ se sig-
nale ent entre les autres par un spectacle nouveau, ou au
moins inusite jusques alors en Allemagne. Ce fut une
comedie sacree, que les eveques Anglois firent representer
devant I’empereur, le Dimanche 31 de Janvier, sur la
Naissance du Sauveur, sur I’Arrivee des Mages, et sur la
Massacre des Innocens. (Ilist, du Concile de Cjonstance,
par L’Enfant, lib. v.) The character of these rude drama¬
tic essays renders them rather subjects for the antiquary
than a part of a history of the regular dramatic art.
We may also pass over, with brief notice, the Latin
plays which, upon the revival of letters, many of the
learned composed in express imitation of the ancient Gre¬
cian and Latin productions. We have mentioned those
of Mussato, who was followed by the more celebrated Ca-
raro, in the path which he had opened to fame. In other
countries the same example was followed. These learned
prolusions, however, were only addressed to persons of
letters, then a very circumscribed circle, and, when acted
at all, were presented at universities or courts on solemn
public occasions. They form no step in the history of the
drama, unless that, by familiarizing the learned with the
form and rules of the ancient classical drama, they gra¬
dually paved the way for the adoption of the same regu¬
lations into the revived vernaeular drama, and formed a
division amongst the theatres of modern Europe, which
has never yet been reconciled.
R orical While the learned laboured to revive the classical dra-
1)! > ma in all its purity, the public at large, to which the trea¬
sures of the learned languages were as a fountain sealed,
became addicted to a species of representation which
properly neither fell under the denomination of comedy
or tragedy, but was named History or Historical Drama.
Charles Yerardo, who, about 1492, composed a drama of
this sort, in Latin, upon the expulsion of the Moors from
Granada, claims, for this production, a total emancipation
from the rules of dramatic criticism.
llequirat auteni nullus hie comcedise,
Leges ut observantur, aut tragediae;
Agenda nempe est hisioria non fabula.
“ Let none expect that in this piece the rules of comedy
or of tragedy should be observed ; we mean to act a his¬
tory, not a fable.” From this expression it would seem
that, in a historical drama, the author did not think him¬
self entitled to compress or alter the incidents as when
the plot was fabulous, but was bound, to a certain extent,
to conform to the actual course of events. In these his¬
tories, the poet embraced often the life and death of a
monarch, or some other period of history, containing se¬
veral years of actual time, which, nevertheless, were made
to pass before the eyes of the audience during the two or
three hours usually allotted for the action of a play. It is
not to be supposed that, with so fair a field open before
them, and the applause of the audience for their reward,
the authors of these histories should long have confined
themselves to the matter of fact contained in records.
They speedily innovated or added to their dramatic chro¬
nicles without regard to the real history, lo those who
plead for stage plays, that they elucidate and explain Drama,
many dark and obscure histories, and fix the facts firmly
in the minds of the audience, of which they had other¬
wise but an imperfect apprehension, the stern Prynne re¬
plies with great scorn, “ that play-poets do not explain,
but sophisticate and deform, good histories, with many
false varnishes and playhouse fooleriesand that “ the
histories are more accurately to be learned in the origi¬
nal authors who record them, than in derivative playhouse
pamphlets, which corrupt them.” (Prynne’s Histrio-Mas-
tix, p. 940.)
The dramatic chronicles, therefore, were a field in
which the genius of the poet laboured to supply, by cha¬
racter, sentiment, and incident, the meagre detail of the
historian. They became so popular in England, that, dur¬
ing the short interval betwixt the revival of the stage and
the appearance of Shakspeare, the most part of the Eng¬
lish mpnarchs had lived and died upon the stage; and it
is well known that almost all his historical plays were
new written by him, upon the plan of old dramatic chro¬
nicles which already existed.
But the miscellaneous audience which crowded to the
vernacular theatre at its revival in Europe, were of that
rank and intellect which is apt to become tired of a se¬
rious subject, and to demand that a lamentable tragedy
should be intermingled with very pleasant mirth. The
poets, obliged to cater for all tastes, seldom failed to in¬
sert the humours of some comic character, that the low
or grotesque scenes in which he was engaged might serve
as a relief to the graver passages of the drama, and gra¬
tify the taste of those spectators who, like Christofero
Sly, tired until the fool came on the stage again. Hence
Sir Philip Sidney’s censure on these dramatists, “ how
all their plays be neither right tragedies nor right come¬
dies, mingling kings with clowns ; not because the mat¬
ter so carrieth it, but to thrust in the clown, by head and
shoulders, to play a part in magestical matters, with nei¬
ther decency nor discretion, so that neither the admira¬
tion and commiseration, nor the right sportfulness, is by
their mongrel tragi-comedy attained.” (Defence of Poesie.
Sidney’s Arcadia, edit. 1627, p. 563.) “ If we mark them
well,” he concludes, “ funerals and hornpipes seldom match
daintily together.”
The historical plays led naturally into another class, Romantic
which may be called Romantic Dramas, founded upon po-drama,
pular poems or fictitious narratives, as the former were.on
real history. Some of these were borrowed from foreign
nations, ready dramatized to the hand of the borrower;
others were founded on the plots which occurred in the
almost innumerable novels and romances which .we had
made our own by translation. “ I may boldly say it, says
Gosson, a recreant play-wright, who attacked his former
profession, “ because I have seen it, that the Palace oj
Pleasure, the Golden Asse, the Ethiopian History, Amadis
of Fraunce, the Round Table, Hawdie Comedies in Latin,
French, Italian, and Spanish, have been thoroughly ran¬
sacked to furnish the playhouse in London.” But it was
not to be supposed that the authors would confine them¬
selves to stricter rules in pieces founded upon Italian and
Spanish novels, or upon romances of chivalry, than they
had acted upon in the histories. Every circumstance
which tended to loosen the reins of theatrical discipline
in the one case, existed in the other; and, accordingly,
comedies of intrigue, and tragedies of action, and show,
everywhere superseded, at least in popular estimation, the
severe and simple model of the classical drama.
It happened that in England and Spain, in particu¬
lar, the species of composition which was most indepen¬
dent of critical regulation was supported by the most bril-
156
DRAMA.
Drama.
liant display of genius. Lopez de Vega and Calderon
rushed on the stage with their hasty and high-coloured,
but glowing productions, fresh from the mint of imagina¬
tion, and scorning that the cold art of criticism should
weigh them in her balance. The taste of the Spaniards
has been proverbially inclined to the wild, the romantic,
and the chivalrous; and the audience of their bards would
not have parted with one striking scene, however inartifi-
cially introduced, to have gained for their favourites the
praise of Aristotle and all his commentators. Lopez de
Vega himself was not ignorant of critical rules; but he
pleads the taste of his countrymen as an apology for ne¬
glecting those restrictions which he had observed in his
earlier studies.
Yet true it is I too have written plays.
The wiser few, who judge with skill, might praise ;
But when I see how show and nonsense draws
The crowds, and, more than all, the fair’s applause ;
Who still are forward with indulgent rage
To sanction every monster of the stage ;
I, doom’d to write the public taste to hit,
Resume the barbarous dress ’twas vain to quit;
I lock up every rule before I write,
Plautus and Terence banish from my sight,
Lest rage should teach these injured wits to join,
And their dumb books cry shame on works like mine.
To vulgar standards, then, I frame my play,
Writing at ease, for, since the public pay,
’Tis just, methinks, we by their compass steer,
And write the nonsense that they love to hear.
Lord Holland’s Life of Lope de Vega, p. 103.
The Spanish comedies of intrigue also went astray, as
far as their romantic tragedies, from the classical path. In
fact, these new representations were infinitely more cap¬
tivating from their vivacity, novelty, and, above all, from
their reflecting the actual spirit of the time, and holding
the mirror up to nature, than the cold imitations which the
learned wrote in emulation of the classic drama. The one
class are existing and living pictures of the times in which
the authors lived ; the others, the cold resurrection of the
lifeless corpses which had long slumbered in the tomb of
antiquity. I he spirit of chivalry, which so long lingered
in Spain, breathes through the wild and often extravagant
genius of her poets. The hero is brave and loyal, and
true to his mistress :
A knight of love who never broke a vow.
Lovers of this description, in whose minds the sexual
passion is sublimated into high and romantic feeling,
make a noble contrast with the coarse and licentious
Greek or Roman, whose passion turns only on the difficul¬
ty of purchasing his mistress’s person, but who never con¬
ceives the slightest apprehension concerning the state of
her affections.
That the crowd might have their loud laugh, a grazioso
or clown, usually a servant of the hero, is in the Spanish
drama uniformly introduced to make sport. Like Kemp or
Tarletun, famous in the clown’s part before the time of
Shakspeare, this personage was permitted to fill up his
part with extemporary jesting, not only on the performers,
but with the audience. This irregularity, with others,
seems to have been borrowed by the English stage from
that of Spain, and is the license which Hamlet condemns
in his instructions to the players : “ And let those that be
your clowns speak no more than is set down for them ; for
there be of them that will themselves laugh, to set on some
quantity of barren spectators to laugh too, though, in the
mean time, some necessary question of the play be then to
be considered; that’s villainous, and shows a most pitiful
ambition in the fool that uses it.”
The bald simplicity of the ancient plots was, in like
manner, contrasted to disadvantage with the intricacies, D
involutions, suspense, and bustle of Spanish intrigue upon w |
the stage. Hence the boast of one of their poets, thus
translated by Lord Holland :
Invention, interest, sprightly turns in plays,
Say what they will, are Spain’s peculiar praise;
Her’s are the plots which strict attention seize,
Full of intrigue, and yet disclosed with ease.
Hence acts and scenes her fertile stage affords,
Unknown, unrivall’d, on the foreign boards.
Life of Lope de Vega, p. 10G.
While we admire the richness of fancy displayed in the
Spanish pieces, it is impossible, in an age of refinement,
to avoid being shocked by their wilful and extravagant ne¬
glect of every thing which can add probability to the ac¬
tion of their drama. But the apology for this license is
well pleaded by Lord Holland.
“ Without dwelling on the expulsion of the chorus (a
most unnatural and inconvenient machine), the moderns,
by admitting a complication of plot, have introduced a
greater variety of incidents and character. The province
of invention is enlarged ; new passions, or at least new
forms of the same passions, are brought within the scope
of dramatic poetry. Fresh sources of interest are opened,
and additional powers of imagination called into activity.
Can we then deny what extends its jurisdiction, and en¬
hances its interest, to be an improvement in an art whose
professed object is to stir the passions by the imitation of
human actions? In saying this I do not mean to justify
the breach of decorum, the neglect of probability, the ana¬
chronisms, and other extravagancies of the founders of the
modern theatre. Because the first disciples of the school
were not models of perfection, it does not follow that the
fundamental maxims were defective. The rudeness of
their workmanship is no proof of the inferiority of the ma¬
terial ; nor does the want of skill deprive them of the me¬
rit of having discovered the mine. The faults objected to
them form no necessary part of the system they introdu¬
ced. Their followers in every country have either com¬
pletely corrected or gradually reformed such abuses.
Those who bow not implicitly to the authority of Aris-
totle, yet avoid such violent outrages as are common in
our early plays. And those who pique themselves on the
strict observance of his laws, betray, in the conduct, the
sentiments, the characters, and the dialogue of their pieces
(especially of their comedies), more resemblance to the
modern than the ancient theatre; their code may be
Grecian, but their manners, in spite of themselves, are
Spanish, English, or French. They may renounce their
pedigree, and even change their dress, but they cannot
divest their features of a certain family-likeness to their
poetical progenitors.”
In France the irregularities of the revived drama were
of a lower complexion; for, until her stage was refined
by Corneille, and brought under its present strict regime,
it was adorned by but little talent ; a circumstance
which, amongst others, may account for the ease with
which she subjected herself to critical rules, and assumed
the yoke of Aristotle. Until she assumed the Grecian
forms and restrictions, there is but little interesting in the
history of her stage.
England adopted the historical and romantic drama with
ardour, and in a state scarce more limited by rules than
that of Spain herself. Her writers seem early to have
ransacked Spanish literature ; for the union of the coun¬
tries during the short reign of Mary, nay even their wars
under Elizabeth and Philip, made them acquainted with
each other. 1 he Spaniards had the start in the revival
of the drama. Ferrex and Perrex, our earliest tragedy,
was first presented in 1561 ; and Gammer Gurtons
DRAMA.
157
It* m
tri dy.
Needle, our first comedy, in 1575; whereas Lopez de Ve¬
ga who was not by any means the earliest Spanish dra¬
matist, died in 1562, leaving the stage stocked with his
innumerable productions, to which his contemporaries had
not failed to add their share. Thus, as soon as the stage
of Britain was so far advanced as to be in a capacity of
borrowing, that of Spain offered a fund to which her au¬
thors could have recourse ; and, in fact, the Spanish dra¬
ma continued to be a mine in which the British poets
collected materials, often without acknowledgment, during
all the earlier part of her dramatic history. From this
source, as well as from the partialities of the audience,
arose that early attempt at show and spectacle, at com¬
bats and marvellous incidents, which, though with very
poor means of representation, our early dramatic poets
loved to produce at the Bull or the Fortune playhouses.
The extravagance of their plots, and the poor efforts by
which our early dramatists endeavoured to represent show
and procession, did not escape the censure of Sir Philip
Sidney, who, leaning to the critical reformation which was
already taking place in Italy, would gladly have seen our
stage reduced to a more classical model.
“ It is faultie,” says that gallant knight, “ both in
place and time, the two necessarie companions of all cor-
porall actions. For the stage should alway present but
one place; and the uttermost time presupposed in it
should bee, both by Aristotle’s precept and common rea¬
son, but one day; there are both many dayes and many
places inartificially imagined. But if it be so in Gorboduhe,
how much more in all the rest ? where you shall have Asia
of the one side, and Affricke of the other, and so many
other under kingdomes, that the plair, when he comes in,
must ever begin with telling where hee is, or else the tale
will not be conceived. Now shall you have three ladies
walke to gather flowers, and then wee must beleeve the
stage to be a garden. By and by wee heare newes of
shipwracke in the same place, then wee are to blame if we
accept it not for a rocke. Upon the backe of that comes
out a hideous monster with fire and smoke, and then the
miserable beholders are bound to take it for a cave ; while,
in the mean time, two armies flie in, represented with some
swordes and bucklers, and then what hard heart will not
receive it for a pitched field ? Now of time they are
much more liberall; for ordinarie it is, that two young
princes fall in love. After many traverses shee is got with
childe, delivered of a faire boy; he is lost, groweth a man,
falleth in love, and is readie to get another childe, and all
this in two houres space ; which how absurd it is in sense,
even sense may imagine, and art hath taught, and all an¬
cient examples justified, and at this day the ordinary play¬
ers in Italy will not err in.”
Italy, referred to by Sir Philip Sidney as the cradle of
the reformed drama, had had her own age of liberty and
confusion; her mysteries, her moralities, her historical and
her romantic dramas. But the taste for the ancient and
classical stage was still rooted in the country where it
had flourished, and Trissino is acknowledged as the fa¬
ther of the regular drama. The Sophonisba of this learn¬
ed prelate is praised by Voltaire as the first regular tra¬
gedy which Europe had seen after so many ages of bar¬
barism. Pope has added his tribute.
When learning, after the long Gothic night,
Fair o’er the western world renewed its light,
With arts arising, Sophonisba rose,
The tragic muse returning wept her woes;
With her the Italian scene first learned to glow,
And the first tears for her were taught to flow.
This tragedy was represented at Rome in the year 1515.
The Greek model is severely observed, and the author
has encumbered his scene with a chorus. It has some Drama,
poetic beauties, and is well calculated to recommend the
new or rather revived system on which it was written. La
Rosmonda of Rucelleri was written about the same time
with Sophonisba; and, after these pieces, tragi-comedies,
histories, and romantic dramas, were discarded, and suc¬
ceeded by tragedies upon a regular classical model; writ¬
ten in verse, having five acts, and generally a chorus.
Notwithstanding their rigorous attention to the ancient
model, the modern tragic poets of Italy have not been
very successful in arresting the attention of their country¬
men. They are praised rather than followed; and the
stern, unbending composition of Alfieri, while it has
given a tone of rude and stoical dignity to his dramas, has
failed in rendering them attractive. They frequently
please in the closet; but the audience of modern days re¬
quires to be kept awake by something more active, more
bustling, more deeply interesting, than the lessons of the
schools; and a poet of high fancy has written in some
measure in vain, because he has mistaken the spirit of
his age. The tragic actors, also, whatever excellence
they may attain to in their art, do not attract the same
consideration, attention, and respect, as in France or Eng¬
land ; and they who are the direct authors of a pleasure
so nearly connected with our noblest and best feelings,
occupy a rank subordinate to the performers at the opera.
It is only as a modification of the drama that we here Opera,
propose to touch upon that entertainment of Italian
growth, but known by importation in every civilized king¬
dom of Europe. These kingdoms have often rivalled each
other in the rewards held forth to musical performers,
and encouraged their merit by a degree of profusion,
which has had the effect of rendering the professors petu¬
lant, capricious, and unmanageable. Their high emolu¬
ments are not granted, or their caprices submitted to,
without a degree of pleasure in some degree correspond¬
ing to the expense and the sufferance ; and it is in vain for
the admirers of the legitimate drama to pretend that such
is not obtained. Voltaire has with more justice confess¬
ed, that probably the best imitation of the ancient stage
was to be found in the Italian tragic opera. The recita¬
tive resembled the musical declamation of the Athenians,
and the choruses, which are frequently introduced, when
properly combined with the subject, approach to those of
the Greeks, as forming a contrast, by the airs which they
execute, to the recitative, or modulated dialogue of the
scene. Voltaire instances the tragic operas of Metastasio
in particular, as approaching in beauty of diction, and truth
of sentiment, near to the ancient simplicity; and finds an
apology even for the detached airs, so fatal to probability,
in the beauty of the poetry and the perfection of the mu¬
sic. And although, as a critic and man of cultivated
taste, this author prefers the regular, noble, and severe
beauties of the classic stage, to the effeminate and mere¬
tricious charms of the opera, still he concludes that, with
all its defects, the sort of enchantment which results from
the brilliant intermixture of scenery, chorus, dancing, mu¬
sic, dress, and decoration, subjects even the genius of cri¬
ticism ; and that the most sublime tragedy, and most art¬
ful comedy, will not be so frequently revisited by the same
individual as an indifferent opera. We may add the ex¬
perience of London to the testimony of this great critic ;
and, indeed, were it possible that actors could frequently
be procured, possessed of the powers of action and of
voice which were united in Grassini, it would be impos¬
sible to deny to the opera the praise of being an amuse¬
ment as exquisite in point of taste as fascinating from
show and music. But as the musical parts of the entei'-
tainment are predominant, every thing else has been too
often sacrificed to the caprice of a composer, wholly igno-
158
DRAMA.
Drama, rant in every art save his own; and the mean and paltry
dialogue, which is used as a vehicle for the music, is be’
come proverbial to express nonsense and inanity.
Italian The Italian comedy, as well as their tragedy, boasts its
comedy, regular descent from classical times. Like the comedy
of Menander, it introduces dramatis 'personce whose cha¬
racters are never varied, and some of whom are supposed
to be directly descended from the ancient Mimi of the
Atellan Fables. Such an origin is claimed for the ce¬
lebrated Harlequin, and for the no less renowned Punci-
nello, our English Punch, both of whom retain the cha¬
racter of jesters, cowards, wags, and buffoons, proper to
the Sannio of the Romans. It is believed of these wor¬
thies that they existed before the time of Plautus, and
continued to play their frolics during the middle ages,
when the legitimate drama was unknown. For the former
fact, sculpture, as well as tradition, is appealed to by Ita¬
lian antiquaries, who have discovered the representation
of these grotesque characters upon the Etruscan vases.
In support of the latter averment, the grave authority of
Saint Thomas Aquinas is appealed to, who, we rejoice to
find, thought Harlequin ^and Punch no unlawful company
in fitting'time and place. “ Ltidbis," says that eminent
person, with more consideration for human infirmity than
some saints of our own day, “ est ?iecessarius ad conversa-
tionem vitce humanoe: ad omnia aiitem quee sunt utilia con-
versationi humanoe, deputaripossunt aliqua qfficia licita: et
idea etiam qfficium histrionum quod ordinatur ad solatium
hominihus exhibendum, non est secundum se illicitum, nec
sunt histriones in statu peccati, dummodo moderate ludo
utantur; id est, non utendo aliquibus illicitis verbis vel fac-
tis, ad ludum, et non adhibendo ludum negotiis et te -pori-
bus indebitis, unde Mi qui moderate eis subveniunt, non pec¬
cant, sed juste faciunt mercedem minister 'd eorum eis tribu-
endo. Et licet J). August, super Joan, dicit quod donare
res suas histrionibus, vitium est humane, hoc intelligi debet
de Mis qui dant histrionibus qui in ludo utuntur illicitis, vel
de Mis qui superfine sua in tales consumunt, non de Mis
histrionibus qui moderate, ludo utuntur.''
Saint Anthony gives his sanction to Saint Thomas on
this point: “ Histrionatus ars quia deservit humanai recre-
ationi quee necessaria est vitce hominis secundum D. Tho-
mam, de se 71011 est illicita et de ilia arte vivere non est pro¬
hibitum." (S. Antonius in 3 part. Suce Summce, tit. iii.
cap. 4.) Saint Anthony, indeed, adds the reasonable re¬
striction, that no clergyman should play Harlequin, and
that Punch should not exhibit in the church.
Under this venerable authority these Mimi went on and
flourished. Other characters enlarged their little drama.
The personages appeared in masks. “ Each of these,” says
Mr Walker, “ was originally intended as a kind of charac¬
teristic representation of some particular Italian district or
town. Thus Pantalone was a Venetian merchant; Dot-
tore, a Bolognese physician ; Spaviento, a Neapolitan brag¬
gadocio ; Pullicinella, a wag of Apulia; Giangurgolo and
Coviello, two clowns of Calabria; Gelsomino, a Roman
beau; Beltrame, a Milanese simpleton; Brighella, a Fe-
rarese pimp ; and Arlecchino, a blundering servant of Ber¬
gamo. Each of these personages wars clad in a peculiar
dress, each had his peculiar mask, and each spoke the
dialect of the place he represented. Besides these, and
a few other such personages, of which at least four were
introduced in each play, there were the Amorosos or In-
namoratos; that is, some men and women who acted se¬
rious parts, with Smeraldina, Colombina, Spilletta, and
other females, who played the parts of servettas or wait¬
ing-maids. All these spoke Tuscan or Roman, and wore
no masks.” {Essay on the Revival of the Drama in Italy,
p. 249.)
The pieces acted by this class of actors were called
Commedia dell arte, and were congenial to the taste of
the Italians, with whom gesticulation and buffoonery are
natural attributes. Their drama was of the most simple
kind. Each of the actors was already possessed of his
dramatic character, which was as inalienable as his dress,
and was master of the dialect he was to use, and had his
imagination and memory stored with all the characteris¬
tic jests, or lazzi as they were termed, peculiar to the per¬
sonage he represented. All that the author had to do was
to invent the skeleton of a plot which should bring his cha¬
racters into dramatic situation with respect to each other.
The dialogue suited to the occasion was invented by the
players, just as ours invest their parts with the proper ges¬
tures and actions. This skeleton had the name of scenario)
and was filled up by the performers, either impromptu or
in consequence of previous arrangement and premedita¬
tion. This species of comedy was extremely popular,
especially among the lower class of spectators. It was
often adopted as an amusement in good society, and by
men of genius; and Flamineo de la Scala has left about
fifty such scenarios adapted for representation. The fa¬
shion even found its way into England, and probably the
part of Master Punch, who first appeared in the character
of the Vice of the English morality, was trusted to the
improvisatory talents of the actor. Mr dTsraeli, a curious
as well as elegant investigator of ancient literature, has
shown that at least one scheme of a Commedia dell' arte
has been preserved to us. It is published in the Variorum
edition of Shakspeare, but remains unexplained by the
commentators. Such comedies, it is evident, could re¬
quire no higher merit in the composer than the imagining
and sketching a few comic situations; the dialogue and
diction was all entrusted to the players.
The Italians, however, became early possessed of a re¬
gular comedy, which engrossed the admiration of the more
cultivated classes of society. Bibbiena’s comedy, entitled
La Calandra, is composed in imitation of Terence and
Plautus. It was first acted in 1490. La Calandra is re¬
markable, not only for being the first Italian comedy, but
also for the perfection of scenic decoration with which it
was accompanied in the representation. It was followed
by the productions of Ariosto and Trissino, and other
authors in the same line. But it appears, from the efforts
used to support this style of drama, that it did not take
kindly root in the soil, and lacked that popularity which
alone can nurse it freely. Various societies were formed
under the whimsical titles of Gli Intronati, Gli Insensati,
and so forth, for the express purpose of bringing forward
the regular drama; exertions which would certainly have
been unnecessary had it received that support and encou¬
ragement which arises from general popularity.
Goldoni, in a later age, at once indulged his own fanci¬
ful genius and his natural indolence, by renouncing the
classical rules, and endeavouring to throw into the old and
native Italian Mascherata the variety and attributes of the
proper comedy. He adopted Harlequin and the rest of
his merry troop in the characters which they held, and
endeavoured to' enlist them in the more regular service of
the drama, just as free corps and partizans are sometimes
new-modelled into battalions of the line. This ingenious
and lively writer retained all the license of the Commedia
dell' arte, and all the immunities which it claimed from
regular and classical rules; but instead of trusting to the
extempore jests and grotesque wit of the persons whom
he introduced, he engaged them in dialogues, as well as
plots, of his own invention, which often display much hu¬
mour and even pathos. It required, however, the rich¬
ness of a fancy like Goldoni’s to extract novelty and in¬
terest from a dramatic system in which so many of the
actors held a fixed and prescriptive character, hardly
DRAMA.
]59
admitting of being varied. Accordingly, we do not find
that the Italian stage is at present in a more flourishing
condition than that of other modern nations.
The revival of the regular drama in France was attend¬
ed with important consequences, owing to the nature of
her government, the general use of her language through¬
out Europe, and the influence which, from her situation,
she must necessarily hold over other nations. It is the
boast of Paris that the regular classical drama, banished
from every other stage, found a safe and honourable re¬
fuse on her own. Yet France has reluctantly confessed
that she also had her hour of barbarism. Her earlier
drama was borrowed, like that of other countries, from
Spain, who, during the whole of the sixteenth and great
part of the seventeenth century, held such a formidable
predominance in the European republic. While the clas¬
sical stage was reviving in Italy, and the historical and
romantic drama was flourishing in Spain, France w'as torn
to pieces by civil discord. The first French tragedy com¬
posed upon a regular plan was that of Mairet, imitated
from the Sophonisba of Trissino; and Riccoboni boasts
with justice, that whoever shall compare the Italian tra¬
gedy of the sixteenth century with that of the French of
the same period, will find the latter extravagant and irre¬
gular, and the former already possessed of gravity, dig¬
nity, and regularity. The French, like the English, date
the excellence of their stage from one great author; and
the illustrious name of Pierre Corneille affords to their
dramatic history the mighty landmark which Shakspeare
gives to our own.
Cardinal Richelieu, who had succeeded in establishing
upon a broad basis the absolute power of the French mo¬
narch, was not insensible to the graces and ornaments
which the throne derived from being surrounded by the
muses. He was himself fond of poetry, and even a com¬
petitor for the honours of the buskin. He placed himself
at the head of five dramatic writers, to whom on that ac¬
count the public gave the title of Les Cinq Auteurs. All
these are deservedly forgotten excepting Corneille, of
whose successful talent the cardinal had the meanness to
evince no ordinary degree of jealousy. The malevolence
of that minister was carried so far that he employed the
French Academy, whose complaisance must be recorded
to their shame, to criticise severely the Cid, the first, and
perhaps the finest, of Corneille’s tragedies. Scudery, a
favourite of the cardinal, buoyed by Richelieu’s favour,
was able for some time to balance Corneille in the opinion
of the public; but his name is now scarcely known by any
other circumstance than his imprudent and audacious
rivalry. This great man was not only surrounded by the
worst possible models, but unfortunately the authors of
these models were also favourites of the public and of the
all-powerful cardinal; yet Corneille vanquished the taste
of his age, the competition of his rivals, and the envy of
Richelieu.
Corneille, like his predecessors, and like Routrou in par¬
ticular, borrowed liberally from the Spanish theatre; but
his own taste, regulated probably upon his situation, dic¬
tated an adherence to the classical model. The French
stage arose, it must be remembered, under the protection
of an absolute monarch, for whose amusement the poet
laboured, and in whose presence the drama was performed.
It followed, as a natural consequence, that a more strict
etiquette was exacted upon the scene than had hitherto
been supposed applicable to a merely popular amusement.
A departure from regularity in tragedy was no longer a
bold flight. A violation of decorum in comedy was no
longer a broad jest. When the audience was dignified by
the presence of the monarch, the former became an im¬
pertinence, and the latter a gross and indecent insult. The Drama,
muse of comedy was therefore bound over for her good
behaviour; and even her grave sister was laid under such
rules and restrictions as should insure the decorum and
dignity of her scene.
It was at this period that those classical fetters which Frfnch
are framed on the three unities were fashioned into form,^^1^11*
and imposed on the French drama. These are acknow- uniticSt
ledged by Corneille, in his Essay upon Dramatic Poetry,
in the following short but emphatic sentence : “ II faut
observer les unites d'action, de lieu, et de jour ; personne
nen doute.” The rule, as thus emphatically admitted byr
the fiery Corneille, was equally binding upon the elegant
Racine, and has fettered the French stage until the pre¬
sent day. “ La Motte,” says Voltaire, “ a man of wit and
talent, but attached to paradoxes, has written in our time
against the doctrine of the unities; but that literary he¬
resy had no success.”
Upon these rules, adopted by the very first writer of
eminence for the French stage, and subscribed to by all
succeeding dramatists, depends the principal and long-
disputed difference betwixt the drama of France and those
countries in which her laws of taste have been received,
and the stages of Spain, England, and modern Germany,
where those critical maxims have been controverted. In
other words, the unities proper to the classical drama have
been found inapplicable to plays of a historical or roman¬
tic plan. It is therefore necessary to examine with accu¬
racy the essence and effect of those laws so often disputed
with more obstinacy than liberality.
The arbitrary forms to which the French thus subjectedExamina-
their theatre are, in their general purport, founded on goodtion of this
and sound rules of the critical art. But, considered ju- oct,rme'
daically and literally, the interpretation put upon those
unities by the French critics must necessarily lay the
dramatic author under restraints equally severe and un¬
necessary, without affording any corresponding addition
to the value of his work. The pedantry by which they
are enforced reminds one of the extreme, minute, rigor¬
ous, and punctilious discipline to which some regiments
have been subjected by a pedantic commanding officer,
which seldom fails to lower the spirit and destroy the
temper of the soldier, without being of the slightest ser¬
vice to him in the moment of danger or the day of battle.
The first dramatic unity is that of action, and, rightly
understood, it is by far the most important. A whole,
says Aristotle, is that which has a beginning, middle, and
end. In short, one strong concentrated interest, upon
which all subordinate incidents depend, and to which they
contribute, must pervade the piece. It must open with the
commencement of the play, evolve itself, and be progres¬
sive with its progress—must be perpetually in sight, and
never stationary, until at length it arrives at a catastrophe,
by which it is ended and extinguished. In this rule, ab¬
stractedly considered, there is nothing but what is con¬
sistent with good sense and sound criticism. The period
allowed for dramatic representation is not long, and will
not admit of the episodical ornaments which may be hap¬
pily introduced into epic poetry. And as the restlessness
or impatience of a theatrical audience is always one of its
marked characteristics, it has been observed, that neither
the most animated description, nor the most beautiful
poetry, can ever reconcile the spectators to those inartifi¬
cial scenes in which the plot or action of the piece stands
still that the performers may say fine things. The intro¬
duction of an interest, separate and distinct from the main
action of the play, has a still worse effect; it diminishes
the effect of the whole, and divides the attention of the
audience; as a pack of hounds, when in full pursuit, are
impeded and puzzled by starting a fresh object of chase.
DRAMA.
Yet even this rule must be liberally considered if we
would allow dramatic authors that fair room and exercise
for their genius, which gives rise to the noblest displays of
genius in the art. Modern dramatists are no longer, it
must be remembered, limited to the simple and surer uni¬
formity of the ancient drama, which fixed on one single
event as its object, made it the subject of the moral re¬
flections of the chorus, managed it by the intervention of
three or at most five persons, and consequently presented
a picture so limited in size and subject that there was no
difficulty in avoiding the intermixture of a foreign inte¬
rest. The modern taste has opened the stage to a wider
range of topics, which are at the same time more compli¬
cated in detail, depending on the agency of a variety of
performers, and on the result of a succession of events.
Such dramas have indeed an unity of action peculiar to
themselves, which should predominate over and absorb
every other. But although, like the oak, it should predo¬
minate over all the neighbouring underwood, its dignity
is not injured by the presence and vicinity of that which
it overshadows. On the contrary, a succession of events
tending to the same end, if they do not divert the atten¬
tion from the principal interest, cannot fail, by their va¬
riety and succession, to keep it fixed upon the business of
the scene.
To take an example. In the tragedy of Macbeth a
chain of varied and important events are introduced, any
one link of which might be hammered out into a drama
on the severe and simple model of the drama of ancient
Greece. There is the murder of Duncan, that of Banquo,
and the dethronement and death of the tyrant; all which
are events complete of themselves, independent of each
other, and yet included within one tragedy of five acts.
But, nevertheless, this is never felt as a deficiency in the
performance. It is to the character of Macbeth, to his
ambition, guilt, remorse, and final punishment, that the
mind attaches itself during the whole play; and thus the
succession of various incidents, unconnected excepting by
the relation they bear to the principal personage, far from
distracting the attention of the audience, continues to
sharpen and irritate curiosity till the curtain drops over
the fallen tyrant. This is not, indeed, an unity of action
according to the rule of Aristotle, or the observance of
the French theatre. But, in a lighter point of view, it
has all the advantage which could possibly be derived
from the severest adherence to the precept of Aristotle,
with this additional merit, that the interest never stag¬
nates in declamation, or is suspended by unnecessary dia¬
logue.
It would in fact be easy to show that the unity of ac¬
tion, in its strict sense, may frequently be an unnatural as
well as a cumbrous restraint on the genius of the poet.
In the course of nature, an insulated action seldom exists
of a nature proper to transfer to the stage. If, indeed,
the play is founded on some single mythological fable, or
if the scene is laid in some early stage of society, when
man as yet remained separated from his kind, and con¬
nected only with his petty tribe or family, the subject of
a plot may be chosen where the agency of a very few per¬
sons, and these naturally connected together, may, with¬
out foreign or extraneous assistance, afford matter for a
tragedy. But in the actual course of the peopled world,
men are so crowded together, and their movements de¬
pend so much upon impulses foreign to themselves, that
the action must often appear multiplied and complicated,
and all that the author can do is to preserve the interest
uniform and undivided. Its progress may be likened to
that of a brook through beautiful scenery. A judicious
improver of the landscape would be certainly desirous to
make its course visible, but not to cut off its beautiful un¬
dulations, or to compel it into a straight channel. He
would follow the course of nature, and neither affect to '
conceal the smaller rills by which the stream was fed, nor
bring them so much in view as to deprive the principal
object of its consequence. We admit the difficulty inse¬
parable from the dramatic art, and must grant that the
author runs some risk of losing sight of the main interest
of the piece, by dwelling upon the subordinate accesso¬
ries ; but we contend that the attention of the audience is
still more likely to be fatigued by a bald and simple plot,
to which, during the course of five acts, there must be¬
long much speaking and little progress. And, in point of
common sense and common feeling, that piece must al¬
ways present unity of action which has unity of interest
and feeling; which fixes the mind of the audience upon
one train of thought and passion, to which every occur¬
rence in the drama verges ; and which is consummated and
wound up by the final catastrophe.
The second dramatic unity is that of time, about which
the critics of various nations have disagreed. If taken in
its strict and proper sense, it means that the time sup¬
posed to be consumed in the action represented, should
not exceed that which is occupied by the actual repre¬
sentation. But even Aristotle extends the duration of
the action to one revolution of the sun, and Corneille ex¬
tends it to thirty hours, which is to the actual period of
representation as ten to one. Boileau, a supereminent
authority, thus lays down the rule for the unities of time
and place:
Dr
Que le lieu de la scene y soit fixe & marque'.
Un Itimeur, sans peril, dela les Pirenees,
Sur la scene en un jour renferme des annees.
La souvent le Hdros d’un spectacle grossier,
Enfant au premier acte, est Barbon au dernier,
Mais nous, que la liaison a se regies engage,
Nous voulons qu’avec art Paction se me'nage :
Qu’en un lieu, qu’en un jour, un seul fait accompli
Tienne jusqu’d la fin le Theatre rempli.
It has been triumphantly remarked, that in thus yield¬
ing up the strict letter of the precept, in allowing the
three hours employed in acting a play to be multiplied
into twenty-four or thirty, the critics have retained
nearly all the inconvenience of this famous rule, while
they sacrificed its principle, and any advantage attached
to its observance. The only benefit supposed to be at¬
tached to this unity is that of probability. We shall not
at present inquire whether this is worth preserving at the
cost of imposing heavy restrictions on dramatic genius.
But granting the affirmative, probability is as much vio¬
lated by squeezing the events of twenty-four hours into a
period of only three, as if the author had exercised the
still greater license of the English and Spanish theatres.
There is no charm in the revolution of the sun, which cir¬
cumscribes within that particular period the events of a
drama. When the magic circle drawn around the author
by the actual date of representation is once obliterated,
the argument grounded upon probability falls; and he may
extend his narrative unconfined by any rule, except what
may be considered as resolving itself into the unity of ac¬
tion. A week, a month, a year, years may be included
in the course of the drama, provided always the poet has
power so to rivet the attention of the audience on the
passing scene, that the lapse of time shall pass unregarded.
Ihere must be none of those marked pauses which force
upon the spectators’ attention the breach of this unity.
Still less ought the judicious dramatist to permit his piece
to embrace such a space of time as shall necessarily pro¬
duce the change on the persons of the characters ridi¬
culed by Boileau. The extravagant conduct of the plot
in the Winter s Tale has gone far to depreciate that dra-
DRAMA. 10]
■rama. ma, which, in passages of detached beauty, is inferior to
none of Shakspeare’s, in the opinion of the best judges.
It might perhaps be improved in acting, by performing
the three first acts as a play, and the fourth and fifth as
an afterpiece. Yet, even as it is now acted, who is it
that, notwithstanding the cold objection arising out of the
breach of unity, witnesses without delight the exquisite
contrast betwixt the court and the hamlet, the fascinat¬
ing and simple elegance of Perdita, or the witty rogueries
of Autolycus? The poet is too powerful for the critic,
and we lose the exercise of our judgment in the warmth
of our admiration.
The faults of Shakspeare or of his age we do not, how¬
ever, recommend to the modern dramatist, whose mo¬
desty will certainly place him in his own estimation far
beneath that powerful magician whose art could fascinate
us even by means of deformity itself. But if for his own
sake the author ought to avoid such gross violations of
dramatic rule, the public, for theirs, ought not to tie him
down to such severe limitations as must cramp, at least,
if they do not destroy, his powder of affording them plea¬
sure. If the whole five acts are to be compressed within
the space of twenty-four hours, the events must, in the
general case, be either so much crowded upon each other
as to destroy the very probability which it is the purpose
of this law to preserve; or many of them being supposed
to have happened before the commencement of the piece,
must be detailed in narrative, which never fails to have a
bad effect on the stage.
The same objections apply to the rigid enforcement of
the third unity, that of place ; and indeed the French au¬
thors have used respecting it the license of relaxing, in
practice, the severity of their theory. They have fre¬
quently infringed the rule which they affirm to be invio¬
lable; and their flexible creed permits the place to be
changed, provided the audience are not transported out
of the city where ^he scene is laid. This mitigation of
doctrine, like that granted in the unity of time, is a vir¬
tual resignation of the principle contended for. Let us
examine, however, upon what that principle is founded.
The rule which prohibits the shifting the scene during
the period of performance, was borrowed by the French
from the ancients, without considering the peculiar cir¬
cumstances in which it arose. First, we have seen al¬
ready, that during the ancient drama, there was no divi¬
sion into acts, and that the action was only suspended
during the songs of the chorus, who themselves repre¬
sented a certain class of personages connected with the
scene. The stage, therefore, was always filled; and a
supposed change of place would have implied the violent
improbability that the whole chorus were transported,
while in the sight of the spectators, and employed in the
discharge of their parts, to the new scene of action. Se¬
condly, there is evidence that in the Eumenides of jLs-
chylus, and the Ajax of Sophocles, the scene is actually
changed, in defiance of the presence of the chorus; and
a much greater violation of probability is incurred than
could have taken place in a modern theatre, where, be¬
fore every change of scene, the stage is emptied of the
performers. Thirdly, the ancients were less hardly press¬
ed by this rule than the modern writers. From the ex¬
tent ol their theatres and the size of their stages, the
place of action was considerably larger, and might be held
to include a wider extent, than ours. The climate of
Greece admitted of many things being transacted with*
propriety in the open air; and, finally, they had a contri¬
vance for displaying the interior of a house or temple to
the audience, which, if not an actual change of scene, was
adapted to the same purpose.
It this long litigated question, therefore, is to be dis-
vol. vm.
posed of by precedent, we have shown that the rule of Drama,
the ancients was neither absolute, nor did the circum-
stances of their stage correspond with those of ours ;
to which it may be added, that the simple and inarti¬
ficial structure of their plots seldom required a change of
scene. But surely it is of less consequence to examine
the practice of the ancients, than to consider how far it is
founded upon truth, good taste, and general effect. Grant¬
ing, therefore, that the supposed illusion, which trans¬
ports the spectator to the actual scene of action, really
exists, let us inquire whether, in sacrificing the privilege
of an occasional change of scene, we do not run the risk
of shocking the spectator, and disturbing his delightful
dreams, by other absurdities and improbabilities, attend¬
ant necessarily on a scrupulous adherence to this re¬
striction.
If the action is always to pass in the scene, some place
of general resort must be adopted, a hall, anti-room, or the
like. It can seldom be so fortunately selected but that
much must be necessarily discussed there, which, in or¬
der to preserve any appearance of probability, should be
transacted elsewhere; that many persons must be intro¬
duced whose presence must appear unnatural; and that
much must be done there which the very circumstances
of the piece render totally absdrd. Dennis has applied
these observations with great force, and at the same time
with great bitterness, in his critique upon Cato, which
Johnson has quoted at length in his Life of Addison. The
scene, it must be remembered, is laid, during the whole
drama, with scrupulous attention to the classical rule, in
the great hall of Cato’s palace at Utica. Here the con¬
spirators lay their plots, the lovers carry on their intrigues ;
and yet Sempronius, with great inconsistency, disguises
himself as Juba to obtain entrance into this vestibule,
which was common to all. Here Cato retires to moralize,
and chides his son for interrupting him; and although he
retires to stab himself, it is to this place that he is brought
back to die. All this affords a striking proof how genius
and taste can be fettered and embarrassed by a too pe¬
dantic observance of rules. Let no one suppose that the
inconveniences arising from the rigid observance of the
unity of place, occur in the tragedy of Cato alone; they
might in that case be attributed to the inexperience or
want of skill in the author. The tragedies of Corneille
and Racine afford examples enough that the authors found
themselves compelled to violate the rules of probability
and common sense, in order to adhere to those of Aris¬
totle. In the tragedy of Cinna, for example, the scene is
laid in the emperor’s cabinet; and in that very cabinet,
compelled, doubtless, by the laws of unity, Amelia shouts
forth aloud her resolution to assassinate the emperor. It
is there too that Maximus and Cinna confide to each other
all the secrets of their conspiracy; and it is there where,
to render the impropriety more glaring, Cinna suddenly
reflects upon the rashness of his own conduct:
Amis, dans ce palais on peut nous ecouter;
Et nous parlous peut-etre avec trop d’imprudence,
Dans un lieu si mal propre a notre confidence.
It would be an invidious, but no difficult task, to show
that several of the chefs dHoeuvres of the French drama are
liable to similar objections; and that the awkward dilem-'
mas in which the unity of place involves them, is far more
likely to destroy the illusion of the performance, than the
mere change of scene would have done. But we refer the
reader to the Dramaturgie of Lessing upon this curious
topic.
The main question yet remains behind, namely, whe¬
ther such an illusion is actually produced in the minds of
the audience by the best-acted play, as induces them to
x
I
DRAM A.
suppose themselves witnessing a reality;—an illusion, in
short, so complete, as to suffer from the occasional exten¬
sion of time or change of place in the course of the piece ?
We do not hesitate to say that no such impression was
ever produced on a sane understanding; and that the Pa¬
risian critic, in whose presence the unities are never vio¬
lated, no more mistakes Talma for Nero, than a London
citizen identifies Kemble with Coriolanus, or Kean with
Richard III.1 The ancients, from the distance of the stage,
and their mode of dressing and disguising their charac¬
ters, might certainly approach a step nearer to reality;
and producing on their stage the very images of the dei¬
ties they worshipped, speaking the language which they
accounted proper to them, it is highly probable that, to
minds capable of high excitation, there might be a shade
of this illusion in their representations. The solemn dis¬
tance of the stage, the continuous and uninterrupted ac¬
tion, kept the attention of the Greeks at once more close¬
ly riveted, and more abstracted from surrounding circum¬
stances. But in the modern theatre, the rapid succession
of intervals for reflection, the well-known features of the
actors, the language which they speak differing frequent¬
ly from that which belongs to the age and country where
the scene is laid, interrupt at every turn every approxi¬
mation to the fantastic vision of reality into which those
writers who insist upon the strict observance of the uni¬
ties suppose the audience to be lulled. To use the nerv¬
ous words of Johnson, “ It is false that any representa¬
tion is mistaken for reality; that any dramatic fable in its
materiality was ever credible, or for a single moment was
ever credited.” There is a conventional treaty between
the author and the audience, that upon certain supposi¬
tions being granted by the latter, his powers of imagina¬
tion shall be exerted for the amusement of the spectators.
The postulates which are demanded, even upon the French
theatre, and under the strictest model, are of no ordinary
magnitude. Although the stage is lighted with lamps,
the spectator must say with the subjugated Catherine,
1 grant it is the sun that shines so bright.
The painted canvass must pass for a landscape; the
well-known faces of the performers for those of ancient
Greeks, or Romans, or Saracens ; and the present time for
many ages distant. He that submits to such a convention
ought not scrupulously to limit his own enjoyment; that
which is supposed Rome in one act, may in the next be
fancied Paris; and as for time, it is, to use the words of
Dr Johnson, “ of all modes of existence, most obsequious
to imagination; a lapse of years is as easily conceived as
a passage of hours. In contemplation we easily contract
the time of real actions, and therefore willingly permit it
to be contracted when we only see their imitation.”
If dramatic representation does not produce the im¬
pression of reality, in what, it may be asked, consists its
power? We reply, that its effects are produced by the
powerful emotions which it excites in the minds of the
spectators. The professors of every fine art operate their
impressions in the same manner, though they address
themselves to different organs. The painter exhibits his
scene to the eye, the orator pours his thunder upon the
ear, the poet awakens the imagination of his reader by
written description; but each has the same motive, the
hope, namely, of exciting in the reader, hearer, or specta¬
tor, a tone of feeling similar to that which existed in his
own bosom, ere it was bodied forth by his pencil, tongue, or
pen. It is the artist’s object, in short, to tune the reader’s
imagination to the same pitch with his own; and to com¬
municate, as well as colours and words can do, the same Drai
sublime sensations which had dictated his own composi- 'wv
tions. The tragedian attempts to attain this object still
more forcibly, because his art combines those of the poet,
orator, and artist, by storming as it were the imagination
at once through the eye and the ear. Undoubtedly a
drama with such advantages, and with those of dresses
and costume, approaches more nearly to actual reality,
and therefore has a better chance of attaining its object,
especially when addressing the sluggish and inert fancies
of the multitude ; although it may remain a doubtful ques¬
tion whether, with all these means and appliances, minds
of a high poetic temperature may not receive a more live¬
ly impression from the solitary perusal than from the re¬
presentation of one of Shakspeare’s plays. But, to the
most ignorant spectator, however unaccustomed to the
trick of the scene, the excitement which his fancy re¬
ceives falls materially short of actual mental delusion.
Even the sapient Partridge himself never thought of being
startled at the apparition of the king of Denmark, which
he knew to be only a man in a strange dress; it was the
terror so admirably expressed by Garrick, which commu¬
nicated itself to his feelings, and made him reverse the
case of the fiends, and tremble without believing. In
truth, the effects produced upon this imaginary character,
as described by an excellent judge of human nature, ex¬
hibit, probably, the highest point of illusion to which thea¬
trical exhibition can conduct a rational being. In an
agony of terror which made his knees knock against each
other, he never forgets that he is only witnessing a play.
The presence of Mrs Millar and his master assures him
against the reality of the apparition; yet he is no more
able to subdue his terrors by this comfortable reflection,
than we have been to check our tears, although well
aware that the Belvidera with whose sorrows we sympa¬
thized was no other than our own inimitable Mrs Sid-
dons. With all our passions and all our sympathies, we
are still conscious of the ideal character of that which ex¬
cites them; and it is probably this very consciousness of
the unreality of scene that refines our sorrows into a me¬
lancholy yet delicious emotion, and extracts from it that
bitterness necessarily connected with a display of similar
misery in actual life.
If, therefore, no illusion subsists of a character to be
affected by a change of scene, or by the prolongation of
the time beyond the rules of Aristotle, the very founda¬
tion of these unities is undermined ; but, at the same time,
every judicious author will use liberty with prudence.
If we are inclined to ascend to the origin of these cele¬
brated rules, we ought not to be satisfied with the ipse
dixit of a Grecian critic, who wrote so many centuries
ago, and whose works have reference to a state of drama¬
tic composition which has now no existence. Upon the
revival of letters, indeed, the authority of Aristotle was
considered as omnipotent; but even Boileau remonstrated
against his authority, when weighed with that of reason
and common sense.
Un pedant envieux de sa vaine science,
Tout herisse de Grec, tout bouffi d’arrogance,
Et qui de mille auteurs retenus mot pour mot,
Dans la teste entassez, n’a souvent fait qu’un sot,
Croit qu’un livre fait tout, et que sans Aristote
La raison ne voit goutte, et le bon sens radote.
The opinions of Aristotle must be judged of according
to the opportunities and authorities which lay open before
him; and from the high critical judgment he has display¬
ed, we can scarce err in supposing he would have drawn
1 See note to page 147.
DRAMA.
Irama. different results in different circumstances. Dr Drake,
whose industry and taste have concentrated so much cu¬
rious information respecting Shakspeare and his age, has
quoted upon this topic a striking passage from Mr Mor¬
gan’s Essay on the Character of Falstaff.
Speaking, says Dr Drake, of the magic influence which
our poet almost invariably exerts over his auditors, Mr
Morgan remarks, that “ on such an occasion, a fellow like
Byrner} waking from his trance, shall lift up his consta¬
ble’s staff, and charge this great magician, this daring
practiser of arts inhibited, in the name of Aristotle to sur¬
render; whilst Aristotle himself, disowning his wretched
officer, would fall prostrate at his feet and acknowledge
his supremacy. — O supreme of dramatic excellence!
might he say, not to me be imputed the insolence of fools.
The bards of Greece were confined within the narrow circle
of the chorus, and hence they found themselves constrain¬
ed to practise, for the most part, the precision, and copy
the details, of nature. I followed them, and knew not that
a larger circle might be drawn, and the drama extended
to the whole reach of human genius. Convinced, I see that
a more compendious nature may be obtained ; a nature of
effects only, to which neither the relation of places, or con¬
tinuity of time, are always essential. Nature, condescend¬
ing to the faculties and apprehensions of man, has drawn
through human life a regular chain of visible causes and
effects. But poetry delights in surprise, conceals her steps,
seizes at once upon the heart, and obtains the sublime of
things without betraying the rounds of her ascent. True
poetry is magic, not nature; an effect from causes hidden
or unknown. To the magician I prescribed no laws; his
law and his power are one; his power is his law. If his
end is obtained, who shall question his course ? Means,
whether apparent or hidden, are justified in poesy by suc¬
cess; but then most perfect and most admirable when
most concealed.
“ Yes, continues Mr Morgan, whatever may be the ne¬
glect of some, or the censure of others, there are those
who firmly believe that this wild, this uncultivated barba¬
rian, as he has been called, has not yet obtained one half
of his fame; and who trust that some new Stagyrite will
arise, who, instead of pecking at the surface of things, will
enter into the inward soul of his compositions, and expel,
by the force of congenial feelings, those foreign impurities
which have stained and disgraced his page. And as to
those spots which still remain, they may perhaps become
invisible to those who shall seek them through the medium
of his beauties, instead of looking for those beauties, as is
too frequently done, through the smoke of some real or
imputed obscurity. When the hand of time shall have
brushed off his present editors and commentators, and when
the very name of Voltaire, and even the memory of the
language in which he has written, shall be no more, the
Appalachian Mountains, the banks of the Ohio, and the
plains of Sciola, shall resound with the accents of this bar¬
barian. In his native tongue he shall roll the genuine pas¬
sions of nature ; nor shall the griefs of Lear be alleviated,
or the charms and wit of Rosalind be abated, by timer"
In adopting the views of those authors who have plead¬
ed for the liberty of the poet, it is not our intention to
deny that great advantages may be obtained by the ob¬
servance of the unities ; not considering them as in them¬
selves essential to the play, but only as points upon which
the credibility and intelligibility of the action in some sort
depends. We acknowledge, for example, that the author
would be deficient in dramatic art, who should divide the
163
interest of his piece into two or more separate plots, in- Drama,
stead of combining it in one progressive action. We con-
fess, moreover, that the author, who more violently ex¬
tends the time, or more frequently changes the place of
representation, than can be justified by the necessity of the
story, and vindicated by his exertion of dramatic force,
acts unwisely, in so far as he is likely to embarrass a great
part of the audience, who, from imperfect hearing or slow¬
ness of comprehension, may find it difficult to apprehend
the plot of his play. The latitude which we are disposed
to grant is regulated by the circumstances of the case,
the interest of the plot, and, above all, the talents of the
author. He that despises the praise of regularity which
is attainable by study, cannot reckon on the indulgence of
the audience, unless on the condition of indemnifying them
by force of genius. If a definitive rule were to be adopted,
we should say that it would certainly be judicious to place
any change of place or extension of time at the beginning
of a new' act; as the falling of the curtain and cessation of
the action has prepared the audience to set off, as it were,
upon a new score. But we consider the whole of these
points of propriety as secondary to the real purposes of
the drama, and not as limitary of that gifted genius who
can, in the whirlwind of his scene, bear the imagination of
his audience along with him over the boundaries of place,
While panting time toils after them in vain.
It is not upon the observance of the unities alone that French no-
the French found their pretensions to a classical theatre, tions of
They boast also to have discarded that intermixture oftra£>kco-
tragic and comic scenes, which was anciently universalmed^-
upon the Spanish and English stages.
If it had been only understood by this reformation, that
the French condemned and renounced that species of
tragi-comedy which comprehended two distinct plots, the
one of a serious, the other of a humorous character, and
these two totally unconnected, we give them full credit
for their restriction. Dryden, in the Spanish Friar, and
other pieces; and Southern, both in Oronoko and Isabella,
as well as many other authors of their age, have in this
particular transgressed unpardonably the unity of action.
For, in the cases wre have quoted, the combination of the
two plots is so slight, that the serious and comic scenes
separated, might each furnish forth a separate drama; so
that the audience appear to be listening, not to one play
only, but to two dramatic actions independent of each
other, although contained in the same piece. So far, there¬
fore, we heartily agree in the rule which excludes such an
unhappy interchange of inconsistent scenes, moving upon
opposite principles and interests.
When, however, the French critics carry this rule far¬
ther, and proscribe the appearance of comic or inferior
characters, however intimately connected with the tragic
plot, we would observe, in the first place, that they run
the risk of diminishing the reality of the scene; and se¬
condly, that they exclude a class of circumstances essen¬
tial to its beauty.
On the first point it must be observed, that the rule
which imposes upon valets and subordinate personages the
necessity of talking as harmonious verse and as elegant
poetry as their masters, entirely ruins the probability of
the action. Where all is elegant, nothing can be sublime;.
where all is ornamented, nothing can be impressive; where
all is tuned to the same smooth falsetto of sentiment, no¬
thing can be natural or real. By such an assimilation of
manners and language, we stamp fiction on the very front
1 Rymer was a calumniator of Shakspeare.
2 Shakspearc and his Times, by Nathan Drake, M.D. p. 553, 554, vol. ii.
DRAMA.
of our dramatic representation. The touches of nature
which Shakspeare has exhibited in his lower and gayer
characters, like the chastened back-ground of a landscape,
increase the effect of the principal group. The light and
fanciful humour of Mercutio serves, for example, to en¬
hance and illustrate the romantic and passionate character
of llomeo. Even the doating fondness and silly peevish¬
ness of the nurse tends to relieve the soft and affectionate
character of Juliet, and to place her before the audience
in a point of view which those who have seen Miss O’Neil
perform Juliet know howr to appreciate. A contrast is ef¬
fected which a French author dared not attempt, but of
which every bosom at once acknowledges the power and
the truth. Let us suppose that the gay and gallant Mer¬
cutio had as little character as the walking confident of a
French hero, who echoes the hexameters of his friend in
hexameters of a lower level; or let us suppose the nurse
of Juliet to be a gentle Nora, as sublime in white linen
as her principal in white satin; and let the reader judge
whether the piece would gain in dignity any thing pro¬
portioned to what it must lose in truth and interest. The
audience at once sympathizes with the friendship of Romeo
and Mercutio, rendered more natural and more interest¬
ing by the very contrast of their characters; and each
spectator feels as a passion, not as a matter of reflection,
that desire of vengeance which impels Romeo against
Tibalt; for we acknowledge as an amiable and interesting
individual the friend whom he has lost by the sword of
Capulet. Even the anilities of the nurse give a reality to
the piece, which, whatever French critics may pretend, is
much more seriously disturbed by inconsistency of man¬
ners, than by breach of their dramatic unities. “ God
forbid,” says Mr Puff, in the Critic, “ that, in a free coun¬
try, all the fine words in the language should be engrossed
by the higher characters of the piece.” The French cri¬
tics did not carry their ideas of equality quite so far, but
they tuned the notes of their subalterns just one pitch
lower than those of their principal characters, so that their
language, similar in style, but lower in sentiment and dic¬
tion, presents still that subordinate resemblance and cor¬
respondence to that of their superiors, which the worsted
lace upon the livery of a servant bears to the embroidery
upon the coat of his master.
It is not to mere expression that these remarks are
confined; for if we consult the course of human life, we
shall find that mirth and sorrow, and events which cause
both, are more nearly allied than perhaps it is altogether
pleasing to allow. Considered relatively to a spectator, an
incident may often excite a mingled emotion, partaking at
once of that which is moving and that which is ludicrous ;
and there is no reader who has not, at some period of his
life, met with events at which he hesitated whether to
laugh or to cry. It remains to be proved why scenes of
this dubious yet interesting description should be exclud¬
ed from the legitimate drama, while their force is acknow¬
ledged in that of human life. We acknowledge the difficulty
of bringing them upon the scene with their full and cor¬
responding effect. It was perhaps under this persuasion
that the fool, whose wild jests were too much the result of
habit and practice to be subdued even by the terrors of
the storm, has been banished from the terrific scene of
King Lear. But, in yielding to this difficulty, the terrible
contrast has been thus destroyed, in which Shakspeare
exhibited the half perceptions of the natural fool, as con¬
trasted with the assumed insanity of Edgar, and the real
madness of the old king. They who prefer to this living
variety of emotion the cold uniformity of a French scene
of passion, must be numbered among those who read for
Rie pleasure of criticism, and without hope of partaking
‘the enthusiasm of the poet.
While we differ from French criticism respecting the Drar
right to demand an accurate compliance with the unities, '-'■v
and decline to censure that casual intermixture of comic
character which gives at once reality and variety to the
drama, we are no less disposed to condemn the imperti¬
nent love scenes which these authors have, as a matter of
etiquette, introduced into all their tragedies, however alien
from the passion on which they are grounded. The French
drama assumed its present form under the auspices of .
Louis XIV. who aimed at combining all the characters of
a hero of romance. The same spirit which inspired the
dull monotony of the endless folios of Scudery and Cal-
prenede, seemed to dictate to Corneille, and even to Ra¬
cine, those scenes of frigid metaphysical passion which en¬
cumber their best plays. We do not dispute the deep in¬
terest which attaches to the passion of love, so congenial
to the human breast, when it forms the groundwork of
the play; but it is intolerably nauseous to find a dull love
tale mingled as a indispensable ingredient in every dra¬
matic plot, however inconsistent with the rest of the
piece. The Amoureux and Amoureuse of the piece come
regularly forth to recite their common-places of gallantry,
in language as cold as it is exaggerated, and as inconsis¬
tent with passion and feeling as with propriety and com¬
mon sense. Even the horrid tale of CEdipus has the mis¬
placed garnishment of a love intrigue between Theseus,
brought there for no other purpose, and a certain Dirce,
whom, in the midst of the pestilence, he thus gallantly
compliments:
Quelque ravage afireux qu’etale ici la peste,
I.’absence aux vrais amans est encore plus funeste.
The predominance of a passion which expresses itself so
absurdly is all that the French have condescended to adopt
from the age of chivalry, so rich in more dramatic stores;
and they have borrowed it in all its pedantry, and without
its tenderness and fire. Riccoboni has probably alleged
the true reason for the introduction of these heavy scenes
of love intrigue, which is, that at little expense of labour
to the author, they fill up three quarters of the action of
his play. We quote from the French version, as that im¬
mediately before us, and most generally intelligible : “ Par
exemple, dtons de Nicomede les dix scenes de Laodice,
de 1' (Edipe les dix scenes de Dirce, de Polieucte les
scenes d'amour de Severe, de la Phedre de Monsieur
Racine les six scenes dAricie, et nous verrons que non
seidement Vaction ne sera point interrompue, mais quelle en
sera plus vice ; en sorte que l'on verra manifestement, que
ces scenes de tendresses nont servi qua ralentir taction de
la piece, d la refroidir, et d rendre le heros moins grand. Si
apres ces deux meilleurs tragedies de la France, on examine
tous les autres, on connoitra bien mieux cette verite. Lorsque
Vamour fait le sujet de la tragedie, ce sentiment, si inte-
ressant par lui-meme, occupe le scene avec raison; Jaime
Vamour dePiiEERE, mais de Phedre seule." Under this thral¬
dom the fetters of the French stage long laboured, not¬
withstanding the noble example of Athalie, the chef
d’oeuvre of Racine. By the example of Voltaire, in one or
two of his best pieces, they have of late ventured occa¬
sionally to discard their uninteresting Cupid, whose ap¬
pearance on the stage as a matter of course and of cere-
raonys produced as little effect as when his altar and god¬
head are depicted on the semicircle of a fan.
We have already observed, that the refined, artificial,
and affected character of the French tragedy, arose from
its immediate connection with the pleasures and with the
presence of an absolute sovereign. From the same cir¬
cumstance, however, the French stage derived several ad¬
vantages. A degree of discipline, unknown in other thea¬
tres, was early introduced among the French actors; and
those ol a subordinate rank, who, on the English stage,
,rama.
i rneille.
kine.
DRAMA.
165
sometimes exhibit intolerable, contemptuous, and wilful
negligence, become compelled, on that of France, to pay
the same attention to their parts as their superiors, and to
exert what limited talents they possess in the subordinate
parts to which they are adapted. The effect of this com¬
mon diligence upon the scene, is a general harmony and
correspondence in its parts, which never fails to strike a
stranger with admiration.
The royal protection, also, early produced on the Pari¬
sian stage an improved and splendid style of scenery, de¬
coration, and accompaniments. The scenes and machi¬
nery which they borrowed from Italy, they improved with
their usual alert ingenuity. They were still further im¬
proved under the auspices of Voltaire, who had the sole
merit of introducing natural and correct costume. Before
his time the actors, whether Romans or Scythians, ap¬
peared in the full dress of the French court; and Augus¬
tus himself was represented in a huge full-bottomed wig,
surmounted by a crown of laurel. The strict national cos¬
tume introduced by Voltaire is now observed. That au¬
thor has also the merit of excluding the idle crowd of cour¬
tiers and men of fashion who thronged the stage during
the time of representation, and formed a sort of semicircle
round the actors, leaving them thus but a few yards of an
area free for performance, and disconcerting at once the
performers and the audience, by the whimsical intermix¬
ture of players and spectators. The nerves of those pe¬
dants who contended most strenuously for the illusion of
the scene, and who objected against its being interrupted
by an occasional breach of the dramatic unities, do not
appear to have suffered from the presence of this singular
chorus.
It was not decoration and splendour alone which the
French stage owed to Louis XIV. Its principal obligation
was for that patronage which called forth in its service the
talents of Corneille and Racine, the Homer and the Vir¬
gil of the French drama. However constrained by pedan¬
tic rules; however held back from using that infinite va¬
riety of materials which national and individual character
presented to them ; however frequently compelled by sys¬
tem to adopt a pompous, solemn, and declamatory style
of dialogue; these distinguished authors still remain the
proudest boast of the classical age of France, and a high
honour to the European republic of letters. It seems pro¬
bable that Corneille, if left to the exercise of his own judg¬
ment, would have approximated more to the romantic
drama. The Cid possesses many of the charms of that
species of composition. In the character of Don Gourmaz,
he has drawn a national portrait of the Spanish nobility,
for which very excellence he was subjected to the censure
of the academy, his national court of criticism. In a ge¬
neral point of view, he seems to have been ambitious of
overawing his audience by a display of the proud, the
severe, the ambitious, and the terrible. Tyrants and con¬
querors have never sat to a painter of greater skill; and
the romantic tone of feeling which he adopts in his more
perfect characters is allied to that of chivalry. But Cor¬
neille was deficient in tenderness, in dramatic art, and in
the power of moving the passions. His fame, too, was in¬
jured by the multiplicity of his efforts to extend it. Critics
of his own nation have numbered about twenty of his
dramas which have little to recommend them; and no
foreign reader is very likely to verify or refute the cen*
sure, since he must previously read them to an end.
Racine, who began to write when the classical fetters
were clenched and riveted upon the French drama, did
not make that effort of struggling with his chains which
we observe in the elder dramatist; he was strong where
Corneille evinced weakness, and weak in the points where
his predecessor showed vigour. Racine delineated the
passion of love with truth, softness, and fidelity; and his Drama,
scenes of this sort form the strongest possible contrast v—
with those in which he, as well as Corneille, sacrificed to
the dull Cupid of metaphysical romance. In refinement
and harmony of versification, Racine has hitherto been
unequalled ; and his Athalie is, perhaps, likely to be ge¬
nerally acknowledged as the most finished production of
the French drama.
Subsequent dramatists, down to the time of Voltaire, Voltaire,
were contented with imitating the works of these two great
models, until the active and ingenious spirit of that cele¬
brated author seems tacitly to have meditated further ex¬
perimental alterations than he thought it prudent to de- ’
fend or to avow. His extreme vivacity and acute intellect
were mingled, as is not unfrequent in such temperaments,
with a certain nervous timidity, which prevented him from
attempting open and bold innovation, even where he felt
compliance with existing rules most inconvenient and dis¬
piriting. He borrowed, therefore, liberally from Shak-
speare, whose irregularities were the frequent object of his
ridicule; and he did not hesitate tacitly to infringe the
dramatic unities in his plays, while in his criticism he holds
them up as altogether inviolable. While he altered the
costume of the stage, and brought it nearer to that of na¬
tional truth, he made one or two irresolute steps towards
the introduction of national character. If we were, in¬
deed, to believe the admirers of Corneille, little remained
to be done in this department; he had already, it is said,
taught his Romans to speak as Romans, and his Greeks as
Greeks ; but of such national discrimination foreigners are
unable to perceive a trace. His heroes, one and all, talk
like men of no peculiar character or distinct age and na¬
tion, but, like the other heroes of the French dramatic
school, are “ all honourable men,” who speak in high,
grave, buskined rhimes, where an artificial brilliancy of
language, richness of metaphor, and grandeur of sentiment,
are substituted for that concise and energetic tone of dia¬
logue, which shows at once the national and individual
character of the personage who uses it. In Mahomet, Al-
zire, and one or two other pieces, Voltaire has attempted
some discrimination of national character; the ground¬
work, however, is still French ; and, under every disguise,
whether of the turban of the Ottoman, the feathery crown
of the savage, or the silk tunic of the Chinese, the charac¬
ter of that singular people can be easily recognized. Vol¬
taire probably saw the deficiency of the national drama
with his usual acuteness; but, like the ancient philoso¬
phers, he contentedly joined in the idolatry which he de¬
spised.
It seems, indeed, extremely doubtful whether the French
tragedy can ever be brought many steps nearer to nature.
That nation is so unfortunate as to have no poetical lan¬
guage ; so that some degree of unnatural exaltation of
sentiment is almost necessary to sustain the tone of tra-
gedjr at a pitch higher than that of ordinary life. The peo¬
ple are passionately fond of ridicule; their authors are
equally afraid of incurring it: they are aware, like their
late ruler, that there is but one step betwixt the sublime
and the ridiculous; and they are afraid to aim at the
former, lest their attempt, falling short, should expose
them to derision. They cannot reckon on the mercy or
enthusiasm of their audience ; and while they banish com-,
bats and deaths, and even violent action of any kind, from
the stage, this seems chiefly on account of the manifest
risk that a people, more alive to the ludicrous than the
lofty, might laugh when they should applaud. The drunken
and dizzy fury with which Richard, as personated by
Kean, continues to make the motion of striking after he
has lost his weapon, would be caviare to the Parisian par.-
terre. Men must compound with their poets and actors,
166 DRAMA.
Drama, and pardon something like extravagance, on the score of
enthusiasm. But if they are nationally dead to that enthu¬
siasm, they resemble a deaf man listening to eloquence,
who is more likely to be moved to laughter by the ges¬
tures of the orator, than to catch fire at his passionate
declamation.
Above all, the French people are wedded to their own
opinions. Each Parisian is, or supposes himself, master
of the rules of the critical art; and whatever limitations
it imposes on the author, the spectators receive some
indemnification from the pleasure of sitting in judgment
upon him. To require from a dancer to exhibit his agi¬
lity without touching any of the lines of a diagram chalked
on the floor, would deprive the performance of much ease,
strength, and grace; but still the spectator would feel a
certain interest in watching the dexterity with which the
artist avoided treading on the interdicted limits, and a
certain pride in detecting occasional infringements. In
the same manner, the French critic obtains a triumph
from watching the transgressions of the dramatic poet
against the laws of Aristotle ; equal, perhaps, to the more
legitimate pleasure he might have derived from the unfet¬
tered exercise of his talents. Upon the whole, the French
tragedy, though its regulations seem to us founded in
pedantry, and its sentiments to belong to a state of false
and artificial refinement, contains, nevertheless, passages
of such perfect poetry and exquisite moral beauty, that
to hear them declaimed with the art of Talma, cannot but
afford a very high pitch of intellectual gratification.
French The French comedy assumed a regular shape about the
comedy, same period with the tragedy ; and Moliere was in his
department what Corneille and Racine were in theirs ; an
original author, approached in excellence by none of those
that succeeded him. The form which he assumed for a
model was that of the comedy of Menander, and he has
copied pretty closely some pieces from the Latin stage.
Moliere was endowed by nature with a rich fund of comic
humour, which is nowhere more apparent than in those
light pieces which are written upon the plan of the Italian
masked comedy. In these he has introduced the jealous
old pantaloon, the knavish and mischievous servant, and
some of its other characters. In his regular comedy he
soared to a higher pitch. Before his time the art had
sought its resources in the multiplicity and bustle of in¬
trigue, escape, and disguise,—of, at best, in a comic dia¬
logue, approaching to mere buffoonery. Moliere’s satire
aimed at a nobler prey; he studied mankind for the pur¬
pose of attacking those follies of social life which are best
exposed by ridicule. The aim of few satirists has been
so legitimate, or pursued with such success. Female va¬
nity, learned pedantry, unreasonable jealousy, the doating
and disgraceful passions of old men, avarice, coquetry,
slander, the quacks who disgrace medicine, and the knaves
who prostitute the profession of the law, were the marks
at which his shafts were directed.
Moliere’s more regular comedies are limited by the law
of unities, and finished with great diligence. It is true,
the author found it sometimes necessary tacitly to elude
the unity of place, which he durst not openly violate ; but,
in general, he sacrifices probability to system. In the
Ecole des Femmes, Arnolph brings his wife into the street,
out of the room in which his jealousy has imprisoned her,
in order to lecture her upon the circumspection due to
her character; which absurdity he is guilty of, that the
scene may not be shifted from the open space before his
door to her apartment. In general, however, it may be
noticed, that the critical unities impose much less hard¬
ship upon the comic than upon the tragic poet. It is much
more easy to reconcile the incidents of private life to the
unities of time and place, than to compress within their
limits the extensive and prolonged transactions which com- Dra®
prehend the revolution of kingdoms and fate of monarchs. ;
What influence, however, these.rules do possess, must
operate to cramp and embarrass the comic as well as the
tragic writer; to violate and disunite those very probabi¬
lities which they affect to maintain; and to occasion a
thousand real absurdities rather than grant a conventional
license, which seems essential to the freedom of the drama.
The later comic authors of France seem to have aban¬
doned the track pointed out by Moliere, as if in despair
of approaching his excellence. Their comedy, compared
with that of other nations, and of their great predecessor,
is cramped, and tame, and limited. In this department,
as in tragedy, the stage experienced the inconvenience
arising from the influence of the court. The varied and
unbounded field of comic humour which the passions and
peculiarities of the lower orders present, was prohibited,
as containing subjects of exhibition too low and vulgar for
a monarch and his courtiers; and thus the natural, fresh,
and varied character of comedy was flung aside, while the
heartless vices and polished follies of the great world were
substituted in its place. Schlegel has well observed, that
the object of French comedy “ is no longer life, but so¬
ciety ; that perpetual negotiation between conflicting va¬
nities which never ends in a sincere treaty of peace; the
embroidered dress, the hat under the arm, and the sword
by the side, essentially belong to them ; and the whole of
the characterization is limited to the folly of the men and
the coquetry of the women.”
It is scarcely in nature that a laughter-loving people
should have remained satisfied with an amusement so dull
and insipid as their regular comedy. A few years pre¬
ceding the revolution, and while the causes of that event
were in full fermentation, the Marriage of Figaro ap¬
peared on the stage. It is a comedy of intrigue ; and the
dialogue is blended with traits of general and political
satire, as well as with a tone of licentiousness, which was
till then a stranger to the French stage. It was received
with a degree of enthusiastic and frantic popularity which
nothing but its novelty could have occasioned, for there is
little real merit in the composition. Frederick of Prussia,
and other admirers of the old theatrical school, were great¬
ly scandalized at so daring an innovation on the regular
French comedy. The circumstances which followed have
prevented Beaumarchais’ example from being imitated;
and the laughers have consoled themselves with inferior
departments of the drama. Accordingly, we find the
blank supplied by farces, comic operas, and dramatic va¬
rieties, in which plots of a light, flimsy, and grotesque cha¬
racter are borne out by the comic humour of the author
and comic skill of the actor. Brunet, a comedian of extra¬
ordinary powers in this cast of interludes, has at times
presumed so far upon his popularity as to season his farce
with political allusions. It will scarce be believed that
he aimed several shafts at Napoleon when in the height
of his power. The boldness as well as the wit of the
actor secured him the applause of the audience; and such
a hold had Brunet of their affections, that an imprisonment
of a few hours was the greatest punishment which Bona¬
parte ventured to inflict upon him. But whatever be the
attachment shown to the art in general, the French, like
ourselves, rest the character of their theatre chiefly upon
the ancient specimens of art; and the regular tragedy, as
well as comedy, seems declining in that kingdom.
As the drama of France was formed under the patro- Engli
nage of the monarch, and bears the strongest proofs of its dram:
courtly origin, that of England, which was encouraged by
the people at large, retains equally unequivocal marks of
its popular descent. Its history must naturally draw to
DRAMA.
167
cl 11a.
?-ama. some length, as being that part of our article likely to be
most interesting to the reader. In part, however, we
have paved the way for it by the details common to the
rise of dramatic art in the other nations of Europe. We
shall distinguish the English drama as divided into four
periods, premising that this is merely a general, and not a
precise division. The taste which governed each period,
and the examples on which it is grounded, will usually be
found to have dawned in the period preceding that in
which it was received and established.
I. From the revival of the theatre until the great civil
war.
II. From the Restoration to the reign of Queen Anne.
III. From the earlier part of the last century down to
the present reign.
IV. The present state of the British drama.
]. ,tpe- I. The drama of England commenced, as we have al-
ri of the ready observed, upon the Spanish model. Ferrex and
!■; rlish perrex was the first composition approaching to a regular
tragedy, and it was acted before Queen Elizabeth, upon
the 18th day of January 1561, by the gentlemen of the
Inner Temple. It partakes rather of the character of a
historical than of a classical drama, although more nearly
allied to the latter class than the chronicle plays which
afterwards took possession of the stage. We have al¬
ready recorded Sir Philip Sidney’s commendation of this
play, which he calls by the name of Gorboduc, from one
of the principal characters. Acted by a learned body,
and written in great part by Lord Sackville, the principal
author of the Mirror for Magistrates, the first of English
tragedies assumed in some degree the honours of the
learned buskin ; but although a chorus was presented ac¬
cording to the classical model, the play was free from the
observance of the unities, and contains many irregulari¬
ties severely condemned by the regular critics.
English comedy, considered as a regular composition,
is said to have commenced with Gammer Gurtons Needle.
This “ right pithy, pleasant, and merry comedy,” was the
supposed composition of John Still, Master of Arts, and
afterwards Bishop of Bath and Wells. It was acted in
Christ-Church College, Cambridge, in 1575. It is a piece
of low humour, the whole jest turning upon the loss and
recovery of the needle with which Gammer Gurton was
to repair the breeches of her man Hodge; but, in point
of manners, it is a great curiosity, as the curta suppellex
of our ancestors is scarcely anywhere so well described.
The popular characters also, the Sturdy Beggar, the Clown,
the Country Vicar, and the Shrew of the sixteenth cen¬
tury, are drawn in colours taken from the life. The unity
of time, place, and action, are observed through the play
with an accuracy of which France might be jealous. The
time is a few hours; the place, the open square of the
village before Gammer Gurton’s door; the action, the
loss of the needle; and this, followed by the search for
and final recovery of that necessary implement, is inter¬
mixed with no other thwarting or subordinate interest,
but is progressive from the commencement to the conclu¬
sion.
It is remarkable that the earliest English tragedy and
comedy are both works of considerable merit; that each
partakes of the distinctive character of its class ; that the
tragedy is without intermixture of comedy, the comedy
without any intermixture of tragedy.
These models were followed by a variety of others, in
which no such distinctions were observed. Nuiiieraus
theatres sprung up in different parts of the metropolis,
opened upon speculation by distinct troops of performers.
Their number shows how much they interested public
•curiosity; for men never struggle for a share in a losing
profession. They acted under licenses, which appear to
have been granted for the purpose of police alone, not of Drama,
exclusive privilege or monopoly ; since London contained,
in the latter part of the sixteenth century, no fewer than
fourteen distinct companies of players, with very consider¬
able privileges and remunerations. (See Drake’s Shak-
speare and his Times, vol. ii. p. 205.)
The public, therefore, in the widest sense of the word,
was at once arbiter and patron of the drama. The com¬
panies of players who traversed the country might indeed
assume the name of some peer or baron, for the sake of
introduction or protection ; but those of the metropolis
do not, at this early period of our dramatic history, ap¬
pear to have rested in any considerable degree upon learned
or aristocratic privilege. Their license was obtained from
the crowm, but their success depended upon the voice of
the people; and the pieces which they brought forward
were, of course, adapted to popular taste. It followed
necessarily that histories and romantic dramas were the
favourites of the age. A general audience in an unlearned
age requires rather amusement than conformity to rules,
and is more displeased with a tiresome uniformity than
shocked with the breach of all the unities. The players
and dramatists, before the rise of Shakspeare, followed,
of consequence, the taste of the public, and dealt in the
surprising, elevating, and often bombastic incidents of tra¬
gedy, as well as in the low humour and grotesque inci¬
dent of the comic scene. Where these singly were found
to lack attraction, they mingled them together, and dashed
their tragic plot with an under-intrigue of the lowest buf¬
foonery, without any respect to taste or congruity.
The clown was no stranger to the stage ; he interfered,
without ceremony, in the most heart-rending scenes, to
the scandal of the more learned spectators.
Now lest such frightful shows of fortune’s fall.
And bloody tyrant’s rage, should chance appall
The death-struck audience, ’midst the silent rout
Comes leaping in a self-misformed lout,
And laughs and grins, and frames his mimic face,
And jostles straight into the prince’s place ;
Then doth the theatre echo all aloud
With gladsome noise of that applauding crowd,
A goodly hotchpotch, where vile russettings
Are matched with monarchs and with mighty kings.
An ancient stage-trick, illustrative of the mixture of
tragic and comic'action in Shakspeare’s time, was long
preserved in the theatre. Henry IV. holding council be¬
fore the battle of Shrewsbury, was always represented as
seated on a drum ; and when he rose and came forward,
the place was occupied by Falstaff, which seldom failed
to produce a laugh from the galleries. The taste and
judgment of the author himself was very different. Dur¬
ing the whole scene Falstaff gives only once, and under
irresistible temptation, the rein to his petulant wit, and it
is instantly checked by the prince, to whom, by the way,
and not to the king, his words ought to be addressed.^
The English stage might be considered as equally with- Shakspeare.
out rule and without model when Shakspeare arose. The
effect of the genius of an individual upon the taste of a
nation is mighty; but that genius, in its turn, is formed
according to the opinions prevalent at the period when it
comes into existence. Such was the case with Shakspeare.
With an education more extensive, and a taste refined by .
the classical models, it is probable that he also, in admira¬
tion of the ancient drama, might have mistaken the form
for the essence, and subscribed to those rules which had
produced such masterpieces of art. Fortunately for the
full exertion of a genius as comprehensive and versatile
as intense and powerful, Shakspeare had no access to any
models of which the commanding merit might have con¬
trolled and limited his own exertions. Fie followed the
168
DRAMA.
Drama, path which a nameless crowd of obscure writers had trod-
'“"’■'v-*—'' den before him; but he moved in it with the grace and
majestic step of a being of a superior order, and vindi¬
cated for ever the British theatre from a pedantic restric¬
tion to classical rule. Nothing went before Shakspeare
which in any respect was fit to fix and stamp the charac¬
ter of a national drama; and certainly no one will succeed
him capable of establishing by mere authority a form more
restricted than that which Shakspeare used.
Such is the action of existing circumstances upon genius,
and the re-action of genius upon future circumstances.
Shakspeare and Corneille were each the leading spirit of
his age; and the difference between them is well marked
by the editor of the latter. “ Corneille est inegal comme
Shakspeare, et plein de genie comme lui; mais le genie de
Corneille etoit d celui de Shakspeare ce quun seigneur est d
Vegard dun homme de peuple ne avec le me me esprit que
Iml' This distinction is strictly accurate, and contains a
compliment to the English author which, assuredly, the
critic did not intend to make. Corneille wrote as a cour¬
tier, circumscribed within the imaginary rules and cere¬
monies of a court, as a chicken is by a circle of chalk
drawn round it. Shakspeare, composing for the amuse¬
ment of the public alone, had within his province, not
only the inexhaustible field of actual life, but the whole
ideal world of fancy and superstition; more favourable to
the display of poetical genius than even existing realities.
Under the circumstances of Corneille, Shakspeare must
have been restricted to the same dull, regular, and unva¬
ried system. He must have written, not according to the
dictates of his own genius, but in conformity to the man¬
date of some intendant des menus plaisirs ; or of some mi¬
nister of state, who, like Cardinal Richelieu, thought he
could write a tragedy because he could govern a kingdom.
It is not equally clear to what height Corneille might
have ascended had he enjoyed the national immunities of
Shakspeare. Each pitched down a land-mark in his art.
The circle of Shakspeare was so extended, that it is with
advantage liable to many restrictions; that of Corneille
included a narrow limit, which his successors have deem¬
ed it unlawful to extend.
It is not our intention, within the narrow space to
which our essay is necessarily limited, to enlarge upon
the character and writings of Shakspeare. We can only
notice his performances as events in the history of the
theatre—of a gigantic character indeed, so far as its dig¬
nity, elevation, and importance are considered; but, in re¬
spect of the mere practice of the drama, rather fixing and
sanctioning, than altering or reforming those rules and
forms which he found already established. This we know
for certain, that those historical plays or chronicles, in
which Shakspeare’s muse has thrown a never-fading light
upon the history of his country, did, almost every one of
them, exist before him in the rude shape of dry dialogue
and pitiful buffoonery, stitched into scenes by the elder
playwrights of the stage. His romantic dramas exhibit
the same contempt of regularity which was manifested by
Marlow and other writers; for where there was abuse or
extreme license upon the stage, the example of Shak¬
speare may be often quoted as its sanction, never as tend¬
ing to reform it. In these particulars the practice of our
immortal bard was contrasted with that of Ben Jonson, a
severe and somewhat pedantic scholar; a man whose mind
was coarse, though capable both of strength and elevation,
and whose strong perception of comic humour was tinc¬
tured with vulgarity.
Jonson. Jonson’s tragic strength consists in a sublime, and some¬
times harsh, expression of moral sentiment; but displays
little of tumultuous and ardent passion, still less of ten¬
derness or delicacy; although there are passages in which
he seems adequate to expressing them. He laboured in Dran
the mine of the classics, but overloaded himself with the 'w"y |
ore, which he could not or would not refine. His Cata-
line and Sejanus are laboured translations from Cicero,
Sallust, and Tacitus, which his own age did not endure,
and which no succeeding generation will probably be
much tempted to revive. With the stern superiority of
learning over ignorance, he asserted himself a better judge
of his own productions than the public which condemned
him, and haughtily claimed the laurel which the public
suffrage often withheld; but the world has as yet shown
no disposition to reverse the opinion of their predecessors.
In comedy Jonson made some efforts partaking of the
character of the older comedy of the Grecians. In his
Tale of a Tub he follows the path of Aristophanes, and
lets his wit run into low buffoonery, that he might bring
upon the stage Inigo Jones, his personal enemy. In Cyn¬
thia's Revels and the Staple of News, we find him intro¬
ducing the dull personification of abstract passions and
qualities, and turning legitimate comedy into an allegori¬
cal mask. What interest can the reader have in such cha¬
racters as the three Penny boys, and their transactions
with the Lady Pecunia? Some of Jonson’s more legiti¬
mate comedies may be also taxed here with filthiness of
language, of which disgusting attribute his works exhibit
more instances than any English writer of eminence ex¬
cepting Swift. Let us, however, be just to a master-spi¬
rit of his age. The comic force of Jonson was strong,
marked, and peculiar; and he excelled even Shakspeare
himself in drawing that class of truly English characters,
remarkable for peculiarity of humour ; that is, for some
mode of thought, speech, and behaviour, superinduced
upon the natural disposition by profession, education, or
fantastical affectation of singularity. In blazoning these
forth with their natural attributes and appropriate lan¬
guage, Ben Jonson has never been excelled, and his
works everywhere exhibit a consistent and manly moral,
resulting naturally from the events of the scene.
It must also be remembered, that although it was Jon¬
son’s fate to be eclipsed by the superior genius, energy,
and taste of Shakspeare, yet those advantages which ena¬
bled him to maintain an honourable though an unsuccess¬
ful struggle, were of high advantage to the drama. Jon¬
son was the first who showed by example the infinite su¬
periority of a well-conceived plot, all the parts of which
bore upon each other, and forwarded an interesting con¬
clusion over a tissue of detached scenes, following without
necessary connection or increase of interest. The plot of
the Fox is admirably conceived; and that of the Alchy-
mist, though faulty in the conclusion, is nearly equal to it.
In the two comedies of Every Man in his Humour and
Every Man out of his Humour, the plot deserves much
less praise, and is deficient at once in interest and unity
of action; but in that of the Silent Woman nothing can
exceed the art with which the circumstance upon which
the conclusion turns is, until the very last scene, conceal¬
ed from the knowledge of the reader, while he is tempted
to suppose it constantly within his reach. In a word, Jon¬
son is distinguished by his strength and stature, even in
those days when there were giants in the land, and affords
a model of a close, animated, and characteristic style of
comedy, abounding in moral satire, and distinguished at
once by force and art, which was afterwards more culti¬
vated by English dramatists, than the lighter, more wild,
and more fanciful department in which Shakspeare moved,
beyond the reach of emulation.
The general opinion of critics has assigned genius as
the characteristic of Shakspeare, and art as the appropri¬
ate excellence of Jonson; not surely that Jonson was de¬
ficient in genius, but that art was the principal character-
DRAM A.
169
Mjsinger.
imont
art''letch'
istic of his laborious scenes. We learn from his own con¬
fession, and from the panegyrics of his friends, as well as
the taunts of his enemies, that he was a slow composer.
The natural result of laborious care is jealousy of fame;
for that which we do with labour, we value highly when
achieved. Shakspeare, on the other hand, appears to
have composed rapidly and carelessly, and sometimes
even without considering, while writing the earlier acts,
how the catastrophe was to be huddled up, in that which
was to conclude the piece. We may fairly conclude him
to have been indifferent about fame, who would take so
little pains to win it. Much perhaps might have been
achieved by the union of these opposed qualities, and by
blending the art of Jonson with the fiery invention and
fluent expression of his great contemporary. But such
an union of opposite excellencies in the same author was
hardly to be expected; nor perhaps would tlie result
have proved altogether so favourable as might at first
view be conceived. We should have had more perfect
specimens of the art, but they must have been much
fewer in number; and posterity would certainly have
been deprived of that wild luxuriance of dramatic excel¬
lencies and poetic beauties, which, like wild flowers upon
a common field, lie scattered profusely among the unacted
plays of Shakspeare.
Although incalculably superior to his contemporaries,
Shakspeare had successful imitators, and the art of Jonson
was not unrivalled. Massinger appears to have studied
the works of both with the intention of uniting their ex¬
cellencies. He knew the strength of plot; and although
his plays are altogether irregular, yet he well understood
the advantage of a strong and defined interest; and in un¬
ravelling the intricacy of his intrigues, he often displays
the management of a master. Art, therefore, not perhaps
in its technical, but in its most valuable sense, was Mas¬
singer’s as well as Jonson’s ; and, in point of composition,
many passages of his plays are not unworthy of Shakspeare.
Were we to distinguish Massinger’s peculiar excellence,
we should name that first of dramatic attributes, a full
conception of character, a strength in bringing out, and
consistency in adhering to it. He does not, indeed, al¬
ways introduce his personages to the audience in their
own proper character; it dawns forth gradually in the pro¬
gress of the piece, as in the hypocritical Luke, or in the
heroic Marullo. But, upon looking back, we are always
surprised and delighted to trace from the very beginning,
intimations of what the personage is to prove as the play
advances. There is often a harshness of outline, how¬
ever, in the character of this dramatist, which prevents
their approaching to the natural and easy portraits be¬
queathed us by Shakspeare.
Beaumont and Fletcher, men of remarkable talent,
seemed to have followed Shakspeare’s mode of composi¬
tion rather than Jonson’s, and thus to have altogether ne¬
glected that art which Jonson taught, and which Massin¬
ger in some sort practised. They may, indeed, be rather
said to have taken for their model the boundless license
of the Spanish stage, from which many of their pieces are
expressly and avowedly derived. The acts of their plays
are so detached from each other, in substance and consis¬
tence, that the plot scarce can be said to hang together at
all, or to have, in any sense of the word, a beginning, pro¬
gress, and conclusion. It seems as if the play began be¬
cause the curtain rose, and ended because it fell, the au¬
thor, in the mean time, exerting his genius for the amuse¬
ment of the spectators, pretty much in the same manner
as in the Scenario of the Italians, by the actors filling up,
with their extempore wit, the scenes chalked out for them.
To compensate for this excess of irregularity, the plays of
Beaumont and Fletcher have still a high poetical value.
VOL. vm.
If character be sometimes violated, probability discarded, Drama-
and the interest of the plot neglected, the reader is, on
the other hand, often gratified by the most beautiful de¬
scription, the most tender and passionate dialogue, a dis¬
play of brilliant wit and gaiety, or a feast of comic hu¬
mour. These attributes had so much effect on the pub¬
lic, that, during the end of the seventeenth and the be¬
ginning of the eighteenth centuries, many of Beaumont
and Fletcher’s plays had possession of the stage, while
those of Shakspeare were laid upon the shelf.
Shirley, Ford, Webster, Decker, and others, added per- Shirley
formances to the early treasures of the English drama,and others,
which abound with valuable passages. There never, pro¬
bably, rushed into the lists of literary competition toge¬
ther a band more distinguished for talent. If the early
drama be inartificial and unequal, no nation at least can
show so many detached scenes, and even acts, of distin¬
guished poetical merit. One powerful cause seems to
have produced an effect so marked and distinguished, to
wit, the universal favour of a theatrical public, which daily
and nightly thronged the numerous theatres then open in
the city of London.
In considering this circumstance, it must above all beCause of
remembered that these numerous audiences crowded, not the abun-
to feast their eyes upon show and scenery, but to see and^ance ot
hear the literary production of the evening. The scenes j^ient in
which the stage exhibited were probably of the most pal-this period,
try description. Some rude helps to the imagination of
the audience might be used by introducing the gate of a
castle or town ; the monument of the Capulets, by sinking
a trap-door, or by thrusting in a bed. The good-natured
audience readily received these hints, with that conven¬
tional allowance which Sir Philip Sidney had ridiculed, and
which Shakspeare himself has alluded to when he appeals
from the poverty of theatrical representation to the excit¬
ed imagination of his audience.
 Can this cockpit hold
The vasty fields of France ? Or may we cram
"Within this wooden O, the very casques
That did affright the air at Agincourt ?
O, pardon ! since a crooked figure may
Attest, in little space, a million ;
And let us, ciphers to this great account,
On your imaginary forces work;
Suppose, within the girdle of these walls,
Are now confined two mighty monarchies,
Whose high upreared and abutting fronts
The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder;
Printing their proud hoofs i’ the receiving earth.
For ’tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,
Carry them here and there ; jumping o’er times;
Turning the accomplishment of many years
Into an hour-glass 
Such were the allowances demanded by Sbakspeare and
his contemporaries from the public of their day, in con¬
sideration of the imperfect means and appliances of their
theatrical machinery. Yet the deficiency of scenery and
show, which, when existing in its utmost splendour, divides
the interest of the piece in the mind of the ignorant, and
rarely affords much pleasure to a spectator of taste, may have
been rather an advantage to the infant drama. The specta
tors having nothing to withdraw their attention from the im¬
mediate business of the piece, gave it their full and unin- .
terrupted attention. And here it may not be premature
to inquire into the characteristical difference between the
audiences of the present day, and those earlier theatrical
ages, when the drama boasted not only the names of Shak¬
speare, of Massinger, of Jonson, of Beaumont and Fletcher,
of Shirley, of Ford, and others of subordinate degree ; the
meanest of whom shows occasionally more fire than warms
whole reams of modern plays. This will probably be found
1
170
DRAMA.
Drama.
to rest on the varied and contrasted feelings with which
the audience of ancient and that of modern days attend the
progress of the scene.
Nothing, indeed, is more certain than that the general
cast of theatrical composition must receive its principal
bent and colouring from the taste of the audience:
The drama’s laws, the drama’s patrons give,;
For those who live to please, must please to live.
But though this be an undeniable, and in some respects a
melancholy truth, it is not less certain that genius, labour¬
ing in behalf of the public, possesses the power of re-ac¬
tion, and of influencing in its turn that taste to which it
is in some respects obliged to conform ; while, on the other
hand, the playwright, who aims only to catch the passing
plaudit and the profit of a season, by addressing himself
exclusively to the ruling predilections of the audience,
degrades the public taste still farther by the gross food
which he ministers to it, unless it shall be supposed that
he may contribute involuntarily to rouse it from its dege¬
neracy, by cramming it even to satiety and loathing. This
action, therefore, and re-action of the taste of the age on
dramatic writing, and vice versa, must be both kept in
view when treating of the difference betwixt the days of
Shakspeare and our own.
Perhaps it is the leading distinction betwixt the ancient
and modern audiences, that the former came to listen and
to admire ; to fling the reins of their imaginations into the
hands of the authors and actors, and to be pleased, like the
reader to whom Sterne longed to do homage, “ they knew
not why, and cared not wherefore.” The novelty of dra¬
matic entertainments (for there elapsed only about twenty
years betwixt the date of Gammer Gurton s Needle, account¬
ed the earliest English play, and the rise of Shakspeare)
must have had its natural effect upon the audience. The sun
of Shakspeare arose almost without a single gleam of in¬
tervening dawn ; and it was no wronder that the audience,
introduced to this enchanting and seductive art at once,
under such an effulgence of excellence, should have been
more disposed to wonder than to criticise; to admire, or
rather to adore, than to measure the height or ascertain
the course of the luminary which diffused such glory
around him. The great number of theatres in London,
and the profusion of varied talent which was dedicated to
this service, attest the eagerness of the public to enjoy
the entertainments of the scene. The ruder amusements
of the age lost their attractions ; and the royal bear-ward
of Queen Elizabeth lodged a formal complaint at the feet
of her majesty, that the play-houses had seduced the au¬
dience from his periodical bear-baitings. This fact is
worth a thousand conjectures; and we can hardly doubt
that the converts, transported by their improving taste
from the bear-garden to the theatre, must, generally speak¬
ing, have felt their rude minds subdued and led captive
by the superior intelligence, which not only placed on the
stage at pleasure all ranks, all ages, all tempers, all pas¬
sions of mere humanity, but extended its powers beyond
the bounds of time and space, and seemed to render visi¬
ble to mortal eyes the secrets of the invisible world. We
may, perhaps, form the best guess of the feelings of Shak-
speare’s contemporary audience, by recollecting the emo¬
tions of any rural friend, of rough but sound sense and
ardent feelings, whom we have had the good fortune to
conduct to a theatre for the first time in his life. It may
be well imagined that such a spectator thinks little of the
three dramatic unities, of which Aristotle says so little,
and his commentators and followers talk so much ; and that
the poet and the performers have that enviable influence
over his imagination, which transports him from place to
place at pleasure, crowds years into the course of hours,
and interests him in the business of each scene, however Dram
disconnected from the others. His eyes are riveted to
the stage, his ears drink in the accents of the speakers,
and he experiences in his mature age, what we have all felt
in childhood, a sort of doubt whether the beings and
business of the scene be real or fictitious. In this state
of delightful fascination, Shakspeare and the gigantic dra¬
matic champions of his age found the British public at
large ; and how they availed themselves of the advantages
which so favourable a temper afforded them, their works
will show so long as the language of Britain continues to
be read. It is true that the enthusiastic glow of the pub¬
lic admiration, like the rays of a tropical sun darted upon
a rich soil, called up in profusion weeds as well as flowers;
and that, spoiled in some degree by the indulgent accep¬
tation which attended their efforts, even our most admired
writers of Elizabeth’s age not unfrequently exceeded the
bounds of critical nicety, and even of common taste and
decorum. But these eccentricities w'ere atoned for by a
thousand beauties, to which, fettered by the laws of the
classic drama, the authors would hardly have aspired, or,
aspiring, would hardly have attained. All of us know and
feel how much the exercise of our powers, especially those
which rest on keen feeling and self-confidence, is depen¬
dent upon a favourable reception from those for whom
they are put in action. Every one has observed how a
cold brow can damp the brilliancy of wit and fetter the
flow of eloquence ; and how both are induced to send forth
sallies corresponding in strength and fire, upon being re¬
ceived by the kindred enthusiasm of those whom they
have addressed. And thus, if we owe to the indiscrimi¬
nate admiration with which the drama was at first received,
the irregularities of the authors by whom it was practised,
we also stand indebted to it, in all probability, for many
of its beauties, which became of rare occurrence, when,
by a natural, and indeed a necessary change, satiated ad¬
miration began to give way to other feelings.
When a child is tired of playing with a new toy, its
next delight is to examine how it is constructed ; and, in
like manner, so soon as the first burst of public admiration
is over with respect to any new mode of composition, the
next impulse prompts us to analyse and to criticise what
was at first the subject of vague and indiscriminate wonder.
In the first instance, the toy is generally broken to pieces;
in the other, while the imagination of the authors is sub¬
jected to the rigid laws of criticism, the public generally
lose in genius what they may gain in point of taste. The
author who must calculate upon severe criticism turns his
thoughts more to avoid faults than to attain excellence,
as he who is afraid to stumble must avoid rapid motion.
The same process takes place in all the fine arts ; their first
productions are distinguished by boldness and irregulari¬
ty ; those which succeed, by a better and more correct
taste, but also by inferior and less original genius.
The original school founded by Shakspeare and Ben
Jonson, continued by Massinger, Beaumont and Fletcher,
Shirley, Ford, and others, whose compositions are distin¬
guished by irregularity as well as genius, was closed by
the breaking out of the great civil war in 1642. The stage
had been the constant object of reprobation and abhor¬
rence on the part of the puritans, and its professors had
no favour to expect at their hands if victorious. We read,
therefore, with interest, but without surprise, that almost
all the actors took up arms in behalf of their old master
King Charles, in whose service most of them perished.
Robinson, a principal actor at the Blackfriars, was killed
by Harrison in cold blood, and under the application of a
text of scripture,—“ Cursed is he that doeth the work of
the Lord negligently.” A few survivors endeavoured oc¬
casionally to practise their art in secrecy and obscurity,
DRAMA.
171
i-ama. but were so frequently discovered, plundered and strip-
ped by the soldiers, that “ Enter the red-coat, Exit hat and
cloak," was too frequent a stage direction. Sir William
Davenant endeavoured to evade the severe zealots of the
time, by representing a sort of opera, said to have been
the first drama in which moveable scenery was introduced
upon the stage. Even the cavaliers of the more grave
sort disapproved of the revival of these festive entertain¬
ments during the unstable and melancholy period of the
interregnum. “ I went,” says the excellent Evelyn, in
his Diary, 5th May 1658, “ to see a new opera after the
Italian way; in recitation, music, and scenes, much in¬
ferior to the Italian composure and magnificence; but it
was prodigious that in such a time of public consternation,
such a variety should be kept up or permitted, and be¬
ing engaged with company, could not decently resist the
going to see it, though my heart smote me for it.” Da-
venant’s theatrical enterprise, abhorred by the fanaticism
of the one party, and ill adapted to the dejected circum¬
stances of the other, was not probably very successful.
Sondpe- II. With royalty the stage revived in England. But
r I of the the theatres in the capital were limited to two, a restric-
Iglbh tjon which has never since been extended. This was
llma■ probably by the advice of Clarendon, who endeavoured,
though vainly, to stem at all points the flood of idle gaiety
and dissipation which broke in after the Restoration. The
example of France might reconcile Charles to this exer¬
tion of royal authority. With this restoration of the drama,
as well as of the crown, commences the second part of
English dramatic history.
Charles II. had been accustomed to enjoy the foreign
stage during his exile, and had taste enough to relish its
beauties. It is probable, however, that his judgment was
formed upon the French model, for few of the historical or
romantic dramas were revived at the restoration. So early
as 26th of November 1662, the Diary of Evelyn contains
this entry: “ I saw Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, played;
but now the old plays began to disgust this refined age,
I roduc- since his majesty has been so long abroad.” Dryden,
II of the Howard, and others, who obtained possession of the stage,
1 oic introduced what was for some time called Heroic Plays,
* written in couplets, and turning upon the passions oflove
and honour. In the dialogue, these pieces resembled that
of the French stage, vrhere the actors declaim alternately
in the best language and in the finest thoughts which
the poet can supply, but without much trace of natural
passion or propriety of character. But though French in
dialogue and sentiment, the heroic plays were English in
noise and bustle, and the lack of truth and nature was
supplied by trumpets and tempests, victories and proces¬
sions. An entertainment of a character so forced and
unnatural was obviously of foreign growth, and flowed
from the court. Dryden himself has assured us “ that
the favour which heroic plays had acquired upon the stage
was entirely owing to the countenance which they had re¬
ceived at court; and that the most eminent persons for
wit and humour in the royal circle had so far honoured
them, that they judged no way so fit as verse to entertain
a noble audience, or express a noble passion.” In these
pieces the unities were not observed; but in place of the
classical restrictions, there were introduced certain roman¬
tic whimsical limitations of the dramatic art, which, had
they been adopted, must soon have destroyed all its pow¬
ers of pleasing. The characters were avowedly formed
upon the model of the French romance, where honour was
a sort of insane gasconading extravagance, and who seem
to have made a vow never to speak or think of any thing
but love, and that in language sometimes ingeniously me¬
taphysical, sometimes puerile to silliness, sometimes mad
even to raving, but always absurd, unnatural, and extra¬
vagant. In point of system it was stated, that a heroic Drama,
play should be an imitation of a heroic poem. The laws
of such compositions did not, it was said, dispense with
those of the elder drama, but exalted them, and obliged
the poet to draw all things as far above the ordinary pro¬
portion of the stage, as the stage itself is beyond the com¬
mon words and actions of human life. The effects which
a heroic play, constructed upon such an overstrained mo¬
del, produced, is well described by Mrs Evelyn, wife of
the author of that name already quoted, in a letter to Mr
Bohun, written in 1671. “ Since my last to you I have
seen the Siege of Grenada, a play so full of ideas, that the
most refined romance I ever read is not to compare with it.
Love is made so pure, and valour so nice, that one would
imagine it designed for an Utopia rather than our stage.
I do not quarrel with the poet, but admire one born in the
decline of morality should be able to feign such exact vir¬
tue ; and as poetic fiction has been instructive in former
ages, I wish this the same event in ours. As to the strict
law of comedy, I dare not pretend to judge. Some think
the division of the story not so well as if it could all have
been comprehended in the day of action. Truth of history,
exactness of time, possibilities of adventures, are niceties
which the ancient critics might require; but those who
have outdone them in fine notions may be allowed the
liberty to express them their own way, and the present
world is so enlightened that the old dramatique must bear
no sway. This account perhaps is not enough to do Mr
Driden right, yet is as much as you can expect from the
leisure of one who has the care of a nursery.” (See
Evelyn’s Works.) This ingenious lady felt what, over¬
awed by the fashion of the moment, she has intimated
rather than expressed; namely, that the heroic drama,
notwithstanding the fine poetry of which it may be made
the vehicle, was overstrained, fantastical, and unnatural.
In comedy, also, there was evinced, subsequent to the
Restoration, a kindred desire of shining in dialogue rather
than attempting the humorous delineation of character of
which Shakspeare, Jonson, and the earlier schools, had
set the example. The comic author no longer wrote to
move the hearty laugh of a popular assembly, but to please
a fashionable circle, “ the men of wit and pleasure about
town,” with whom wit and raillery is always more pre¬
vailing than humour. As in tragedy, therefore, the au¬
thors exhausted trope and figure, and reduced to logic the
language of heroic passion; so in comedy, a succession of
smart jests, which neither serve to advance the action of
the piece, nor display the character of the speaker, was
bandied to and fro upon the stage.
Satire is the appropriate corrective of extravagance in Heroic
composition; and the Rehearsal of the Duke of Bucking-P^ayssif“
ham, though it can scarcely be termed a work of uncom_ ^dramas
mon power, had yet the effect of holding up to public ri-0f a more
dicule the marked and obvious absurdities of the revived natural
drama in both its branches. After the appearance of this structure,
satire, a taste too extravagant for long endurance was
banished from the theatre; both tragedy and comedy
retraced their steps, and approached more nearly to the
field of human action, passion, and suffering; and, down
to the revolution, a more natural style of drama occupied
the stage. It was supported by men of the highest ge¬
nius, who, but for one great leading error, might perhaps .
have succeeded in giving to the art its truest and most
energetic character. The talents of Otway, in his scenes
of passionate affection, rival at least, and sometimes excel,
those of Shakspeare. More tears have been shed, proba¬
bly, for the sorrows of Belvidera and Monimia than for
those of Juliet and Desdemona. The introduction of
actresses upon the stage was scarcely known before the
Restoration, and it furnished the poets of the latter period
DRAMA.
172
Drama, with appropriate representatives for their female charac-
ters. This more happy degree of personification, as it
greatly increased the perfection of the scene, must have
animated in proportion the genius of the author. A mark¬
ed improvement, therefore, may be traced in love scenes,
and, indeed, in all those wherein female characters are
introduced; that which was to be spoken by a fitting re¬
presentative was of course written with more care, as it was
acted with greater effect. This was an advantage, and a
great one, possessed by the theatre succeeding the Resto¬
ration. Great dramatic force and vigour marked the dra¬
matic compositions of this age. It was not, indeed, equal
to that of Shakspeare, either in point of the talent called
forth, or the quantity of original poetry given to the pub¬
lic ; but Otway, and even Lee, notwithstanding his bom¬
bastic rant, possessed considerable knowledge of dramatic
art and stage-effect. Several plays of this period have
kept possession of the stage; less perhaps on account of
intrinsic merits, than because some of the broad errors of
the earlier age had been removed, and a little more art
had been introduced in the combination of the scenes,
and disentanglement of the plot. The voice of criticism
was frequently heard; the dramatic rules of the ancients
were known and quoted; and though not recognized in
their full extent, had nevertheless some influence in re¬
gulating the action of the drama.
Gross im- In one heinous article, however, the poets of this age
morality sinned at once against virtue, good taste, and decorum;
drama anc* ent^angere(^ hy the most profligate and shameless in¬
decency, the cause of morality, which has been often con¬
sidered as nearly allied with that of the legitimate drama.
In the first period of the British stage, the actors were
men of decent character, and often acquired considerable
independence. The women’s parts were acted by boys.
Hence, although there were too many instances of low
and licentious dialogue, there were few of that abominable
species which addresses itself, not to the fancy, but to
the passions, and is seductive, instead of being ludicrous.
Had Charles II. borrowed from the French monarchs the
severe etiquette of their court, when he introduced into
England something resembling the style of their plays, he
would have asserted what was due to his own dignity, and
the cause of sound morals and good manners, by prohibit¬
ing this vulgar and degrading license, which in itself was
insulting to the presence of a king. It was, however,
this prince’s lot, in the regulation of his amusements, as
well as in his state government, to neglect self-respecta¬
bility. In his exile he had been “ merry, scandalous,
and poor;” had been habituated to share familiarly coarse
jests and loose pleasures with his dissolute companions;
and unfortunately he saw no reason for disusing the li¬
cense to which he had accustomed himself, when it was
equally destructive to his own character and to decorum.
What had been merely coarse was, under his influence,
rendered vicious and systematic impurity. Scenes, both
passionate and humorous, were written in such a style
as if the authors had studied whether the grave seduc¬
tion of the heroic, or the broad infamy of the comic scenes,
should contain the grossest insult to public decency. The
female performers were of a character proper to utter
whatever ribaldry the poet chose to put into their mouths;
and as they practised what they taught, the king himself,
and the leading courtiers, formed connections which gave
the actress a right to be saucy in their presence, and to
reckon upon their countenance when practising in public
the effrontery which marked their intercourse in private
life. How much this shocked the real friends of Charles, is
shown by its effects upon Evelyn, whose invaluable Diary
we have already quoted ; “ This night was acted my Lord
Broghill’s tragedy called Mustapha, before their majesties
at court, at which I was present; though very seldom now Dram
going to the public theatres, for many reasons, as they
are now abused to an atheistical liberty. Foul and inde¬
cent women now, and never till now, are permitted to ap¬
pear and act, who, inflaming several young noblemen and
gallants, became their misses, and some their wives : wit¬
ness the Earl of Oxford, Sir 11. Howard, P. Rupert, the
Earl of Dorset, and another greater person than any of
them, who fell into their snares, to the reproach of their
noble families, and ruin of both body and soul.” He else¬
where repeatedly expresses his grief and disgust at the
pollution and degeneracy of the stage. (Evelyn’s Works,
vol. i. p. 392.) In a letter to Lord Cornbury (son of the
great Clarendon), he thus expresses himself: “ In the
town of London there are more wretched and indecent
plays permitted than in all the world besidesand adds
shortly after, “ If my Lord Chancellor would but be in¬
strumental in reforming this one exorbitancy, it would
gain both the king and his lordship multitudes of bless¬
ings. You know, my lord, that I (who have written plays,
and am a scurvy poet too sometimes) am far from purita-
nisme ; but 1 would have no reproach left our adversaries,
in a theme which may so conveniently be reformed. Plays
are now with us become a licentious exercise, and a vice,
and neede severe censors, that should look as well to their
morality as to their lines and numbers.” And, at the ha¬
zard of multiplying quotations, we cannot suppress the
following:—1st March 1671. “ I walked with him (the
king) through St James’s Park to the garden, where I
both heard and saw a very familiar discourse betwixt—
(*. e. the king) and Mrs Nelly (Gwyn), as they called an
impudent comedian, she looking out of her terrace at the
top of the wall, and [the king] standing in the green
walk under it. I was heartily sorry at this scene.”
The foul stain, so justly censured by a judge so compe¬
tent and so moderate as Evelyn, was like that of the le¬
prosy in the Levitical law, which sunk into and pervaded
the very walls of the mansion ; it became the leading cha¬
racteristic of the English theatre, of its authors, and of its
players. It was, however, especially' in comedy that this
vice was most manifest; and, to say truth, were not the
eyes of antiquaries, like the ears of confessors, free from
being sullied by the impurities committed to them, the
comedies of this period, as well as the comic scenes intro¬
duced to relieve the tragedies, are fitter for a brothel
than for the library of a man of letters.
It is a pity that we are under the necessity of drawing
the character of the drama at this age from a feature so
coarse and disgusting. Unquestionably, as the art in other
respects made progress, it might, but for this circum¬
stance, have reached an uncommon pitch of perfection.
The comedies of Congreve contain probably more wit than
was ever before embodied upon the stage; each word was
a jest, and yet so characteristic, that the repartee of the
servant is distinguished from that of the master; the jest
of the coxcomb from that of the humorist or fine gentle¬
man of the piece. Had not Sheridan lived in our own
time, we could not have conceived the possibility of rival¬
ling the comedies of Congreve. This distinguished au¬
thor understood the laws of composition, and combined
his intrigue with an art unusual on the British stage. Nor
was he without his rivals, even where his eminence was
most acknowledged. Vanburgh and Farquhar, inferior to
Congreve in real wit, and falling into the next period,
were perhaps his equals in the composition of acting plays.
Like other powerful stimulants, the use of wit has its
bounds, which Congreve is supposed sometimes to have
exceeded. His dialogue keeps the attention too much
upon the stretch, and, however delightful in the closet,
fatigues the mind during the action. When you are per-
DRAMA. 173
•D^na. petually conscious that you lose something by the slight-
est interruption of your attention, whether by accident or
absence of mind, it is a state of excitement too vivid and
too constant to be altogether pleasant; and we feel it
possible that we might sometimes wish to exchange a
companion of such brilliant powers, for one who would af¬
ford us more repose and relaxation.
The light, lively, but somewhat more meagre dialogue
of the latter dramatists of the period, and of that which
succeeded, was found sufficient to interest, yet was not
so powerful as to fatigue the audience. Vanburgh and
Farquhar seemed to have written more from the portraits
of ordinary life ; Congreve from the force of his own con¬
ception. The former, therefore, drew the characters of
men and women as they found them; selected, united,
and heightened for the purpose of effect, but without
being enriched with any brilliancy foreign to their nature.
But all the personages of Congreve have a glimpse of his
own fire, and of his own acuteness. He could not entire¬
ly lay aside his quick powers of perception and reply, even
when he painted a clown or a coxcomb; and all that can
be objected, saving in a moral sense, to this great author,
is his having been too prodigal of his wit; a faculty used
by most of his successors with rigid economy.
That personification of fantasy or whim called charac¬
ters of humour, which Ben Jonson introduced, was re¬
vived during this period, Shadwell, now an obscure name,
endeavoured to found himself a reputation, by affecting to
maintain the old school, and espousing the cause of Ben
Jonson against Dryden and other innovators. But al¬
though there was considerable force of humour in some
of his forgotten plays, it was Wycherly upon whom fell
the burthen of upholding the standard of the Jonsonian
school. The Plain Dealer is indeed imitated from Mo-
liere; but the principal character has more the force of a
real portrait, and is better contrasted with the perverse,
bustling, masculine, petty-fogging, and litigious character
of Widow Blackacker, than Alceste is with any of the
characters in the Misanthrope. The other plays of this
author are marked by the same strong, masculine, and
forcible painting, which approaches more to the satire of
Jonson, than to the ease of Vanburgh, the gaiety of Far¬
quhar, or the wit of Congreve. Joining, however, the
various merits of these authors, as belonging to this pe¬
riod, they form a galaxy of comic talent scarce to be
matched in any other age or country; and which is only
obscured by those foul and impure mists which their pens,
like the raven wings of Sycorax, had brushed from fern
and bog.
Morals repeatedly insulted long demanded an avenger;
and he arose in the person of Jeremy Collier. It is no
disgrace to the memory of this virtuous and well-meaning
man, that, to use the lawyer’s phrase, he pleaded his cause
too high ; summoned unnecessarily to his aid the artillery
with which the Christian fathers had fulminated against
the heathen drama; and pushing his arguments to extre¬
mity, directed it as well against the use as against the abuse
of the stage. Those who attempted to reply to him
availed themselves, indeed, of the weak parts of his argu¬
ments; but, upon the main points of impeachment, the
poets stood self-convicted. Dryden made a manly and
liberal submission, though not without some reflections
upon the rudeness of his antagonist’s attacks. “ I shall
say the less of Mr Collier, because in many things he has
taxed me justly; and I have pleaded guilty to all thoughts
and expressions of mine which can be truly accused of
obscenity, profaneness, or immorality, and retract them.
If he be my enemy, let him triumph; if he be my friend,
as I have given him no occasion to be otherwise, he will
be glad of my repentance. It becomes me not to draw
my pen in the defence of a bad cause, when I have so Drama,
often drawn it for a good one. Yet it were not difficult to
prove, that in many places he has perverted my meaning
by his glosses, and interpreted my words into blasphemy
and bawdry, of which they were not guilty; besides, that
he is too much given to horse-play in his raillery, and
comes from battle like a dictator from the plough. I will
not say, 4 the zeal of God’s house has eaten him up;’
but I am sure it. has devoured some part of his good man¬
ners and civility.’’ Congreve, less prudent, made an an¬
gry and petulant defence, yet tacitly admitted the charge
brought against him, by retrenching in the future editions
of his plays, passages of grossness and profaneness, which
the restless antiquary still detects in the early copies.
And, on the whole, Collier’s satire was attended with such
salutary effects, that men started at the mass of impu¬
dence and filth which had been gradually accumulated
in the theatre during the last reigns; and if the Augean
stable was not sufficiently cleansed, the stream of public
opinion was fairly directed against its conglomerated im¬
purities. Since that period, indecency, that easy substi¬
tute for wit and pleasantry, has been gradually banished
from the drama, where the conversation is now (accord¬
ing to Sheridan) at least always moral, if not entertaining.
During the second period of the British drama, great
improvement was made in point of art. The principles of
dramatic composition were more completely understood,
and the poets themselves had written so much upon the
subject, that, as Dryden somewhere complains, they had
taught their audience the art of criticising their perform¬
ances. They did not, however, so far surrender the li¬
berties and immunities of their predecessors, as to receive
laws from the French critics. The rules of the unities
were no further adopted by Otway, Congreve, and the
writers of the time, than their immediate purpose admit¬
ted. It was allowed on all hands that unnecessary and
gross irregularities were to be avoided, but no precise
rule was adopted. Poets argued upon the subject accord¬
ing to caprice, and acted according to convenience. Gross
and palpable extensions of time, and frequent changes of
place, were avoided; and, unless in tragi-comedies, au¬
thors studied to combine the intrigue of their play into one
distinct and progressive action. The genius by which this
art was supported was neither so general nor so profuse
as that which decorated the preceding period. It was
enough, however, to support the honour of the drama;
and if the second period has produced fewer master¬
pieces of talent, it has exhibited more plays capable of
being acted.
III. In the third period of dramatic history, the critics Third pe-
began to obtain an authority for which they had long nod of'the
struggled, and which might have proved fatal to the liber-
ties of the stage. It is the great danger of criticism, whent rama’
laying down abstract rules without reference to any ex¬
ample, that these regulations can only apply to the form,
and never to the essence, of the drama. They may as¬
sume that the plot must be formed on a certain model,
but they cannot teach the spirit which is to animate its
progress. They cannot show how a passion should be
painted, but they can tell to a moment when the curtain
should be dropped. The misfortune is, that, while treat¬
ing of these subordinate considerations, critics exalt them
to an undue importance in their own minds and that of
their scholars. What they carve out for their pupils is a
mere dissection of a lifeless form ; the genius which ani¬
mated it escapes, as the principle of life glided from the
scalpel of those anatomists who sought to detect it in the
earlier days of that art. Ilymer had, as early as 1688,
discovered that our poetry of the last age was as rude as
its architecture. “ One cause thereof,” he continues.
174
DRAMA.
Drama. “ might be, that Aristotle’s Treatise of Poetry has been so
little studied amongst us; it was, perhaps, commented
upon by all the great men in Italy, before we well knew
(on this side of the Alps) that there was such a book in
being.” Accordingly, Rymer endeavours to establish what
he calls the Rule of Reason over Fancy, in the contrivance
and economy of a play. “ Those who object to this sub¬
jugation,” he observes, “ are mere fanatics in poetry, and
will never be saved by their good works.” The species of
reason, however, to which Rymer appeals, resembles, in
its occult nature, that which lies hidden in the depths of
municipal law, and which is better known to the common
class of mankind under the name of Authority. Because
Aristotle assigns Pity and Terror as the objects of tragedy,
Rymer resumes the proposition, that no other source of
passion can be legitimate. To this he adds some arbitrary
rules, of which it would be difficult to discover the ratio¬
nale. It was the opinion, we are told, of the ancients,
“ that comedy (whose province was humour and ridicu¬
lous matter only) was to represent worse than the truth,
history to describe the truth, but tragedy was to invent
things better than the truth. Like good painters, they
must design their images like the life, but yet better and
more beautiful than the life. The malefactor of tragedy
must be a better sort of malefactor than those that live in
the present age : For an obdurate, impudent, and impeni¬
tent malefactor, can neither move compassion nor terror,
nor be of any imaginable use in tragedy.” It would be
difficult to account for these definitions upon any logical
principle, and impossible for an admirer of the drama to
assent to a rule which would exclude from the stage lago
and Richard III. It is equally difficult to account for the
rationale of the following dogmas: “ If I mistake not, in
poetry no woman is to kill a man, except her quality gives
her the advantage above him; nor is a servant to kill his
master ; nor a private man, much less a subject, to kill a
king, nor on the contrary. Poetical decency will not suf¬
fer death to be dealt to each other by such persons, whom
the laws of duel allow not to enter the lists together.”
(Rymer’s Vieio of the Tragedies of the Last Age?) Though
for these and similar critical conceits it would be difficult
to find any just principle, nevertheless, Rymer, Dennis,
and other critics, who, mixing observations founded on
sound judgment and taste, with others which rested mere¬
ly upon dauntless assertion, or upon the opinions of Aris¬
totle, began thereby to extend their authority, and pro¬
duce a more than salutary influence upon the drama. It
is true, that both of the aristarchs whom we have named
were so ill advised as themselves to attempt to write plays,
and thereby most effectually proved that it was possible
for a drama to be extremely regular, and at the same
Unfavour-1*1116 intolerably dull. Gradually, however, their precepts,
able influ- in despite of their example, gained influence over the
enceof dra-stage. They laid down rules in which the audience were
matic criti- taught to regard the trade of a connoisseur as easy and
eism. goon ]earne[j. anti the same quantity of technical jargon
which, in the present day, constitutes a judge of painting,
was, in the beginning of the eighteenth century, suffi¬
cient to elevate a templar into a dramatic critic. The
court of criticism, though self-constituted, was sufficiently
formidable, since they possessed the power of executing
their own decrees. Many authors made their submission ;
amongst others, Congreve humbled himself in the Mourn¬
ing Bride; and Addison, with anxious and constitutional
timidity, sacrificed to the unities in his celebrated tragedy
of Cato. Being in form and essence rather a French than
an English play, it is one of the few English tragedies
which foreigners have admired. It was translated into
Italian, and admired as a perfect model by Riccoboni, al¬
though his taste condemns the silly love intrigue. Its
success was contagious. Southerne and Rowe may be Lrai
considered as belonging to the same school; although the ^
former admired Shakspeare, and the latter formed him¬
self, in some degree, on the model of Otway. Transla¬
tions of French tragedies became every day more fre¬
quent ; and their diction and style of dialogue was imitat¬
ed upon the British stage. The language of tragedy no
longer expressed human passion, or intimated what the
persons of the drama actually felt, but described and de¬
bated alternately what they ought to feel; and sounding
sentences, and long similes, exhibiting an active fancy
and a cold imagination, supplied at once the place of force
and of pathos.
The line between comedy and tragedy was now strictly
drawn. The latter was no kmger permitted to show that
strain of heroic humour which exhibits itself in the cha¬
racter of Falconbridge, Hotspur, and Henry V., as well as
Mercutio. All was to be cold and solemn, and in the same
key of dull, grave state. Neither was comedy relieved
by the touches of pathetic tenderness, and even sublimity,
which are to be found in the romantic plays of the earlier
period. To compensate the audience for the want of this
beautiful variety of passion and feeling, Southerne, as Ot¬
way had done before him, usually introduces a few scenes
of an under-plot, containing the most wretched and inde¬
cent farce, which was so slightly and awkwardly dove¬
tailed into the original tragedy, that they have since been
cancelled as impertinent intrusions, without being so much
as missed. Young, Thomson, and others who followed the
same wordy and declamatory system of composition, con¬
tributed rather to sink than to exalt the character of the
stage. The two first were both men of excellent genius,
as their other writings have sufficiently testified; but, as
dramatists, they wrought upon a false model, and their
productions are of little value.
It is a remarkable instance of the decay of dramatic art
at this period, that several of the principal authors of the
time felt themselves at liberty to write imitations of old
plays belonging to the original school, by way of adapting
them to the taste of their own age. The Fair Penitent
of Rowe is well known as a poor imitation of Massinger’s
Fatal Dowry. It does not greatly excel the original in
the management and conduct of the piece ; and, in every
thing else, falls as far beneath it as the baldest translation
can sink below the most spirited original.
It would appear that the players of this period had
adopted a mode of acting correspondent to the poetical
taste of the time. Declamation seems to have been more
in fashion in the school of Booth and Betterton than that
vivacity of action that exhibits at once with word, eye,
and gesture, the immediate passion which it is the actor’s
part to express. “ I cannot help,” says Cibber, “ in re¬
gard to truth, remembering the rude and riotous havock
we made of all the late dramatic honours of the theatre:
all became at once the spoil of ignorance and self-con¬
ceit. Shakespeare was defaced, and tortured in every
signal character; Hamlet and Othello lost, in one hour, all
their good sense, their dignity, and fame; Brutus and
Cassius became noisy blusterers, with bold unmeaning
eyes, mistaken sentiments, and turgid elocution.” (Cib¬
ber’s Memoirs?)
A singular attempt to deviate from the prevailing taste Lillo!
in tragedy was made by Lillo, with the highly laudable deav*
purpose of enlarging the sphere of dramatic utility. Hetoei! ’
conceived that plays founded upon incidents of private ,
life might carry more immediate conviction to the mind0
of the hearers, and be the means of stifling more vices in
the bud, than those founded on the more remote and
grander events of history. Accordingly, he formed bis
plots from domestic crimes, and his characters never rose
DRAMA.
D»na. above the ranks of middle life. Lillo had many requisites
for a tragedian; he understood, either from innate taste
or critical study, the advantage to be derived from a con¬
sistent fable; and, in the tragedy of the Fatal Curiosity,
he has left the model of a plot, in which, without the help
of any exterior circumstances, a train of events operating
upon the characters of the dramatic persons produce a
conclusion at once the most dramatic and the most hor¬
rible that the imagination can conceive. Neither does it
appear that, as a poet, Lillo was at all inferior to others
of his age. He possessed a beautiful fancy ; and much of
his dialogue is as forcibly expressed as it is well conceiv¬
ed. On some occasions, however, he sinks below his sub¬
ject ; and on others, he appears to be dragged down to the
nether sphere in which it is laid, and to become cold and
creeping, as if depressed with the consciousness that he
was writing upon a mean subject. George Barmoell never
rises above an idle and profligate apprentice; Milwood’s
attractions are not beyond those of a very vulgar woman
of the town; Thoroughgood, as his name expresses, is
very worthy and very tiresome ; and there is, positively,
nothing to redeem the piece, excepting the interest aris¬
ing from a tale of horror, and the supposed usefulness of
the moral. The Fatal Curiosity is a play of a very dif¬
ferent cast, and such as might have shaken the Grecian
stage even during the reign of terror. But the powers of
the poet prove unequal to the concluding horrors of his
scene. Old Wilmot’s character, as the needy man who
had known better days, exhibits a mind naturally good,
but prepared for acting evil, even by the evil which he
has himself suffered, and opens in a manner which excites
the highest interest and expectation. But Lillo was un¬
able to sustain the character to the close. After disco¬
vering himself to be the murderer of his son, the old man
falls into the common cant of the theatre ; he talks about
computing sands, increasing the noise of thunder, adding
water to the sea, and fire to iEtna, by way of describing
the excess of his horror and remorse; and becomes as
dully desperate, or as desperately dull, as any other de¬
spairing hero in the last scene of a fifth act.
jernel During this third period of the drama, comedy under-
miy. went several changes. The department called genteel
comedy, where the persons as well as the foibles ridiculed
were derived chiefly from high life, assumed a separate
and distinct existence from that which ransacked human
nature at large for its subject. Like the tragedy of the
period, this particular species of comedy was borrowed
from the French. It was pleasing to the higher classes,
because it lay within their own immediate circle, and
turned upon the topics of gallantry, persiflage, affectation,
and raillery. It was agreeable to the general audience,
who imagined they were thereby admitted into the pre¬
sence of their betters, and enjoyed their amusement at
their expense. The Careless Husband of Cibber is, per¬
haps, the best English play on this model. The general
fault to which they are all liable is their tendency to
lower the tone of moral feeling; and to familiarize men, in
the middling, with the cold, heartless, and selfish system
of profligate gallantry practised among the higher ranks.
We are inclined to believe that, in a moral point of view,
genteel comedy, as it has been usually written, is more
prejudicial to public morals, than plays the tendency of
which seems at first more grossly vicious. It is not so
probable that the Beggar s Opera has sent any one from
the two-shilling gallery to the highway, as that a youth
entering upon the world, and hesitating between good and
evil, may be determined to the worse course by the gay
and seductive example of Lovemore or Sir Charles Easy.
At any rate, the tenderness with which vices are shaded
off into foibles familiarizes them to the mind of the hearer,
175
and gives a false colouring to those crimes which should Drama,
be placed before the mind in their native deformity. But
the heaviness of this class of plays, and the difficulty of
finding adequate representatives for those characters which
are really well drawn, are powerful antidotes to the evil
which we complain of. That which is dully written, and
awkwardly performed, will not find many imitators.
The genteel comedy being a plant of foreign growth, Comedy of
never obtained exclusive possession of the English stage, intrigue'
any more than court dresses have been adopted in our
private societies. The comedy of intrigue, borrowed,
perhaps, originally from the Spaniards, continued to be
written and acted with success. Many of Cibber’s pieces,
of Centlivre’s,. and others, still retain their place on the
stage. I his is a species of comedy easily written, and
seen with pleasure, though consisting chiefly of bustle and
complicated incident; and requiring much co-operation of
the dress-maker, scene-painter, and carpenter. After all
the bustle, however, of surprise, and disguise, and squab¬
ble ; after every trick is exhausted, and every stratagem
played off, the writer too often finds himself in a labyrinth
from which a natural mode of extrication seems altoge¬
ther impossible. Hence the intrigue is huddled up at
random ; and the persons of the drama seem, as if by com¬
mon consent, to abandon their dramatic character before
throwing oft their stage-dresses. The miser becomes ge¬
nerous ; the peevish cynic good humoured; the libertine
virtuous ; the coquette is reformed; the debauchee is re¬
claimed ; all vices natural and habitual are abandoned by
those most habitually addicted to them: a marvellous re¬
formation, which is brought about entirely from the con¬
sideration that the play must now be concluded. It was
when pressed by this difficulty that Fielding is said to
have damned all fifth acts.
I he eighteenth century, besides genteel comedy, and English
comedy of intrigue, gave rise to a new species of dramatic opera,
amusement. The Italian opera had been introduced into
this country at a great expense, and to the prejudice, as it
was supposed, of the legitimate drama. Gay, in aiming at
nothing beyond a parody of this fashionable entertainment,
and making it the vehicle of some political satire against
Sir Robert Walpole’s administration, unwittingly laid the
foundation of the English opera. The popularity of his
piece was unequalled; partly owing to its peculiar hu¬
mour, partly to its novelty, partly to the success of the
popular airs, which every body heard with delight, and
partly to political motives. The moral tendency of the
Beggars Opera has been much questioned; although, in
all probability, the number of highwaymen is not more in¬
creased by the example of Macheath, than that of mur¬
derers is diminished by the catastrophe of George Barn¬
well. Many years ago, however, an unhappy person, ra¬
ther from a perverted and most misplaced ambition, than
from the usual motives of want and desperation, chose,
though in easy circumstances, and most respectably con¬
nected, to place himself at the head of a band of thieves
and housebreakers, whose depredations he directed and
shared. On the night on which they committed the
crime for which he suffered, and when they were equip¬
ped for the expedition, he sung to his accomplices the
chorus of the Beggar s Opera, “ Let us take the road.”
But his confederates, professional thieves, and who pur¬
sued, from habit and education, the desperate practices ,
which Mr B adopted from an adventurous spirit of
profligate quixotry, knew nothing at all of Gay or the
Beggars Opera; and, in their several Confessions and
testimonies, only remembered something of a Jlash-song,
about “ turning lead to gold.” This curious circumstance,
while it tends to show that the drama may affect the weak
part of a mind, predisposed to evil by a diseased imagina-
176
DRAMA.
tion, proves the general truth of what Johnson asserts in
the Life of Gay, that “ highwaymen and housebreakers
seldom mingle in any elegant diversions ; nor is it possible
for any one to imagine that he may rob with safety be¬
cause he sees Macheath reprieved on the stage.”
This play is now chiefly remarkable as having given
rise to the English opera. In this pleasing entertainment,
it is understood that the plot may be light and the cha¬
racters superficial, provided that the music be good and
adapted to the situation, the scenes lively and possessed
of comic force. Notwithstanding the subordinate nature
of this species of composition, it approaches, perhaps, more
closely to the ancient Grecian drama than any thing
which retains possession of our stage. The subjects, in¬
deed, are as totally different as the sublime from the light
and the trivial. But, in the mixture of poetry and music,
and in the frequent introduction of singing characters un¬
connected with the business of the piece, and therefore
somewhat allied to the chorus, the English opera has
some general points of resemblance with the Grecian tra¬
gedy. This species of dramatic writing was successfully
practised by Bickerstaff, and has been honoured by the
labours of Sheridan.
IV. With the fourth era of our dramatic history com¬
menced a return to a better taste, introduced by the cele-
the Eng- grated David Garrick. The imitations of French tragedy,
lisa iama. an£j tiresome uniformity of genteel comedy, were ill
adapted to the display of his inimitable talent. And thus,
if the last generation reaped many hours of high enjoy¬
ment from the performances of this great actor, the pre¬
sent is indebted to him for having led back the public
taste to the dramas of Shakspeare.
Revival of The plays of this great author had been altogether for-
the plays gotten, or so much marred and disguised by interpolations
of Shak- anj alterations, that he seems to have arisen on the Bri-
speare. jjgjj stage with the dignity of an antique statue disencum¬
bered from the rubbish in which it had been enveloped
since the decay of the art. But, although Garrick show¬
ed the world how the characters of Shakspeare might be
acted, and so far paved the way for a future regeneration
of the stage, no kindred spirit arose to imitate his tone of
composition. His supremacy was universally acknowledg¬
ed ; but it seemed as if he was regarded as an object of ado¬
ration, not of imitation; and that authors were as much
interdicted the treading his tragic path, as the entering his
magic circle. It was not sufficiently remembered that the
faults of Shakspeare, or rather of his age, are those into
which no modern dramatist is likely to fall; and that he
learned his beauties in the school of nature, which is ever
open to all who profess the fine arts. Shakspeare may,
indeed, be inimitable, but there are inferior degress of ex¬
cellence, which talent and study cannot fail to attain ; and
the statuary were much to blame who, in despair of mo¬
delling a Venus like that of Phidias, should set himself to
imitate a Chinese doll. Yet such was the conduct of the
dramatists of Britain long after the supremacy of Shak¬
speare had been acknowledged. He reigned a Grecian
prince over Persian slaves ; and they who adored him
Tragedy did not dare attempt to use his language. The tragic
of this muse appeared to linger behind the taste of the age, and
period. still used the constrained and mincing measure which she
had been taught in the French school. Hughes, Cumber¬
land, and other men of talent, appeared in her service;
but their model remained as imperfect as ever ; and it was
not till our own time that any bold efforts were made to
restore to tragedy that truth and passion, without which
declamation is only rant and impertinence. Horace Wal¬
pole, however, showed what might be done by adopting a
more manly and vigorous style of composition ; and Home
displayed the success of a more natural current of passion.
Drama.
Fourth
period of
The former, chusing a theme not only totally unfit for re- brar
presentation, but from which the mind shrinks in private
study, treated it as a man of genius, free from the tram¬
mels of habit and of pedantry. His characters in the
Mysterious Mother do not belong to general classes, but
have bold, true, and individual features; and the language
approaches that of the first age of the English drama. The
Douglas of Home is not recommended by this species of
merit. In diction and character it does not rise above
other productions of the period. But the interest turns
upon a passion which finds a response in every bosom ; for
those who are too old for love, and too young for ambition,
are all alike awake to the warmth and purity of maternal
and filial affection. The scene of the recognition of Dou¬
glas’s birth possesses a power over the affections, which,
when supported by adequate representation, is scarcely
equalled in the circle of our drama. It is remarkable
that the ingenious author was so partial to this theatrical
situation, as to introduce it in several of his other trage¬
dies.
The comedjr of the fourth period is chiefly remarkable Comal I
for exhibiting The Rivals and the School for Scandal, of thi^
Critics prefer the latter, whilst the general audience reap,Pe™(l| |
perhaps, more pleasure from the former; the pleasantry
being of a more general cast, the incident more complicat¬
ed and varied, and the wThole plot more interesting. In
both these plays, the gentlemanlike ease of Farquhar is
united with the wit of Congreve. Indeed, the wit of
Sheridan, though equally brilliant with that of his celebrat¬
ed predecessor, flows so easily, and is so happily elicited
by the line of the dialogue, that, in admiring its sparkles,
we never once observe the stroke of the flint which pro¬
duces them. W'it and pleasantry seemed to be the natu¬
ral atmosphere of this extraordinary man, whose history
was at once so brilliant and so melancholy. Goldsmith
was, perhaps, in relation to Sheridan what Vanburgh was
to Congreve. His comedies turn on an extravagance of
intrigue and disguise, and so far belong to the Spanish
school. But the ease of his humorous dialogue, and the
droll yet true conception of the characters, make suffi¬
cient amends for an occasional stretch in point of probabi¬
lity. If all who draw on the spectators for indulgence j
were equally prepared to compensate by a corresponding
degree of pleasure, they would have little occasion to com¬
plain. The elder Colman’s Jealous Wife, and some of his
smaller pieces, are worthy, and it is no ordinary compli¬
ment, of being placed beside these masterpieces. We
dare not rank Cumberland so high, although two or three
of his numerous efforts retain possession of the stage.
The Wheel of Fortune was certainly one of the best act¬
ing plays of its time, but it was perhaps chiefly on account
of the admirable representative which the principal cha¬
racter found in Mr John Kemble.
The plays of Foote, the modem Aristophanes, who ven¬
tured, by his powers of mimicking the mind as well as the
external habits, to bring living persons on the stage, be¬
long to this period, and make a remarkable part of its dra¬
matic history. But we need not dwell upon it. Foote
was an unprincipled satirist; and while he affected to be
the terror of vice and folly, was only anxious to extort for¬
bearance-money from the timid, or to fill his theatre at
the indiscriminate expense of friends and enemies, virtu¬
ous or vicious, who presented foibles capable of being
turned into ridicule. It is a just punishment of this course
of writing, that Foote’s plays, though abounding in comic
and humorous dialogue, have died with the parties whom
he ridiculed. When they lost the zest of personality, their
popularity, in spite of much intrinsic merit, fell into utter
decay.
Meantime dramatic composition of the higher class seem-
DRAMA.
L iama. ed declining. Garrick in our fathers’ time, Mrs Siddons
in ours, could neither of them extract from their literary
admirers any spark of congenial fire. No part written for
either of these astonishing performers has survived the
transient popularity which their talents could give to al¬
most any thing. The truth seems to be, that the French
model had been wrought upon till it was altogether worn
out; and a new impulse from some other quarter—a fresh
turning up of the soil, and awakening of its latent energies
by a new mode of culture—was become absolutely neces-
TKdramasary to the renovation of our dramatic literature. Eng-
reryesa ]and was destined to receive this impulse from Germany,
n6 ’™" where literature was in the first luxuriant glow of vegeta-
177
Gunany.
;ral
d| icter
ofl'i
w (nan
dPia.
tion, with all its crop of flowers and weeds rushing up to¬
gether. There was good and evil in the importation de¬
rived from this superabundant source. But the evil was
of a nature so contrary to that which had long palsied our
dramatic literature, that, like the hot poison mingling with
the cold, it may in the issue bring us nearer to a state of
health.
The affectation of Frederic II. of Prussia, and of other
German princes, for a time suppressed the native litera¬
ture, and borrowed their men of letters from France, as
well as their hair-dressers,—their dramas as well as their
dressed dishes. The continental courts, therefore, had no
share in forming the national drama. To the highest circle
in every nation that of France will be most acceptable,
not only on account of its strict propriety and conformity
to les convenances, but also as securing them against the
risk of hearing bold and offensive truths uttered in the
presence of the sovereign and the subject. But the bold,
frank, cordial, and rough character of the German people
at large did not relish the style of the French tragedies
translated for their stage ; and this cannot be wondered
at, when the wide difference between the nations is con¬
sidered.
The natural character of the Germans is diametrically
opposite to that of the French. The latter are light al¬
most to frivolity, quick in seeing points of ridicule, slowly
awakened to those of feeling. The Germans are of an ab¬
stracted, grave, and somewhat heavy temper; less alive to
the ridiculous, more easily moved by an appeal to the
passions. That which moves a Frenchman to laughter,
affects a German with sorrow or indignation ; and in that
which touches the German as a source of the sublime or
pathetic, the quick-witted Frenchman sees only subject of
laughter. In their theatres the Frenchman comes to judge,
to exercise his critical faculties, and to apply the rules
which he has learned, fundamentally or by rote, to the
performance of the night. A German, on the contrary,
expects to receive that violent excitation which is most
pleasing to his imaginative and somewhat phlegmatic cha¬
racter. While the Frenchman judges of the form and
shape of the play, the observance of the unities, and the
denouement of the plot, the German demands the power¬
ful contrast of character and passion—the sublime in tra¬
gedy and the grotesque in comedy. The former may be
called the formalist of dramatic criticism, keeping his eye
chiefly on its exterior shape and regular form ; the latter
is the fanatic, who, disregarding forms, requires a deep
and powerful tone of passion and of sentiment, and is often
content to surrender his feelings to inadequate motives.
from the different temper of the nations, the merits
and faults of their national theatres became diametrically
opposed to each other. The French author is obliged to
confine himself, as we have already observed, within the
circle long since described by Aristotle. He must attend
to all the decorum of the scene, and conform to every re¬
gulation, whether rational or arbitrary, which has been
entailed on the stage since the days of Corneille. He
vol. vm.
must never so far yield to feeling as to lose sight of grace Drama,
and dignity. He must never venture so far in quest of
the sublime, as to run the risk of moving the risible facul¬
ties of an audience, so much alive to the ridiculous, that
they will often find or make it in what is to others the
source of the grand or the terrible. The Germans, on the
contrary, have never subjected their poets to any arbitrary
forms. The division of the empire into so many indepen¬
dent states has prevented the ascendency of any general
system of criticism ; and their national literature was not
much cultivated, until the time when such authority had
become generally unpopular. Lessing had attacked the
whole French theatrical system in his Dramaturgic with
the most bitter raillery. Schiller brought forward his
splendid dramas of romance and of history. Goethe
crowded the stage with the heroes of ancient German
chivalry. No means of exciting emotion were condemned
as irregular, providing emotion was actually excited. And
there can be no doubt that the license thus given to the
poet, the willingness with which the audience submitted
to the most extravagant postulates on their part, left them
at liberty to exert the full efforts of their genius.
Lessing, Schiller, and Goethe, became at once the fa¬
thers and the masters of the German theatre ; and it must
be objected to these great men, that, in the abundance of
their dramatic talent, they sometimes forgot that their
pieces, in order to be acted, must be adapted to the capa¬
bilities of a theatre ; and thus wrote plays altogether in¬
capable of being represented. Their writings, although
affording many high examples of poetry and passion, are
marked with faults which the exaggeration of their fol¬
lowers has often carried into total extravagance. The
plays of chivalry and of history were followed by an in¬
undation of imitations, in which, according to Schlegel,
“ there was nothing historical but the names and external
circumstances ; nothing chivalrous but the helmets, buck¬
lers, and swords ; and nothing of old German honesty but
the supposed rudeness. The sentiments were as modern
as they were vulgar ; from chivalry pieces, they were con¬
verted into cavalry plays, which certainly deserve to be
acted by horses rather than men.” (Schlegel on the Drama.')
It is not the extravagance of the apparatus alone, but
exaggeration of character and sentiment, which have been
justly ascribed as faults to the German school. The au¬
thors appear to have introduced too harshly, brilliant
lights and deep shadows; the tumid is too often substi¬
tuted for the sublime ; and faculties and dispositions the
most opposed to each other are sometimes described as
existing in the same person.
In German comedy the same faults predominate in a
much greater degree. The pathetic comedy, which might
be rather called domestic tragedy, became, unfortunately,
very popular in Germany; and found a champion in Kot¬
zebue, who carried its conquests over all the Continent.
The most obvious fault of this species of composition is
the demoralizing falsehood of the pictures which it offers
to us. The vicious are frequently presented as objects
less of censure than of sympathy; sometimes they are
selected as objects of imitation and praise. There is an
affectation of attributing noble and virtuous sentiments
to the persons least qualified by habit or education to en¬
tertain them ; and of describing the higher and better edu- ”
cated classes as uniformly deficient in those feelings of
liberality, generosity, and honour, which may be consider¬
ed as proper to their situation in life. This contrast may
be true in particular instances, and being used sparingly,
might afford a good moral lesson ; but, in spite of truth
and probability, it has been assumed, upon all occasions, by
these authors, as the groundwork of a sort of intellectual
jacobinism ; consisting, as Mr Coleridge has well express-
z
178
DRAMA.
Drama, ed it, “ in the confusion and subversion of the natural
v—order of things, their causes and their effects; in the ex¬
citement of surprise, by representing the qualities of libe¬
rality, refined feeling, and a nice sense of honour in per¬
sons and in classes of life where experience teaches us
least to expect them; and in rewarding with all the sym¬
pathies that are the dues of virtue, those criminals whom
law, reason, and religion, have excommunicated from our
esteem.”
The German taste was introduced upon the English
theatre within these twenty years. But the better pro¬
ductions of her stage have never been made known to us;
for, by some unfortunate chance, the wretched pieces of
Kotzebue have found a readier acceptance or more willing
translators, than the sublimity of Goethe, the romantic
strength of Schiller, or the deep tragic pathos of Lessing.
They have tended, however, wretched as the model is, to
introduce on our stage a degree of sentiment, and awaken
among the audience a strain of sensibility, to which we
were previously strangers.
George Coleman’s comedy of John Bull is by far the
best effort of our late comic drama. The scenes of broad
humour are executed in the best possible taste; and the
whimsical, yet native characters, reflect the manners of
real life. The sentimental parts, although one of them in¬
cludes a finely wrought up scene of paternal distress, par¬
take of the falsetto of German pathos. But the piece is
both humorous and affecting; and we readily excuse its
obvious imperfections, in consideration of its exciting our
laughter and our tears.
Joanna Whilst the British stage received a new impulse from a
Baillie. country whose literature had hitherto scarce been known
to exist, she was enriched by productions of the richest
native genius. A retired female, thinking and writing in
solitude, presented to her countrymen the means of re¬
gaining the true and manly tone of national tragedy. She
has traced its foundation to that strong instinctive and
sympathetic curiosity, which tempts men to look into the
bosoms of their fellow-creatures, and to seek, in the dis¬
tresses or emotions of others, the parallel of their own
passions. She has built on the foundations which she laid
bare, and illustrated her precepts by examples which will
long be an honour to the age in which they were pro¬
duced and admired, yet its disgrace, when it is consider¬
ed that they have been barred their legitimate sphere of
influence upon the public taste.
Maturin, Besides this gifted person, the names of Coleridge, of
Coleridge, Maturin, and other men of talents, throng upon our recol¬
and others. iectjon . ancj there is one who, to judge from the dramatic
sketch he has given us in Manfred, must be considered
as a match for iEschylus, even in his sublimest moods of
horror. It is no part of our plan, however, to enter upon
the criticism of our contemporaries.1 Suffice it to say, that
the age has no reason to apprehend any decay of drama¬
tic talent.
Neither can our actors be supposed inadequate to the
representation of such pieces of dramatic art as we judge
our authors capable of producing. We have lost Mrs
Siddons and John Kemble, but we still possess Kean,
Young, and Miss O’Neil; and the stage has to boast other
tragic performers of merit. In comedy perhaps it was
never more strong. In point of scenery and decoration,
our theatres are so amply provided, that they may rather
seem to exceed than to fall short of what is required to
form a classical exhibition.
Where then are we to look for that unfortunate coun¬
terbalance, which confessedly depresses the national dra- Dram
ma, in despite of the advantages we have enumerated ?
We apprehend it will be found in the monopoly possessed Ba(l cotj
by two large establishments, which, unhappily for the pro-
gress of national taste, and, it is said, without any equiva-
lent advantage to the proprietors, now enjoy the exclusive sessed l
privilege of dramatic representation. It must be distinctly the Ion
understood, that we attribute these disadvantages to the theatres
system itself, and by no means charge them upon those
who have the administration of either theatre. The pro¬
prietors have a right to enjoy what the law invests in
them; and the managers have probably discharged their
duty to the public as honourably as circumstances would
admit of; but the system has led into errors which affect
public taste, and even public morals. We shall briefly
consider it as it influences, ls£, the mode of representation;
2dly, the theatrical authors and performers; and, Sdly,
the quality and composition of the audience.
The first inconvenience arises from the great size of
the theatres, which has rendered them unfit for the legi¬
timate purposes of the drama. The persons of the per¬
formers are, in these huge circles, so much diminished,
that nothing short of the mask and buskin could render
them distinctly visible to the audience. Show and ma¬
chinery have therefore usurped the place of tragic poetry;
and the author is compelled to address himself to the
eyes, not to the understanding or feelings, of the specta¬
tors. This is of itself a gross error. Every thing beyond
correct costume and theatrical decorum is foreign to the
legitimate purposes of the drama, as tending to divide the
attention of the audience; and the rivalry of the scene-
painter and the carpenter cannot be very flattering to any
author or actor of genius. Besides, all attempts at deco¬
ration, beyond what the decorum of the piece requires,
must end in paltry puppet-show exhibition. The talents
of the scene-painter and mechanist cannot, owing to the
very nature of the stage, make battles, sieges, &c. any
thing but objects of ridicule. Thus we have enlarged our
theatres, so as to destroy the effect of acting, without car¬
rying to any perfection that of pantomime and dumb show.
Secondly, The monopoly of the two large theatres has
operated unfavourably both upon theatrical writers and
performers. The former have been in many instances, if
not absolutely excluded from the scene, yet deterred from
approaching it, in the same manner as men avoid attempt¬
ing to pass through a narrow wicket, which is perpetually
thronged by an importunate crowd. Allowing the mana¬
gers of these two theatres, judging in the first and in the
last resort, to be possessed of the full discrimination ne¬
cessary to a task so difficult; supposing them to be at all
times alike free from partiality and from prejudice; still
the number of plays thrust upon their hands must prevent
their doing equal justice to all, and must frequently de¬
ter a man of real talents, either from pride or modesty,
from entering a competition clogged with delay, solicita¬
tion, and other circumstances, hand suheunda ingenio suo.
It is unnecessary to add, that increasing the number of
theatres, and diminishing their size, would naturally tend
to excite a competition among the managers, whose inte-
rest it is to make experiments on the public taste; and
that this would infallibly secure any piece of reasonable
promise a fair opportunity of being represented. _ It is by
such a competition that genius is discovered; it is thus
that horticulturists raise whole beds of common flowers,
for the chance of finding among them one of those rare
varieties which are the boast of their art.
i This and other similar expressions, which now excite a melancholy interest, are suffered to remain, for the reason stated in the
note, page 147.
D R A
*ama The exclusive privilege of the regular London theatres
II is equally, or in a greater degree, detrimental to the per-
Dr linen. former; for it is with difficulty that he fights his way to a
London engagement; and when once received, he is too
often retained for the mere purpose of being laid aside,
or shelfed as it is technically called; that is, rendered a
weekly burden upon the pay-list of the theatre, without
being produced above four or five times in the season to
exhibit his talents. Into this system the managers are
forced, from the necessity of their situation, which com¬
pels them to enlist in their service every performer who
seems to possess buds of genius, although it ends in their
being so crowded together that they have no room to
blossom. In fact, many a man of talent thus brought
from the active exercise of a profession, to be paid for
remaining inactive in obscurity in London, and supported
by what seems little short of eleemosynary bounty, either
becomes careless of his business or disgusted with it; and,
at any rate, stagnates in that mediocrity to which want of
exercise alone will often condemn talent.
Thirdly, and especially, the magnitude of these theatres
has occasioned them to be destined to company so scan¬
dalous, that persons not very nice in their taste of society
must yet exclaim against the abuse as a national nuisance.
We are aware of the impossibility of excluding a certain
description of females from public places in a corrupt
metropolis like London ; but in theatres of moderate size,
frequented by the better class, these unfortunate persons
would feel themselves compelled to wear a mask at least
of decency. In the present theatres of London, the best
part of the house is openly and avowedly set off for their
reception; and no part of it that is open to the public
at large is free from their intrusion, or at least from the
open display of the disgusting improprieties to which their
neighbourhood gives rise. And these houses, raised at
an immense expense, are so ingeniously misconstructed,
that in the private boxes you see too little of the play,
and in the public boxes greatly too much of a certain de¬
scription of the company. No man of delicacy would wish
the female part of his family to be exposed to such scenes ;
no man of sense would wish to put youth of the male sex
in the way of such temptation. This evil, if not altoge¬
ther arising from the large size of the theatres, has been
so incalculably increased by it, that, unless in the case of
strong attraction, prostitutes and their admirers usually
form the principal part of the audience. We censure, and
with justice, the corruption of morals in Paris. But in
no public place in that metropolis is vice permitted to bear
so open and audacious a front as in the theatres of Lon¬
don. Barefaced vice is never permitted to insult decency.
Those who seek it must go to the haunts to which it is
limited. In London, if we would enjoy our most classical
public amusement, we are braved by her on the very
threshold.
We notice these evils, without pretending to point out
the remedy. If, however, it were possible so to arrange
interests, that the patents of the present theatres should
DRAMBURG, a circle in Prussian Pomerania, in the
government of Stralsund, extending over 550 square miles,
and comprehending three cities, seventy-one villages, and
ninety hamlets, with 21,285 inhabitants. The capital is a
city of the same name, situated on the river Drage, and
containing 277 houses and 1808 inhabitants, who make
gloves and linen cloth.
DRAMMEN, a city of Norway, situated on the river of
that name, in the province of Aggerhuus. It is an open city,
well built, near a mile in length. It contains 900 houses
D R A 179
cover four, or even six, of smaller size, dedicated to the Drama
same purpose, we conceive that more good actors would ||
be found, and more good plays written; and, as a neces- Dran.
sary consequence, that good society would attend the the-
atre in sufficient numbers to enforce respect to decency.
The access to the stage would be rendered easy to both
authors and actors; and although this might give scope to
some rant and false taste, it could not fail to call forth
much excellence, that must otherwise remain latent or re¬
pressed. The theatres would be relieved of the heavy ex-’
pense at present incurred, in paying performers who do
not play; and in each maintaining three theatrical corps
for the separate purposes of tragedy, comedy, and musical
pieces; only one of which can be productive labourers on
the same evening, though all must be supported and paid.
According to our more thrifty plan, each of these compa¬
nies would be earning at the same time the fruits of their
professional industry. The hours of representation, in one
or more of these theatres, might be rendered more con¬
venient to those in high life, whilst the middling classes
might enjoy a rational and classical entertainment after
the business of the day.
Such an arrangement might indeed be objected to by
those who entertain a holy horror of the very name of a
theatre, and who imagine impiety and blasphemy are in¬
separable from the drama. We have no room left to ar¬
gue with such persons, or we might endeavour to prove
that the dramatic art is in itself as capable of being di¬
rected either to right or wrong purposes, as the art of
printing. It is true, that even after a play has been
formed upon the most virtuous model, the man who is en¬
gaged in the duties of religion will be better employed
than he who is seated in a theatre, and listening to it.
To those abstracted and enrapt spirits, who feel or suppose
themselves capable of remaining constantly involved in
heavenly thoughts, any sublunary amusement may justly
seem frivolous. But the mass of mankind are not so
framed. The Supreme Being, who claimed the seventh
day as his own, allotted the other six days of the week
for purposes merely human. W hen the necessity of daily
labour is removed, and the call of social duty fulfilled,
that of moderate and timely amusement claims its place,
as a want inherent in our nature. To relieve this want,
and fill up the mental vacancy, games are devised, books
are written, music is composed, spectacles and plays are
invented and exhibited. And if these last have a moral
and virtuous tendency; if the sentiment expressed tend
to rouse our love of what is noble, and our contempt of
what is mean; if they unite hundreds in a sympathetic
admiration of virtue, abhorrence of vice, or derision of
folly; it will remain to be shown how far the spectator
is more criminally engaged, than if he had passed the
evening in the idle gossip of society, in the. feverish
pursuits of ambition, or in the unsated and insatiable
struggle after gain—the gravef employments of the pre¬
sent life, but equally unconnected with our existence here¬
after. (D* ^ D’)
and 5412 inhabitants. The trade consists in making lea¬
ther, oil, and sailcloth; in the export of timber and iron,
and in the pursuit of the fishery. There are many vessels
belonging to the port, but chiefly of small tonnage.
DR AN, Henri-Fran^ois le, a celebrated French sur¬
geon, born at Paris in 1685, was the son of a surgeon ot
the same name, who, while serving with the army, had
been distinguished for practical dexterity in the treatment
of gunshot wounds. Young Le Dran entered on the sur¬
gical career under the auspices and direction of his father,
180 D R A
Drawing, and early attained to eminence in his profession. He be-
came surgeon-major and demonstrator of anatomy at La
Charite, member of the royal academy of surgery, con¬
sulting surgeon of the camps and armies of the king, and
associate of the Royal Society of London. Apart from his
professional pursuits, almost no particulars of his life have
been preserved. He died at Paris on the 17th October
1770, at the advanced age of eighty-five. Le Dran was
the author of a variety of works on surgery, of which we
shall here subjoin a very brief account. 1. Parallele des
differentes manieres de tirer la Pierre hors de la Vessie, Paris,
1730, 1740, 8vo, with plates ; translated into German,
Berlin, 1737, 8vo, and into English, London, 1738, 8vo.
Le Dran, in this work, condemns the small, and shows
himself a partizan of the large apparatus; recommending,
however, that the incision should be made a little lower
than Collot had been accustomed to make it, and that it
should be of an extent sufficient to prevent the dilacera¬
tion of the bladder. He approves of the high apparatus
only in the case where the bladder is sound and the cal¬
culus very voluminous. In order to obviate the too fre¬
quent lesion of the rectum in using the probe described
by Albinus for the lateral operation of Rau, Le Dran in¬
vented a new sound, which enabled him to avoid such a
casualty, and contributed materially to his success. 2.
Observations de Chirurgerie, auxquelles on a joint plusieurs
Reflexions en faveur des Etudiants, Paris, 1731, 2 vols.
12mo: translated into German, Nuremberg, 1738, 8vo,
and into English, 1739, 8vo. This collection is rich in
facts well chosen, and reported with candour and preci¬
sion. The author does not dissemble his faults, and speaks
of his success without ostentation. 3. Traite des opera¬
tions de Chirurgerie, Paris, 1731 and 1742, 8vo; London,
1749, 8vo, with additions by Cheselden. This work, in
which the author ascribes an imaginary influence to the
animal spirits, is nevertheless valuable, as containing an
accurate description of a great number of operations, and
many practical facts alike curious and interesting. If a
D R A
new method is spoken of, he never fails to indicate the Drastj
author of the discovery. 4. Reflexions pratiques sur les || i
plaies d'armesa feu, Paris, 1737, 1740, 1759, 12mo; Am- v^awi»
sterdam, 1745, 12mo ; Nuremberg, in German, 1740, 8vo.
To the excellent precepts of Ambroise Pare, the author
has here added the fruits of his own experience ; and he
has contributed to check in some cases the use, then too
exclusive, of the seton. He has also advocated the me¬
thod of large incisions, and justly proscribed the applica¬
tion of sindons or pledgets of linen soaked with brandy,
in the first dressing of gunshot wounds. 5. Suite du Pa¬
rallele de la Taille, Paris, 1756, 8vo. 6. Consultations sur
la plupart des Maladies qui sont du ressort de la Chirur¬
gerie, Paris, 1765, 8vo. 7. Traite economique de VAnato¬
mic du corps humain, Paris, 1768, 12mo. This work is
full of superannuated hypotheses and material omissions.
8. Recit d'une guerison singuliere du plomb fondu dans la
Vessie, and Lettre sur la dissolution du plomb dans cet or-
gane, Paris, 1749. Here Le Dran gives an account of his
experiments for dissolving lead by means of mercury, and
evinces great credulity in attributing to mercury certain
imaginary qualities. Besides the works above enumerated,
a great number of interesting observations by Le Dran
may be found in the Memoires of the Academy, (a.)
DRASTIC, in Physic, an epithet bestowed on such me¬
dicines as are of present efficacy, and potent in operation.
It is commonly applied to emetics and cathartics.
DRAVE, a river, which, taking its rise near Innichen,
in Tyrol, on the borders of Salzburg, traverses Carinthia
and Styria, and after receiving the Mur at Legrad, and se¬
parating Croatia and Sclavonia from Hungary,falls into the
Danube below Essek. It is navigable from Villach in Ca¬
rinthia. Some gold is collected from its bed by washing.
DRAWBACK, in commerce, certain duties, either of
the customs or of the excise, allowed upon the exporta¬
tion of some of our own manufactures, or upon certain fo¬
reign merchandises which have paid duty on importation.
See Commerce.
D It A W I N G.
Drawing is the art of representing forms upon a flat sur¬
face, by means of any sort of instruments, such as pencils,
chalks, and the like. It is also a word used to denote the
forms or contours of the figures in compositions, or in
sculpture generally. Thus we say that the drawing in a
picture, or the drawing of a statue, or any other figure,
is of a high or an inferior kind, good or bad.
History. This art is well known to be of the most remote antiquity,
and it has been in use amongst the most barbarous and
most civilized nations for a variety of purposes. The hiero¬
glyphic figures, whether carved or painted, upon the an¬
cient Egyptian obelisks and temples, the ornaments of the
same description upon their buildings and sarcophagi, to¬
gether with the like productions amongst the Mexicans,
prove the ancient origin of the art. Some of the purest and
best of the Egyptian sculptures, and particularly the figures
of the harpers, described and illustrated by Bruce the tra¬
veller, exhibit a knowledge and correctness of taste in the
art far surpassing what is usually admitted, and show that
the Greek school in this, as well as in their other acquire¬
ments, was greatly indebted to the Egyptians for pointing
out the road to that excellence of form and dignity of cha¬
racter and expression which their matchless works possess.
Greece Although examples of drawings by the Greeks have not
and Rome, come down to us, their magnificent statues assure us that
their proficiency in the art must have been of the highest
order; and certain expressions of Pliny, in describing their
pictures, evidently indicate that the Greeks must have at¬
tained to the utmost excellence in drawing, at the period
of their glory as a nation. It is not our intention to load
this article with ancient historical information respecting
the fine arts, otherwise many curious anecdotes might be
introduced ; but we cannot pass over the mention of Alex¬
ander’s emotion on seeing a picture of Palamedes when
betrayed by his friends, which forcibly reminded the hero
of his own treatment of Aristonicus; nor can we refrain
from noticing the picture of Agamemnon and Iphigenia
by Timanthes, so highly extolled by Cicero Quintilian, Va¬
lerius Maximus, and Pliny, as satisfactory proofs of the
excellence of the ancients in drawing and painting, as
well as in their scupltures and arthitecture. From the
emotions which the higher excellencies of the pictures by
the Greek artists produced in these gifted men, a fair in¬
ference may be drawn as to the perfection to which the
art must have attained at the period of Grecian glory;
and consequently drawing, even in the confined sense of
the word, must have also been in a corresponding state
of advancement. Their principal schools were at Sicyon,
Rhodes, Athens, and Corinth ; and when Greece was sub¬
dued by the Romans, the conquerors, alive to the bene¬
fits to be derived from the sciences and arts, encouraged
the cultivation of them in their own capital, to which the
D R A WING.
181
Diving.
MT1-'
Hi*el
Injlo.
Hi ielle
KaiJio.
Greek artists resorted, and laid the foundation of the Ro¬
man school.
From the conquests of Alaric and Attila in the fifth cen¬
tury, the arts lay prostrate and neglected, until their re¬
vival about the year 1450 at Florence, where Dominico
Ghirlandaio, the master of Michel Angelo, practised paint¬
ing with considerable reputation, Tvhich his pictures show
he well merited.
We have now arrived at the golden age of the arts
amongst the moderns, for Michel Angelo must be admit¬
ted to have been the first to discover and practise them
with the classical discernment and skill which ultimately
led him to the highest eminence amongst his contempo¬
raries as a painter, a sculptor, an architect, and engineer,
and deservedly placed his reputation on a level with the
greatest names of antiquity. Till his time painters were
considered as mere mechanics or labourers, and their
employment was almost entirely confined to making re¬
presentations of saints, and other figures used by the
superstitious of the age. It was at this period, and sur¬
rounded by the wretched examples of such artists as Ci-
mabue, Giotto, and others, that Michel Angelo, upon ex¬
amining the torso of the Belvidere, instantly abandoned
the barbarous taste and style of his master, and bound¬
ed into that sublime path which has been the admira¬
tion of all. “ The poetry of the art,” says Sir Joshua Rey¬
nolds, “ he possessed in the most eminent degree ; and the
same daring spirit which first urged him to explore the
unknown regions of the imagination, impelled him forward
in his career beyond those limits which his followers, des¬
titute of the same incentives, had not strength to pass. He
was the bright luminary from whom painting has borrowed
a new lustre, under whose hands it assumed a new appear¬
ance, and became another and superior art.”
Raffaelle Santio, the pupil of Pietro Perugino, was born
on Good Friday in the year 1483, and died on Good Fri¬
day in the year 1520, so that he only lived thirty-seven
years. He must be admitted to have surpassed all the
moderns in drawing and painting, though his design does
not possess those sublime conceptions to be found in the
works of his rival Michel Angelo. Generally speaking,
the choice of his subjects is simple and pleasing, for he
cared not to grapple with those severe attitudes and ex¬
pressions to be found in the works of his gifted contempo¬
rary ; but his compositions are invariably correct and har¬
monious, and his drawing careful, elegant, and pure. It
is to his school that we would recommend the student to
look for those examples which will be of the greatest prac¬
tical benefit to him in drawing; a circumstance which
ought to be his first and principal aim.
It is not the proper place here to enter into the history
ot painting in Italy after its revival by the two great mas¬
ters whose names and characteristic excellencies we have
just mentioned. This we reserve for the article Painting ;
and we now proceed to explain the practical details of the
management and manipulation of drawing in its various
styles.
Drawing, as we have already stated, is that part of the
art which represents the forms of objects upon a flat sur¬
face, and may be divided into outlining and shading ; and
as the chief attributes of almost all objects are embraced
in the correctness of their forms, the student of art should
labour with the utmost pains and assiduity in order to
acquire severe accuracy in his outline, without which the
most dexterous shading and finishing will be worse than
thrown away.
In whatever department the genius of the student may
lead him to practise, habits of correctness will be most
successfully cultivated by drawing the human figure, the
knowledge of which is the basis of all true excellence.
The study ought to be begun by copying the most simple Drawing,
parts, such as we have exhibited in Plates CXC., CXCL,
CXCIL, CXCIII.; and the greatest anxiety to attain ac¬
curacy in the gentle undulations of form ought to be
evinced. We would recommend that perspective should
be studied at the earliest stage of the pupil’s practice. By
means of a knowledge of its rules, which are simple, much
time will be spared to the student, and excellence more
speedily acquired than when directed only by his eye in
the practice of drawing, whatever the object may be-
Although it matters little what the instrument may be Drawing
which is usedin the practiceof drawing, yet, upon the whole, in chalk,
we would recommend black and white chalks as the most
to be preferred. They are easily procured, and conve¬
nient for use. They are usually fixed in an instrument of
brass or steel, as represented below, the white chalk being-
placed at the one end, and the black at the other.
The paper should be slightly tinged with colour, so that
the white chalk which is put upon the lights may tell pro¬
perly. Crayon paper is the best. The outline being care¬
fully made, first with charcoal as slightly as possible, and
then corrected and smoothed with the black chalk, the
shading may be executed as the taste of the student in¬
clines. It may either be done with careful hatchings at
particular angles, or in one solid smooth mass, or by a
combination of both, which is probably the most advis¬
able mode of practice. Too much attention to elaborate
hatchings may divert the attention of the student from
the more essential excellencies of the outline, and proper
balance of light and shade; and a too careless manner in
using his materials may lead to equal disadvantages, for
in art, as in every thing else, carelessness in the beginning
can never lead to excellence in the end. Much time
in laying in the shadows may be spared by using an in¬
strument called a stump, made of a piece of shamois lea¬
ther rolled up in a cylindrical form, in a tight manner,
tied round with thread, and shaped to a blunt point, as
represented below.
A little chalk-powder may be dusted upon the shadow if
extensive, and rubbed in with the instrument above de¬
scribed, and afterwards the part finished up with the
chalk. The white chalk should not be used until the
drawing is completed with the black, otherwise it is apt
to get injured by admixture, which in no instance should
be the case, for there ought always to be a space between
the two chalks occupied by the tint of the paper.
The black chalk will be found to work very well upon
white as well as coloured paper; but the process is more
tedious, in consequence of all the middle or light tints
having to be attended to and executed, which, in the case
of the other paper, the tint produces. Errors in outline
or shading may be rectified by rubbing out the defect
with a piece of bread squeezed into a convenient shape
between the finger and thumb.
After the student has acquired some degree of profi¬
ciency in using the chalk, and imitating any drawing or
print which may be given him, he should next begin to
copy from real substances, or what is technically termed
drawing from “ the round.”
Here a wide field is opened up to him in the study of
DRAWING.
182
Drawing, the antique statues ; and while striving to attain accuracy
in copying these noble reliques of art, he should consider
deeply their high character and expression. It is not to
be expected that a very extensive set of examples of the
antique, or a discussion and detail of their merits, can be
given here; all that we can do is to lead the student to
the proper source whence he may draw supplies; and
with this view we would recommend him to peruse and
contemplate the statues of the Apollo Belvidere, the Ve¬
nus de’ Medici, the Gladiator Borghese, the Torso of the
Belvidere, and the matchless group of the Laocoon, at the
time he is copying them in the way of practice. See Plates
CXCIV., CXCV., CXCVL, CXCVII., CXCVIII.
Red chalk. We have hitherto only considered the drawing of the
human figure, and that in black and white chalks. Ano¬
ther very good way of producing a spirited effect is, by a
union of both these with red chalk, a method much prac¬
tised by the old masters in their academy figures, &c.
Measure- The following are the measures of the human body, as
ment of taken by Fresnoy from the ancient statues. The ancients
the human have commonly allowed eight heads to their figures,
iigiue. though some of them have allowed but seven. The figure
is ordinarily divided into ten faces ; that is to say, from
the crown of the head to the sole of the foot, in the follow¬
ing manner:
From the crown of the head to the forehead is the third
part of a face.
The face begins at the root of the lowest hairs which
are upon the forehead, and ends at the bottom of the chin.
The face is divided into three proportionable parts, the
first contains the forehead, the second the nose, and the
third the mouth and the chin; from the chin to the pit
betwixt the collar-bones is two lengths of a nose.
From the pit betwixt the collar-bones to the bottom of
the breast one face.
From the bottom of the breast to the navel one face.
From the navel to the genitories one face.
From the genitories to the upper part of the knee two
faces.
The knee contains half a face.
From the lower part of the knee to the ankle two faces.
From the ankle to the sole of the foot half a face.
A man, when his arms are stretched out, is from the Draw
longest finger of his right hand to the longest finger of his
left, as broad as he is long.
From one side of the breast to the other, two faces.
The bone of the arm, called humerus, is the length of
two faces from the shoulder to the elbow.
From the end of the elbow to the root of the little fin¬
ger, the bone called cubitus, with part of the hand, con¬
tains two faces.
From the box of the shoulder-blade to the pit betwixt
the collar-bones, one face.
If you would be satisfied in the measure of breadth
from the extremity of one finger to the other, so that this
breadth should be equal to- the length of the body, you
must observe that the boxes of the elbows with the hume¬
rus, and of the humerus with the shoulder-blade, bear the
proportion of half a face when the arms are stretched out.
The sole of the foot is the sixth part of the figure.
The hand is the length of a face.
The thumb contains a nose.
The inside of the arm, where the muscle disappears
which makes the breast (called the pectoral muscle), to
the middle of the arm, four noses.
From the middle of the arm to the beginning of the
head five noses.
The longest toe is a nose long.
The utmost parts of the teats and the pit betwixt the
collar-bones of a woman make an equilateral triangle.
For the breadth of the limbs no precise measures can
be given, because the measures themselves are change¬
able, according to the quality of the persons, and accord¬
ing to the movement of the muscles.
The best example of the measures of an ancient statue
are by Audran, an author whom Sir Joshua Reynolds re¬
commends as being the most useful; and on this depart¬
ment of our subject we now add the following table of the
measurements and comparisons of the three celebrated
statues of the Apollo, the Venus, and the Hercules, as
published by Volpato and Morghen at Rome, in a work
called 11 Principi dd Disegno. To preserve uniformity in
the measurements, the head of each figure is divided into
twelve parts, and each part into six minutes.
From the beginning of the head to the root of the hairs 
From the root of the hairs to the eyebrows, or beginning of the nose 
From the eyebrows to the end of the nose 
From the end of the nose to the bottom of the chin   
From the chin to the articulation of the clavicle with the sternum 
From the clavicle to the end of the breast 
From the end of the breast to the middle of the umbilicus 
From the umbilicus to the symphysis pubis     
From the symphysis pubis to the middle of the patella 
From the middle of the patella to the beginning of the flank 
From the same to the swell of the foot 
From the swell of the foot to the end of the figure, or to the ground 
From the patella to the ground 
From the patella to the end of the heel of the right leg 
The length of the sole of the foot 
The highest part of the foot from the ground 
From the instep to the end of the toes 
From the clavicle or collar-bone to the beginning of the deltoid muscle...
The length of the whole clavicle on the right side 
From the clavicle to the nipple 
From one end of the breasts to the other   
The greatest breadth of the trunk, taken a little below the beginning of
the thorax....  
Apollo.
Parts. Min.
3 0
0
0
0
1
Si
10 51
n-
7
24 0
28 2
23 31
4 4
14 11
9 0
10 41
15 0
18 3
Venus.
Parts. Min.
3 0
0
0
0
Q_L
5
2
11 4|
3
3
3
4
10
8
18
27
25 3
3
9
6
6
11
Oi
3
01
Hercules.
Parts. Min.
3 0
9 4
10 4
8
23
30
29
2^
*2
6 4
10 4
14 1
10 4
15 4
22 4
DRAWING.
Drying.
The breadth of the trunk from the end of the breast 
The narrowest part of the same, taken at the beginning of the flank 
The greatest breadth of the ossa ilei, where the flanks project most 
From the highest part of the deltoid muscle to the end of the biceps 
From the beginning of the os humeri to the cubit 
From the end of the biceps to the beginning of the hand   
The greatest breadth of the fore-arm in front  
The greatest breadth of the arm in front 
Breadth of the pulse of the arm in front 
The greatest breadth from one trochanter to the other 
The greatest breadth of the thigh in front 
The greatest breadth of the left thigh 
The greatest breadth of the knee opposite the middle of the patella 
The greatest breadth of the calf of the leg   
The greatest breadth between the inner and outer ankle 
The narrowest part of the foot   
The broadest part of the same 
From the last vertebra of the neck to the lower part of the os sacrum 
From the end of the os sacrum to the end of the glutaeus 
From the end of the glutaeus to the beginning of the gastrocnemius muscle
From the beginning of the gastrocnemius to the end of the figure 
Apollo.
Parts. Min.
15
16
17 01
16 0
4 5
5 3
17
9
5
6
4
3
5
21
3^
3|
3
0
Venus. Hercules.
Parts. Min.
15 41
15 1
17 5
20 2
14 0
5 0
4 5
19
9
5
6
3
5
0
31
4 0
3 3
5 1
Parts. Min.
19 31
21 11
22 1£
15 U
22 0
11 OL
4
5k
3
5
6 41
38 4
6 4
15 4
30 1
183
Drawing.
In the foregoing table, we by no means have set down the
ancient formula as an infallible guide, since the changes
which the human form undergoes from infancy to old age
preclude the possibility of limiting its measurements to
definite proportions, and much depends upon the order
or rank of the figure to be represented. Thus the Apollo
Belvidere and the Venus de’ Medici have more than ten
faces in their length; and in other respects these figures,
which by their authors were intended to represent divini¬
ties, are considerably different in their proportions from
others of the antique statues. It is enough if something ap¬
proximating to accuracy of measurement be kept in view
when the student is engaged in making his drawing; and
this he should do without the use of compasses or any other
mathematical means, which ultimately cramp his powers of
imitation, and retard his progress towards perfection.
Lid an(] Light and shade are the means by which the actual ap-
sihaa, or pearance of substance in the object represented is convey-
dii; ed, and they should be studied with every attention, from
ost ’• the objects themselves which are assumed as the models for
imitation. No rules can be laid down so good as the study
of nature herself, and no language can explain the beauties
of her varied appearances of lights, shadow's, or reflections.
It is by means of light and shade also that the figures
in a picture or composition are made to keep their proper
places: thus the principal figure is generally illuminated
with the strongest and broadest light, and the others kept
subordinate. It is with considerable diffidence, however,
that we state this as the practice most to be approved of:
every artist, and indeed every school, has a peculiar mode
of management in this, and we are aware that a different
practice has often produced excellent results.
The general rule with regard to the relative proportions
of light, shadow, and middle tint in a well-ordered effect is,
that there should be rather more shadow than light, and
more middle tint than either of the former, provided the
subject does not require a different arrangement. In the in¬
finite variety of forms of composition of the various schools,
rules for the attainment of excellence can hardly be laid
down with safety; and we must on this account refer the
student to the contemplation of the works of the most
esteemed masters, for examples to direct him in the prac¬
tice of the chiar’ oscuro of his pictures.
Ar1)my. The study of anatomy is of the utmost importance to¬
wards a correct knowledge of the human figure, and is
most beneficial in leading the way to an accurate represen¬
tation of its various parts and attitudes. Without it no pro¬
per estimate can be formed of the movements of the joints
of the limbs, nor of the swellings and undulations of the
muscles, which, when in action, are constantly varying, and
must be seized at the moment. It was by the careful
study of this branch of science that Michel Angelo, Leo¬
nardo da Vinci, and other eminent artists, attained to such
excellence in representing the forms when engaged in action,
and displayed that accuracy of outline and show of energy
which appear in the various members of their figures.
The most necessary preparation for all drawings execut-j)rawing
ed with Indian ink, sepia, bistre, or the like, is an accurate in Indian
outline, which should be made with a black-lead pencil, or ink, sepia,
pen and ink if the work is only meant to be finished in abistre> &c*
sketchy manner. Care must be taken in both to regulate the
strength of the touch or line by the nearness or distance
of the object represented. The shades should be laid in
a good deal lighter at first than they are intended to be
when the drawing is finished, and the hard edges of the
touches softened with a water brush. The greater the
attention paid to the subject as a whole in this stage,
and the broader and less minute the washes are laid on,
the better; for it is only as the drawing advances towards
completion that the minutiae should be attended to. In
Plate CCI. we have given an example of the method of
proceeding with a drawing washed in with one colour
only. Fig. 1 exhibits the outline; fig. 2 the first broad
wash ; fig. 3 the second working; and fig. 4 the finished
drawing. Each shading should be allowed to dry tho¬
roughly before the succeeding wash is laid on; and there
are many modes, we had almost said tricks, by which
certain excellent effects are produced, which are only to
be acquired by practice. Thus the use of a sharp pointed
penknife will be found most serviceable in taking out irre- .
gularly-formed lights in the foreground ; and much advan¬
tage will be found in wiping out lights and middle tints
with a towel or handkerchief during the progress of the
work ; but regarding these no rules can be laid down. The
artist must use his own discretion; though too much of
such practice is not to be recommended.
The study of landscape ought to be commenced by imi¬
tating the most simple forms, as in the following figures.
DRAWING.
184
'"Drawincr.
These or similar figures may be copied two or three
times over before attempting such a work as we have given
in Plate CCI. Plate CC. exhibits two examples of the
style of sketching landscape by Claude; and we strongly
recommend Turner’s Liber Studiorum to the careful peru¬
sal of the young artist in this department. The studies
of the human figure by Rafiaelle, Parmegiano, and others,
or their imitations by Rodgers, are the best.
Drawing There is no branch of the art in which such a variety
in water 0f means may be adopted for attaining the same end,
colours. namely, the imitation of nature, as in water-colour drawing;
consequently we shall not attempt to lay down particular
rules for the guidance of the student. Practice, as we have
already stated, is the only means of arriving at the wished-
for perfection ; we shall therefore limit our notice to a few
of the details most in use among painters in water colours.
The substances used in painting in wrater colours are to
be had in all the shops in prepared cakes, which are rub¬
bed down upon a stone pallet or plate with a little vrater.
Paper. The paper upon which the drawing is to be made may
be either smooth or rough ; and if greasy on the surface, so
that the colours do not adhere pleasantly, it may be spong¬
ed over, or the colours may be mixed with a little ox-gall.
Ox gall, either in its native or prepared state. One drop of gall
in the former condition, or the size of a large pin head in
the latter, will be enough to saturate a tea-cupful of water
for the purpose of mixing with or softening off the colours.
Colours, The paintschieflyusedareultra-marineblue,indigo, Ant¬
werp and cobalt blues, gamboge, ochre, Indian, and crome
yellows, Indian red, vermilion, lake, carmine, burnt ochre,
and brown pink reds; and although these may be denominat¬
ed the primaries out of which all other modifications of tints
can be made up, yet we may add to them a number of
browns which will be found to be serviceable, such as terra di
sienna, both raw andburnt,Vandykebrown, umber, sepia, &c.
The paper ought to be stretched upon a drawing board Fasti
or frame, which is effected by soaking it in water, or by the p:
sponging it over on both sides, then removing the super-ontl|
abundant water with a piece of blotting paper or towel, j
and afterwards folding back the edge for about an inch alltram'
round, and applying the paste to the folded portion, and also
to that part of the drawing board which the paper is to ad¬
here to. The part so pasted should be pressed strongly,
or the finger may be dipped into the paste and rubbed
upon the pasted edge, and then the paper sponged all
over, that the pasted edge may be permitted to dry more
quickly than the centre part. Care must be taken not to
let any of the paste touch the middle of the paper, which
would destroy the drawing when cut from the board.
Whatever may be the subject, it will be advisable to
begin with light colour, and gradually work up both effect
of light and shadow, and strength of tint, in a broad man¬
ner, without much attention to minutiae, as already de¬
scribed in Indian ink drawing. The earlier water-colour
painters were in the practice of working with a gray or
neuter tint at the commencement of their drawings ; and as
this method is very simple, it will be the best for beginners,
though in the end there will not be produced that rich¬
ness of effect, and freshness, depth, and warmth of colour,
which is the result of the contrary practice of the best
masters of the present day; we mean the laying on of the
colours almost at once, without any under preparation of
neuter tint. In landscape painting, the paper where the Sky.
sky is represented ought to be well soaked with water
from a sponge, and afterwards dried moderately with a
towel or piece of bibulous paper, to make the tints lie on
D R A
I Ly more solidly. The tints are then to be blended into each
|j other while the surface is damp, and this should be done
■31, ton. with large brushes. After the sky and distance are laid
in, the middle and foregrounds should be added, and the
I'd • details worked out as the taste or ability of the artist may
£n ici‘ lead him, for it is impossible to prescribe rules where no
two artists follow the same practice,
jjj.t. The appearance of air may be given to the distance by
pwjie. washes of ultramarine or other semi-transparent colours ;
and the spaces where sharp distinct lights are situated
may be scraped out with a pen-knife, or the touches may
be laid in with clean water, and after being allowed to
remain upon the paper for a minute or less, they may be
rubbed out with a piece of stale bread. Another mode of
leaving out the lights is to touch the places with pipe-clay,
used in a liquid state, with a camel’s hair pencil, and after
wards the colour may be freely laid over them; the parts
where the clay is laid have then only to be rubbed with
bread or Indian rubber, to remove the tint, and expose the
Itejoving clean paper. Should any error, either in outline or effect of
of -ons. chiar’ oscuro, have been committed, the whole space can
be removed with a sponge and water, without much injury
to the paper ; indeed many of the best artists of the pre¬
sent day rub out and lay in their colours almost alternately,
by which means a very great variety of surface and tint is
obtained which could not be effected by any other practice.
We have thus endeavoured to give what we hope will
be found a satisfactory account of practical drawing,
whether in chalk or water colour ; and it now remains for
us to recommend, for the student’s careful perusal, Leonar¬
do da Vinci the works of Sir Joshua Reynolds;
Burnet on Light and Shadow in Painting, on Colour in
Painting, on Composition in Painting ; the works of the old
masters, whether their drawings or etchings; and, above all,
Drjing the study of nature. Every one who has long been in the
fro na- habit of copying from drawings alone, of whatever descrip¬
tion, must have felt considerable diffidence in attempting
to draw from real objects or from nature. This arises
from the fear of being unable properly to reduce and hold
in their relative place, on a sheet of paper, the objects
which present themselves to the eye. To remove this
obstacle, we would recommend that too much should not
be attempted at the first, but the most simple subjects
chosen, and these represented in a careful manner; the
outline on the light side of the objects to be done in a de¬
licate manner, and that on the shadow side in a bold style,
and the shading to be also conducted upon similar prin¬
ciples. The most careful attention to representing the
various forrns should be practised in the outline, for on
the accuracy of it depends the balance or fitness of the
whole design or picture. By thus habituating the eye to
a correct delineation of the parts, it has little difficulty in
D R A 185
coming at the power of representing the general effect and Drayton,
appearance of the whole ; and thus a picture, whether con-
sisting of figures, rocks, trees, or marine objects, is managed
with comparative ease; while, on the other hand, when
a design has been commenced without due attention to
the outline and balance of the objects, a loose and disjoint¬
ed performance is produced.
Many other difficulties present themselves at first to the
anxious student, and not the most unimportant is the feel¬
ing which seizes him upon the contemplation of works of
excellence when seen in a finished form ; but let him not
despond, for much pains have been used, and great and
palpable errors committed, even by the most accomplished
masters, in the details of their works, which, the more ac¬
curate they are, the greater has been the.difficulty encoun¬
tered. As an illustration of this, we have thought it pro¬
per to direct attention to the variety of lines used to re¬
present the objects of Plate CXCIX., taken from a sketch
by Raffaelle. The subject is the study for a portion of the
picture of the School of Athens, and contains much valuable
information to the learner respecting the progress of this
great master in the management of his compositions, of one
of the most important of which this is the first rough sketch.
Description of the Plates.
Plate CXC. Initiatory lessons for drawing the various
parts of the face. bigs. 1, 2, 3, represent the human eye
in a variety of positions. Figs. 4 and 5 the nose. Figs.
6, 7, 8, the nose and mouth.
Plate CXCI. Second lesson. Figs. 1 and 2, the ear.
Figs. 3, 4, 5, studies of heads.
Plate CXCII. Plate of male and female hands in a
variety of positions, as represented in figures 1 to 11.
Plate CXCIII. contains eight figures or studies of the
human foot.
Plate CXCIV. Studies from the antique. Fig. 1, Tha¬
lia ; fig. 2, Clio; both examples of sitting figures. Fig.
3, Bacchus. Fig. 4, Venus of Arles. Fig. 5, a Discobolus.
Plate CXCV. Studies from the antique. Fig. 1, Her¬
cules and Telephus. Fig. 2, the Torso of Michel Angelo.
Fig. 3, Jason. Fig. 4, the Dying Gladiator.
Plate CXCVI. Studies from the antique. Fig. 1, Ve¬
nus de’ Medicis. Fig. 2, Venus of the Capitol.
Plate CXCVII. Study from the antique. Fig. 1, the
Apollo Belvidere.
Plate CXCVIII. Study from the antique. Fig. 1,
Group of the Laocoon.
Plate CXCIX. Specimen of sketching by Raphael.
Plate CC. Specimens of sketching by Claude Lorraine.
Plate CCI. Example of the mode of conducting a draw¬
ing in Indian ink, bistre, sepia, &c, from outline to finish¬
ed performance. (g. g. g.)
DRAY, a kind of cart used by brewers for carrying
barrels of beer or ale; also a sledge drawn without wheels,
Dray, among sportsmen, denotes squirrel nests built on
the tops of trees.
DRAYTON, Michael, an eminent English poet, was
born at Harshull, in the parish of Atherston, in 1563, and
was descended of an ancient family in Warwickshire. His
propensity to poetry showed itself even from his infancy ;
and we find that his principal poems had been published,
and he himself distinguished as a poet, by the time he had
attained about thirty years of age. It appears from his poem
of Moses s Birth and Miracles, that he was a spectator at
Dover of the Spanish Armada; and it is not improbable
that he was there engaged in some military employment.
It is certain, indeed, that, owing both to his merit as a
VOL. VIII.
writer and to his valuable qualities as a man, he was held in
high estimation, and warmly patronized by several person¬
ages of consequence, particularly by Sir Henry Goodere,
Sir Walter Aston, and the Countess of Bedford, to the first
of whom he owns himself indebted for the greater part of
his education, whilst by the second he was for many years
supported. Amongst his poems the most celebrated is the
Poly-Olhion, a chorographical description of England, with
its productions^ antiquities, and curiosities, in dodeca-
syllabic verse. This he dedicated to Prince Henry, by
whose encouragement it was written; and whatever may
be thought of the poetry, his descriptions are allowed to
be exact. In 1626 we find him styled poet-laureat in a
copy of verses written in commendation of Abraham Hol¬
land ; but as Ben Jonson then held that office, it is to be
2 A
186 D R E
Dreams, understood in a loose sense as a term of commendation ;
and, in fact, it was bestowed on others as well as Drayton,
without being confined strictly to the office commonly
known by that appellation. He died in 1631 ; and was
buried amongst the poets in Westminster Abbey, where
his bust is still to be seen, with an epitaph penned by Ben
Jonson.
DREAMS are all those thoughts which pass through
the mind, and those imaginary transactions in which we
often fancy ourselves engaged when in the state of sleep.
Scarcely any part of nature is less open to our obser¬
vation than the human mind in this state. The dreamer
himself cannot well observe the manner in which dreams
arise or disappear in his own mind. When he awakes, he
cannot recollect tjie circumstances of his dreams with suffi¬
cient accuracy. Were we to watch over him with the most
vigilant attention, we could not perceive with certainty
what emotions were excited in his mind, or what thoughts
passed through it, during his sleep. But though we could
ascertain these phenomena, many other difficulties would
still remain. What parts of a human being are active, and
what dormant, when he dreams? Why does he not al¬
ways dream while asleep ? Or why dreams he at all ? Do
any circumstances in our constitution, situation, and pecu¬
liar character, determine the nature of our dreams ?
In treating of this subject, we shall endeavour to lay be¬
fore our readers such facts as have been ascertained con¬
cerning dreaming, together with the most plausible con¬
jectures which have been offered to explain the pheno¬
mena of dreams.
- In dreaming we are not conscious of being asleep. This
is well known from a great variety of circumstances. When
awake, we often recollect our dreams; and we remember,
on such occasions, that whilst those dreams were passing
through our minds, it never occurred to us that we were
separated by sleep from the acfive world. Persons are
often observed to act and talk in dreaming as if they were
busily engaged in the intercourse of social life.
In dreaming we do not consider ourselves as witnessing
or bearing a part in a fictitious scene. We seem not to
be in a similar situation with the actors in a dramatic per¬
formance, or the spectators before whom they exhibit, but
engaged in the business of real life. All the varieties of
thought that pass through our minds when awake may also
occur in dreams; all the images which imagination presents
in the former state may be called up in the latter ; the same
emotions may be excited, and we are often actuated by
equal violence of passion ; none of the transactions in which
we are capable of engaging whilst awake is impossible in
dreams; in short, our range of action and observation is
as wide in the one state as in the other ; and whilst dream¬
ing, we are not sensible of any distinction between our
dreams and the events and transactions in which we are
actually concerned in our intercourse with the world.
It is said that all men are not liable to dream. Dr
Beattie, in a very pleasing essay on this subject, relates
that he knew a gentleman who never dreamed except
when his health was in a disordered state; and Locke
mentions that a certain person of his acquaintance was
almost a stranger to dreaming until the twenty-sixth year
of his age, when he began to dream in consequence of hav¬
ing had a fever. These instances, however, are too few,
and we have not been able to obtain more; and, besides,
it does not appear that those persons had always attended,
with the care of a philosopher making an* experiment, to
the circumstances of their sleep. They might dream, but
not recollect their dreams on awaking; and they might
both dream and recollect their dreams immediately upon
awaking, yet afterwards suffer the remembrance of them
to slip out of their memory. We do not advance this,
D R E
therefore, as a certain fact concerning dreaming; we are Dreat
rather inclined to consider it as a mistake. But though y
it appears to be by no means certain that any of the human
race are throughout the whole of life absolute strangers
to dreaming; yet it is well known that all men are not
equally liable to dream. The same person dreams more
or less at different times ; and as one person may be more
exposed than another to those circumstances which pro¬
mote this exercise of fancy, one person may therefore
dream more than another. The same diversity will natu¬
rally take place in this as in other accidents to which man¬
kind are in general liableN
Though in dreams imagination appears to be free from
all restraint, and indulges in the most wanton freaks, yet
it is generally agreed that the imaginary transactions of
the dreamer bear always some relation to his particular
character in the world, his habits of action, and the cir¬
cumstances of his life. The lover, we are told, dreams of
his mistress, the miser of his money ; the philosopher re¬
news his researches in sleep often with the same pain and
fatigue as when awake; and even the merchant at times
returns to balance his books, and computes the profits of
an adventure, when slumbering on his pillow. And not
only do the more general circumstances of a person’s life
influence one’s dreams ; the passions and habits are nearly
the same when asleep as when awake. A person whose
habits of life are virtuous, does not in his dreams plunge
into a series of crimes ; nor are the vicious reformed when
they pass into this imaginary world. The choleric man
finds himself offended by slight provocations in his dreams
as well as in his ordinary intercourse with the world; and
a mild temper continues pacific even in sleep.
The character of a person’s dreams is influenced by his
circumstances when awake in a still more unaccountable
manner. Certain dreams usually arise in the mind after
a person has been in certain situations. Dr Beattie re¬
lates that once, after riding thirty miles in a high wind,
he passed a part of the succeeding night in dreams be¬
yond description terrible. The state of a person’s health,
and the manner in which the vital functions are carried
on, have a considerable influence in determining the cha¬
racter of dreams. After too full a meal, or after eating
of an unusual sort of food, a person is very apt to be ha¬
rassed with uncomfortable dreams.
In dreaming, the mind for the most part carries on no
intercourse through the senses with surrounding objects.
Touch a person gently who is asleep, and he feels not the
impression. You may awake him by a smart blow; but
when the stroke is not sufficiently violent to awake him,
he remains insensible of it. We speak softly beside a per¬
son asleep, without fearing that he will overhear us. His
eyelids are shut; and even though light should fall upon
the eyeball, yet still his powers of vision are not wakened
to active exertion, unless the light be strong enough to
rouse him from sleep. He is insensible both to sweet and to
disagreeable smells. It is not easy to try whether his or¬
gans of taste retain their activity, without awakening him;
yet from analogy it may be presumed that these too are
inactive. With respect to the circumstances here enu¬
merated, it is indifferent whether a person be dreaming or
buried in deep sleep.
Yet there is one remarkable fact concerning dreaming,
which may appear contradictory of what has been here as¬
serted. In dreams we are liable not only to speak aloud
in consequence of the suggestions of imagination, but even
to get up and walk about, and engage in little enterprises,
without awaking. Now, as we are in this instance so
active, it seems that we cannot be then insensible of the
presence of surrounding objects. The sleep-walker is really
sensible in a certain degree of the presence of the objects
D R E
t jiams. around him ; but he does not attend to them with all their
circumstances, nor do they excite in him the same sensa¬
tions as if he were awake. He feels no terror on the brink
of a precipice, and in consequence of being free from fear,
he is also without danger in such a situation, unless sud¬
denly awaked. This is one of the most inexplicable phe¬
nomena of dreaming.
There is also another fact not quite consonant with what
has been above mentioned. It is said that in sleep a
person will continue to hear the noise of a cataract in the
neighbourhood, or regular strokes with a hammer, or any
similar sound sufficiently loud, and continued uninterrupt¬
edly from before the time of his falling asleep. We know
not whether he awakes on the sudden cessation of the noise;
but the fact is asserted on apparently sufficient evidence,
and it is curious. Even when awake, if very deeply intent
on any piece of study, or closely occupied in business,
the sound of a clock striking in the neighbourhood, or the
beating of a drum, will escape us unnoticed; and it is
therefore the more surprising that we should thus con¬
tinue sensible to sounds when asleep.
Not only do a person’s general character, habits of life,
and state of health, influence his dreams; but those con¬
cerns in which he has been most deeply interested during
the preceding day, and the views which have arisen most
frequently to his imagination, very often afford the subjects
of his dreams. When we look forward with anxious ex¬
pectation towards any future event, we are likely to dream
either of the disappointment or the gratification of our
wishes. If we have been engaged throughout the day either
in business or amusements which we have found exceed¬
ingly agreeable, or in a way in which we have been ex¬
tremely unhappy, either our happiness or our misery is
likely to be renewed in our dreams.
Though dreams have been regarded amongst almost all
nations of the world, at some periods of their history, as
prophetic of future events, yet it does not appear that
this popular opinion has ever been established on any good
grounds. Christianity, indeed, teaches us to believe that
the Supreme Being ma)r, and actually does, operate on
our minds, and influence at times the determinations of
our will, without making us sensible of the restraint to
which we are thus subjected ; and, in the same manner,
no doubt, the suggestions which arise to us in dreams may
be produced. The imaginary transactions in which we
are then engaged may be such as are actually to occupy
us in life; the strange and seemingly incoherent appear¬
ances which are presented to the mind’s eye in our dreams,
may allude to some events which are to befall ourselves or
others. It is therefore by no means impossible, or incon¬
sistent with the general analogy of nature, that dreams
should have a respect to futurity. We have no reason to
regard the dreams related in the Holy Scriptures as not
inspired by Heaven, nor to laugh at the idea of a prophetic
dream as absurd or ridiculous. At the same time, a mind
which, during its waking hours, is filled with anxious
thoughts and presentiments of the future, may 1'eproduce
these forebodings in its dreams, when the imagination acts
oyer again the scenes of the past day, embellished and
diversified with its own peculiar colouring; and as, from
the mere law of probabilities, the actual result must some¬
times correspond with the anticipative vision, and the
dream be realised by the event, the apparent prophetic
intimation is thus as much the consequence of natural
causes and of the ordinary workings of the mind, as any
of the phenomena which it exhibits. To accident alone
is to be ascribed that correspondence which, among the
uneducated or the unreflecting portion of mankind, pass¬
es for divination by means of supernatural agency; and
though the cases where it occurs are necessarily few, com-
A M S. 187
pared with those in which the event falsifies the prognos- Dreams,
tications of the dreamer, yet being calculated to make a
much stronger impression on the mind, they are remem¬
bered, whilst the others are forgotten ; and hence the ex¬
ception is, by a natural transition, converted into the rule.
Yet it would be too much to allow to dreams all that
importance which has been ascribed to them by the priest¬
hood among heathens, or by the vulgar among ourselves.
We know how easily ignorance imposes on itself, and what
arts imposture adopts to impose upon others. We cannot
trace any certain connection between our dreams and those
events to which the simplicity of the vulgar pretends that
they refer. And we cannot, therefore, if disposed to con¬
fine our belief to certain or probable truths, join with the
vulgar in believing them really referrible to futurity.
It appears that the brutes are also capable of dreaming.
The dog is often observed to start suddenly up in his
sleep, in a manner which cannot be accounted for in any
other way than by supposing that he is roused by some
impulse received in a dream. The same thing is observ¬
able of others of the inferior animals. That they should
dream, is not an idea inconsistent with what we know
of their economy and manners in general. We may there¬
fore consider it as a pretty certain truth, that many, if not
all, of the lower species are liable to dream, as well as
human beings.
It appears, then, that in dreaming we are not conscious
of being asleep; that to a person dreaming, his dreams
seem realities; that although it be uncertain whether
mankind are all liable to dream, yet it is well known that
they are not all equally liable to dream; that the nature
of a person’s dreams depends in some measure on his
habits of action, and on the circumstances of his life ; that
the state of the health, too, and the manner in which the
vital functions are carried on, have a powerful influence
in determining the character of a person’s dreams; that
in sleep and in dreaming, the senses are either absolutely
inactive, or nearly so; that such concerns as we have
been very deeply interested in during the preceding day,
are very likely to return upon our minds in dreams in the
hours of rest; that dreams may be rendered prophetic of
future events; that therefore, wherever we have such evi¬
dence of their having been prophetic as we would accept
on any other occasion, we cannot reasonably reject the fact
on account of its absurdity; that, however, they do not
appear to have been actually such, in those instances in
which the superstition of nations ignorant of true reli¬
gion has represented them as referring to futurity, nor in
those instances in which they are viewed in the same
light by the vulgar among ourselves; and, lastly, that
dreaming is not a phenomenon peculiar to human nature,
but common to mankind with the brutes.
We scarcely know of any other facts that have been
fully ascertained concerning dreaming. But we are by
no means sufficiently acquainted with this important phe¬
nomenon in the history of mind. We cannot tell by what
laws of our constitution we are thus liable to be so fre¬
quently engaged in imaginary transactions, nor what are
the particular means by which the delusion is accomplished.
The delusion is indeed remarkably strong. One will some¬
times have a book presented to him in a dream, and fancy
that he reads ; and actually enter into the nature of the *
imaginary composition before him, and even remember,
after he awakes, what he knows that he only fancied him¬
self reading. Can this be delusion ? If delusion, how or
for what purposes is it produced ? The mind, it would
appear, does not, in sleep, become inactive like the body,
or at least is not always inactive while we are asleep.
When we do not dream, the mind must either be inac¬
tive, or the connection between the mind and the body
188 D R E
Dreams, must be considered as in some manner suspended; and,
when we dream, the mind, though it probably acts in con¬
cert with the body, yet does not act in the same manner
as when we are awake. It seems to be clouded or be¬
wildered, in consequence of being deprived for a time of
the service of the senses. Imagination becomes more
active and more capricious; and all the other powers,
especially judgment and memory, get disordered and irre¬
gular in their operation.
Various theories have been proposed to explain what
appears here most inexplicable. Mr Baxter, in his trea¬
tise on the immateriality of the human soul, endeavours
to prove that dreams are produced by the agency of some
spiritual beings, who either amuse or employ themselves
seriously in engaging mankind in all those imaginary trans¬
actions with which they are employed in dreaming. This
theory, however, is far from being plausible. It leads us
entirely beyond the limits of our knowledge ; it requires
us to believe without evidence; it is unsupported by any
analogy ; and it creates difficulties still more inexplicable
than those which it has been proposed to remove. Until
it be made to appear that our dreams cannot possibly be pro¬
duced without the interference of spiritual agents, possess¬
ing such influence over our minds as to deceive us with
fancied joys, and to involve us in imaginary afflictions, we
cannot reasonably refer them to such a cause. Besides,
from the facts which have been stated as well known con¬
cerning dreams, it appears that their nature depends both
on the state of the human body and on that of the mind.
But were they owing to the agency of other spiritual
beings, how could they be influenced by the state of the
body with reference to health or sickness, fasting or re¬
pletion ? They must be a curious set of spiritual beings
who depend in such a manner on the state of our corpo¬
real frame. Better not to allow them existence at all, than
to place them in such a dependence.
Wolfius, and after him Formey, have supposed that
dreams never arise in the mind, except in consequence of
some of the organs of sensation having been previously ex¬
cited. Either the ear or the eye, or the organs of touch¬
ing, tasting, or smelling, communicate information in a
tacit and secret manner, and thus partly rouse its faculties
from the lethargy in which they are buried in sleep, and en¬
gage them in a series of confused and imperfect exertions.
But what passes in dreams is so very different from all that
we do when awake, that it is impossible for the dreamer
himself to distinguish whether his powers of sensation
perform any part on the occasion. It is not necessary
that imagination should be always excited by immediate
sensation. Fancy, even when we are awake, often wan¬
ders from the present scene. Absence of mind is incident
to the studious; the poet and the mathematician many
times forget where they are. We cannot discover from
any thing that a person in dreaming displays to the obser¬
vation of others, that his organs of sensation take part
in the imaginary transactions in which he is employed. In
those instances, indeed, in which persons asleep are said
to hear sounds, the sounds which they hear are said also
to influence in some manner the nature of their dreams.
But such instances are singular. Since then it appears
that the person who dreams is himself incapable of distin¬
guishing, either during his dreams, or by recollection when
awake, whether any new impressions are communicated
to him in that state by his organs of sensation ; that even
by watching over him, and comparing our observations of
his circumstances and emotions in his dreams with what
he recollects of them after awaking, we cannot, except in
one or two singular instances, ascertain this fact; and that
the mind is not wholly incapable of acting while the or¬
gans of sensation are at rest, and on many occasions re-
A M S. .
fuses to listen to the information which they convey; we Drea
may without hesitation conclude that the theory of Wol-
fius and Formey has been too hastily and incautiously ad¬
vanced.
Other physiologists tell us that the mind when we dream
is in a state of delirium. Sleep, they say, is attended with
what is called a collapse of the brain ; during which either
the whole or a part of the nerves of which it consists are
in a state in which they cannot carry on the usual inter¬
course between the mind and the organs of sensation.
When the whole of the brain is in this state, we become
entirely unconscious of existence, and the mind sinks into
inactivity; when only a part of the brain is collapsed, as
they term it, we are then neither asleep nor awake, but in
a sort of delirium between the two. This theory, like that
last mentioned, supposes the mind incapable of acting
without the help of sensation; it supposes that we know
the nature of a state of which we cannot ascertain the
phenomena; and it contradicts a well-known fact, in re¬
presenting dreams as confused images of things around us,
instead of fanciful combinations of things not existing to¬
gether in nature or in human life. For these reasons it
must be held as wholly inadmissible.
Of all the writers who have treated of this subject, how¬
ever, Mr Dugald Stewart is perhaps the only one who, by
concentrating the lights of a sound philosophy on the re¬
sults of refined and accurate observation, has been enabled
to classify the phenomena of dreams, and to introduce the
order of science into a department of speculative inquiry
where fancy had previously reigned paramount. “ Dreams,”
says Mr Addison, “ look like the relaxations and amuse¬
ments of the soul when she is disencumbered of her ma¬
chine ; her sports and recreations when she has laid her
charge asleep. The soul is clogged and retarded in her
operations when she acts in conjunction with a companion
that is so heavy and unwieldy in its motions ; but in dreams
she converses with numberless beings of her own creation,
and is transported into ten thousand scenes of her own
raising. She is herself the theatre, the actor, and the be¬
holder.” This description, which is not more beautiful
than true, will serve to convey some idea of the difficulties
of disentangling mental operations necessarily so complex,
and of keeping steadily in view the threefold character or
agency which the mind exhibits in dreaming; and as the
only approximation which has yet been made towards the
accomplishment of so interesting an object is contained in
Mr Stewart's section on the application of the principles
and laws of association to explain the phenomena of dream¬
ing (Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind, vol. i.
p. 327, sixth edition, Lond. 1818, 8vo), we conceive that
we cannot do better than subjoin this exquisite specimen
of philosophical acuteness and discrimination, in the au¬
thor’s own beautiful language.
“ With respect to the phenomena of dreaming,” says
Mr Stewart, “ three different questions may be proposed.
First, what is the state of the mind in sleep ? or, in other
words, what faculties then continue to operate, and what
faculties are then suspended? Secondly, how far do
our dreams appear to be influenced by our bodily sensa¬
tions ; and in what respects do they vary, according to
the different conditions of the body in health and in sick¬
ness? Thirdly, what is the change which sleep produces
on those parts of the body with which our mental opera¬
tions are more immediately connected; and how does this
change operate, in diversifying, so remarkably, the pheno¬
mena which our minds then exhibit, from those of which
we are conscious in our waking hours ? Of these three ques¬
tions, the first belongs to the philosophy of the human
mind; and it is to this question that the following inquiry
is almost entirely confined. The second is more particu-
D R E
DjWs- larly interesting to the medical inquirer, and does not pro-
perly fall under the plan of this work. The third seems
to me to relate to a subject which is placed beyond the
reach of the human faculties.
“ It will be granted, that, if we could ascertain the state
of the mind in sleep, so as to be able to resolve the vari¬
ous phenomena of dreaming into a smaller number of ge¬
neral principles; and still more, if we could resolve them
into one general fact; we should be advanced a very im¬
portant step in our inquiries upon this subject; even al¬
though we should find it impossible to show in what man¬
ner this change in the state of the mind results from the
change which sleep produces in the state of the body.
Such a step would at least gratify, to a certain extent,
that disposition of our nature which prompts us to ascend
from particular facts to general laws, and which is the
foundation of all our philosophical researches; and, in the
present instance, I am inclined to think that it carries us
as far as our imperfect faculties enable us to proceed.
“ In conducting this inquiry with respect to the state of
the mind in sleep, it seems reasonable to expect, that
some light may be obtained from an examination of the
circumstances which accelerate or retard its approach;
for when we are disposed to rest, it is natural to imagine
that the state of the mind approaches to its state in sleep
more nearly than when we feel ourselves alive and active,
and capable of applying all our various faculties to their
proper purposes.
“ In general, it may be remarked, that the approach of
sleep is accelerated by every circumstance which dimi¬
nishes or suspends the exercise of the mental powers,
and is retarded by every thing which has a contrary ten¬
dency. When we wish for sleep, we naturally endeavour
to withhold, as much as possible, all the active exertions
of the mind, by disengaging our attention from every in¬
teresting subject of thought. When we are disposed to
keep awake, we naturally fix our attention on some sub¬
ject which is calculated to afford employment to our in¬
tellectual powers, or to rouse and exercise the active prin¬
ciples of our nature.
“ It is well known that there is a particular class of sounds
which compose us to sleep. The hum of bees, the mur¬
mur of a fountain, the reading of an uninteresting dis¬
course, have this tendency in a remarkable degree. If
we examine this class of sounds, we shall find that it con¬
sists wholly of such as are fitted to withdraw the atten¬
tion of the mind from its own thoughts; and are, at the
same time, not sufficiently interesting to engage its atten¬
tion to themselves.
“ It is also matter of common observation, that children,
and persons of little reflexion, who are chiefly occupied
about sensible objects, and whose mental activity is in a
great measure suspended as soon as their perceptive pow¬
ers are unemployed, find it extremely difficult to continue
awake when they are deprived of their usual engagements.
I he same thing has been remarked of savages, whose time,
like that of the lower animals, is almost completely divid¬
ed between sleep and their bodily exertions.
“from a consideration of these facts, it seems reasonable
to conclude, that in sleep those operations of the mind are
suspended which depend on our volition; for if it be cer¬
tain, that before we fall asleep, we must withhold, as much
as we are able, the exercise of all our different powers, it is
scarcely to be imagined that, as soon as sleep commences,
these powers should again begin to be exerted. The
more probable conclusion is, that when we are desirous
to procure sleep, we bring both mind and body as nearly
as we can into that state in which they are to continue
alter sleep commences. The difference, therefore, be¬
tween the state of mind when we are inviting sleep, and
A M S. 189
when we are actually asleep, is this, that in the former Dreams,
case, although its active exertions be suspended, we can
renew them if we please. In the other case, the will loses
its influence over all our powers both of mind and body,
in consequence of some physical alteration in the system,
which we shall never probably be able to explain.
“ In order to illustrate this conclusion a little farther,
it may be proper to remark, that if the suspension of our
voluntary operations in sleep be admitted as a fact, there
are only two suppositions which can be formed concern¬
ing its cause. Ihe one is, that the power of volition is
suspended; the other, that the will loses its influence
over those faculties of the mind, and those members of
the body, which, during our waking hours, are subjected
to its authority. If it can be shown then that the former
supposition is not agreeable to fact, the truth of the latter
seems to follow as a necessary consequence.
“ 1- That the power of volition is not suspended during
sleep, appears from the efforts which we are conscious of
making while in that situation. We dream, for example,
that we are in danger, and we attempt to call out for as¬
sistance. The attempt indeed is in general unsuccessful,
and the sounds which we emit are feeble and indistinct;
but this only confirms, or rather is a necessary conse¬
quence of the supposition that, in sleep, the connexion
between the will and our voluntary operations is disturb¬
ed or interrupted. The continuance of the power of vo¬
lition is demonstrated by the effort, however ineffectual.
“ In like manner, in the course of an alarming dream,
we are sometimes conscious of making an exertion to save
ourselves, by flight, from an apprehended danger; but in
spite of all our efforts we continue in bed. In such cases
we commonly dream that we are attempting to escape,
and are prevented by some external obstacle; but the
fact seems to be, that the body is at that time not subject
to the will. During the disturbed rest which we some¬
times have when the body is indisposed, the mind appears
to retain some power over it; but as, even in these cases,
the motions which are made consist rather of a general
agitation of the whole system, than of the regular exer¬
tion of a particular member of it, with a view to produce
a certain effect, it is reasonable to conclude that, in per¬
fectly sound sleep, the mind, although it retains the pow¬
er of volition, retains no influence whatever over the bodi¬
ly organs.
“ In that particular condition of the system which is
known by the name of incubus, we are conscious of a total
want of power over the body; and I believe the common
opinion is, that it is this want of power which distinguishes
the incubus from all the other modifications of sleep. But
the more probable supposition seems to be, that every
species of sleep is accompanied with a suspension of the
faculty of voluntary motion ; and that the incubus has no¬
thing peculiar in it but this, that the uneasy sensations
which are produced by the accidental posture of the body,
and which we find it impossible to remove by our own
efforts, render us distinctly conscious of our incapacity to
move. One thing is certain, that the instant of our awak¬
ing, and of our recovering the command of our bodily or¬
gans, is one and the same.
“ 2. The same conclusion is confirmed by a different view
of the subject. It is probable, as was already observed,
that when we are anxious to procure sleep, the state into
which we naturally bring the mind approaches to its state
after sleep commences. Now it is manifest that the means
which nature directs us to employ on such occasions, is
not to suspend the power of volition, but to suspend the
exertion of those powers whose exercise depends on voli¬
tion. If it were necessary that volition should be sus¬
pended before we fall asleep, it would be impossible for
190
DREAMS.
Dreams.
us by our own efforts to hasten the moment of rest. The
very supposition of such efforts is absurd, for it implies a
continued will to suspend the acts of the will.
“ According to the foregoing doctrine with respect to
the state of the mind in sleep, the effect which is produced
on our mental operations is strikingly analogous to that
which is produced on our bodily powers. From the ob¬
servations which have been already made, it is manifest
that in sleep the body is, in a very inconsiderable degree,
if at all, subject to our command. The vital and involun¬
tary motions, however, suffer no interruption, but go on
as when we are awake, in consequence of the operation
of some cause unknown to us. In.like manner, it would
appear that those operations of the mind which depend on
our volition are suspended, while certain other operations
are at least occasionally carried on. This analogy natu¬
rally suggests the idea that all our mental operations
which are independent of our will may continue during
sleep, and that the phenomena of dreaming may perhaps
be produced by these, diversified in their apparent effects,
in consequence of the suspension of our voluntary powers.
“ If the appearances which the mind exhibits during
sleep are found to be explicable on this general principle,
it will possess all the evidence which the nature of the
subject admits of.
“It was formerly shown that the train of thought in the
mind does not depend immediately on our will, but is re¬
gulated by certain general laws of association. At the
same time it appeared, that among the various subjects
which thus spontaneously present themselves to our no¬
tice, we have the power of singling out any one that we
chuse to consider, and of making it a particular object of
attention; and that by doing so we not only can stop the
train that would otherwise have succeeded, but frequent¬
ly can divert the current of our thoughts into a new chan¬
nel. It also appeared that we have a power (which may
be much improved by exercise) of recalling past occur¬
rences to the memory by a voluntary effort of recollec¬
tion.
“ The indirect influence which the mind thus possesses
over the train of its thoughts is so great, that during the
whole time we are awake, excepting in those cases in
which we fall into what is called a reverie, and suffer our
thoughts to follow their natural course, the order of their
succession is always regulated more or less by the will.
The will, indeed, in regulating the train of thought, can
operate only (as 1 already showed) by availing itself of
the established laws of association ; but still it has the
power of rendering this train very different from what it
would have been if these laws had taken place without
its interference.
“ From these principles, combined with the general fact
which I have endeavoured to establish with respect to the
state of the mind in sleep, two obvious consequences fol¬
low. First, that when we are in this situation, the suc¬
cession of our thoughts, in so far as it depends on the laws
of association, may be carried on by the operation of the
same unknown causes by which it is produced while we
are awake; and, secondly, that the order of our thoughts
in these two states of the mind must be very different;
inasmuch as in the one it depends solely on the laws of
association; and in the other, on these laws combined
with our own voluntary exertions.
“ In order to ascertain how far these conclusions are
agreeable to truth, it is necessary to compare them with
the known phenomena of dreaming; for which purpose I
shall endeavour to show, first, that the succession of our
thoughts in sleep is regulated by the same general laws of
association to which it is subjected while we are awake;
and, secondly, that the circumstances which discriminate
dreaming from our waking thoughts are such as must ne- Drea
cessarily arise from the suspension of the influence of the wy
will.
“ I. That the succession of our thoughts in sleep is re¬
gulated by the same general laws of association which in¬
fluence the mind while we are awake, appears from the fol¬
lowing considerations.
“ 1. Our dreams are frequently suggested to us by bodily
sensations; and with these it is well known, from what
we experience while awake, that particular ideas are fre¬
quently very strongly associated. I have been told by a
friend, that having occasion, in consequence of an indis¬
position, to apply a bottle of hot water to his feet when
he went to bed, he dreamed that he was making a journey
to the top of Mount iEtna, and that he found the heat of
the ground almost insupportable. Another person, having
a blister applied to his head, dreamed that he was scalped
by a party of Indians. I believe every one who is in the
habit of dreaming will recollect instances, in his own case,
of a similar nature.
“ 2. Our dreams are influenced by the prevailing temper
of the mind, and vary in their complexion according as
our habitual disposition at the time inclines us to cheer¬
fulness or to melancholy. Not that this observation holds
without exception; but it holds so generally, as must con¬
vince us that the state of our spirits has some effect on
our dreams as well as on our waking thoughts. Indeed,
in the latter case, no less than in the former, this effect
may be counteracted or modified by various other circum¬
stances.
“ After having made a narrow escape from any alarming
danger, we are apt to awake in the course of our sleep with
startings, imagining that we are drowning, or on the brink
of a precipice. A severe misfortune, which has affected
the mind deeply, influences our dreams in a similar way,
and suggests to us a variety of adventures analogous in
some measure to that event from which our distress arises.
Such, according to Virgil, were the dreams of the forsaken
Dido.
“ 3. Our dreams are influenced by our prevailing habits
of association while awake.
“ In a former part of this work I considered the extent of
that power which the mind may acquire over the train of
its thoughts ; and I observed that those intellectual diver¬
sities among men, which we commonly refer to peculiari¬
ties of genius, are at least in a great measure resolvable
into dift'erences in their habits of association. One man
possesses a rich and beautiful fancy, which is at all times
obedient to his will. Another possesses a quickness of
recollection, which enables him at a moment’s warning to
bring together all the results of his past experience, and
of his past reflections, which can be of use for illustrating
any proposed subject. A third can without effort collect
his attention to the most abstract questions in philosophy;
can perceive at a glance the shortest and the most effec¬
tual process for arriving at the truth ; and can banish from
his mind every extraneous idea which fancy or casual as¬
sociation may suggest to distract his thoughts or to mis¬
lead his judgment. A fourth unites all these powers in a
capacity of perceiving truth with an almost intuitive ra¬
pidity, and in an eloquence which enables him to com-
mand at pleasure whatever his memory and fancy can
supply to illustrate and to adorn it. The occasional ex¬
ercise which such men make of their powers may undoubt¬
edly be said, in one sense, to be unpremeditated or un¬
studied ; but they all indicate previous habits of meditation
or study, as unquestionably as the dexterity of the expert
accountant, or the rapid execution of the professional
musician.
“ From what has been said, it is evident that a train of
j^rns. thought which in one man would require a painful effort
of study, may in another be almost spontaneous; nor is
it to be doubted that the reveries of studious men, even
when they allow, as much as they can, their thoughts to
follow their own course, are more or less connected toge¬
ther by those principles of association w’hich their favour¬
ite pursuits tend more particularly to strengthen.
“ The influence of the same habits may be traced dis¬
tinctly in sleep. There are probably few mathematicians
who have not dreamed of an interesting problem, and wdio
have not even fancied that they were prosecuting the in¬
vestigation of it with much success. They whose ambi¬
tion leads them to the study of eloquence are frequently
conscious, during sleep, of a renewal of their daily occu¬
pations; and sometimes feel themselves possessed of a
fluency of speech which they never experienced before.
The poet in his dreams is transported into Elysium, and
leaves the vulgar and unsatisfactory enjoyments of huma¬
nity, to dwell in those regions of enchantment and rapture
which have been created by the divine imaginations of
Virgil and of Tasso.
“ As a farther proof that the succession of our thoughts
in dreaming is influenced by our prevailing habits of asso¬
ciation, it may be remarked, that the scenes and occur¬
rences which most frequently present themselves to the
mind while we are asleep are the scenes and occurrences
of childhood and early youth. The facility of association
is then much greater than in more advanced years; and
although during the day the memory of the events thus
associated may be banished by the objects and pursuits
which press upon our senses, it retains a more permanent
hold of the mind than any of our subsequent acquisitions ;
and, like the knowledge which we possess of our mother
tongue, is, as it were, interwoven and incorporated with
all its most essential habits. Accordingly, in old men,
whose thoughts are in a great measure disengaged from
the world, the transactions of their middle age, which
once seemed so important, are often obliterated; while
the mind dwells, as in a dream, on the sports and the
companions of their infancy.
“ I shall only observe farther, on this head, that in our
dreams, as well as when awake, we occasionally make use
of words as an instrument of thought. Such dreams, how¬
ever, do not affect the mind with such emotions of plea¬
sure and of pain, as those in which the imagination is oc¬
cupied with particular objects of sense. The effect of
philosophical studies, in habituating the mind to the al¬
most constant employment of this instrument, and, of con¬
sequence, its effect in weakening the imagination, was
formerly remarked. If I am not mistaken, the influence
of these circumstances may also be traced in the history
of our dreams, which in youth commonly involve in a
much greater degree the exercise of imagination, and af¬
fect the mind with much more powerful emotions, than
when we begin to employ our maturer faculties in more
general and abstract speculations.
“ II. From these different observations wre are autho¬
rized to conclude, that the same laws of association which
regulate the train of our thoughts while we are awake,
continue to operate during sleep. I now proceed to con¬
sider how far the circumstances which discriminate dream¬
ing from our waking thoughts, correspond with those which
uiight be expected to result from the suspension of the
influence of the will.
“1. If the influence of the will be suspended during
sleep, all our voluntary operations, such as recollection,
reasoning, &c. must also be suspended.
“ That this really is the case, the extravagance and in¬
consistency of our dreams are sufficient proofs. We fre¬
quently confound together times and places the most re-
191
mote from each other; and, in the course of the same Dreams,
dream, conceive the same person as existing in different
parts of the w’orld. Sometimes we imagine ourselves con¬
versing with a dead friend, without remembering the cir¬
cumstance of his death, although perhaps it happened but
a few days before, and affected us deeply. All this proves
clearly that the subjects which then occupy our thoughts
are such as present themselves to the mind spontaneous^,
and that we have no power of employing our reason in
comparing together the different parts of our dreams, or
even of exerting an act of recollection, in order to ascer¬
tain how far they are consistent and possible.
The processes of reasoning in which we sometimes
fancy ourselves to be engaged during sleep, furnish no
exception to the foregoing observation ; for although every
process, the first time we form it, implies volition, and, in
particular, implies a recollection of the premises till we
arrive at the conclusion, yet when a number of truths have
been often presented to us as necessarily connected with
each other, this series may afterwards pass through the
mind according to the laws of association, without any
more activity on our part than in those trains of thought
which are the most loose and incoherent. Nor is this
mere theory. I may venture to appeal to the conscious¬
ness of every man accustomed to dream, whether his rea¬
sonings during sleep do not seem to be carried on without
any exertion of his will, and with a degree of facility of
which he was never conscious while awake. Mr Addison,
in one of his Spectators, has made this observation ; and
his testimony, in the present instance, is of the greater
weight, that he had no particular theory on the subject
to support. ‘ There is not,’ says he, ‘ a more painful
action of the mind than invention, yet in dreams it works
with that ease and activity that we are not sensible when
the faculty is employed. For instance, I believe every
one, some time or other, dreams that he is reading papers,
books, or letters; in which case the invention prompts so
readily, that the mind is imposed on, and mistakes its own
suggestions for the composition of another.’ No. 487.
“ 2. If the influence of the will during sleep be sus¬
pended, the mind will remain as passive, while its thoughts
change from one subject to another, as it does during
our waking hours, while different perceptible objects are
presented to our senses.
“ Of this passive state of the mind in our dreams it is
unnecessary to multiply proofs, as it has always been con¬
sidered as one of the most extraordinary circumstances
with which they are accompanied. If our dreams as well
as our waking thoughts were subject to the will, is it not
natural to conclude, that in the one case, as well as in the
other, we would endeavour to banish, as much as we could,
every idea which had a tendency to disturb us, and de¬
tain those only which we found to be agreeable ? So far,
however, is this power over our thoughts from being exer¬
cised, that we are frequently oppressed, in spite of all our
efforts to the contrary, with dreams which affect us with
the most painful emotions. And, indeed, it is matter of
vulgar remark, that our dreams are, in every case, invo¬
luntary on our part, and that they appear to be obtruded
on us by some external cause. This fact appeared so un¬
accountable to the late Mr Baxter, that it gave rise to his
very whimsical theory, in which he ascribes dreams to the
immediate influence of separate spirits on the mind.
“ 3. If the influence of the will be suspended during
sleep, the conceptions which we then form of sensible ob¬
jects will be attended with a belief of their real existence,
as much as the perception of the same objects is while we
are awake.
“ In treating of the power of Conception, I formerly ob¬
served, that our belief of the separate and independent
DREAMS..
,
192
DREAMS.
Dreams.
existence of the objects of our perceptions, is the result of
experience; which teaches us, that these perceptions do
not depend on our will. If I open my eyes, I cannot pre¬
vent myself from seeing the prospect before me. The
case is different with respect to our conceptions. While
they occupy the mind, to the exclusion of every thing else,
I endeavoured to shew that they are always accompanied
with belief; but as we can banish them from the mind,
during our waking hours, at pleasure, and as the mo¬
mentary belief which they produce is continually checked
by the surrounding objects of our perceptions, we learn to
consider them as fictions of our own creation, and, ex¬
cepting in some accidental cases, pay no regard to them
in the conduct of life. If the doctrine, however, formerly
stated with respect to conception be just, and if, at the
same time, it be allowed that sleep suspends the influence
of the will over the train of our thoughts, we should na¬
turally be led to expect, that the same belief which accom¬
panies perception while we are awake, should accompany
the conceptions which occur to us in our dreams. It is
scarcely necessary for me to remark, how strikingly this
conclusion coincides with acknowledged facts.
“ May it not be considered as some confirmation of the
foregoing doctrine, that when opium fails in producing
complete sleep, it commonly produces one of the effects
of sleep, by suspending the activity of the mind, and throw¬
ing it into a reverie; and that while we are in this state,
our conceptions frequently affect us nearly in the same
manner as if the objects conceived were present to our
senses ?
“ Another circumstance with respect to our conceptions
during sleep deserves our notice. As the subjects which
we then think upon occupy the mind exclusively, and
as the attention is not diverted by the objects of our ex¬
ternal senses, our conceptions must be proportionably live¬
ly and steady. Every person knows how faint the con¬
ception is which we form of any thing with our eyes open,
in comparison of what we can form with our eyes shut;
and that in proportion as we can suspend the exercise of
all our other senses, the liveliness of our conception in¬
creases. To this cause is to be ascribed, in part, the effect
which the dread of spirits in the dark has on some per¬
sons who are fully convinced in speculation that their ap¬
prehensions are groundless; and to this also is owing the
effect of any accidental perception in giving them a mo¬
mentary relief from their terrors. Hence the remedy
which nature points out to us when we find ourselves over¬
powered by imagination. If every thing around us be
silent, we endeavour to create a noise by speaking aloud
or beating with our feet; that is, we strive to divert the
attention from the subjects of our imagination by present¬
ing an object to our powers of perception. The con¬
clusion which I draw from these observations is, that as
there is no state of the body in which our perceptive
powers are so totally unemployed as in sleep, it is natural
to think that the objects which we conceive or imagine
must then make an impression on the mind beyond com¬
parison greater than any thing of which we can have ex¬
perience while awake.
“ From these principles may be derived a simple, and, I
think, a satisfactory explanation of what some writers have
represented as the most mysterious of all the circumstances
connected with dreaming; the inaccurate estimates we
are apt to form of time while we are thus employed—an
inaccuracy which sometimes extends so far as to give to a
single instant the appearance of hours, or perhaps of days.
A sudden noise, for example, suggests a dream connected
with that perception; and the moment afterwards this
noise has the effect of awaking us; and yet during that Dr( s
momentary interval a long series of circumstances has„
passed before the imagination. The story quoted by Mr
Addison (Spectator, No. 94) from the Turkish Tales, of
the miracle wrought by a Mahometan doctor to convince
an infidel sultan, is in such cases nearly verified.
“ The facts I allude to at present are generally explained
by supposing that, in our dreams, the rapidity of thought
is greater than while we are awake; but there is no ne¬
cessity for having recourse to such a supposition. The
rapidity of thought is at all tiipes such, that in the twink¬
ling of an eye, a crowd of ideas may pass before us to
which it would require a long discourse to give utterance;
and transactions may be conceived which it would require
days to realize. But in sleep the conceptions of the mind
are mistaken for realities ; and therefore our estimates of
time will be formed, not according to our experience of
the rapidity of thought, but according to our experience
of the time requisite for realizing what we conceive.
Something perfectly analogous to this may be remarked
in the perceptions we obtain by the sense of sight. When
I look into a show-box, where the deception is imperfect,
I see only a set of paltry daubings of a few inches diame¬
ter ; but if the representation be executed with so much
skill as to convey to me the idea of a distant prospect,
every object before me swells in its dimensions, in propor¬
tion to the extent of space which I conceive it to occupy;
and what seemed before to be shut up within the limits
of a small wooden frame, is magnified, in my apprehension,
to an immense landscape of woods, rivers, and mountains.
“ The phenomena which we have hitherto explained take
place when sleep seems to be complete ; that is, when the
mind loses its influence over all those powers whose ex¬
ercise depends on its will. There are, however, many
cases in which sleep seems to be partial; that is, when the
mind loses its influence over some powers, and retains it
over others. In the case of the somnambuli, it retains its
power over the limbs, but it possesses no influence over
its own thoughts, and scarcely any over the body, except¬
ing those particular members of it which are employ¬
ed in walking. In madness, the power of the will over
the body remains undiminished, while its influence in
regulating the train of thought is in a great measure sus¬
pended, either in consequence of a particular idea, which
engrosses the attention, to the exclusion of every thing
else, and which we find it impossible to banish by our
efforts, or in consequence of our thoughts succeeding each
other with such rapidity that we are unable to stop the
train. In both of these kinds of madness, it is worthy of
remark, that the conceptions or imaginations of the mind
becoming independent of our will, they are apt to be mis- j
taken for actual perceptions, and to affect us in the same
manner.”
Some very beautiful fables have been written both by
ancients and moderns in the form of dreams. The Som-
nium Scipionis, for instance, is perhaps one of the finest
of Cicero’s compositions. He who shall carefully peruse
this piece, with Macrobius’s commentary thereupon, will
undoubtedly acquire a considerable knowledge of ancient
philosophy. In the periodical publications which early
diffused so much elegant and useful knowledge throughout
Britain, the Tatlers, Spectators, Guardians, and the like,
we find a number of excellent dreams. Addison excelled
in this line of writing; his Vision of Mirza is a master¬
piece of its kind. But the public are now less partial to
this species of composition than they formerly were : writ¬
ings purely imaginative, having ceased to be relished, are
no longer produced.
.
’
193
DREDGING,
C jging. Is a term used to express the important operation in the
practice of the engineer, of removing deposited matters
from the beds of navigable rivers, harbours, canals, and
basins.
Ti; pro- In describing the several methods by which dredging
ce: of silt-]ias been successfully employed, it is not our intention to
in! enter into geological discussions regarding the ultimate
tendency of the process of deposition; but we cannot al¬
low it to pass without at least hinting at its original cause,
a knowledge of which may lead the inexperienced prac¬
titioner more readily to the proper means of removing an
evil so generally complained of in our most secure and
sheltered harbours. If the universal tendency to waste
and decay in the higher lands, from the agency of mois¬
ture, heat, and frost, be considered, we shall find that
every rill of water must carry along with it a portion of
separated matter. These rivulets being so many tribu¬
tary streams to the great rivers which form the drainage
of vast tracts of country, we need not be surprised to find
that the beds and embouchures of the Scheldt, the Meuse,
the Rhine, and the Elbe, or of the Thames, the Humber,
the Tay, and other great tributaries to the German
Ocean, should be variously silted up; and that even this
great basin itself should be much encumbered by nume¬
rous banks of deposited matters. To the agency of these,
combined with the eifects of cross-running tides, we as¬
cribe the existence of the Dogger Banks, the Yarmouth
Sands, the Flemish Banks, and even the great platforms
of Holland, and the opposite planes of the Fens of Lin¬
coln.
There is also a marked difference to be noticed in the
separation and distribution of these matters of deposition.
In those rivers which flow with a very gentle current to¬
ward the sea, fine silt, or what is sometimes termed ouse,
is produced ; while rivers of greater fall, and consequent¬
ly of more velocity, carry forward the grosser particles
proportionally farther from their embouchures. Another
circumstance which deserves our notice is the greater
specific gravity of salt water than fresh, which (as has
been ascertained by the writer of this article, on the Dee
at Aberdeen, and other rivers where he has made obser¬
vations) preserve their course in distinct films, the salt
water under the fresh. The salt water thus flows up the
courses of the respective rivers to an extent correspond¬
ing to the fall of their beds and the rise of the tide. A
considerable portion of the heavier matters, as gravel and
sand, are arrested in their progress sea-ward, where the
current is languid ; while the lighter particles floating at
or near the surface are either borne along with the stream
into the expanse of the ocean, or settle in the eddy-wa¬
ters. In this way the projecting obstacles along the mar¬
gin are formed, and thus accumulate in the form of sand
banks and small islets; the creeks and sinuosities are also
silted up, and too often render the connecting harbours
and shipping places so shallow, as to be unfit for the pur¬
poses of floating ships of burden. To such a degree has
this been experienced in some situations, as, for example,
Sandwich in Kent, that this ancient sea-port is left almost
in the state of an inland town; while other ports have
been more or less deteriorated. Importance is therefore
justly attached to such means as may be instrumental in
counteracting or preventing the tendency of this process
of silting. \Ye shall accordingly direct the attention of
our readers to some of those means, both natural and ar¬
tificial.
VOL. VIII.
. Where recourse can be had to natural means in keep-Dredainsr.
ing a navigable channel clear, they will always be found v-O
preferable to those which are artificial. The great agent Natural
laid to our hand by nature for this purpose is the judi- means °f
cious use and application of the drainage waters of the^re^n^‘
connecting district, and the preservation of the full and
ample flow of the tide waters. But in many instances
these means are tampered with, and rendered ineffectual,
by the reckless thirst of acquiring land at the expense or
by the exclusion of the back-waters arising from the flow
of the tide. Notwithstanding all that can be said by pro¬
fessional men upon the subject, this practice prevails in
many parts of the united kingdom to a frightful extent.
With a view to put a stop to this, an act (in which the
late eminent engineer Mr Rennie, and the writer of this
article, had some connection) which originated with the
admiralty, was passed in 1806, entitled “ An act for the
preservation of public harbours of the united kingdom,”
Geo. III. cap. 153. But this act wants amendment, and has
been rarely acted upon, especially to the extent contem¬
plated by Earl Grey, then Lord Harwich, and first lord
of the admiralty.
In noticing the natural means of cleaning harbours, we Montrose
cannot perhaps better illustrate the subject than by refer-basin,
ence to Montrose, in Forfarshire, where some of the con¬
terminous proprietors have from time to time proposed to
make firm ground of part of the great natural basin con¬
nected with the harbour of that port. This basin is
flooded every tide to the extent of about five square miles,
and is estimated, especially in spring-tides, to contain
about fifty-five millions of cubic yards of the back-waters
of the tide, which passing four times in the twenty-four
hours through this harbour, produces so powerful a cur¬
rent that the shifting sand-bank at the entrance, called
the Annet, is prevented from being thrown across the
mouth of it in gales of easterly wind. In this state of
the weather the Annet-bank has a continual tendency
westward, while the back-waters of this great natural ba¬
sin check its progress, and not only keep the navigation
open, but are sufficient to preserve a considerable depth
in it during the lowest tides.
In the course of forming the bold design of opening a Lake Lo-
harbour near Lowestoffe, and carrying an inland naviga-thing,
tion to the mercantile city of Norwich, Mr Cubit the en¬
gineer projected an entrance to this harbour, with a pair
of gates measuring fifty feet in width, and of a depth so
considerable that their ground-sill is sunk about twelve
feet under low water of spring-tides, the rise of which
upon this coast is very limited: the gates are laid at this
depth, so as to be capable of receiving the largest class
of mercantile ships. They are also ingeniously contrived
for letting off the head-waters of Lake Lothing. This ex¬
tensive sheet of water, which pervades a great portion of
the lower district of Suffolk, is to be used as back-water
to scour and keep the entrance of the harbour open against
the effects of storms from the east sea acting upon the
sand banks which so much encumber this part of the
coast. This great work is only in the progress of being
executed, but very sanguine expectations are entertained
of its success.
In the improvement of the navigation of the river Clyde, The river
the means resorted to have been those of narrowing the Clyde,
channel and confining the current; and these have been so
successful that a depth of about ten feet has been obtain¬
ed, instead of only five feet as formerly, by which the trade
2 £
194
Dredging, and commerce of the city of Glasgow derive the most de-
cided advantages. Formerly only barges came up to t e
city, now sea-borne ships from all quarters or the globe
are seen at its quays. But in forming a design upon the
principle of narrowing the channel of a river, and thereby
shutting out a portion of the tide waters, several elements
connected with the local circumstances of the place re¬
quire to be carefully weighed before attempting to lessen
the capacity or water-way of a river. Much depends on
the level or rise of the bed of the river, the perpendicu¬
lar rise of the tide on the coast, the situation ot its em¬
bouchure, and other circumstances which favourably and
fortunately present themselves upon the Clyde. The ap-
DREDGING.
and various other simple implements, suited to local cir- Dre
%
cumstances, are sometimes employed by manual labour, ^ C
diere the bottom is sufficient-
and also with horse power, where the bottom is sufficient
ly firm to admit of the necessary trackage. Nor must we
omit to mention the use of the common wheelbarrow and
spade so much used in operations of this kind.
The spoon dredging apparatus, with its boat, as repre- Spo
sented in Plate CCV., fig. 13, is of long standing, ancldmls
was probably first used by the Dutch, who still apply itaPP is,
extensively. It is also much employed upon the river
Thames, for lifting ballast and deepening the navigation of
that greatest of all commercial rivers. Referring to fig.
13, the reader will at once comprehend the construction
plication of the steam tug-boat, in towing vessels through and application of this simple apparatus. The boats for
^ i l_ 1 nf* tllP most Sfi-
non har
hour.
narrow channels, has removed objections of the most se
rious nature upon this navigation.
Ballvshan- Many other circumstances might be adduced to show the
advantages of supplying the natural means in our power
to the scouring of navigable tracks, dhe writer of this ar¬
ticle has now (1833) under consideration the improvement
of the harbour of Ballyshannon, in the county of Donegal,
which possesses the natural means to an immense extent
of clearing its embouchure, having almost the entiie drain¬
age waters of the county of Fermanagh collected in Lough
Erne, which extend to about fifty miles in length, and in
some places three miles in breadth, the entire overflow of
which passes over the bar of Ballyshannon harbour.
The most eminent engineers, both of our own country
and of France, have introduced scouring basins into their
  a—a- designs of tide harbours. Mr Smeaton constructed a tide- _
' basin of this kind at Ramsgate in Kent, where the silt of is dropped by the flap-door, marked letter A, as repre-
itamsgate. ^ harbour is loosened by artificial means, and sented in the figure. In some circumstances, also, the
Artificial
means of
dredging.
this purpose vary in size according to the situation in
which they are to be worked, say from twenty to sixty
tons burden. They are built to float upon an easy draught
of water, and are sometimes flush-decked, carrying their
cargo wholly upon deck; but for the greater part, and
especially those of the larger size, they are in the state of
open boats, with a kind of inner sole or floor. When the
excavated matters are not to be employed in banking on
the sides of the river, or ballasting ships, the boat is
formed with a kind of hopper-hold, somewhat upon the
principle of the fishing smacks with wells, being conve¬
nient for getting quit of the stuff in deep water. In this
case a hold of two compartments, one fore and one aft,
are formed, as represented by the dark shading and dot¬
ted lines in fig. 13. Each of these hoppers has an aper¬
ture or opening in the bottom, through which the stuff
Dover.
dredged into the tracks or courses of water issuing from
the sluices of an artificial tide-basin. By this means a
considerable portion of the deposited stuff is carried out
of the harbour into deep water. It is, however, to be re¬
gretted that there is not a more extensive collection of
back-waters here, as, from its very circumscribed position,
that eminent engineer was prevented from enlarging his
scouring basin to a sufficient extent to ensure the best ef¬
fects of his design.
At Dover there is a good example of artificial scouring
upon a small scale. This harbour is often choked up in a
single tide, with the debris of the heights of Dover, and
with the flinty gravel which surrounds this coast. Upon
these occasions, the back-waters of an adjoining basin are
conducted in great cast-iron pipes of about three feet in
diameter. The water issuing from these pipes is made to
act upon a system of temporary weirs, consisting of deal-
boards set on edge, which are shifted about at pleasure
in different directions, so as to bring the water from the
sluices to bear upon the gravel; and it is astonishing with
what facility the entrance *to this harbour is by these
means cleaned and rendered accessible to the packets,
from a state of being quite shut up.
In extensive plans of docks for floating ships much use
is or may be made of a system of soughs or sluices for
scouring or floating away mud. By opening these sluices
from one dock into another, as is done by Mr Hartley,
engineer for the Liverpool docks, the advantages of such a
command of head-water is attended with the most bene¬
ficial effects, both for clearing the several docks, and also
the outer harbours or receiving basins of this great port.
The common plough and harrow, differing very little
from their ordinary construction, and also a kind of frame
ments, &c. 0f timber shod with plate iron, and provided with stilts or
handles somewhat like a great shovel, are often used for
loosening and dredging stuff within reach of removal by a
stream of back-water, with which it is afterwards floated
out of the respective harbours or navigable tracks. These
Liverpool
docks.
stuff is received into a system of sheet-iron boxes, and
lifted out of the boat by a tackle, to be emptied. The
spoon or shovel, marked letter B, which accompanies
these boats, consists of a strong ring or hoop of malleable
iron, the cutting part of which is of steel, and is about six
or seven feet in circumference, properly formed for dredg¬
ing upon soft mud or gravelly ground. To this ring a
large bag made of bullocks’ hide, but more generally of
tanned leather, is strongly attached with thongs. The
bag is perforated with a number of small holes for allow¬
ing the water to drain off, and its capacity may be about
four or five cubic feet. A pole of from thirty to forty
feet in length is fixed to the spoon, or rather two poles
are so laid together with hoops and rings as to be length¬
ened or shortened at pleasure, to suit the depth of water in
which the apparatus is required to work. A rope is also
attached to the bottom of the bag, for directing its position
at the commencement of each operation. This apparatus is
generally worked with a chain or rope, brought from the
spoon to a winch, worked with wheel and pinion, through
a block suspended from a small crane used for hauling the
bag and its contents along with the progress of the boat,
and in lifting the spoon over the gunwale to be emptied
into the hopper of the boat. The purchase-rope is led
along the deck to the winch, by a snatch-block placed in
a proper direction for this purpose. The boat is moored
at the head and stern, and its berth may be shifted at plea-
These boats are generally managed and worked
Dredging
imple-
with from two to four men, who with this simple appara¬
tus can lift in a tide from twenty to sixty tons of stuff
from the bottom, at the depth of two and a half or three
fathoms, when the ground is somewhat loose, and favour¬
able for the operation. In Holland this apparatus, and all
these simple modes of dredging, are much practised upon
the extensive flats at the entrance of their great naviga¬
ble rivers, in connection with the sluices and natural cur¬
rents issuing from their extensive basins and canals. On
the British coast, dredging, when carried on to any extent,
DREDGING.
195
is now confined chiefly to the spoon and bucket machines; are connected at the stern by four strong timbers, placed Dredging,
and here steam, wherever it can be applied, is the great across the well, and immediately above the keel. Upon
moving power. In Holland the excavated matter is very these, timbers are placed in sloping directions for support-
generally of a mossy description, which, after being strong- ing the planking. This vessel draws only four feet of water,
]y compressed in moulds by that industrious people, is in but the bucket frame can be lowered so as to dredge in
a state to be speedily used as turf fuel. On the Thames a depth of fifteen feet. The steam engine is of the usual
the spoon dredging machine is conducted upon a large form of marine condensing engines; the diameter of the
scale, and in the most systematic manner, under the im- cylinder is twenty-four inches, and the length of the stroke
thirty-one inches, being equal to the power of about six¬
teen horses. From the nature of the process of dredging,
the resistance is extremely irregular, causing violent
shocks; and therefore malleable instead of cast iron is
used as much as possible in the construction of the mov¬
ing parts. For the same reason a heavy fly-wheel be-
mediate direction of the Trinity Board. The stuff brought
from the bottom consists chiefly of mud and gravel. This
is not only a useful operation for deepening and preserving
the navigation, but the stuff itself is sold to good advan¬
tage as ballast for shipping. To such an extent is this
carried, that the colliers, or shipping from London to New¬
castle, have raised ballast hills in the neighbourhood of comes necessary, to regulate the motion. As a vessel of
Shields, which from their vast extent have become objects this description, in a tide harbour, must frequently get a-
of no small curiosity. ground in places where it is unequal, the whole machi-
In proportion as the commerce of a country extends, its nery is liable to be strained. On this account it is neces-
ships increase in their dimensions, and a greater depth of sary that all pipes connected with the engine should be
water is consequently required to float them; and hence of copper, and for the same reason every facility is given
greater difficulty and expense attends the construction and for disengaging the parts of the machinery, to prevent
preservationofharboursfor their accommodation. To effect fracture or derangement. From the corrosive nature of
these objects, and especially to obtain a greater depth of the stagnant water in harbours, which must be used for
water, recourse has been had to various means, such as condensing, it is necessary to line or case the air-pump
the extension of piers, the formation of breakwaters, and
deepening by means of the process of dredging now de¬
scribed. These simple modes have, however, been suc¬
ceeded by a still more powerful engine termed the bucket
dredging machine.
Since the date of the last edition of this work, very con¬
siderable improvements have been effected in the system
of dredging, both by the application of the power of steam,
and the form and construction of the apparatus itself, as
well as that of the vessel containing it. The machine is said
to have been first worked by men only: when the principles
upon which it acts were more fully ascertained, horses were
employed, and worked round a covered gin-track or cir¬
cular path within the boat. A machine of this description,
worked by horse power, was used for some years at the
with copper or brass, and also to make the buckets, air-
pump, valves, and rod, of the same metal. It has been
observed that cast iron wastes more rapidly when exposed
to the action of this harbour-water than in the open sea.
Subjoined are the dimensions of some of the principal
parts of the engine. These, to the practical engineer, may
hardly seem to be necessary; but as the Aberdeen ma¬
chine has been found to answer every expectation, and as
it appears to the writer to be similar to those so success¬
fully employed on the river Clyde, it may be of conse¬
quence to the general reader to know, from such data,
the proper strength and size for its different parts. This
engine is set upon a cast-iron cistern, measuring three
feet in width, and prolonged as far as to contain the air-
pump, foot-valve, and condenser. The cistern and cylin-
port of Greenock, though it was there ultimately found der, set on the top, are strongly bolted down through the
more suitable and expedient to resort to manual labour,
applied by crane-work with wheel and pinion. Perhaps,
in all situations where fuel is very expensive, and where
the work is not of sufficient extent for the full employ¬
ment of steam, it will be found better, in a process of this
kind, to employ manual labour than horses, which, from
the circumscribed and hampered nature of the track on
bottom of the vessel. On the top of the cistern the co¬
lumns of support for the fly-wheel shaft are set at a suffi¬
cient height to connect with the dredge-gearing, which is
stayed by a circular entablature, as represented in the
plan of the engine at letter a. It has also a diagonal stay,
securely bolted to a bracket, cast on the side of the cylin¬
der. The side levers of the engine are seven feet eight
board of the vessel, must be very disadvantageous, as ex- and a fourth inches long; between centres one and three-
perience has shown on the Clyde. Indeed, the only ques- fourth inches thick of plate, and three and three-fourth
tion seems to be, in such cases where steam cannot be inches thick on the back; fifteen inches broad in the
profitably employed, whether it were not better to use the middle, with forked ends one and three-fourth inches
spoon apparatus, as upon the Thames, where manual la- thick, for laying hold of the cross-rail and cylinder side-
hour is at the highest rate. rods. The cylinder cross-head is seven and a half inches
In this article we shall give a minute detail of one of the deep at the middle, tapering to four inches where the
best and latest constructed dredging machines, employed side-rods are attached, and five and a fourth inches in
by Messrs Gibb upon the harbour works of Aberdeen. This diameter at the eye, and two inches in thickness. The
machine was entirely constructed by Messrs John Duff’us cross-head of the air-pump is four and a half inches dia-
and Company of that port, both as regards the vessel and meter at the eye, five and a half inches deep, and one and
the machinery. In describing it we refer to Plates CCIV. three-fourth inches thick. The cylinder side-rods are two
and CCV. Fig. 1, Plate CCIV., represents a longitudi- and one-eighth inches diameter at each end, and two and
nal section of the vessel, exposing to view an elevation two-eighth inches at the middle. The side-rods of the
of the steam-engine and bucket apparatus, with its frame- air-pump are finished with forked ends, for embracing the
work. The ground to be dredged is also shown, with the side-lever centre on each side, and fitted with straps and
buckets in contact, and the attendant barge astern. Fig. 2 braces. The main centres are four and five-eighth inches
is a plan of the vessel and machinery. Her extreme length diameter, keyed into the side levers. The parallel motion
as taken by measurement is ninety feet, and the extreme is constructed with radius and parallel boxes, as is usual
breadth twenty-two feet; the length of the ark or well in this description of engine. The connecting-rod is of
which contains the bucket-frame is fifty-four feet, and its malleable iron, three inches diameter at both ends, and
width four feet one inch in the clear. The after-part of three and three-fourth inches at the centre, fitted into the
the vessel being thus formed into two compartments, these eye of the cross-tail with a gib and cutter. The fly-wheel
196
DREDGING.
Dredging, is ten feet three inches in diameter, and eight inches deep
by four inches broad in the rim, as represented in dotted
lines upon the cross section of the vessel, fig. 3, Plate
CCV., and at fig. 1, Plate CCIV. The shaft is of cast iron,
seven and three-fourth inches diameter. The engine is
also provided with a governor and its necessary connec¬
tions, and is driven from the fly-wheel shaft by means of
a pulley and belt.
The boiler, marked c, fig. 1, Plate CCIV., is of iron, mea¬
suring ten feet four inches across the end, eight feet four
inches long, and four feet eight inches in height in the
middle, with two furnaces two feet three inches wide.
The water-ways between the flues are four inches wide,
and the flues fifteen and a half inches, making one and a
half turns in the length of the boiler. The sides and tops
of the furnaces, the bottoms and sides of the flues, are
three eighths of an inch thick, and the top half an inch in
thickness. The copper steam-pipes are of the thickness
No. 10 on the wire-guage, the funnel a of the engine is
two feet in diameter and twenty-five feet in height, made
of plate-iron an eighth of an inch in thickness.
Fig. 3, Plate CCV., represents a cross section of the ves¬
sel accurately drawn to the scale, showing its outline, and
the manner in which it is constructed. The machinery is
supported upon the three keels ABC of the vessel by their
respective keelsons, or beams placed immediately over
them. The bottom of the vessel is further supported by
the like means, DD. The central keel extends only to
the fore part of the ark or well. This cross section also
exhibits an elevation of the train of wheels for raising and
lowering the bucket-frame. From the main spur-wheel
on the lying shaft, marked E, fig. 3, Plate CCV., down to
the lowest wheel on the same shaft, with the chain-barrel,
marked L, the connection is in the following order. The
main spur-wheel is of that description called a mortise-
wheel: it is eight feet in diameter, constructed in a very
ingenious manner, to revolve upon a friction nave as fol¬
lows : The nave is three feet seven inches in diameter,
smoothly turned on the circumference, and fixed to the
lying shaft with keys. The wheel is also particularly
turned in the eye to coincide with the nave, and is fur¬
nished with eight pincing plates and screws markedy, for
tightening it at pleasure, and made to pass with sufficient
force upon the nave, in order to carry the spur-wheel
round in its fair work along with it; but if overstrained, it
immediately slips, and thereby any injurious consequences
to the apparatus are prevented. The cogs or teeth of
this wheel are made of hard wood; all the teeth of the
other wheels are made of cast iron. The spur-pinion g,
the half of which only is shown, is on the same shaft with
the fly, as is also the small spur-wheel h. The pinion g
works in the main spur-wheel, and is three feet six inches
in diameter. The small spur-wheel A, the half of which
only is shown, connects the engine and the other wheels
for working the chain-barrel: it is three feet seven and a
half inches in diameter, and works in the wheel i, measur¬
ing four feet two and three fourth inches in diameter. On
the shaft of the last-mentioned wheel, which is four and
an eighth inches square, there is fixed a pinion j, of one
foot three inches diameter, working in the wheel K, which
is three feet eleven inches in diameter; and on the same
shaft there is fixed a wheel /, two feet six inches in dia¬
meter, working in another wheel L, which is four feet ten
inches in diameter: it is fixed upon the shaft that carries
the purchase chain-barrel, and is the last wheel of the
train. The barrel of cast iron, Plate CCIV., fig. 1 and 2,
measures five feet ten inches in length within the flanges,
two feet in diameter, and two feet eight inches over the
flanges. It makes six and one tenth revolutions in one
minute, being equal to thirty-eight strokes of the piston.
This barrel is provided with an offset-clutch, for engaging Bred
and disengaging it from the engine, for the purpose ofv ]
raising and lowering the bucket-frame; and as a precau¬
tion against accident, this clutch is provided with a fric¬
tion-nave similar to that already described for the main
spur-wheel. This becomes indispensably necessary in
situations like that of Aberdeen, where tree-roots, stones,
or the like, obstruct the buckets. The machinery would
otherwise run great risk of being torn in pieces and de¬
stroyed. This barrel is also provided with a brake-wheel
and friction-hoop, for lowering or fixing the bucket-frame
to any required depth. This is effected by means of a
weight constantly acting over a pulley at the extremity of
the lever s, Plate CCIV. fig. 1, for pressing the friction-hoop
upon the circumference of the brake-wheel with force
sufficient to hold the bucket-frame in any position. But
when this weight is partially removed, which is done by the
hand, the bucket-frame is lowered to the intended depth
at the discretion of the master of the vessel, or person
who has charge of the work. The upper tumbler is square,
as shown in fig. 1, Plate CCV. and in the vertical section,
fig. 2, showing the flange and part of the body of the
tumbler. In the original form it is cast in one piece, the
body being an octagonal prism, and is afterwards brought
to the square form by bolting the triangular bars a on
the alternate sides. Fig. 12 represents the upper end of
the bucket-frame, the shaft M which carries the tumbler
N, and the great bevelled-wheel O, which is shown in sec¬
tion ; also a view of one of the buckets P attached to the
links QQof the bucket-chain. RR are the plumber-blocks,
and SS the brackets for supporting the shaft. Fig. 4 is a
cross section of the under tumbler of the bucket-frame,
which is five sided: a is the flange, b the strong studs to
which the tumbler bars are bolted, c the tumbler bars,
and d the bolts by which they are secured. Fig. 5 is a
vertical section of the flange, with the same letters of re¬
ference, showing the method of fixing the tumbler bars.
The lying shaft is of cast iron, in five lengths, as repre¬
sented in the longitudinal section, Plate CCIV. fig. 1. It is
six and a half inches in diameter; the second length of
the shaft is furnished with an offset clutch at m, for dis¬
engaging the bucket-frame without stopping the engine.
This clutch is put into and out of gear by the lever n;
but the clutch is more particularly shown in Plate CCV.
fig. 6 and 7. The coupling-boxes for the lying shaft are
fifteen inches long by one and three fourth inches thick,
fastened together by four screwed bolts of one and a fourth
inch square.
The bucket-frame, with its train of buckets, as repre¬
sented in Plate CCIV. fig. 1, is fifty-two feet in length
between the centres of the lower and upper tumbler shafts.
The frame is of the best oak timber, each side being of one
entire piece. The buckets, one of which is represented in
Plate CCV., fig. 8, are perforated in the back and bottom
with small holes for draining off’ the water. They measure
one foot nine inches in depth, one foot two inches in width
from back to breast at the bottom, and one foot five inches
-at the mouth; the breadth from side to side is two feet
two inches. The mouth-piece or cutting edge a is of tem¬
pered steel; 6 is a side view of the double link connect¬
ed with the bucket. Fig. 9 is an edge view of this link,
fig. 10 a side view of the single link, and fig. 11 an edge
view of it. These links are twenty-one inches long from
centre to centre, three inches in breadth by two in thick¬
ness, with a ring of steel one fourth of an inch in thick¬
ness welded into the eye of each. The bolts for the chain
are two inches in diameter, coated with steel. The weight
of each double link is about 84 lbs. and of each single
link about 44 lbs. The trussing rod for the bucket-frame,
marked tt, Plate CCIV. fig 1, is three inches in breadth
D R E
v*ing by one and a fourth inch in thickness, meeting in the cen¬
tre, and forming a breadth of seven inches. The friction
r‘n' rollers along the upper side of the bucket-frame are ten
lC( 't- in number, as shown in the longitudinal section ; they are
^ seven inches in diameter, with a flange measuring twelve
inches in diameter. The bucket-frame is lowered and re¬
gulated upon the ground to be dredged by a tackle form¬
ed by two three-sheaved iron blocks, with 185 feet of
three-fourth inch chain run through them for a tackle¬
fold. This tackle is suspended from a frame of cast iron,
as shown at O, Plate CCIV., fig. 1, and is represented in
dotted lines at P. It is attached to the bucket-frame by
a malleable iron cross-bar and two side rods, the other
end being attached to the cast-iron barrel already describ¬
ed. The iron ties marked xx, Plate CCIV., fig. 1, of which
there are four, are used, along with the vertical beam, for
supporting the extremity of the bucket-frame: they are
of malleable iron, measuring five eighths of an inch in
diameter.
The dredging vessel is moored with anchors of two and
a half cwt. each, and is moved in any required direction
when dredging, by means of four winches of cast iron, viz.
one of double power on each bow of the vessel, having a
five-eighth inch chain of 300 feet in length, with couplings,
and one single-power crab on each quarter, with two iron
leading-locks, having also 300 feet of half-inch chain.
This vessel and its apparatus requires nine men to work it;
when dredging in clean gravel it will discharge into the
receiving-barges at the rate of 120 tons per hour; the
period for working is regulated by the tides, but general¬
ly about four hours is obtained each tide, or eight hours
per day, which is equal to 960 tons. But when the ma¬
chine works upon a clayey bottom, about sixty tons per
hour may be taken as the average quantity lifted; and
when the stuff is mixed with gravel and stones, the quan¬
tity is still less. It is not uncommon with the buckets to
take up stones of upwards of one hundredweight, and oc¬
casionally the roots of large trees.
In some instances the receiving barges are built with a
hold for carrying their load, especially where the mud or
sleek is thin. It is received into plate-iron tanks, fitted so
as to fill the hold. (Tanks of this description, which con¬
tain about one ton each, are used at the harbour works of
Dundee.) They are fitted with ears or handles, and are lifted
out of the boat by a tackle, and emptied into ships as bal¬
last, or they are landed on the quay to be otherwise dis¬
posed of. But where these excavated matters are not found
necessary for the purposes of the port, they are thrown
into deep water, for accomplishing which the barges are
furnished with a copper-hold and flap-doors in the bottom,
for letting off the stuff, as shown in Plate CCIV., fig. 13.
Though we have not been able to trace the invention of
the bucket-dredging machine to any particular person, yet
we believe it is strictly of British origin, and, so far as our
information goes, was first used at the port of Hull in
the Humber. It may here be curious to remark, that Jo-
D R E 197
nathan Hulls was of that place; he obtained a British Dredging
patent for working vessels by Steam in 1735, although, if
strange to say, it was not introduced into practice till 1812, Drelin-
when the late Mr Henry Bell fitted out the canal steam-
boat upon the Clyde. Since that period the steam dredg¬
ing machine has come into very general use. On the
Clyde there are now no fewer than three such vessels as
we have described employed, besides a diving bell for the
removal of large boulder stones, which in various parts ob¬
struct that navigation. The engines and apparatus used
on the Clyde are chiefly of the manufacture of Messrs
Girdwood and Berry of Glasgow.
The dredging machine delineated in Plates CCIV. and
CCV. was constructed by Messrs John Duffus and Com¬
pany, Aberdeen. As before noticed, it is simple in its form,
and contains the latest improvements both in the build of
the vessel and the position and arrangement of the ma¬
chinery. The great object to be attended to in framing
these vessels is, to obtain such a degree of strength as not
only to withstand the tremulous motion of the engine and
dredging buckets, but also to be capable of resisting the
strains to which they are continually liable in taking the
ground, or in the fair way of shipping.
The cost of the vessel, engine, and bucket apparatus,
complete, with her twelve lighters, may be taken atL.5000.
The expenditure of coal is at the rate of four cwt. per
hour, and the daily expense of working her at L.3. 3s.
But these items of course vary in amount, according to
local circumstances and the situation of the port.
The strength of the vessel, the power of the engine,
fitness of the machinery, and the security of the whole
against accident by fire, are circumstances connected with
the application of the dredging-machine which will always
meet with the attentive consideration of the engineer,
whose reg'ulation in all the parts of this apparatus will be
guided by the actual operation to be performed, as more
or less suitable to the peculiar situation of the works in
which this apparatus is to be employed. What we have
been able to bring under the professional reader's notice
in this article, we trust will be sufficient to give him an
idea, not only of the construction of the apparatus, and the
principles upon which it acts, but also to afford such de¬
tails as cannot fail to be highly useful in the construction
of such an apparatus. To the general reader, who may
not take much interest in the details of complicated ma¬
chinery, we presume our section, elevation, and plan of
the bucket dredging-machine will be sufficiently obvious.
To him it will also have been interesting to know how
operations of this kind are performed, the quantity of
work that may be done, and the rate of its expense. We
shall also be happy if our observations upon the baneful
consequences of shutting out tide water by embanking
shall happen to come under the eye of those possessed of
legislative power, and be the means of rendering more ef¬
fective the act of 1800, for the preservation of the naviga¬
ble rivers of the kingdom, as noticed at page 193. (x. x.)
DRELINCOURT, Charles, minister of the Calvinist
church at Paris, was born in July 1595, at Sedan, where
his father held a considerable office. He had all the qua¬
lifications which constitute a respectable clergyman; and
though he defended the Protestant cause against the Ro¬
man Catholic religion, he was much esteemed even amongst
the Catholics. He is best known in England by his Cate¬
chism and Consolations against the Fears of Death, works
which have been translated, and frequently reprinted. His
controversial works are numerous, and include the Juhi-
we, the Roman Combat, the Jesuit's Owl, an Answer to
Father Coussin, Disputes with the Bishop of Bellai, an An¬
swer to Lamilletiere, Dialogues against the Missionaries, the
False Paster convicted, the False Face of Antiquity, the
Pretended Nullities of the Reformation, an Answer to Prince
Ernest of Hesse, an Answer to the Speech of the Archbishop
of Sens, and a Defence of Calvin. He married the daugh¬
ter of a rich merchant at Paris, by whom he had sixteen chil¬
dren. His third son, professor- of physic at Leyden, was
physician to the prince and princess of Orange before their
accession to the crown of England. Bayle has given him a
high character. Mr Drelincourt died in November 1660.
198 D R E D R I
Drenthe DRENTHE, one of the provinces of the Netherlands,
II bounded on the north and east by Groningen, on the south-
Drevet. eagt tpe kingdom 0f Hanover, on the south and south-
wegt ^ Overyssel, and on the north-west by Friesland.
It is 820 square miles in extent, and contains 46,470 in¬
habitants, in three towns and thirty-seven villages. The
capital is Assen. It is generally a poor, cold, heathy dis¬
trict, depending chiefly on its breed of cattle, and on the
sale of wool, honey, wax, and turf, and on the conveyance
of the latter for fuel to other and larger towns that are
within the province.
DRESDEN, a city of Germany, the capital of the for¬
mer electorate, now the kingdom of Saxony. It is a beau¬
tiful spot, both as regards the position and the buildings.
The river Elbe divides it into two unequal parts, over
which is a fine bridge of sixteen arches, 1420 feet in
length and thirty-six in breadth, which, though destroyed
in the French revolutionary war, has again been restored.
It was fortified, but the works now serve the purposes
merely of police. There are seven market-places or
squares, and about sixty broad streets, with others con¬
necting them together; and the public buildings, which
are numerous and beautiful, give to the whole a most mag¬
nificent appearance, but especially in the new town, which
is of more recent erection.
There are seventeen Lutheran, two Catholic, and a small
Calvinist church; the most remarkable are the Frauen-
kirk of the Protestants, and the elegant Catholic church
connected with the royal palace. Over the altar of the
latter is a painting of the ascension by Mengs, highly
valued.
Dresden has obtained the name of the Athens of the
north, from the various collections of the fine arts and of
antiquities that are to be seen there. The palace is spa¬
cious and noble, and in the repository in the Griinen Ge-
wolbe is arranged a collection of antiquities connected with
the ancient history of the country, of very great value. The
zwenger or barbican is a beautiful circular building. The
garden serves the purposes of a promenade, and the apart¬
ments are used as the repository of a valuable cabinet of
natural history. The picture gallery occupying the four
sides of a square building is peculiarly rich in specimens
of art of the best and oldest masters, and is said to be
the best in Europe at the present time. The Japan palace,
in a garden looking on the Elbe, contains the royal libra¬
ry, amounting to more than 150,000 volumes, a collection
of porcelain, and many of the finest specimens both of
ancient and modern statuary. The chancery house is a
fine building, and, besides several paintings, contains some
most valuable records of the historical kind. The other
public and private houses deserving attention are nume¬
rous, and will reward the curious visitor who shall devote
his time to their minute examination.
The institutions for benevolence and for instruction are
numerous, appropriate, and well conducted. The sur¬
rounding country presents many objects which induce pleas¬
ing walks or rides, especially the Plaunesche-grund, where
a rapid stream runs between lofty rocks, the palace of
Pilnitz on the banks of the Elbe, and the gardens which
surround a part of the city.
There are many manufactures carried on of gold and
silver articles, silk goods, cotton and woollen cloth, gloves,
hosiery, and other minute commodities. A considerable
quantity of wine is made from the vineyards on the sides
of the hills overlooking the Elbe. Dresden has suffered in
its population by war in 1745, 1756, 1811, and especially
in 1813. The inhabitants amount to 49,000, of whom
5000 are Catholics, 200 Calvinists, 860 Jews, and forty
Hussites.
DREVET, Peter, the younger, an eminent French
engraver, was a member of the royal academy of painting
and sculpture, and died at Paris in 1739, at the age of forty- |
two. His portraits are neat and elegant, but laboured to Dri I
the last degree. He particularly excelled in represent- ^ i
ing lace, silk, fur, velvet, and other ornamental parts of
dress. But the younger Drevet did not confine himself
to portraits. We have several historical prints by him,
which in point of neatness and exquisite workmanship are
scarcely to be equalled. His most esteemed and best his¬
torical print is very valuable; but the first impressions of
it are rarely to be met with. It is The Presentation of
Christ in the Temple; a very large plate, lengthwise,
from Luigi de Bologna. Among his portraits, the two
held in the highest estimation are, that of Bossuet, bishop
of Meaux, a whole length figure standing, a middling sized
upright plate, from Rigaud ; and that of Samuel Bernard,
a whole length figure sitting in a chair, a large upright
plate. The first impressions of the last are before the
words Conseiller dEtat were inserted upon the plate.
DREUX, an arrondissement in the department of the
Eure and Loire, in France, extending over 620 square
miles, and divided into seven cantons and 138 communes,
with 71,506 inhabitants. The chief city, of the same name,
is situated on the river Blaise, and contains 860 houses,
with 6037 inhabitants. Long. 1. 16. 19. E. Lat. 48. 44.
17. N.
DRIESEN, a city of Prussia, in the province of Bran¬
denburg, surrounded by the two rivers Netze. It contains
317 houses, and 2565 inhabitants, mostly weavers oflinen
and woollen cloth, or employed in distilleries.
DRIFFIELD, a market-town in the wapentake of Hart-
hill, in the east riding of Yorkshire, 197 miles from Lon¬
don. There is a market which is held on Thursday. The
inhabitants amounted in 1801 to 1411, in 1811 to 1857,
and in 1821 to 2303.
DRIFT, in Navigation, the angle which the line of a
ship’s motion makes with the nearest meridian, when she
drives with her side to the wind and waves, and is not
governed by the power of the helm; it also implies the
distance which the ship drives on that line. A ship’s way
is only called drift in a storm, and then when it blows so
vehemently as to prevent her from carrying any sail, or at
least restrains her to such a portion of sail as may be ne¬
cessary to keep her sufficiently inclined to one side, that
she may not be dismasted by her violent labouring pro¬
duced by the turbulence of the sea.
Drift, in mining, a passage cut out under the earth
betwixt shaft and shaft, or turn and turn ; or a passage or
way wrought under the earth to the end of a meer of
ground, or part of a meer.
Drift-*SW, a sail used under water, veered out right
a-head by sheets, as other sails are. It serves to keep the
ship’s head right upon the sea in a storm, and to hinder
her from driving too fast in a current.
Drift-JPoog?, trees or timber carried out to sea by the
rivers when in flood, and then drifted about in various di¬
rections, and to different parts, by the currents of the ocean.
DRILL, in Mechanics, a small instrument for making
such holes as punches do not conveniently serve to fora.
Drills are of various sizes, and are chiefly used by smiths
and turners.
DRILLING is popularly used for exercising soldiers.
The word is derived from the French drille, which signi¬
fies a raw soldier.
DRINK, a part of our ordinary food in a liquid form.
See Dietetics.
DRISSA, a circle in the Russian government of Witepsk.
It is bounded on the north by Sebesk, on the east by Po-
lozk, on the south by Minsk, and on the west by Resitza.
It is watered by the Diina and its tributary streams, and
D R O
r^ing is fertile in rye, flax, and black cattle. The inhabitants
« amounted in 1797 to 51,400, who have since that census
prc-neda. rapidly increased. It contains four cities and 1055 vil-
lages. The capital, of the same name, is situated on the
river Drissa, where it falls into the Diina. It is a small
town, with a slight but growing population.
DRIVING, in Metallurgy, is said of silver, when, in the
operation of refining, the lead being burnt away, the re¬
maining copper rises upon its surface in red fiery bubbles.
Driving, in the sea language, is said of a ship when
an anchor being let fall does not hold her fast, nor prevent
her sailing away with the wind or tide. The best help in
this case is to let fall more anchors, or to veer out more
cable; for the more cable she has out, the safer she rides.
When a ship is a-hull or a-try, they say she drives to lee-
ward.
DROGHEDA, a town in the province of Leinster, in
Ireland, situated in the middle of a small district called the
county of the town of Drogheda, between the counties of
Louth and Meath, is built on both sides of the river Boyne,
about five miles from its mouth, and thirty miles north of
the city of Dublin. The entire extent of the county is
5800 acres, or nine square miles. In the earliest notices
of it by ancient writers it is called Inver-Colpa, or the
Port of Colpa, and afterwards Tredagh. Drogheda, the
name it is at present known by, signifies “ the Bridge
over the Ford.” The portions on each side of the Boyne
were formerly distinct towns, under separate jurisdictions,
distinguished by the names of Drogheda on the side of
Meath, and Drogheda on the side of Uriel, the ancient
appellation given to the county of Louth and some ad¬
joining districts. It is now divided into the parishes of
St Peter, St Mary, and part of that of Ballymakenny; and
in the year 1813 it contained a population of 16,000 souls,
in 1821 of 18,118, and in 1831 of 17,365; being the only
place in Ireland whose numbers did not increase in the
interval between the two last-mentioned dates. It ranks
in amount of inhabitants the eighth of the chief cities and
towns in Ireland.
The municipal government of the town is vested in the
mayor, two sheriffs, two justices of the peace, and a re¬
corder, who hold under a charter granted under the fol¬
lowing singular circumstances : Whilst the town was split
into two independent jurisdictions, the inhabitants were
incessantly in a state of mutual hostility, in consequence
of trading vessels landing their cargoes in the southern
town, to avoid the payment of pontage duty levied on all
vessels discharging on the northern or Louth side. Much
blood was frequently shed on these occasions. At length
Philip Bennett, a monk residing in the town, took occa¬
sion, on the festival of Corpus Christi, to preach a sermon
before the constituted authorities of both sides, in which
he inculcated the blessings of union so emphatically, and
followed up the subject so effectively at an entertainment
to which he invited them in his convent the same day,
that they all joined in sending a deputation to Henry IV.
to obtain a new charter, by which both parts were em¬
bodied into a single corporation. This event took place
in the year 1412. The charter was afterwards confirmed
with alterations by James I. The mayor was honoured by
Edward IV. with a sword of state, and L.20 a year for its
maintenance, in reward of the services performed by the
townsmen in an engagement at Malpas Bridge, where this
magistrate, at the head of 500 archers and 200 pole-axe¬
men, contributed to the defeat of O’Reilly and his confe¬
derates. Previously to the union Drogheda returned two
members to parliament. The number has since been re¬
duced to one, who is elected by a constituency consisting
of 531 freemen and 407 freeholders and leaseholders, the
total number of electors being 560.
D R O 199
The town has always been considered by the English Drogheda,
as a place of much importance. In the reign of Edward w-v-w
III. it was classed, along with Dublin, Waterford, and Kil¬
kenny, as one of the four staple towns of Ireland. Rich¬
ard II. received in it the submissions of O’Neal, O’Donnel,
and other chieftains of Ulster and Leinster. The right
of coining money was granted to it. Parliaments were
several times assembled in it, in one of which the value of
money was raised, by altering the silver groat or four-
penny piece to sixpence. In another parliament, also
held here, in the beginning of the reign of Edward IV.,
the town was granted the right of having a university,
with the same privileges as that of Oxford. The plan
however failed, owing to the poverty of the town and the
unsettled state of the country; and an attempt lately
made by the corporation to re-assert the right was also
unsuccessful. One of the Earls of Desmond was behead¬
ed here on a charge of high treason, brought against him
in parliament by the Earl of Worcester when lord lieute¬
nant. Plere also the celebrated statutes known by the
name of Poyning’s laws, which made such a change in
the political relations between England and Ireland, were
enacted. In the civil wars of 1641 the town was besieged
by O’Neal and the northern Irish forces; but was gallant¬
ly defended by Sir Henry Tichbourne, and after a long
blockade relieved by the Marquis of Ormond. The same
nobleman relieved it a second time, when invested by the
parliamentary army under Colonel Jones. In 1649 Crom¬
well appeared before it at the head of a numerous and
■well-appointed army. The town was taken after a short
though spirited defence; and every individual in it, with¬
out distinction of age or sex, was put to the sword, after
promise of quarter given. Thirty only escaped the butch¬
ery, who were afterwards transported as slaves to Barba-
does. In 1690 it was garrisoned by King James’s army;
but after the decisive battle of the Boyne it surrendered
to the conqueror without a struggle, in consequence of a
threat that quarter would not be granted if it were taken
by storm. Its subsequent history is not marked by any
circumstance of striking political notoriety.
Of the ancient fortifications very few relics remain.
The only one of its four gates still in existence is that of
St Laurence, which forms a very picturesque object. The
modern town, built chiefly on the northern bank of the Boyne,
is divided into four principal parts or quarters, by the two
main streets that intersect each other at the Tholsel. The
bridge which connects this portion with the southern is
narrow, and by no means well suited to the great and in¬
creasing current of passengers and vehicles that take ad¬
vantage of it. The principal public buildings are, the may¬
oralty-house, to which a suite of assembly-rooms is attach¬
ed ; the Tholsel, a square building of cut stone, with a cu¬
pola ; the corn-market, the linen-hall, two parish churches,
and several Roman Catholic chapels, the largest of which
is that of St Peter. There are also several religious houses,
in one of which, the abbey of Dominican nuns, without St
Laurence’s gate, is still preserved the head of Oliver Plun-
ket, Roman Catholic archbishop of Armagh, who was ex¬
ecuted at Tyburn in the year 1681, on an unfounded charge
of treason. His body, having been interred in St Giles’,
London, was afterwards removed to the Continent. A
classical school, under the endowment of Erasmus Smith,
is maintained here. There are also several free schools, ■
the principal of which, called the Patrician school, accom¬
modates 150 pupils. Among the charitable institutions is
one for the reception of thirty-six clergymen’s widows,
who are each provided with a house and an annuity of
L.26 during life, arising from bequests made by two arch¬
bishops of Armagh. Here is also an alms-house for twen¬
ty-four aged widows, an infirmary, and a mendicity asso-
200 D R O
Drohicyn ciation for the suppression of street-begging, in which the
_ . II . , inmates are provided with food and employment, but are
not Jodged. .
jjjg former importance of Drogheda may also be infer¬
red from the numerous remains of its monastic institutions.
The principal were, the hospital of St Mary, for the sick
and infirm ; the priory of St Laurence, which was granted
to the corporation on the dissolution of the monasteries;
the Dominican friary, of which a tower of stately propor¬
tions still exists ; the Grey friary and the Augustinian fri¬
ary ; all in the northern part of the town. On the southern
side were the hospital of the Knights of St John of Jeru¬
salem, and the Carmelite friary. The archbishops of Ar¬
magh had a palace in the town, built by Archbishop Hamp¬
ton about the year 1620.
Drogheda was until lately the seat of an extensive ma¬
nufacture of coarse linens, on the decline of which the
cotton manufacture supplied its place. Brewing and tan¬
ning are carried on largely. Four fairs are held annually
on May 12, June 22, August 26, and October 29. It is
also a great place of export for grain, hides, and butter.
Vessels of two hundred tons can lie at the quay. The
communication with the country is facilitated by means
of the Boyne navigation, which is carried on for nine
miles, chiefly in the bed of the river, to Slane; six miles
of still water navigation continue it thence to Navan, and
seven more to Trim. The chief articles conveyed by it
are coal, slate, timber, iron, and salt upwards ; grain, yarn,
and linen downwards. The salmon fishery on the Boyne
was once very valuable ; the fish is highly esteemed for
its flavour.
About four miles west of the town is the village of Old
Bridgetoun, memorable for the celebrated and decisive
victory gained by King William over King James, his un¬
fortunate competitor for the crown of Great Britain. The
battle, which marks one of the great epochs in Irish his¬
tory, is fully detailed in every general account of the
country. The precise point where the main body of the
British army crossed the Boyne during the action, and
where the aged Duke Schomberg was killed whilst lead¬
ing on his men, is marked by an elegant obelisk 150 feet
high, having on each side of its pedestal an appropriate
inscription.
DROHICYN, a circle in the Russian government of
Bialystock, on the southernmost division of it. It is about
1100 square miles, or 704,000 acres in extent, and con-
tains six cities, one market-town, and 112 villages, with,
in 1797, 49,651 inhabitants, who are estimated to have
increased in 1827 to 68,000. The chief place, of the same
name, is situated on the river Bug, and contains a college,
in vvhich are 250 noble students, a Franciscan and a Be¬
nedictine monastery, and four churches. Lone. 22. 38
E. Lat. 51. 4. N.
DIvOHOBICZ, a city of the circle of Sambor, in the
Austrian kingdom of Galicia. It stands on the river Tes-
menica, which empties itself into the Dniester. It is a
place of considerable trade, especially in corn, cattle, and
salt. It contains several churches, monasteries, and pub¬
lic schools, with 1200 houses, and about 8000 inhabitants,
among whom are a great number of Jews. The salt mines
produce annually about 3700 tons of refined salt.
DROITWICH, a town of the hundred of Halfshire, in
the county of Worcester, 118 miles from London. It is
situated in a valley filled with salt springs, which, when
reached, rise nearly to the surface; a circumstance sup¬
posed to proceed from a subterranean river passing through
the masses of rock-salt which are excavated in Cheshire.
Ihe water from the springs is fully saturated, so that com-
. mon salt will not dissolve in it. The salt is procured by
evaporating the water, which yields about seven times as
D R O
much salt as an equal quantity of sea water. The cheap- Dro,
ness of coal causes an extensive making of salt, which )
supplies the neighbourhood. There is a canal joining the Dro
Severn, by which much salt is conveyed to Worcester, ^eij
Gloucester, and Bristol, from which last city much is ex- V,—"Y
ported to distant markets. It is an ancient borough,
lately sending two members to parliament, but now only
one. The market is held on Friday. The inhabitants
amounted in 1801 to 1845, in 1811 to 2079, in 1821 to
2176, and in 1831 to 2487.
DROME, a department of France, formed out of the
districts Valentenois and Divis, of the ancient principa¬
lity of Dauphine- It is bounded on the north by the de¬
partment of the Isere, on the east by that and the Up¬
per Alps, on the south by the Lower Alps and Vaucluse,
and on the west by the Ardeche, from which the Rhone
separates it. The extent is 2722 square miles, or 692,750
hectares. The whole department consists of mountains,
with valleys between, the entrances to which are com¬
monly very narrow. The mountains increase in height
on removing from the Rhone. At first they are sandy,
then calcareous, and the highest of all are granite. Cul¬
tivation is in a languid state; the produce of corn is in¬
sufficient for the consumption, and 200,000 bushels are
annually required from the surrounding districts to feed
the population. They are enabled to obtain this in ex¬
change for olives, almonds, nuts, silk, and hermitage wine,
which the great heat of the summers brings to perfection
under the shelter of the mountains. Much fuel also is
collected, as one sixth of the land is covered with wood.
Many sheep too are bred, but of an inferior race, pro¬
ducing a coarse wool. The manufacturing industry is
confined to making some coarse woollen cloths, a few silk
goods, and some domestic utensils for the supply of the
inhabitants. The population amounts to 252,847 persons,
of whom 34,500 are of the reformed church. None of
them are rich or poor, but in moderate and nearly equal
circumstances. It is divided into four arrondissements,
twenty-eight cantons, and 360 communes. The capital is
the city of Valence.
DROMEDARY. See Mammalia.
DROMORE, a town of Ireland, in the county of Down,
situated on the river Lagan. It is a very ancient town,
and the seat of a bishopric. The see was founded by St
Colman in the sixth century. Besides the cathedral, which
is small, there are two meeting houses. The population
amounts to 1942. Dromore is situated fifteen miles south¬
west of Belfast.
DRONE, the male of the honey bee. Sometimes other
flies also are so named. See Bee.
DRONERO, a city of Italy, in the province of Coni,
and kingdom of Sardinia. It stands on the river Maria,
is surrounded with walls, and contains six parish churches,
one capuchin monastery, and 6440 inhabitants. There is
a very considerable linen manufactory in the city.
DRONFIELD, a town of the hundred of Scarsdale, in
the county of Derby, 157 miles from London. It has a
well-endowed free school, founded in the reign of Eliza¬
beth. The inhabitants amounted in 1801 to 1182, in 1811
to 1343, in 1821 to 1522, and in 1831 to 1653.
DRONI HEIM, the northernmost province of the king¬
dom of Norway, extending from 61. 41. to 71. 11. north
latitude. It extends over 64,284 square miles, but the
population amounts to no more than 239,712 individuals,
who inhabit six cities or towns and 115 parishes, which
contain 262 churches and 110 chapels.
Drontheim, the capital of the province of the same
name in Norway, and the see of a bishop, is situated at
the mouth of the river Nidelf, in a deep bay or fiord, in a
most pleasing situation. It is walled, and was formerly de-
D R O
i* fended by two forts, which are now in a dilapidated state,
-phe streets are spacious, and the houses of respectable
ling-appearance, though all built of wood. The cathedral was
^ once the most celebrated in the north, though now only
the choir, in which the kings were formerly crowned, is
entire. It has, besides, two churches, and 1400 houses,
with 9000 inhabitants. The haven is secure, and causes
some export trade in copper, planks, stockfish, herrings,
and train oil. There are a few manufactures of linen
cloth, and also refineries for sugar and saltpetre, besides
tanneries and glove-making. Long. 10. 18. 47. E. Lat.
63. 25. 47. N.
DROPSY, in Medicine, an unnatural collection of wa¬
ter in any part of the body. See Medicine.
DHOSSEN, a city of Prussia, in a marshy situation, on
the river Lenze, in the province of Brandenburg, contain¬
ing 476 houses, and 2883 inhabitants.
DROWNING. This term usually signifies the ex¬
tinction of life by total submersion ; but it ought also to be
applied to that species of suffocation which is produced
by the exclusion of atmospheric air from the lungs by
any liquid; for the effects produced in all such cases are
similar. Drowning, therefore, may be considered as hav¬
ing taken place when the animal perishes from immersion
of its head, or even from the obstruction to the air pas¬
sages by a fluid,
The ordinary phenomena of drowning may be witnessed
by submerging a small animal in a glass vessel filled with
water. The animal at first struggles violently, and is soon
observed to make a forcible expiration, as is indicated by
the escape of bubbles of air from its mouth and nose. It
next attempts to inspire; an effort marked by the strong
heaving of its thorax, and convulsive efforts of its abdo¬
minal muscles. This effort is vain, and is speedily followed
by the extrication of a few more air bubbles from its lungs.
These convulsive motions are repeated at shorter intervals,
while smaller portions of air are forced from the lungs at
each succeeding expiration, until the air cells are deprived
of a considerable portion of the air they contained at the
moment of submersion. Insensibility soon comes on ; but
convulsive movements of the limbs mark the progress of
cerebral congestion, and the influence of unoxygenated
blood on the centre of the nervous system.
After these struggles, the animal is apparently dead;
but a feeble motion may still be perceived in the chest;
and before it ceases altogether, the muscles of the thorax
are once more thrown into action by an ineffectual effort
to breathe. Brodie has remarked, that in drowning, the
action of the heart and diaphragm cease almost at the
same instant. Unless the animal be removed from the
water before the movements of the heart and diaphragm
have entirely ceased, it perishes, and a minute or two
more are sufficient to destroy it. If the animal be removed
from the water while the heart and diaphragm are yet in
action, it may escape from the immediate risk of suffoca¬
tion, but yet may die from injury to the brain produced
by congestion of dark blood on that organ. Bichat, Cruick-
shank, and Brodie, have proved, that dark unoxygenated
blood acts as a poison on the brain, causing diminished
nervous energy, laborious respiration, feeble pulse, dilated
pupils, stupor, and convulsive twitches of the voluntary
muscles.
Signs of death from drowning.—The signs of death from
drowning are external and internal. 1. The external signs
most usually perceived are either a very pale countenance,
or the face bloated and livid; the lips, and not unfre-
quently the whole head, swelled; the eyes half open, and
the pupils much dilated; the tongue swelled, and pro¬
truded between the teeth, so as to be in contact with the
inner surface of the lips; the lips and nose often lined
VOL. VIII.
D R O
201
with a whitish froth ; the chest and epigastrium tumid, Drowning,
and much arched; the ends of the fingers usually exco- v—
riated; and the spaces under the nails often filled with
sand or mud. 2. The most usual internal signs are more
or less cerebral congestion; but in some cases no morbid
change appears in the brain. We usually find the blood
in the vessels of the head, and indeed in the whole body,
of a blackish colour. There is generally frothy mucus in
the trachaea, which is sometimes tinged with blood; the
lungs are dilated and gorged with blood ; the diaphragm
descends low into the abdomen, and has lost more or less
of its concave surface towards that cavity. The right ca¬
vities of the heart, and the great vessels connected with
it, are gorged with black blood, whilst the left side and its
vessels are usually found empty. The blood in the body
always remains fluid, and readily flows wherever an inci¬
sion is made. Water is sometimes found in the bronchial
tubes and cells of the lungs; and not unfrequently some
water has been swallowed in the act of drowning. These
symptoms will generally enable us to detect a death from
drowning, if we examine the body before putrefaction is
advanced.
The immediate cause of death from drowning has given
rise to much controversy ; and physiologists have appealed
to contradictory experiments and observations in support
of their different hypotheses. But this difference of opinion
has orginated in physiologists supposing that the suspen¬
sion of the vital functions on submersion always depended
on the same proximate cause. It is singular -that the very
dissimilar appearances which the face presents in different
cases did not suggest some difference in the cause of death.
In some drowned persons, the face is remarkably pale, and
rather pinched; in others, the countenance is livid, and
the whole head swelled; the first indicating the deficien¬
cy of blood in the head, the latter its redundancy. This
led Dr Desgranges to the conclusion that there were two
different modes in which drowning proved fatal.
The first, which he terms nervous or syncopal asphyxia,
occurs when the person, either from the terror of impend¬
ing fate, the effect of surprise, or from the sudden immer¬
sion in extremely cold water, faints at the instant of im¬
mersion. The instantaneous arrestation of the movements
of the heart in such cases prevents the transmission of
unoxygenated blood to the brain; the principle of life is
merely suspended; the resources of the animal machine
are not destroyed, but are capable of being again called
into action by suitable means. The second Desgranges
terms asphyxia by suffocation. In this species the heart
continues to act for some time after respiration is im¬
possible. The brain thus becomes loaded with black or
unoxygenated blood, which is known to act as a direct se¬
dative or a poison on that delicate organ. When this has
gone on for a short time, its functions are annihilated,
and cannot be restored when the body is again exposed
to asmospheric air. In this second species water often
finds its way into the air tubes, and even into the cells
of the lungs, during the vain efforts of the individual to
breathe.
These distinctions are important, will serve to explain
most of the anomalies which have been observed as effects
of submersion, and render probable the very extraordinary
instances of resuscitation after long-continued submersion,
which have been related by men worthy of credit, but
which have appeared marvellous to those whose ideas of
drowning are founded on a few experiments made on the
lower animals forcibly submerged.
Amongst individuals who have recovered from insensi¬
bility induced by long submersion, by far the majority are
those who have been affected by syncopal asphyxia, in
whom there has been instantaneous arrestation of the mo-
2 c
202
DROWNING.
Drowning, tion of the heart, and suspension of consciousness. This
v—distinction will enable us also to explain why, when seve¬
ral persons are submerged together, some will be found
quite irrecoverable; whilst others, who have been con¬
siderably longer under water, may be capable of resusci¬
tation.
The recovery from syncopal asphyxia is well illustrated
by a case given by Plater. A female, condemned for in¬
fanticide, was inclosed in a sack, according to the provi¬
sions of the Caroline Code of Germany, and thrown into
a lake. She fainted at the moment of immersion; and,
after having been under water for a quarter of an hour,
was drawn out and restored to life.
Pouteau relates the history of a man at Lyons, who
suddenly fell into a river covered with ice, and remained
submerged for three hours, yet was restored to life by the
long-continued assiduity of his medical attendant. Mor¬
gagni mentions the case of a man who was resuscitated
after having been under water for half a day; and Pecklin
relates the instance of a Swedish gardener, who was sub¬
merged in a frozen pond for sixteen hours, and yet was re¬
covered by similar means.
In all such cases, Desgranges conceives that the capa¬
bility of recovery is to be attributed to the sudden arres-
tation of the vital motions at the moment of immersion.
The action of the heart and of the lungs ceasing simulta¬
neously, no vitiated blood could be transmitted to the
brain. A stop would at the same time be put to all secre¬
tions and excretions, so that there could be no expenditure
of vital power. How long this suspension might continue
without extinction of vitality, is unknown ; but something
resembling it occurs in some long-continued paroxysms of
hysteria, and in persons who have for several days lain
apparently dead, but have been resuscitated.
Drowning has been ascribed to water finding its way
into the stomach and air passages; but this opinion was
proved to be fallacious by Senac and Cullen. The for¬
mer denied that water ever entered the lungs; but Mor¬
gagni showed that it actually does sometimes enter the
air cells; and he ascribes the frothy mucus found in the
fauces and air tubes to the intermixture of air with that
water. The opinion of Morgagni on this last point is,
however, incorrect; for the froth is found in many cases
of asphyxia from noxious gases in epilepsy and apoplexy;
and in the recent experiments of Dr M.'Hall, it was ob¬
served in dogs that had been bled to death. It appears
to be produced by the escape of air from the lungs mixing
with the natural mucus lining the air passages, and indeed
is common to all cases of laborious respiration. Goodwyn
and Cullen showed the insufficiency of the water which
finds its way into the lungs in drowning to cause speedy
death.
Hie excoriation of the ends of the fingers is produced
by the person endeavouring to save himself by catching at
the bottom, or the first solid which meets his hands ; and
the sand and mud under the nails have the same origin.
In fact, we are, by these marks, often able to discover
whether a person has been drowned, or thrown into the
water after death. The tumid state of the chest, and de¬
scent of the diaphragm into the abdomen, are caused by
the violent efforts made to dilate the chest, for the relief
of the sense of suffocation. The fluidity of the blood is
remarkable, and seems almost universal in drowning. This
appearance takes place wherever death is caused by the
exclusion of oxygen, or when the blood does not undergo
the usual changes in the lungs.
Treatment of drowned persons^—Various directions have
been given for the treatment of persons who have been
tound in a state of asphyxia from submersion. The sub¬
ject claimed the especial attention of De Haen, of John
Hunter, and Cullen, each of whom have made many judi- Drc
cious remarks on the best means of restoring animation; w]
and the Humane Society of London have published twelve
general rules for the recovery of drowned persons, which
are, on the whole, useful, although some of them are now
obsolete, and require emendation.
The principal objects in such cases should be,
1st, To restore or keep up the animal heat.
2d, To induce a renewal of respiration.
3d, To rouse latent animation by the exhibition of stimuli.
1. As soon as the body is removed from the water, the
wet clothes should be taken off, and the body rolled in
warm blankets or dry clothing, while it is transporting to
the nearest house. The body should be carried in the
arms of men, or on a bier, with celerity, but without jolt¬
ing, to a room which, in hot weather, should have the
windows open, but in winter should have a fire. The
head, during the transporting, should not be suffered to
hang down, but be laid in an easy position. When brought
into the apartment in cold or damp weather, the body
should be laid on a mattress before a fire, when the surface
is to be diligently rubbed with dry warm flannel, both to
dry the surface, and to rouse the excitability of the capil¬
laries. Whilst this is going on, it is important to permit
the free access of warm air. No more persons should be
present than are useful about the patient; and the Humane
Society limit the number to six. Sometimes the body has
been placed in warm water; but this practice is objection¬
able. Some recent experiments have rendered it more
than probable that the influence of the free application of
air to the general surface of the body is not unimportant
in restoring animation in cases of asphyxia ; and the cuta¬
neous circulation is more readily induced by dry and dili¬
gent frictions of the surface than by immersion in warm
water. Applications of bags of hot sand, bran, or the
like, to different parts of the body, as the arm-pits, scro-
biculus cordis, and extremities, are obvious means of re>-
storing animal heat not to be neglected; and in some in¬
stances much benefit seems to have been derived from
switching the soles and palms with twigs, or striking them
with the open hand. Whilst these means are being em¬
ployed, we must not neglect the important object, viz.
2. The restoration of respiration, by insufflation of the
lungs. The best and simplest mode of effecting this ob¬
ject is, to introduce the nozzle of a pair of common bel¬
lows into one nostril, whilst the operator closes the other
nostril and the mouth with his left hand, and applies his
right to the thyroid cartilage, pressing it gently back¬
ward, in order to shut up the oesophagus, and prevent the
air entering the stomach instead of the lungs. The bel¬
lows should be wrought by an assistant, so as moderately
to inflate the chest. A third person is to press the chest
with his hands, to expel the air. These motions are to be
alternated, so as to imitate natural breathing as much as
possible. This mode of insufflation is much preferable to
the proposal of introducing a tube into the glottis, and
still more so to the hazardous operation of tracheotomy,
which never can be necessary in a case of simple drown¬
ing, and which, even in the hands of the celebrated sur¬
geon Mr Justamond, proved fatal, by permitting the in¬
filtration of blood into the air passages.
When a sufficient supply of oxygen gas can be obtained,
it would probably expedite recovery; but perhaps it should
not in general be employed undiluted. Where a p^ir of
bellows cannot be obtained, the life of a person may be
saved by introducing any sort of pipe into the nostril, as
above directed, and blowing air from the mouth of the
operator into the lungs of the drowned person. In this
case, care should be taken not to use the air from the
lungs of the operator, but merely that which his mouth
D R O
knirning. contains, thrown forward by the compression of his cheeks,
jn the manner used with the common blow-pipe. But a
pair of bellows should always be preferred.
In the directions of the Humane Society, we read (art.
10) that (he body, especially if the subject be a child, “ is
to be well shaken every ten minutes, in order to render
the process of animation more certain.” This practice is
justly condemned by most modern authors, as either use¬
less or dangerous. All the benefit of “ shaking” may be
obtained by frictions and switchings, without the risk of
extinguishing the feeble remains of animation by rude
concussions, “ pullings, and pushings,” which have been ge¬
nerally employed in cases of asphyxia. It is scarcely ne¬
cessary to caution the practitioner against the exploded
practice of hanging the drowned person by the heels, or
laying him across a barrel with his head hanging down¬
wards ; a practice of which even Fothergill approves, on
the principle of making him disgorge the water that might
have found its way into the stomach and lungs, which was
erroneously imagined to be the chief cause of suspended
animation.
3. The application of various stimulants internally and
externally, to facilitate resuscitation, is limited, but not un¬
important. The vapour of ammonia, to irritate the Schnei¬
derian membrane of the nose, has been generally adopted,
and is useful in rousing the dormant excitability. When
a tube can be introduced into the stomach, a portion of
warm spirit and water, with or without ammonia, will ge¬
nerally be useful. The introduction of warm stimulants
by the arms is likewise desirable, both to rouse the latent
powers of life by their stimulant effect, and to restore the
animal heat.
The eighth rule of the Humane Society recommends
the injection of tobacco smoke into the fundament. This
practice was borrowed from the savage Indians of North
America; but it is of very questionable utility. The
excessive faintness produced by this strong narcotic is
a great objection to its employment in cases where the
powers of life are already too low ; and we have abundant
means of exciting the peristaltic motion of the alimentary
canal, by aloetic and other warm purgatives, without run¬
ning the risk of extinguishing the feeble remains of vital¬
ity by the introduction of a narcotic. The objection is
still stronger to infusions of the plant, which have also been
recommended.
The application of Voltaic electricity bids fair to aid re¬
suscitation, especially if not used too strong. It has a
powerful effect in rousing the voluntary muscles, but its
influence on the heart is doubtful. Yet there can be no
doubt of its capability of stimulating the diaphragm and
abdominal muscles, to cause the dilatation of the chest;
and its application to the parts of the body most suitable
for this end, as about the lower ribs and the pit of the
stomach, should be tried. Common electricity is less
suited to this purpose; but neither should be passed
through the head, lest the excitability of the nervous
system should be exhausted by so powerful and general a
stimulant.
Blood-letting was reprobated by John Hunter; and in
cases of drowning, when there are marks of syncopal as¬
phyxia, \t wWl probably prove injurious; but when there
are decided marks of cerebral congestion, venesection un¬
der the direction of a medical practitioner will facilitate
recovery,
'Ibese methods of resuscitation should be diligently em¬
ployed for four or five hours at least, before the case is
given up as hopeless. It is a vulgar and a dangerous
enor to suppose that because our efforts do not seem
successful for one or two hours, that the patient is irre¬
coverably dead. There are instances of persons submerg-
D R U
203
ed, in whom no symptoms of returning animation have Drugget
been obvious until after four, or even six hours of unremit- ||
ted efforts. (j. j. !.) Druids.
DRUGGET, in commerce, a stuff sometimes all wool,
and sometimes half wool half thread; sometimes corded,
but usually plain. Those which have the woof of wool and
the warp of thread are called threaded druggets ; and those
wrought with the shuttle on a loom of four marches are
called corded druggets. As to the plain, they are wrought
on a loom of two marches, with the shuttle, in the same
manner as cloth, camblets, and other like stuffs not corded.
DRUIDiE, or Droium, in Ancient Geography, a very
ancient town, the principal place of the Druides or Dru-
idae in Gaul, as they are called; now Dreux in the Orle-
annois. Here, according to Caesar, they met every year
in a consecrated grove. The town was also called Duro-
cases. Long. 1. 21. W. Lat. 48. 45. N.
DRUIDS, Druides, or Druid.®, the priests or minis¬
ters of religion amongst the ancient Celtae or Gauls, the
Britons, and the Germans.
Some authors derive the word from the Hebrew Erunvp
derussim, or drussim, which they translate contemplatores.
Picard ( Celtopcxd. lib. ii. p. 58) believes the druids to have
been thus called from Druis or Dryms, their leader, the
fourth or fifth king of the Gauls, and father of Saron or
Naumes. Pliny, Salmasius, Vigenere, and others, derive
the name from Sgus, quercus, oak, on account of their inha¬
biting, or at least frequenting and teaching, in forests; or
perhaps because, as Pliny says, they never sacrificed ex¬
cept under the oak. But it is hard to imagine how the
druids should have come to speak Greek, even although
Cmsar assures us that they had the Greek letters. Me¬
nage derived the word from the old British drus, a daemon
or magician; and Borel, from the Saxon dry, a magician,
or rather from the old British dru or derw, an oak ; whence
he supposes fyvg to be derived, which indeed is not an im¬
probable supposition. Becanus (lib. i.) takes druis to be
an old Celtic and German word, formed from trowis or
truwis, a doctor of the truth and the faith; and in this
etymology Vossius is disposed to acquiesce.
The druids were the first and most distinguished order General
among the Gauls and Britons. They were chosen out of account of
the best families; and the honours of their birth, joined^ ^ru^s*
with those of their function, procured them the highest
veneration among the people. They were conversant in
astrology, geometry, natural philosophy, politics, and geo¬
graphy : they were the interpreters of religion, and the
judges in secular affairs : whoever refused obedience to
them was declared impious and accursed. We know but
little as to their peculiar doctrines, only that they believed
the immortality of the soul, and, as is generally supposed,
in the metempsychosis; though it appears highly proba¬
ble that they did not believe in this last doctrine, at least
not in the sense of the Pythagoreans.
The chief settlement of the druids in Britain was in the
isle of Anglesey, the ancient Mona, which they chose for
this purpose, as it was well stored with spacious groves of
their favourite oak. They were divided into several classes
or branches, namely, the vacerri, hardi, cubages, symnothii
or semnothei, and saronidce. The vacerri are held to have
been the priests; the bardi were the poets; the eubages
were the augurs; and the saronidcc were the civil judges
and instructors of youth. As to the semnothei, who are
said to have been immediately devoted to the service of
religion, it is probable that they were the same with the
vacerri. Strabo, however, and Picard after him in his
Celtopcedia, do not comprehend all these different orders
under the denomination of Druids, as species under their
genus, or parts under the whole, but make them quite dif¬
ferent conditions or orders. Strabo in effect only distin-
204
DRUIDS.
Druids, guishes three kinds, bardi, rates, and druids. The bardi
were the poets; the rates, ovarug, apparently the same with
the racerri, were the priests and naturalists; and the
druids were those who, besides the study of nature, ap¬
plied themselves to that of morality.
Diogenes Laertius assures us in his prologue, that the
druids were the same among the ancient Britons with the
sophoi or philosophers among the Greeks, the magi among
the Persians, the gymnosophists among the Indians, and
the Chaldeans among the Assyrians.
Their garments were remarkably long; and, when em¬
ployed in religious ceremonies, they always wore a white
surplice. They generally carried a wand in their hands ;
and wore a kind of ornament enchased in gold about their
necks, called the druid's egg. Their necks were likewise
decorated with gold chains, and their hands and arms or¬
namented with bracelets. They wore their hair very short,
and their beards remarkably long.
The druids had one chief or arch-druid in every na¬
tion, who acted as high priest, or pontifex maximus. He
possessed absolute authority over the rest, and command¬
ed, decreed, or punished, at pleasure. At his death he
was succeeded by the most considerable amongst the sur¬
vivors ; and if there were several pretenders, the matter
was ended by an election, or else put to the decision of
arms.
The druids, we have observed, were in the highest es¬
teem. They presided at sacrifices and other ceremonies,
and had the direction of every thing relating to religion.
The British and Gallic youth flocked to them in crowds
to be instructed by them. With the children of the no¬
bility, Mela tells us, they retired into caves, or the most
desolate parts of forests, and kept them there sometimes
for twenty years under their discipline. Besides the im¬
mortality and metempsychosis, their disciples were here
instructed in the motion of the heavens and the course of
the stars, the magnitude of the heavens and the earth,
the nature of things, the power and wisdom of the gods,
and a variety of other doctrines. They preserved the me¬
mory and actions of great men in their verses, which they
never allowed to be written down, but made their pupils
get by heart. In their common course of learning, they
are said to have taught them twenty-four thousand such
verses. By this means their doctrines appeared more
mysterious by being unknown to all but themselves; and
having no books to recur to, they were the more careful
to fix these doctrines in their memory.
They worshipped the Supreme Being under the name
of Esus or Hesus, and the symbol of the oak; and had no
other temple than a wood or a grove, where all their reli¬
gious rites were performed. Nor was any person admitted
to enter that sacred recess, unless he carried with him a
chain, in token of his absolute dependence on the Deity.
Indeed their whole religion originally consisted in ac¬
knowledging that the Supreme Being, who made his abode
in these sacred groves, governed the universe, and that
every creature ought to obey his laws and pay him divine
homage.
They considered the oak as the emblem, or rather the
peculiar residence, of the Almighty; and accordingly chap¬
lets of it were worn both by the druids and the people in
their religious ceremonies, whilst the altars were strew¬
ed with its leaves and encircled with its branches. The
fruit of it, especially the misletoe, was thought to contain
a divine virtue, and to be the peculiar gift of heaven. It
was therefore sought for on the sixth day of the moon
with the greatest earnestness and anxiety, and when found Dn
it was hailed with raptures of joy. As soon as the druids ^
were informed of this fortunate discovery, they prepared
every thing for the sacrifice under the oak, to which they
fastened two white bulls by the horns; then the arch¬
druid, attended by a prodigious number of people, ascend¬
ed the tree, dressed in white, and, with a consecrated
golden knife or pruning-hook, cropped the misletoe, which
he received in his sagum or robe, amidst the rapturous
exclamations of the people. Having secured this sacred
plant, he descended the tree; the bulls were sacrificed;
and the Deity invoked to bless his own gift, and render it
efficacious in those distempers in which it should be ad¬
ministered.
The consecrated groves, in which they performed their
religious rites, were fenced round with stones, to prevent
any person’s entering between the trees, except through
the passages left open for that purpose, and which were
guarded by some inferior druids, to prevent any stranger
from intruding into their mysteries. These groves were
of different forms ; some quite circular, others oblong, and
more or less capacious as the votaries in the districts to
which they belonged were more or less numerous. The
area in the centre of the grove was encompassed with se¬
veral rows of large oaks set very close together. Within
this large circle were several smaller ones surrounded with
large stones ; and near the centre of these smaller circles
were stones of a prodigious size and convenient height, on
which the victims were slain and offered. Each of these
being a kind of altar, was surrounded with another row of
stones, the use of which cannot now be known, unless
they were intended as cinctures to keep the people at a
convenient distance from the officiating priest.
Suetonius, in his life of Claudius, assures us that the
druids sacrificed men; and Mercury is said to have been
the god to whom they offered these victims. Diodorus
Siculus observes, that it was only upon extraordinary oc¬
casions they made such offerings ; as, to consult'what mea¬
sures to take, or to learn what should happen to them, by
the fall of the victim, the tearing of his members, and the
manner in which his blood gushed out. Augustus con¬
demned the custom, and Tiberius and Claudius punished
and abolished it.
We learn from Caesar that the druids were the judges
and arbiters of all differences and disputes, both public
and private; they took cognizance of murders, inheri¬
tances, boundaries, and limits, and decreed rewards and
punishments. Such as disobeyed their decisions they ex¬
communicated, which was their principal punishment; the
criminal being thereby excluded from all public assemblies,
and avoided by all the world, so that nobody durst speak
to him, for fear of being polluted.1 Strabo observes they
had sometimes interest and authority enough to stop ar¬
mies upon the point of engaging, and accommodate their
differences.
It has been disputed whether the druids were them-Thei)'■
selves the inventors of their opinions and systems of reli-n'°n9
gion and philosophy, or received them from others. SomeP^0: ■'
have imagined that the colony of Phocians which left
Greece and built Marseilles in Gaul about the 57th olym¬
piad, imported the first principles of learning and philoso¬
phy, and communicated them to the Gauls and other na¬
tions in the west of Europe. It appears indeed that this
famous colony contributed not a little to the improvement
of that part of Gaul where it settled, and to the civiliza¬
tion of its inhabitants. “ The Greek colony of Marseilles,”
1 The aqua: et ignis interdictio of the Roman law was probably borrowed from and founded on the druidical excommunication, just
as the “ letters of intercommuning” in the reigns of Charles II. and James II. were a reproduction of the Roman penalty.
4
DRUIDS.
205
D^ids.
Lcning
of|je
dr Is.
PH lies.
sayS Justin, “civilized the Gauls, and taught them to live
under laws; to build cities, and enclose them with walls;
to raise corn; to cultivate the vine and olive; and, in a
word, made so great a change both in the face of the
country and the manners of its inhabitants, that Gaul
seemed to be translated into Greece, rather than a few
Greeks transplanted into Gaul.” But though we may al¬
low that the druids of Gaul and Britain borrowed some
hints and embellishments of their philosophy from this
Greek colony, and perhaps from other quarters, there is
some reason to believe that the substance of it was their
own. Others have suggested that the druids derived their
philosophy from Pythagoras, who published his doctrines at
Crotona in Italy, where he lived above twenty years, in the
highest reputation for his virtue, wisdom, and learning.
This conjecture seems to be confirmed by the remarkable
expression of Ammianus Marcellinus, “ That the druids
were formed into fraternities, as the authority of Pytha¬
goras decreed.” It has also been observed, that the phi¬
losophy of the druids bore a much greater resemblance to
that of Pythagoras than to that of any of the other sages
of antiquity. But it seems probable that Ammianus
meant no more by the above expression than to illustrate
the nature of the druidical fraternities, by comparing them
to those of the Pythagoreans, which were well known to
the Romans; and the resemblance between the Pythago¬
rean and druidical philosophy may perhaps be best ac¬
counted for, by supposing that Pythagoras learned and
adopted some of the opinions of the druids, as well as im¬
parted to them some of his discoveries, or that both were
derived from a common source. It is well known that this
philosopher, animated by the most ardent love of know¬
ledge, travelled into many countries in pursuit of it, and
got himself admitted into every society that was famous
for its learning. It is therefore highly probable in itself,
as well as directly asserted by several authors, that Py¬
thagoras heard the druids of Gaul, and was initiated into
their philosophy.
From the concurring testimonies of several authors, it
appears that physiology or natural philosophy was the fa¬
vourite study of the druids of Gaul and Britain. Cicero
tells us that he was personally acquainted with one of the
Gaulish druids, Divitiacus the iEduan, a man of quality in
his own country, who professed to have a thorough know¬
ledge of the laws of nature, or of that science which the
Greeks called physics or physiology. According to Dio¬
dorus Siculus, Strabo, Caesar, Mela, Ammianus Marcelli¬
nus, and others, they entered into many disquisitions and
disputations in their schools, concerning the form and mag¬
nitude of the universe in general, and of this earth in par¬
ticular, and even concerning the most sublime and hidden
secrets of nature. On these and similar subjects they
formed a variety of systems and hypotheses, which they
delivered to their disciples in verse, that the latter might
the more easily retain them in their memories, since they
were not allowed to commit them to writing. Strabo has
preserved one of the physiological opinions of the druids
concerning the universe, viz. that it was never to be en¬
tirely destroyed or annihilated, but wras to undergo a suc¬
cession of great changes and revolutions, which were to
be produced sometimes by the power and predominacy of
water, and sometimes by that of fire. This opinion, he
intimates, was not peculiar to them, but was entertained
also by the philosophers of other nations; and Cicero
speaks of it as a truth universally acknowledged and un¬
deniable. “ It is impossible for us,” says he, “ to attain
a glory that is eternal, or even of very long duration, on
account of those deluges and conflagrations of the earth,
which must necessarily happen at certain periods.” This
opinion, which was entertained by the most ancient phi¬
losophers of many different and very distant nations, was Druids,
probably neither the result of rational inquiry in all these
nations, nor communicated from one of them to others, %
but descended to them all from their common ancestors
of the family of Noah by tradition, though corrupted and
misunderstood through length of time. The agreement
of the druids with the philosophers of so many other na¬
tions in this opinion about the alternate dissolution and
renovation of the world, gives us reason to believe that
they agreed with them also in their opinion of its origin
from two distinct principles : the one intelligent and om¬
nipotent, which was God; the other inanimate and inac¬
tive, which was matter. We are told by Caesar that they
had many disquisitions about the power of God; and, no
doubt, amongst other particulars, about his creative power.
But whether they believed with some that matter was
eternal, or with others that it was created, and in what
manner they endeavoured to account for the disposition
of it into the present form of the universe, we are entirely
ignorant, though they certainly had their speculations on
these subjects. We are only informed that they did not
express their sentiments on these and similar heads in a
plain and natural, but in a dark, figurative, and enigmatical
manner. This might incline us to suspect that Pythagoras
had borrowed from them his doctrines about numbers, to
the mystical energy of which he ascribes the formation
of all things; for nothing can be more dark and enigma¬
tical than that doctrine. The druids disputed likewise
about the magnitude and form of the world in general, and
of the earth in particular, of which things they pretended
to have a perfect knowledge. We know not what their
opinions were about the dimensions of the universe or of
the earth, but there is reason to think that they believed
both to be of a spherical form. This is visibly the shape
and form of the sun, moon, and stars, the most conspicu¬
ous parts of the universe; and hence it was natural and
easy to infer that such was also the form of the world
and of the earth. Accordingly this seems to have been
the opinion of the philosophers of all nations; and the
circle was the favourite figure of the druids, as appears
from the form both of their houses and places of worship.
Besides these general speculations about the origin, dis¬
solution, magnitude, and form of the world and of the
earth, the druids engaged in particular inquiries into the
natures and properties of the different kinds of substances.
But all their discoveries in this most useful and extensive
branch of natural philosophy, whatever they were, have
been entirely lost.
Astronomy also appears to have been one of the chief Astronomy,
studies of the druids of Gaul and Britain. “ The druids,”
says Caesar, “ have many disquisitions concerning the
heavenly bodies and their motions, in which they instruct
their disciples.” Mela, speaking of the same philosophers,
observes, “ that they profess to have great knowledge of
the motions of the heavens and of the stars.” Some know¬
ledge of this science indeed was not only necessary for
measuring time in general, marking the duration of the
different seasons, regulating the operations of the husband¬
man, directing the course of the mariner, and for many
other purposes in civil life ; but it was especially necessary
for fixing the times and regular returns of their religious
solemnities, of which the druids had the sole direction.
Some of these solemnities were monthly, and others an¬
nual. It was therefore necessary for them to know, with
some tolerable degree of exactness, the number of days
in which the sun and moon performed their revolutions,
that th^se solemnities might be observed at their proper
seasons." This was the more essential, as some of these
solemnities were attended by persons from different and
very distant countries, who were all to meet at one place
206 DRUIDS.
Druids, on one clay, and who must have had some rule to discover had also a cycle or period of thirty years, which they call- Dr
the annual return of that day. ed an age, and which likewise commenced on the sixths-
Their nfe- The most perceptible division of time by means of the day of the moon ; but that author has not acquainted us
thod of two great luminaries is into day and night; the former on what principle this cycle was formed, nor to what pur¬
computing occasioned by the presence of the sun above the horizon, pose it was applied. We can hardly suppose that this was
the latter by his absence, which is in some measure sup- the cycle of the sun, which consists of twenty-eight years,
plied by the moon and stars. The druids computed their and regulates the dominical letters. It is more probable^
time by nights, and not by days; a custom which they that whilst the druids made use of the year of twelve lu-
had received by tradition from their most remote ancestors, nar months, and had not invented a method of adjusting
and in which they were confirmed by measuring their time it to the real revolution of the sun, they observed that the
very much by the motions of the moon, the mistress and the beginning of this year had passed through all the seasons,
queen of night. As the changes in the aspect of that lumi- and returned to the point whence it set out, in a course
naryare most conspicuous, they engaged theattention of the of about thirty-thx-ee years; which they might therefore
most ancient astronomers of all countries, and particularly denominate an age. Others may perhaps be of opinion
of the druids, who regulated all their great solemnities, both that this thirty years cycle of the druids is the same with
sacred and civil, by the age and aspect of the moon. “When the great year of the Pythagoreans, or a revolution of Sa¬
na unexpected accident prevents it, they assemble upon turn. Some have imagined that the druids w#ere also ac-
stated days, either at the time of the new or full moon ; quainted with the cycle of nineteen years, which is com-
for they believe these to be the most auspicious times for monly called the cycle of the moon. But the evidence of
transacting all affairs of importance." Their most august this depends entirely on the truth of that supposition, that
ceremony, that of cutting the misletoe from the oak by the the Hyperborean island, which is described by Diodorus
archdruid, was always performed on the sixth day of the Siculus, was Britain, or some of the British isles. Amongst
moon. Nay, they even regulated their military operations many surprising things, that author states, concerning
by this luminary, and avoided, as much as possible, to en- the Hyperborean island, that “ its inhabitants believed
gage in battle whilst the moon was on the wane. As the that Apollo descended into their island at the end of every
attention of the druids was so much fixed on this planet, nineteen years ; in which period of time the sun and moon,
it could not be very long before they discovered that she having performed their various revolutions, return to the
passed through all her various aspects in about thirty days ; same point, and begin to repeat the same revolutions. This
and by more accurate observations, they would gradually is called by the Greeks the great year, or the cycle of
find, that the real time of her performing an entire revo- Melon.’’
lution was very nearly twenty-nine and a half days. This We are told both by Caesar and Mela, that the druids Thei
would furnish them with the division of their time into studied the stars as well as the sun and moon; and thatkno«i;e
months, or revolutions of the moon ; of which we know they professed to know, and taught their disciples, many°^1£ fs-
with certainty they were possessed. But this period, things concerning the motions of these heavenly bodies,
though of great use, was evidently too short for many From these testimonies we may conclude that the druids
purposes, and particularly for measuring the seasons ; were acquainted with the planets, distinguished them from
which, they could not fail to perceive, depended on the the fixed stars, and carefully observed their motions and
influences of the sun. By continued observation theydis- revolutions. If this discovery was the result of their own
covered that about twelve revolutions of the moon in- observations, it would be gradual, and it would be a long
eluded all the variety of seasons, which began again and time before they found out all the planets. They might
revolved every twelve months. This suggested to them perhaps have received assistance and information from
that larger division of time called a year, consisting of Pythagoras, or from some other quarter. But whether
twelve lunations or three hundred and fifty-four days, this discovery of the planets was their own, or communi-
which was the most ancient measure of the year in al- cated to them by others, it is highly probable that they
most all nations. That this was for some time at least were acquainted with the precise number of these wander-
the length of the druidical year, is both probable in it- ing stars. Dio Cassius says, that the custom of giving
self, and apparent from the expression of Pliny, that the name of one of the planets to each of the seven days
“ they began both their months and years, not from the of the w^eek was an invention of the Egyptians, and from
change, but from the sixth day of the moon;” which is them was gradually communicated to all the other nations
a demonstration that their years consisted of a certain of the world ; and that in his time this custom was so firm-
number of lunar revolutions, as they always commen- ly established, not only among the Romans, but among all
ced on the same day of the moon. But as this year of the rest of mankind, that in every country it appeared to
twelve lunar months falls eleven days and nearly one be a native institution. The knowledge of the planets,
fourth of a day short of a real revolution of the sun, this and perhaps the custom of giving their names to the days
error would soon be perceived, and call for reformation ; of the week, was brought out of Egypt into Italy by Pytha-
though we are not informed of the particular manner in goras, more than five hundred years before the beginning
which it was rectified. Various arguments might be col- of the Christian era ; and from thence it could not be very
lected to render it very probable that the Britons were long before it reached Gaul and Britain. But though we
acquainted with a year exact enough for every purpose of have little or no reason to doubt that the druids knew the
life when they were first invaded by the Romans ; but it number and observed the motion of the planets, yet it may
will be sufficient to mention one, which is taken from the be questioned whether they had discovered the times in
time and circumstances of that invasion. The learned which these bodies performed their several revolutions.
Dr Halley has demonstrated that Caesar arrived in Bri- Some of the planets, as Jupiter and Saturn, take so great
tain, in his first year’s expedition, on the 26th day of Au- a number of years in revolving, that it required a very ex¬
gust; and Caesar himself informs us, that at his arrival the traordinary degree of patience and attention to discover
harvest wras finished, except in one field, which by some the precise periods of their revolutions. If we could be
means or other was more backward than the rest of the certain that the island in which the ancients imagined Sa-
country. This is a proof that the British husbandmen turn lay asleep was one of the British isles, as Plutarch
knew and used the most proper seasons for ploughing, intimates it was, we might be inclined to think that the
sowing, and reaping. The druids, as we are told by Pliny, British druids were not ignorant of the length of the period
c -
D R U
LLis in which the planet Saturn performs a revolution ; for that
r^J same author, in another treatise, tells us, that “ the in¬
habitants of that island kept every thirtieth year a solemn
festival in honour of Saturn, when his star entered into
the sign of Taurus.” If we could depend upon this testi¬
mony, we should have one positive proof that the druids
of the British isles were acquainted with the constella¬
tions, and even with the signs of the zodiac; and that
they'measured the revolutions of the sun and planets,
by observing the length of time between their departure
from and return to one of these signs. But history sup¬
plies no direct evidence that this was really the case. The
druids of Gaul and Britain, indeed, as well as the ancient
philosophers of other countries, had a general plan or sys¬
tem of the universe, and of the disposition and arrange¬
ment of its various parts, in which they instructed their
disciples. This is both probable in itself, and is plainly
intimated by several authors of the greatest authority.
But we cannot be certain whether this druidical system
of the world was of their own invention, or was borrow¬
ed from others. If it was borrowed, it was most probably
from the Pythagoreans, to whom they were the nearest
neighbours, and with whom they had the greatest inter¬
course; or at all events from some oriental sect, order,
or caste, of which many are of opinion that they originally
sprung.
It has been imagined that the druids had instruments
of some kind or other, which answered the same purposes
as our telescopes, in making observations on the heaven¬
ly bodies. The only foundation of this very improbable
conjecture is an expression of Diodorus Siculus, in his de¬
scription of the famous Hyperborean island. “ They say
further, that the moon is seen from that island, as if she
were but at a little distance from the earth, and having hills
or mountains like ours on the surface.” But no such in¬
ference can be reasonably drawn from this expression,
which in reality merits little more regard than that which,
according to Strabo, was said of some of the inhabitants of
Spain, that “ they heard the hissing noise of the sun every
evening when he fell into the western ocean.”
The application of the druids to the study of philosophy
and astronomy amounts almost to a demonstration that
they applied also to the study of arithmetic and geometry;
for some knowledge of both these sciences is indispen¬
sably necessary to the natural philosopher and astronomer,
as well as of great and daily use in the common affairs of
life. If we were certain that Abaris, the famous Hyper¬
borean philosopher, the friend and scholar of Pythagoras,
was really a British druid, as some have imagined, we
should be able to produce direct historical evidence of
their arithmetical knowledge. For lamblicus, in the life
of Pythagoras, says, that “ he taught Abaris to find out
all truth by the science of arithmetic.” It may be thought
improbable that the druids had made any considerable pro¬
gress in arithmetic, as this may seem to have been impos¬
sible by the mere strength of memory, without the assist¬
ance of figures and of written rules. But it is very difficult
to ascertain what may be done by memory alone, when it
has been long exercised in this way. We have had ex¬
amples of persons who could perform some of the most
tedious and difficult operations in arithmetic by the mere
strength of memory. The want of written rules could be
no great disadvantage to the druids, as the precepts of
this, as well as of the other sciences, were couched in
verse, which would be easily got by heart and long re¬
membered. Though the druids were unacquainted with
the Arabic numeral characters, which are now in use, we
have no reason to suppose that they were destitute of
marks or characters of another kind, which, in some mea¬
sure, answered the same purposes, both in making and re-
IDS. 207
cording their calculations. In particular, it is believed Druids,
that they made use of the letters of the Greek alphabet
for both these purposes. This seems to be pretty distinct¬
ly intimated by Caesar, who, in speaking of the druids of
Gaul, observes, that “ in almost all other public transac¬
tions and private accounts or computations, they make
use of the Gi'eek letters.” And this is further confirm¬
ed by what he says of the Helvetii, a people of the same
origin, language, and manners, with the Gauls and Bri¬
tons. “ Tables were found in the camp of the Helvetii
written in Greek letters, containing an account of all
the men capable of bearing arms who had left their na¬
tive country, and also separate accounts of the boys, old
men, and women.” There is historical evidence of the
druids being also well acquainted with geometry. “ When
any disputes arise,” says Caesar, “ about their inheritances,
or any controversies about the limits of their fields, they
are entirely referred to the decision of their druids.” But
besides the knowledge of mensuration which this implies,
both Caesar and Mela plainly intimate that the druids were
conversant in the most sublime speculations of geometry ;
“ in measuring the magnitude of the earth, and even of
the world.”
There are still many monuments remaining in Britain Skill in
and the adjacent isles, which cannot so reasonably be mechanics,
ascribed to any race as to that of the ancient Britons, and
which lead us to think that they had made great progress
in this department of knowledge, and could apply the me¬
chanical powers so as to produce very astonishing effects.
As these monuments appear to have been designed for reli¬
gious purposes, we may be certain that they were erected
under the direction of the druids. Many obelisks or pil¬
lars, of one rough unpolished stone each, are still to be seen
in Britain and its isles. Some of these pillars are both
very thick and lofty, erected on the summits of barrows
and of mountains ; and some of them, as at Stonehenge,
have ponderous blocks of stone raised aloft, and resting on
the tops of the upright pillars. We can hardly suppose
that it was possible to cut these prodigious masses of
stone, some of them above forty tons in weight, without
wedges, or to raise them out of the quarry without levers.
But it certainly required still greater knowledge of the
mechanical powers, and of the method of applying them,
to transport those huge stones from the quarry to the
places of their destination; to erect the perpendicular
pillars, and to elevate the imposts to the tops of these
pillars. If the prodigious stone in the parish of Constan¬
tine, Cornwall, was really removed by art from its original
place, and fixed where it now stands, it is a demonstra¬
tion that the druids could perform the most astonishing
feats by their skill in mechanics. That the British druids
were acquainted with the principles and use of the balance,
we have reason to believe, not only from the great anti¬
quity of that discovery in other parts of the world, but
also from some druidical monuments which are still re¬
maining in this island. These monuments are called lo-
gan stones, or rocking stones, and each ot them consists
of one prodigious block of stone, resting upon an upright
stone or rock, and so equally balanced, that a very small
force, sometimes even that of a child, can move it up and
down, though hardly any force is sufficient to remove it
from its station. Some of these stones may have fallen
into this position by accident, but others ot them evident¬
ly appear to have been placed in it by art. That the an¬
cient Britons understood the construction and use of
wheels, the great number of their war-chariots and other
wheel carriages is a sufficient proof; and that theyjknew
how to combine them together and with the other mecha¬
nical powers, so as to form machines capable of raising
and transporting very heavy weights, we have good rea-
208
DRUIDS.
Druids, son to believe. In a word, if the British druids were
wholly ignorant of the principles and the use of any of the
mechanical powers, it was most probably of the screw,
though even of this we cannot be certain.
Medicine. In Germany and in the northern nations of Europe the
healing art was chiefly committed to the old women of
every state; but in Gaul and Britain it was entrusted to
the druids, who were the physicians as well as the priests
of these countries. Pliny saj^s expressly, that “ Tiberius
Caesar destroyed the druids of the Gauls, who were the
poets and physicians of that nationand he might have
added, of the Britons. The people of Gaul and Britain
were probably induced to devolve the care of their health
on the druids, and to apply to these priests for the cure
of their diseases, not only by the high esteem they had
of their wisdom and learning, but also by the opinion
which they entertained, that a very intimate connection
subsisted between the arts of healing and the rites of re¬
ligion, and that the former were most effectual when they
were accompanied by the latter. It appears indeed to
have been the prevailing opinion of the nations of an¬
tiquity, that all internal diseases proceeded immediately
from the anger of the gods ; and that the only way of ob¬
taining relief from these diseases was by applying to the
priests to appease their anger by religious rites and sacri¬
fices. This was evidently the opinion and practice of the
Gauls and Britons, who in some dangerous cases sacri¬
ficed one man as the most effectual means of curing ano¬
ther. “ They are much addicted,” says Cassar, “ to su¬
perstition, and hence those who are afflicted with a dan¬
gerous disease sacrifice a man, or promise that they will
sacrifice one, for their recovery. For this purpose they
make use of the ministry of the druids, because the latter
have declared that the anger of the immortal gods can¬
not be appeased, so as to spare the life of one man, but by
the life of another.” This way of thinking also gave rise
to that great number of magical rites and incantations
with which the medical practices of the druids, and in¬
deed of all the physicians of antiquity, were attended.
“ Nobody doubts,” says Pliny, “ that magic derived its
origin from medicine, and that, by its flattering but delu¬
sive promises, it came to be esteemed the most sublime
and sacred part of the art of healing.”
Botany. That the druids made great use of herbs for medicinal
purposes, there is sufficient evidence. They not only had
a most superstitious veneration for the misletoe of the oak,
on a religious account, but they also entertained a very
high opinion of its medicinal virtues, and esteemed it as a
kind of panacea, or remedy for all diseases. “ They call
it,” says Pliny, “ by a name which in their language sig¬
nifies All-heal, because they have an opinion that it cures
all diseases.” They believed it to be in particular a specific
against barrenness, and a sovereign antidote against the
fatal effects of poisons of all kinds. It was also esteemed
an excellent emollient and discutient for softening and
discussing hard tumours, and good for drying up scrofu¬
lous sores, and curing ulcers and wounds; and, provided
it was not suffered t<3 touch the earth after it was cut, it
was thought to be a very efficacious medicine in epilepsy.
It has been thought useful in this last calamitous disease
by some modern physicians. The pompous ceremonies
with which the misletoe was gathered by the druids have
been already described. The selago, a kind of hedge hys¬
sop resembling savin, was another plant much admired
by the druids of Gaul and Britain for its supposed me¬
dicinal virtues, particularly in all diseases of the eyes.
But its efficacy, according to them, depended very much
upon its being gathered exactly in the following manner:
The person who gathered it was to be clothed in a white
robe; to have his feet bare, and washed in pure water; to
offer a sacrifice of bread and wine before he proceeded to d,
cut it, which he was to do with his right hand covered
with the skirt of his garment, and with a hook of some
more precious metal than iron. When it was cut, it was
to be received and kept in a new and very clean cloth.
Gathered exactly according to this whimsical ritual, it
was affirmed to be not only an excellent medicine, but
also a powerful charm and preservative against misfor¬
tunes and unhappy accidents of all kinds. The druids
also entertained a high opinion of the herb samolus or
mashwort, from its sanative qualities, and gave directions
for gathering it, not less fanciful than those which have
already been mentioned. The person who was to perform
that office was to do it fasting, and with his left hand; he
was on no account to look behind him, nor to turn his face
from the herbs he was gathering. It would be tedious to
relate the extravagant notions they entertained of the
many virtues of the vervain, and to recount the ridiculous
mummeries which they practised in gathering and pre¬
paring it, both for the purposes of divination and physic.
It is easy to see that Pliny’s information was very imper¬
fect ; and that, like many of the other Greek and Roman
writers, he designedly represented the philosophers of
Gaul and Britain in an unfavourable light. The herb call¬
ed Britannica by the ancients, which some think was the
great water-dock, and others the cochlearia or scurvy-grass,
was probably much used in this island for medicinal pur¬
poses, as it derived its name from Britain, and was thence
exported to Rome and other parts. Though these few
imperfect hints are all that we can now collect of the
botany of the British druids, yet there is some reason to
think that they were not contemptible botanists. Their
circumstances were peculiarly favourable for the acquisi¬
tion of this kind of knowledge. For as they spent most
of their time in the recesses of mountains, groves, and
wmods, the spontaneous vegetable productions of the earth
constantly presented themselves to their view, and court¬
ed their attention.
The opinions which, it is said, the druids of Gaul and
Britain entertained of the anguinum or serpent’s egg, both
as a charm and as a medicine, are romantic and extrava¬
gant in a very high degree. This extraordinary egg was
formed, as they pretended, by a great number of serpents,
interwoven and twined together; and when itK had been
formed, it was raised up in the air by the hissing of these
serpents, and was then to be caught in a clean white cloth
before it fell to the ground. The person who caught it was
obliged to mount a swift horse, and to ride away at full
speed to escape from the serpents, who pursued him with
great rage, until they were stopped by some river. The
way of making trial of the genuineness of the egg was no
less extraordinary. It was to be encased in gold, and
thrown into a river, and if it was genuine it would swim
against the stream. “I have seen,” says Pliny, “that egg;
it is about the bigness of a moderate apple, its shell is a
cartilaginous incrustation, full of little cavities, such as are
on the legs of the polypus; it is the insignia or badge of
distinction of the druids.” The virtues which they ascrib¬
ed to this egg were many and wonderful. It was particu¬
larly efficacious in rendering those who carried it about
with them superior to their adversaries in all disputes, and
in procuring them the favour and friendship of great men.
Some have thought that this whole affair of the serpent’s
egg was a mere fraud, contrived by the druids to excite
the admiration and pick the pockets of a credulous people,
who purchased these wonder-working eggs from them at
a high price. Others have imagined that this story of the
anguinum, of which there is an ancient monument in the
cathedral at Paris, was an emblematical representation of
the doctrine of the druids concerning the creation of the
D R U X D $.
209
kiids. world. The serpents, say they, represent the divine wis- the greatest men in their time. For if any orator did but Druids,
dom forming the universe, and the egg is the emblem of ask the habit, arms, horse, or any other thing belomdno- to -vO
the world formed by that wisdom. It may be added, that the greatest man in these islands, it was readily granted
the virtue ascribed to the anguinum, of giving those who him ; sometimes out of respect, and sometimes for fear of
possessed it a superiority over others, and endearing them being exclaimed against by a satire, which in those days
to great men, may perhaps be intended to represent the was reckoned a great dishonour.” J
natural effects of learning and philosophy. But in so . If the British druids, considering the times in which they Magic and
doubtful a mattei every one is of couise at liberty to form lived, had made no contemptible proficiency in several parts divination,
what judgment he thinks proper. . of real and useful learning, it cannot be denied that they
Kltoric. As the influence and authority of the druids in their were also great pretenders to superior knowledo-e in cer-
country depended very much upon the reputation of their tain vain and fallacious sciences, by which they excited
superior wisdom and learning, they wisely applied to the the admiration, and took advantage of the ignorance and
study of those sciences which most directly contributed to credulity, of mankind. These were the sciences, if they
the support and advancement of that reputation. In this may be so called, of magic and divination, by means of
number, besides those already mentioned, we may justly which they pretended to work a kind of miracles, and ex-
reckon rhetoric, which was diligently studied and taught hibit astonishing appearances in nature; to penetrate into
by the druids of Gaul and Britain, who to the charms of the counsels of heaven; to foretel future events, and to
their eloquence were indebted for much of the admiration discover the success or miscarriage of public or’private
and authority which they enjoyed. They had indeed many undertakings. Their own countrymen not only believed
calls and opportunities to display their eloquence, and to that the druids of Gaul and Britain were possessed of
discover its great power and efficacy; as, when they were these powers, but they were celebrated on this account b\^
teaching their pupils in their schools ; when they discours- the philosophers of Greece and Rome. “ In Britain,” says
ed in public to the people on religious and moral subjects ; Pliny, “ the magic arts are cultivated with such astonish-
when they pleaded causes in the courts of justice ; and ing success, and so many ceremonies, at this day, that the
when they harangued in great councils of the nation, and Britons seem to be capable of instructing even the Per-
at the heads of armies ready to engage in battle, some- sians themselves in these arts. They pretend to discover
times with a view to inflame their courage, and at other the designs and purposes of the gods. The Eubates or
times with a design to allay their fury, and dispose them Yates in particular investigate and display the most su-
to make peace. I hough this last was certainly a difficult blime secrets of nature; and by auspices and sacrifices
task amongst fierce and warlike nations, yet such was the they foretel future events.” They were so famous for the
authority and eloquence of the druids, that they frequent- supposed veracity of their predictions, that they were not
ly succeeded in it. “ I hey pay a great regard,” says Dio- only consulted on all important occasions by their own
dorus Siculus, “ to their exhortations, not only in the af- princes and great men, but even sometimes by the Ro-
fairs of peace, but even of war ; and these are respected man emperors. Nor is it very difficult to account for all
both by their friends and enemies. They sometimes step this. The druids finding that the reputation of their
in between two hostile armies, v/ho are standing with their magical and prophetical powers contributed not a little
swords drawn and their spears extended, ready to engage ; to the advancement of their wealth and influence, natu-
and by their eloquence, as by an irresistible enchantment, rally endeavoured to strengthen and establish it by all
they prevent the effusion of blood, and prevail upon them their art and cunning. Their knowledge of natural pin¬
to sheath their swords. So great are the charms of elo- losophy and mechanics enabled them to execute such
quence and the power of wisdom even amongst the most works, and to exhibit such appearances, or to make the
fierce barbarians. I he British kings and chieftains, who world believe that they did exhibit them, as were suffi-
were educated by the druids, were famous for their elo- cient to gain them the character of great magicians. The
quence. I his is evident from the many noble speeches truth is, that nothing is more easy than to acquire this
which are ascribed to them by the Greek and Roman character in a dark age, and among an unenlightened
writers, l or though these speeches may not be genuine, people. When the minds of men are haunted with dreams
yet they are a proof that it was a well-known fact that of charms and enchantments, they are apt to fancy that
these princes were accustomed to make harangues on such the most common occurrences in nature are the effects of
occasions. I his we are expressly told by Tacitus: “ The magical arts. The following strange story, which we meet
British chieftains, before a battle, fly from rank to rank, with in Plutarch’s Treatise of the Cessation of Oracles,
and address their men with animating speeches, tend- was probably occasioned by something of this kind. “There
ing to inflame their courage, increase their hopes, and are many islands which lie scattered about the isle of Bri-
dispel their fears. 1 hese harangues were called, in the tain, after the manner of our Sporades. They are general-
ancient language of Britain, brosnichty kah, which is li- ly unpeopled, and some of them are called theof Me
terally translated by lacitus, incitamenta belli, incentives Heroes. One Demetrius was sent by the emperor [probably
to war. Ihe genuine posterity of the ancient Britons Claudius] to discover these parts. Pie arrived at one of
ong retained their taste for eloquence, and their high these islands [supposed by some toloe Anglesey, but more
esteem for those who excelled in that art. “ Orators,” probably one of the Hebrides] next adjoining to the isle
says Mr Martin, “ were in high esteem, both in these of Britain before mentioned, which was inhabited by a few
is ands (the Hebrides) and the continent, until within Britons, wdio were esteemed sacred and inviolable by their
iese forty years. I hey sat always among the nobles countrymen. Immediately after his arrival the air grew
or c nets of families in the streah or circle. Their houses black and troubled, and strange apparitions were seen ; the
an ittle villages were sanctuaries, as well as churches, winds rose to a tempest, and fiery spouts and whirlwinds
and they took place before doctors of physic. The orators, appeared dancing towards the earth.” This was probably
a ter tie diuids were extinct, were brought in to preserve no more than a storm of wind, accompanied with rain and
ie genealogy of families, and to repeat the same at every lightning, a thing neither unnatural nor uncommon; but
succession of a chief; and upon the occasion of marriages Demetrius and his companions having heard that the Bri-
aij. hn ths, they made epithalamiums and panegyrics, tish druids, by whom this isle was chiefly inhabited, were
wnch the poet or bard pronounced. The orators, by the great magicians, imagined that it was raised by them, and
orce of their eloquence, had a powerful ascendant over fancied that they saw many strange and unnatural sights.
210
Drum.
D R U D R U
The druids did not think proper to undeceive them; for
when they inquired about the cause of this storm, they
were told that it was occasioned by the death of one ot
those invisible beings or genii who frequented their isle ,
a wonderful and artful tale, very well calculated to in¬
crease the superstitious terrors of Demetrius and his crew,
and to determine them to abandon this enchanted isle,
with a resolution never to return. Stonehenge, and seve¬
ral other works of the druids, were, for many ages after
the destruction of their whole order, believed to have been
executed by the arts of magic and enchantment; nor is it
improbable that they persuaded the vulgar in their own
. times to entertain the same opinion of these works, y
concealing from them the real arts by which they had
been erected. The natural and acquired sagacity o t e
druids, with their long experience and great concern in the
conduct of affairs, enabled them to form very probable
conjectures about the event of enterprises, these con¬
jectures they pronounced as oracles when they were con¬
sulted ; and they pretended to derive them from the in¬
spection of the entrails of victims, the observation of the
flight and feeding of certain birds, and many other mum¬
meries. By these and similar arts they obtained and pre¬
served the reputation of prophetic foresight among an ig¬
norant and credulous people. But these pretensions of
the druids to magic and divination, which contributed so
much to the advancement of their fame and fortune in
their own times, have brought very heavy reproaches upon
their memory, and have made some learned moderns de¬
clare that they ought to be expunged out of the catalogue
of philosophers, and esteemed no better than mere cheats
and iugglers. This censure is evidently too severe, and
mio-ht have been pronounced with equal justice upon all
the ancient philosophers of Egypt, Assyria, Persia, Greece,
and Rome, who were great pretenders to magic and divi¬
nation, as well as the druids. “ I know of no nation in the
world, “ says Cicero, “ either so polite and learned, or so
savage and barbarous, as not to believe that future events
are presignified to us, and may by some men be discover¬
ed and foretold.” The only conclusion, therefore, that can
be fairly drawn from the successful pretensions of the Bri¬
tish druids to the arts of magic and of divination, is this :
That they had more knowledge than their countrymen and
contemporaries, but had not so much virtue as to resist
the temptation of imposing upon their ignorance to their
own advantage.
DRUM is a martial instrument in the form of a cylin¬
der, hollow within, and covered at the two ends with
vellum, which is stretched or slackened at pleasure by
means of small cords or sliding knots. It is beat upon
with sticks. Drums are sometimes made of brass, but
most commonly of wood. I he drum is said by Le Clerc
to have been an oriental invention, and to have been
brought into Spain by the Arabians, or perhaps rather the
Moors.
Kettle Drums are two sorts of large basons of copper
or brass, rounded in the bottom, and covered with vel- Drum
lum or goat skin, which is kept fast by a circle of iron mond
round the body of the drum, with a number of screws Wv
to screw up and down. They are much used among the
cavalry, as also in operas, oratorios, concei ts, and the
^^DRUMMOND, William, was born at Hawthornden
on the 13th of December 1585. His father was Sir John
Drummond, descended from the family of Carnock, a
branch of the more illustrious family of Stobhall, from
which the king derives his remote lineage through Ana-
bella Drummond, the mother of James the First. The
poet’s mother was Anne the daughter of W illiam Fowler j1
and she is described as tf a woman of excellent breeding,
and of a good and virtuous life.” William was the eldest
of four sons, and there were three daughters by the same
marriage. The earlier part of his education he received
at the High School of Edinburgh, where he began to dis¬
tinguish himself by the superiority of his talents; and
being afterwards removed to the university, which was
then a very recent institution, he took the degree of A. M.
in the year 1605. We are particularly informed that he
did not confine his attention to the metaphysical learning
commonly taught in the schools, but likewise applied him¬
self to the study of mathematics and of ancient authors.
During the following year, his father sent him to complete
his education in France; and in the university of Bourges
he is said to have devoted himself with great assiduity
and success to the study of the civil law; a study neces¬
sary to a lawyer, and useful to a scholar. After an ab¬
sence of four years, he returned to his native country in
1610 ; and his friends now expected that he would devote
himself to the practice of a lucrative profession, for which
he seemed eminently qualified by his talents and learning.
The bar must however have presented very few attrac¬
tions to a youth of his elegant taste and delicate sensibi¬
lity : the municipal law was then but a dreary path, beset
with thorns which never blossomed; and, what was par¬
ticularly discouraging, there was not a single elementary
book, there were no institutions of our law, from which a
young student could derive a comprehensive knowledge
of those principles which were afterwards to direct his
practice. His systematic doctrines were indeed to a great
extent borrowed from the ancient civilians, and the study
of the civil law was generally prosecuted in some foreign
university; but, besides an indispensable attendance in
the courts, his final preparation for the practice of his pro¬
fession consisted in reading the statute law, and such col¬
lections of maxims and reports as were then circulated in
manuscript. Nor was Drummond compelled by any do¬
mestic considerations to overcome his repugnance: he
was beyond the reach of that original impulse which has
directed many a lawyer to reputation and emolument; for,
about the period of his return from the continent, the
death of his father left him in possession of an estate suf¬
ficient to maintain him in the liberal style of a gentleman.
, , o„ o- wilUam Vnwlpr secretary to the queen, but this account of his quality is evidently erroneous.
spliglisiigliliisii
1832, 4to.)
DRUMMOND.
Tiim_ jje now retii'ed to his family residence at Hawthornden,
r nd" six miles from Edinburgh, and resumed the study of the
Greek and Latin classics. The immediate vicinity pre¬
sents an air of such romantic beauty, that a poet could
scarcely have found a more suitable habitation : his house
is erected on the edge of a woody cliff which overhangs
the river Esk ; and at one extremity of the variegated and
sequestered glen stand the ruins of the baronial castle and
the collegiate church of Roslin. The ancient caves of Haw¬
thornden, and the adjacent moor of Roslin, where Comyn
and Fraser gained a signal victory over the English, have
likewise their peculiar effect in impressing the imagina¬
tion. Near the poet’s house is a seat hewn in the solid
rock, and still described by the name of the Cypress-grove;
a name which it obtained from the circumstance of his
having frequented this spot when engaged in the compo¬
sition of a work which bears that title.
Here Damon ‘ sat’ whose songs did sometime grace
The murmuring Esk ; may roses shade the place.
In this delightful seclusion he devoted himself to the
general improvement of his mind, and to the occasional
exercise of his fine talents; and many of his poems ap¬
pear to have been composed about this period of his life.1
He chiefly cultivated the familiarity of the university
men, and other individuals of genius and learning: among
his own countrymen, he enjoyed the particular friendship
of the earl of Stirling, the earl of Ancram, Arthur John¬
ston, and John Adamson; and among the English poets,
his greatest intimacy and correspondence was with Ben
Jonson and Michael Drayton. The grandfather of Jon-
son was originally from Annandale, where Johnstone is
still a very prevalent name. In the year 1619, when this
celebrated poet had attained the age of forty-five, he tra¬
velled from London on foot, for the express purpose of
paying Drummond a visit; and at Hawthornden he spent
three or four weeks with every appearance of satisfac¬
tion.2 The heads of some of Jonson’s conversations on
subjects of literature, together with his own impressions
of Jonson’s character, he committed to writing, with the
manifest intention of occasionally referring to this as a
private record: many years after his death, this paper
was communicated to the public, apparently in a some¬
what mutilated form ; and as it does not represent his dis¬
tinguished guest as altogether faultless, the amiable and
esteemed writer has incurred the virulent and unmeasured
censure of Mr Gifford, the late editor of Jonson’s works.3
If Drummond had resembled some more recent authors,
who have violated all the decencies of private life by minis¬
tering to the gross appetite of the public with ridiculous
or disparaging tales of their friends and acquaintance,
the justice of this strong condemnation could not safely
have been disputed; but what person of ordinary can-
211
dour will thus censure an act which, to all human ap- Drum-
pearance, was entirely unconnected with malevolent or mond.
ungenerous motives?
The poet’s tranquillity was exposed to a severe inter¬
ruption from the unfortunate issue of his first love. He
became deeply enamoured of a beautiful young lady, the
daughter of Cunningham of Barns ; he met with a suit¬
able return, and a day was fixed for their nuptials, but
before that day arrived, her life was terminated by a rapid
fever. Such an event as this, which would have affected
a lover of the most ordinary sensibility, could not but sink
deeply into the heart of one who had assiduously cherished
the softer feelings, and whose habits of seclusion were so
directly calculated to preserve a lasting impression of
melancholy. He was so overwhelmed with grief that he
found it necessary to try the effect of a change of objects ;
and he accordingly retired to the continent, where he
spent about eight years. His longest residence was at
Paris and Rome; but he travelled through France, Ger¬
many, and Italy, visited the most celebrated universities,
and conversed with men of learning. In the course of his
peregrinations, he is said to have formed an excellent col¬
lection, not only of the ancient classics, but likewise of the
best writers in the French, Italian, and Spanish languages.
He presented to the university of Edinburgh a collection
of books and manuscripts, of which he printed a catalogue
in the year 1627, prefixing to it an appropriate preface
written in Latin. Of this well-known collection, the value,
that is, the extrinsic or pecuniary value, which was far from
being inconsiderable at first, has been immensely encreased
by the lapse of two centuries. It contains many Scotish
and English publications of singular rarity. When Drum¬
mond returned to Scotland, he found his countrymen
divided by fears and animosities. He now spent some time
at the residence of his brother-in-law Sir John Scot of
Scotstarvet, a learned man, and an encourager of learning.
Having continued in a state of celibacy till the age of
forty-seven, he in 1632 married Elizabeth Logan ; a lady
in whom he traced a strong resemblance to his first mis¬
tress. She is commonly represented as the grand-daugh¬
ter of Sir Robert Logan of Restalrig; but, according to
Hay, her father, who was altogether unconnected with
that family, was minister of Edleston in the county of
Peebles, and her mother was the daughter of a shepherd.4
Of this marriage there were five sons and four daughters.
John, the eldest son, died in his youth; William was
knighted by Charles the Second, and lived to an advan¬
ced age ;5 Robert was married, but died about the age of
forty without children; the two youngest, Richard and
James, died in their infancy. The eldest daughter Eliza¬
beth was married to Dr Henryson, an eminent physician
in Edinburgh ;6 but the other three, Margaret, Anabella,
and Jane, died very young.7 The father was a decided
1 The first edition of his poems has the following title: “ Poems, amorous, funerall, diuine, pastorall, in Sonnets, Songs, Sextains,
Madrigals. By W. D. the author of the Teares on the Death of Moeliades.” Edinbvrgh, printed by Andro Hart, 1616, 4tq. An¬
other edition, or the same edition with a new title, bears “ Poems, by William Drvmmond oi Hawthorne-denne. The second impres¬
sion.” Edinbvrgh, printed by Andro Hart, 1616, 4to.
3 To this visit another poet of exquisite talents makes the following allusion:
Then will I dress once more the faded bower,
Where Jonson sat in Drummond’s classic shade.
Collins’s Ode to John Home.
3 Gifford’s Memoirs of Jonson, p. cxxx.—This charge has been sufficiently repelled by Sir Walter Scott in his Provincial Anti¬
quities of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 133. See likewise Dr Drake’s Mornings in Spring, vol. i. p. 286.
4 Hay’s Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 105. MS. Adv. Lib.
8 Sir William Drummond is more celebrated for his jovialty than for his literature. See Dr Pennecuik’s Poems, p. 49. 52. An
honourable instance of his humanity is recorded in the Memoirs of George Brysson, p. 285.
6 This was probably Henry Henryson, M. D. of Elvingston, whose Latin version of the hundred and fourth psalm occurs in the
Octupla. Edinb. 1696, 8vo. He is more commonly called Henderson, which is a corruption of the other name. Elizabeth, the
heiress of her father Dr Henry Henderson of Elvington, was married to John Clerk of Pennecuik. (Inquisitionum Abbreviatio,
vol. i. Haddington, 341.)
7 Douglas’s Baronage of Scotland, p. 573, compared with Sage’s Life of Drummond, p. vi.
212
DRUMMOND.
Drum- cavalier, and wielded his pen, though not his sword, in the
mond. king’s service ; and being reputed a malignant, he was ex-
posed to some of the usual molestations of those unhappy
times. The tragical fate of his sovereign is said to
have hastened his own dissolution : we are informed by
Bishop Sage that Drummond, being weakened by hard
study and disease, was so overwhelmed with extreme
grief and anguish that he died on the 4th of December
1649.1 But as the king was executed on the 30th of Ja¬
nuary, an interval of more than ten months must have oc¬
curred between his death and that of his faithful subject;
an interval so long as to render the biographer’s inference
somewhat questionable. He had nearly completed the
sixty-fourth year of his age. His remains were interred
in the church of Lasswade, which stands at the distance
of about a mile from Hawthornden. He appears through
life to have maintained a character of uniform respecta¬
bility ; uniting with his other qualities that of consistent
piety, and blending morality with his devotion. His death
was affectionately lamented by his friend Colonel Lauder
of Hatton, who has left several other specimens of his po¬
etical talents, and who was not the only Scotish soldier of
this period that evinced his love of the Muses.
Drummond was evidently a man of superior talents and
accomplishments. We are informed that he was fami¬
liarly acquainted with the best Greek and Latin authors :
his long residence on the continent afforded him an excel¬
lent opportunity of acquiring a knowledge of the living
languages; and he is said to have spoken French, Italian,
and Spanish, as fluently as his native tongue. To his
graver qualifications he added no mean proficiency in mu¬
sic; and he occasionally sought a relaxation from his stu¬
dies by playing on the lute, “ which he did to admira¬
tion.” Fie seems to have devoted a considerable portion
of his time to the invention or improvement of various
instruments and machines, applicable to various purposes
of peace or war. They are curiously enumerated, to the
extent of sixteen, in a patent which he obtained in the
year 1627, and which secured to him the sole right and
property within the kingdom of Scotland for the space of
twenty-one years.2
His literary productions exhibit considerable variety.
His compositions in prose chiefly consist of the Cypress
Grove, some political tracts, and the History of the five
Jameses; a work which embraces the history of Scotland
from 1423 to 1542.3 “ The best of Drummond’s prose
works,” says Mr Headley, “ is his Cypress Grove, which,
though quaint in its style, is worth reading for its vein of
dignified morality."’ His history, which lias alternately
been the object of extravagant commendation and unspar¬
ing censure, cannot now be regarded as a work of much
value or interest: the author’s materials are not general¬
ly drawn from recondite sources, and his manner is too
rhetorical. For tjie reputation which he still retains,
Drummond is chiefly indebted, not to his historical, but
to his poetical excellence; and, in the opinion of compe¬
tent judges, he is entitled to a distinguished place among
the English poets of that age. As few of his poems ex¬
tend to a considerable length, his genius cannot be esti¬
mated by the success of any great and continued effort; Dru
but notwithstanding the shortness of his flights, he gene- Mon
rally soars on bright and steady wings. Fie is conspicu-
ous for his delicate sensibility and warmth of fancy; and
with these qualities, so essential in an amatory poet, he
unites uncommon skill in versification. His taste seems
in a great measure to have been formed upon the Italian
model, nor are his compositions entirely free from Italian
conceits; but he commonly maintains a degree of ele¬
gant simplicity to which few English poets of that age
have attained.
The reputation which Drummond enjoyed during his
life, appears to have suffered some diminution after his
death. He was a gentleman, says Edward Phillips, “ who
imitating the Italian manner of versifying, vented his
amours in sonnets, canzonets, and madrigals, and, to my
thinking, in a style sufficiently smooth and delightful; and
therefore why so utterly disregarded and layd aside at
present, I leave to the more curious palats in poetry.”4
After an interval of more than a century, the same com¬
plaint of unmerited neglect was repeated by Mr Headley.
“ Without ostentatious praise (which is always to be sus¬
pected), it is but truth to observe that many of his son¬
nets, those more especially which are divested of Italian
conceits, resemble the best Greek epigrams in their best
taste, in that exquisite delicacy of sentiment, and simpli¬
city of expression, for which our language has no single
term, but which is known to all classical readers by the
word utpiXua. It is in vain we lament the fate of many of
our poets, who have undeservedly fallen victims to a pre¬
mature oblivion, when the finished productions of this man
are little known and still less read.”5
Drummond’s sonnets form a very considerable propor¬
tion of his poetical works. The following four may be se¬
lected as a specimen of the entire collection; and they
are here exhibited in modern orthography.
I know that all beneath the moon decays,
And what by mortals in this world is brought,
In Time’s great periods shall return to nought;
That fairest states have fatal nights and days :
I know how all the Muse’s heavenly lays,
With toil of spright which are so dearly bought,
As idle sounds, of few or none are sought,
And that nought lighter is than airy praise:
I know frail beauty like the purple flower,
To which one morn oft birth and death affords;
That love a jarring is of minds’ accords,
When sense and will invassal reason’s power.
Know what I list, this all cannot me move
But that, O me ! I both must write and love.
With flaming horns the Bull now brings the year,
Melt do the horrid mountains’ helms of snow,
The silver floods in pearly channels flow,
The late-bare woods green anadems do wear;
The nightingale, forgetting winter’s wroe,
Calls up the lazy morn her notes to hear ;
Those flowers are spread which names of princes bear,
Some red, some azure, wdrite, and golden grow.
Here lows a heifer, there bewailing strays
A harmless lamb, not far a stag rebounds;
The shepherds sing to grazing flocks sweet lays,
And ail about the echoing air resounds.
Srr Thomas Urquhart is said to have expired in a paroxysm of laughter, on hearing of the restoration of Charles the Second ; a
statement which is rendered sufficiently probable by the record of similar cases, and by the ^centric character of the individual.
Areteus, an ancient physician, specifies unextinguishable laughter as one of the causes of death: ytXu; u,tXe,
( e ausis e fignis i orboium, lib. i. p. 35. edit. Boerhaave. Lugd. Bat. 1735, fob) And other ancient writers have mentioned
the names of different persons who died of excessive joy. (Valerius Maximus, lib. ix. cap. xii. Plinii Hist. Nat. lib. vii. cap. liii.)
According to the common account, Sophocles was of this number.
2 Drummond’s Works, p. 235. .Edinb. 1711, fol.
t ^ °fri1,S Hlstory of Scotland, the first edition is that of London, 1655, fol. The introduction was written by Mr Hall of Grav’s
Inn. 1 here are other three editions. J
\ Pkiffips’s Theatrum Poetarum, or compleat Collection of the Poets, part ii. p. 192. Lond. 1675, 12mo.
Headley s Biographical Sketches (p. xlv.) prefixed to Select Beauties of Ancient English Poetry. Lond. 17C7, 2 vols. 8vo*
DRUMMOND.
213
Hills, dales, woods, floods, and every thing doth change,
But she in rigour, I in love am strange.
Trust not, sweet soul, those curled waves of gold,
With gentle tides which on your temples flow,
Nor temples spread with flakes of virgin snow,
Nor snow of cheeks with Tyrian grain enroll’d;
* Trust not those shining lights which wrought my woe,
When first I did their burning rays behold.
Nor voice, whose sounds more strange effects do show
Than of the Thracian harper have been told.
Look to this dying lily, fading rose,
Dark hyacinth, of late whose blushing beams
Made all the neighbouring herbs and grass rejoice,
And think how little is ’twixt life’s extremes.
The cruel tyrant that did kill those flowers,
Shall once, aye me ! not spare that spring of yours.
What doth it serve to see sun’s burning face,
And skies enamell’d with both the Indies’ gold,
Or moon at night in .jetty chariot rolled,
And all the glory of that starry place ?
What doth it serve earth’s beauties to behold,
The mountains’ pride, the meadows’ flowing grace.
The stately comeliness of forests old,
The sport of floods, which would themselves embrace ?
What doth it serve to hear the Sylvans’ songs, _
The wanton merle, the nightingale’s sad strains.
Which in dark shades seem to deplore my wrongs ?
For what doth serve all that this world contains,
Sith she, for whom those once to me were dear,
No part of them can have now with me here ?
To some of his compositions, which he has described as
songs, this title is by no means applicable; it is neither
applicable to the vein of poetry, nor to the measure of the
verse. One striking poem, which he entitles a song, is
written in heroic couplets, and contains such passages as
this:
And tell me, thou who dost so much admire
This little vapour, smoke, this spark or fire,
Which life is call’d, what doth it thee bequeath
But some few years which birth draws out to death ?
Which if thou paragon with lustres run,
And them whose career is but now begun,
In day’s great vast they shall far less appear,
Than with the sea when matched is a tear.
But why would’st thou here longer wish to be ?
One year doth serve all nature’s pomp to see,
Nay, even one day and night: this moon, that sun,
Those lesser fires about this round which run,
Be but the same which, under Saturn’s reign,
Did the serpenting seasons interchain.
How oft doth life grow less by living long,
And what excellet'h but what dieth young?1
His collection of sacred verses, which he entitles
Flowres of Sion,2 contain much poetical imagery and ex¬
pression. Some of the topics cannot be very safely ap¬
proached by a poet, who must place his chief reliance on
the exercise of his fancy; and the subsequent lines of this
writer may sometimes occur to the recollection of his
reader:
Who would this F.den force with wit or sense,
A cherubim shall find to bar him thence.
One of the longest poems in this collection, entitled a
Hymne on the fairest Faire, contains the following among
many other striking passages :
Ah ! as a pilgrim who the Alps doth pass,
Or Atlas’ temples crowm’d with winter’s glass,
The airy Caucasus, the Apennine,
Pyrenes cliffs where sun doth never shine,
When he some heaps of hills hath over-went,
Begins to think on rest, his journey spent,
Till, mounting some tall mountain, he doth find
More heights before him than he left behind:
With halting pace so while I would me raise
To the unbounded circuits of thy praise,
Some part of way I thought to have o’er-run,
But now I see how scarce I have begun,
With wonders new my spirits range possest,
And wand’ring way less in a maze them rest.
It has been suggested by Mr Headley that one would
be induced to suppose Pope must have remembered these
lines when he wrote a well-known passage in his Essay on
Criticism. The subsequent couplet, which occurs in the
same hymn, is remarkable for its energetic simplicity:
, Uncomprehensible by reachless height,
And unperceived by excessive light.
Another poem of considerable length he entitles the
Shadow of the Judgment. It is left in an unfinished state,
and is not included in the collection published under the
direction of Sir John Scot ;3 but it nevertheless contains
many passages worthy of the author’s reputation. An ele¬
gant critic has remarked that the following verses, de¬
scribing God moved to wrath, are in Milton’s manner:
So seeing earth, of angels once the inn,
Mansion of saints, defloured all by sin,
And quite confus’d by wretches here beneath,
The world’s great sovereign moved was to wrath.
Thrice did he rouse himself, thrice from his face
Flames sparkle did throughout the heavenly place :
The stars, though fixed, in their rounds did quake,
The earth, and earth-embracing sea did shake :
Carmel and FIsemus felt it, Athos’ tops
Affrighted shrunk, and near the F.thiops
Atlas, the Pyrenees, the Apennine,
And lofty Grampius, -which with snow doth shine.
Then to the synod of the sprights he swore,
Man’s care should end, and time should be no more.
Drummond’s poem in commemoration of Prince Henry4
commences in a strain somewhat bombastic, but it con¬
tains some elegant and striking passages. The subsequent
lines exhibit a very favourable specimen of his versifica¬
tion ; and it is proper to recollect that the poem was print¬
ed so early as the year 1613. He describes the lamented
youth as rejoicing to look down to the azure bars of heaven,
And in their turning temples to behold.
In silver robe the moon, the sun in gold,
Like young eye-speaking lovers in a dance,
With majesty by turns retire, advance.
Thou wonderest earth to see hang like a ball.
Clos’d in the ghastly cloister of this all;
'Ov o\ hoi ipiXouiriv uffollvrirxii vim.
Menandri Fragmenta, p. 48- edit. Meineke.
* Flowres of Sion. By William Drvmmond of Hawthorne-denne. To which is adjoyned his Cypresse Groue. 1623, 4to. Euen-
bovrgh, printed by lohn Hart, 1630, 4to.
3 Poems by that most famous wit Mr William Drummond of Hawthornden. Lond. 1656, 8vo. The editor was Edward Ihu-
lips, the nephew of Milton. The same edition was exhibited under a new and fantastic title, with the date of A,1*101^ e^'
tensive collection of his poems is to be found in the Works of W illiam Drummond of Hawthornden. Edinb. 1711, ml* ,1S °P a^.e K
life of the author is prefixed to this publication. But the most complete, as well as the most elegant edition was printed under
the superintendence of Mr Maitland: “ The Poems of William Drummond of Hawthornden.” Edinb. 1832, 4t°- 4iie booK now-
followed. Edinb. 1614, 4to. The second we have not seen.
D R U
And that poor men should prove so madly fond
To toss themselves for a small foot of ground ;
Nay, that they even dare brave the powers above,
From this base stage of chance that cannot move.
All worldly pomp and pride thou seest arise
Like smoke, that scatt’reth in the empty skies.
Other hills and forests, other sumptuous tow’rs.
Amaz’d thou find’st excelling our poor bow’rs ;
Courts void of flattery, of malice minds,
Pleasure which lasts, not such as reason blinds.
Forth Feasting, a poem written in the year 1617 on the
king’s visit to his native country,1 may be considered as his
best performance; it abounds with poetical imagery, and
the versification possesses uncommon terseness and har¬
mony. In all poems of the same age and denomination,
the reader must necessarily expect a certain sprinkling of
mythology; this is a prevailing vice, an endemic disease,
among the poets of that period ; but Forth Feasting is en¬
livened by an elegant vein of fancy, and contains various
passages of distinguished felicity. In the following nervous
lines, he pays a warm and not unmerited compliment to
the monarch’s love of peace :
Now, where the wounded knight his life did bleed,
The wanton swain sits piping on a reed.
And where the cannon did Jove’s thunder scorn.
The gaudy huntsman winds his shrill-tun’d horn ;
Her green locks Ceres without fear doth dye,
The pilgrim safely in the shade doth lie.
Both Pan and Pales careless keep their flocks,
Seas have no dangers save the winds and rocks:
Thou art this isle’s Palladium, neither can,
While thou art kept, it be o’erthrown by man.
Let others boast of blood and spoils of foes,
Fierce rapines, murders, Iliads of woes,
Of hated pomp, and trophies reared fair,
Gore-spangled ensigns streaming in the air,
Count how they make the Scythian them adore,
The Gaditan, the soldier of Aurore;
Unhappy vauntry ! to enlarge their bounds,
Which charge themselves with cares, their friends with wounds,
Which have no law to their ambitious will,
But, man plagues, born are human blood to spill:
Thou a true victor art, sent from above,
What others strain by force to gain by love;
Wbrld-wand’ring Fame this praise to thee imparts,
To be the only monarch of all hearts.
When the successor of this king visited his northern
dominions in the year 1633, Drummond contributed the
verses for the pageants which welcomed his arrival in
Edinburgh.2 These verses, although they do not exhibit
passages equal to those which we have lately examined,
are not destitute of merit. Of the frequent compression
and harmony of his couplets, every reader must be suffi¬
ciently aware; and the excellence of his versification has
been highly extolled by an English critic. Waller and Den¬
ham are often regarded as the great improvers of a mode
of versification which was carried to greater perfection by
Dryden; but the Tears on the Death of Mceliades, arid
Forth Feasting, were composed several years before either
of those poets had reached the age of manhood.3 (x.)
Drummond, Sir William, of Logie-Almond, a distin-
D R U
guished scholar, acute philosopher, and accomplished wri- d,]
ter, died at Rome, of a lingering and painful disease, on ml
the 29th of March 1828. The date of his birth we have
not been able to ascertain, and consequently cannot pre¬
tend to determine his age at the time of his decease.
He seems to have been early ambitious of literary dis¬
tinction, and in 1794 he published A Review of the Go¬
vernment of Sparta and Athens, large 8vo; a work which,
though not destitute of merit, and exhibiting considerable
traces of a vigorous mind, yet gave no promise of that bold
spirit of speculation for which its author was afterwards so
much distinguished. At the close of the year 1795, he
was returned to parliament for the borough of St Mawes,
in the representation of which a vacancy had occurred;
and in the two following parliaments, which met respective¬
ly in 1796 and 1801, he sat for the town of Lostwithiel.
At the time of his second election he had been appointed
envoy-extraordinary to the court of Naples.
In the year 1798, he published The Satires of Persius
Translated, 8vo, which happened to appear about the same
time with the rival translation of the Roman satirist by Mr
Gifford, author of the Baviad and Maeviad, and afterwards
editor of the Quarterly Review. This translation alone
would have been sufficient to fix his reputation as an ac¬
complished classical scholar ; and, in point of fact, it has
been much admired by all who are competent to appre¬
ciate the difficulty of the task which he so successfully
performed. It would not be easy, indeed, to overrate the
skill with which the niceties of Persius have been discri¬
minated, or the felicity with which the idiomatic pecu¬
liarities of that difficult author have been converted into
equivalent forms of expression. Drummond’s versification
is easy, graceful, and precise; and though it wants the
piquancy of allusion, the congenial bitterness of spirit, and
the occasional point and concentration, which impart so
strong a zest to the translation of Mr Gifford, it is yet
distinguished for greater freedom and equal fidelity, two
things which Drummond has shown that it is not impos¬
sible to reconcile.
In the year 1801, Mr Drummond being then ambassa¬
dor to the Ottoman Porte, was honoured with the order
of the Crescent, which was confirmed by license, in the
London Gazette, dated the 8th of September 1803.
In 1805 Sir William published his Academical Questions,
in 4to, and thereby greatly extended his fame as an au¬
thor. Hitherto he had appeared only in the character
of an elegant and accomplished scholar; but in this work
he boldly entered the domain of philosophy, and in a free
and fearless spirit attacked every species of dogmatism,
whether consecrated by time, or sustained by authority,
exposing the weakness of the human understanding, and
mortifying the pride of pretended wisdom, by a collection
of what appear to be insoluble cases and indeterminate
problems. In this work, however, it is only the task of de¬
molition which he proposes to accomplish; and it must
be owned that he has spread abroad the rubbish and scat¬
tered the dust of philosophical systems in a somewhat ap-
1 Forth Feasting. A Panegyricke to the Kings most excellent Majestie. Edinbvrgh, printed by Andro Hart, 1617, 4to This
poem occurs in the Muses Welcome, p. 25.
2 Drummond’s verses appeared in a publication entitled “ The Entertainment of the high and mighty Monarch Charles, King
of Great Britaine, France, and Ireland, into his auncient and royall Citie of Edinbvrgh, the fifteenth of lune 1633.” Printed at
Edinbvrgh by lohn Wreittoun, 1633, 4to. The last work which he himself is known to have published bears the following title:
“ To the Exequies of the Honovrable Sr Antonye Alexander, Knight, &c. A pastorall Elegie.” Edinbvrgh, printed in King James
his College, by George Anderson, 1638, 4to. Mr Maitland has reprinted the Polemo-Middinia from the earliest edition that has
been traced. Edinb. 1684, 4to.
3 Neve’s Cursory Remarks on some of the Ancient English Poets, particularly Milton, p. 49. Lond. 1789, 8vo With respect
to the supposed merit of Waller and Denham as improvers of English versification, the reader may consult Mr Crowe’s Treatise on
English Versification, p. 166. Lond. 1827, 8vo.
DRUMMOND.
215
palling manner. “ The author of Academical Questions,"
sayS the able critic of the work in the Edinburgh Review,
n is indubitably a person of great reading, and much natu¬
ral acuteness; but he has taken too wide a range, and in¬
dulged somewhat too much in a vein of controversial decla¬
mation. He often seems to think more of demolishing his
antagonist than of enlightening his reader ; and sometimes
appears to enlarge upon a topic as much for the display of
his eloquence as for the support of his reasoning. By fre¬
quent reference to the Greek writers, and continual allu¬
sions to the usages of antiquity, he expected perhaps to
seduce the scholars of the South into metaphysical inves¬
tigations, and to engage the attention of polite readers by
a certain vivacity and polish in the turn of his expression.
If this was his view, however, he certainly ought not to
have plunged at first into the great gulf of substance and
entity.” (Edinburgh Review, vol. vii. p. 185.) To these
observations, however, it is proper to add, that the author
avowedly reserved the full exposition of his own theory
for a subsequent volume, though in point of fact it never
appeared ; and that in this preliminary publication he con¬
ceived himself to be only clearing out the foundation on
which it was his intention afterwards to build.
In the year 1810, Sir William Drummond, in conjunc¬
tion with Robert Walpole, Esq. published Herculanensia,
in 4to, containing archaeological and philological disserta¬
tions, and a copy of a manuscript found amongst the ruins
of Herculaneum; and in 1811 appeared an Essay on a
Punic Inscription found in the Isle of Malta, royal 8vo ;
both works of great merit and erudition. Sir William was
also an occasional, if not a frequent, contributor to the Clas¬
sical Journal; in which his papers on subjects of antiquity,
particularly the zodiac of Denderah, which occupied with¬
out exhausting his ingenuity, attracted the general admi¬
ration of the learned, if not always on account of their
soundness, at least by reason of the acuteness and origi¬
nality they display, and the resources of learning which
the author had always at command for the illustration of
his peculiar views. About this time, Sir William Drum¬
mond, whose residence at Constantinople had turned his
attention to oriental literature, sacred as well as profane,
consigned the fruits of his researches and investigations
into the historical books of the Old Testament, in his
(Edipus Judaicus. This singular work was never publish¬
ed, having been printed solely for distribution amongst the
author’s friends and acquaintance; but as he had caused
a considerable impression to be struck off, copies of it soon
found their way into the hands of persons connected with
the periodical press, and those of others; and, as might
have been expected, it was most fiercely attacked. The
first onset was made by a churchman of the name of
D’Oyly, in Letters to the Right Hon. Sir William Drum-
mo7id, in Defence of particular Passages of the Old Testa¬
ment against his late ivork entitled “ (Edipus Judaicus
and the attack was renewed in the Quarterly Review, with
equal vigour and ability. Whether it was altogether fair
thus openly to stigmatize a book which had never been
published, we shall not stop to inquire; more especially as
the principal cause of regret is, not that it was severely
criticised, but that it was ever written, far less printed.
In the controversy which thus arose, however, Sir William
was overmatched, both in science and in Helorew, with
which D’Oyly and the Reviewer evinced a most intimate
acquaintance ; and although his reply displayed much in¬
genuity, no skill could evade, far less destroy, the force of
some of the criticisms. The truth is, the allegorical theory
which he undertook to establish was taken at secondhand
Irom the work of Dupuis ; and although the author, not¬
withstanding all the errors charged against him, brought
great stores of learning and erudition to bear upon it, yet
the absurdities to which it leads are so glaring, and the Drum-
consequences which follow from it are so pernicious, that mond.
it is surprising Sir William Drummond should not have
foreseen the one, or been prudent enough not to hazard
the other. The preface, too, though beautifully written,
contains observations which nothing can excuse, and irre¬
verences so gross as even to shock persons the least scru¬
pulous about subjects of religion. The profane joke about
veal cutlets is worthy only of Mr Thomas Paine, and fit to
appear in no work where the ordinary humanities of taste
and reason are duly observed.
In 1818 Sir William Drummond published, experimen¬
tally we believe, the first part of a poem entitled Odin,
4to, the object of which was to embody in verse some of
the more striking features of the Scandinavian mythology.
The poem, however, did not succeed in attracting public
attention, which was then almost exclusively fixed on some
of the great masters of song, whose deep voice of inspira¬
tion filled the land; and although it contained passages of
very considerable power and beauty, it fell into almost im¬
mediate oblivion.
But the work on which the reputation of Sir William
Drummond as a scholar and antiquary must chiefly rest,
is his Origines, or Remarks on the Origin of several Em¬
pires, States, and Cities, in 3 vols. 8vo. The first volume,
embracing the origin of the Babylonian, the Assyrian, and
the Iranian empires, appeared in 1824; the second, which is
wholly devoted to the subject of Egypt, including the mo¬
dern discoveries in hieroglyphics, came out in 1825; and
the third, which treats of the Phoenicians and Arabia, was
published in 1826. It would be exceedingly difficult, by
a general statement, or by critical observations apart from
details, to convey an accurate idea of the real character
and merits of this work; which, with much that is strained,
exaggerated, or defective, to say nothing of errors into which
the author i§ sometimes betrayed by the excessive refine¬
ments of an ever active ingenuity, is in several respects
one of the most remarkable productions of modern times.
A principal feature of the Origines, though certainly the
least obtrusive, is, that here the author labours quietly to
build up and fortify the authority of the historical books
of the Old Testament, which, in the (Edipus Judaicus, he
had (probably without intending it) contributed to impair,
if not to pull down: whilst by concentrating, as it were,
into one focus the various scattered lights of tradition,
history, philosophy, science, etymology, and archaeology,
he has contrived to illuminate many of the darkest pas¬
sages in the records of the ancient world; to dispel no
inconsiderable portion of the obscurity which overshadow¬
ed the origin and annals of the great empires of antiquity ;
and, even in the merest archaeological discussions, to in¬
terweave incidental illustrations, alike curious in them¬
selves, and valuable to the scholar, the theologian, and the
antiquary. Upon this work, therefore, as on a fixed and en¬
during pedestal, the fame of Drummond as a scholar must
in a great measure rest. Besides its other great and sin¬
gular merits, it has that which indeed is peculiar to al¬
most all Drummond’s works, of being written in a pure,
chaste, classical style, full of vivacity and vigour, and
sometimes even rising into a rich and lofty strain of elo¬
quence. The dialogue between Neomathes and Philo-
thoth, in the second volume, where the one impugns and •
the other defends the astronomical and mathematical skill
of the ancient Egyptians, may be instanced as a specimen
of the grace, elegance, and force of Drummond’s style,
when it flows in a continuous stream, unbroken by the pro¬
jecting corners and edges of a hard and rugged erudition.
Sir William Drummond’s appreciation of the modern
discoveries in hieroglyphics (a subject to which three
consecutive chapters of the second volume are devoted)
216 D R U D R U
Drum- is, in general, sound and discriminating; and he foresaw ander does not appear to have been made acquainted. hru
t mon(l. sooner than almost any one else, that the powers of the That the prince should have, desired to be regent of'^\
phonetic alphabet, as an instrument of discovery, would be Spain was natural; but that he should have been con¬
found to have been greatly over-rated. In a letter, dated veyed to Gibraltar in a British ship of the line, when the
Naples, 27th April 1827, and addressed to the author of English government disapproved of his pretensions, was
this imperfect notice, he very distinctly shows how fully I'eally curious. Sir William Drummond could scarcely
he had estimated the difficulty which M. Champollion had have proceeded such lengths in an alfair of so great conse-
overlooked, and which now appears to be nearly, if not quence, without secret instructions from some member of
altogether insuperable. “ That M. Champollion’s system his own government; yet Lord Castlereagh expressed
is accurate to a certain extent,” says he, “ I admit; and unqualified approbation of Sir Hew Dalrymple’s decisive
his discoveries do him great honour. Whether he be conduct upon the occasion.” (Napier’s History of the Pe-
right in all the details of his system is another question, ninsular TVar, vol. i. p. 177.) In polities Sir William
He establishes the existence of a very great number (I Drummond appears to have known his ground well, and
forget the precise number) of phonetic hieroglyphs;1 and to have given entire satisfaction to the governments which
to these, he says, are to be traced all the characters of employed him, at periods of no ordinary difficulty, in trans-
the running hand, which he reads with so much ease, acting affairs of the greatest importance.
Now I cannot help observing, that where there are so Such is an imperfect outline of the literary and political
many signs to represent each alphabetical letter, and where character of this distinguished person. In private life he
consequently there must have been various contractions was a man of modest, retiring, unobtrusive manners, per-
for each of these signs in the running hand, the task of fectly unconscious that he differed from or had any claims
learning all these contractions without the aid of a master, to distinction superior to the most ordinary and common-
andof accurately referring them to their prototypes, must place person who fell in his way. Throughout his whole
be immense. In Sanscrit there are fifty-two letters, and life he was a close and assiduous student, often preferring
yet there are above eight hundred contractions. To refer the company of his books to the promiscuous and frivolous
these Sanscrit contractions to their original letters is not intercourse of company ; and hence he was sometimes con-
always very easy; but the difficulty in Egyptian must sidered as eccentric, if not cold, distant, and haughty, by
have been much greater, in which language the phonetic those who neither knew nor could sympathise with the
characters, and consequently the contractions, are far habits which are gradually formed by a studious and con-
more numerous.” Here we have the germ of those prin- templative life; habits which continue unconsciously to
ciples which, developed and applied by Klaproth to the grow upon men whose days and nights are devoted to the
values of characters as set down by M. Champollion, have pursuit of knowledge. But he was, nevertheless, one of
made terrible havoc of his discoveries, and left him at last the kindest, mildest, and most generous and humane men
little more than what he took without acknowledgment that ever existed. To his tenants and dependents he was
from Dr Young. indulgent even to the injury of his own private fortune;
Of Sir William Drummond in his public capacity we to his friends he was most stedfastly and fervently devoted,
are not prepared to speak with any degree of confidence, In him rising merit was always sure to find a ready and
having little knowledge of his services as a diplomatist, active patron; and not a few individuals have owed their
or of his capabilities for acting in that character. The establishment and success in life to the circumstance of
habit of his mind was a cautious or rather tentative bold- having attracted his notice, or of being pointed out to him
ness, accompanied with perseverance, yet tempered with as deserving of support or encouragement. Latterly, owing
a conciliating blandness of disposition, and an amenity of to the precarious state of his health, which made it ne”
manners, native to his character; and it is to be presum- cessary for him to resort to a warmer climate, he resided
ed that this prevailing tendency showed itself in the con- almost constantly abroad; chiefly, we believe, at Naples,
duct of affairs, as well as in abstract or speculative pur- where he continued to indulge in those learned pursuits
suits. In 1808, we find him, whilst resident at the court which formed the main solace and delight of his life, (a.)
of Palermo, ostensibly embarked in a scheme for securing DRUNKENNESS, or Intoxication, a well-known
the regency of Spain, which had then just risen in arms to vice, the consequence of an excessive use of spirituous
thnw off the yoke of France, to Prince Leopold of Sicily, liquors, wines, or drugs. Drunkenness is gradually produ-
As might have been expected, the project misgave at the ced, and several distinct stages may be traced in its pro-
very commencement, and Sir William Drummond has not gress. The sensations experienced in the earlier stages, or
escaped censure for the part he had in it. “ Sir W illiam the state of incipient intoxication, are peculiarly pleasur-
Drummond, the British envoy at Palermo, Mr Viale, and able. The mind becomes unusually excited; a soft serenity
the Duke of Orleans, says Colonel Napier,” were the osten- steals over it, inducing a spirit of universal contentment;
sible conti ivers of this notable scheme, by which, it it had gaiety and warmth kindle at the heart, and images of
succeeded, a small party in a local junta (that of Seville) beauty expand before the imagination. In this state, be-
would have appointed a regency for Spain, paved the way fore consciousness is attacked, or the sensorium affected,
for altering the laws of succession in that country, esta- some of the faculties of the soul act with greater liveli-
b ished their own sway over the other juntas, and created ness and vigour, and the feelings of strength and courage
interminable jealousy between England, Portugal, and are increased. In a short while the sense of propriety is
Spain; but with whom the plan originated does not very lost, the soul begins to open itself and pour forth its se-
c eaily appear. Sir William Drummonds representations crets, displaying all the peculiarities of temper, good or
induced Sir Alexander Ball to provide the ship of war, bad. Gradually the scene thickens, and consciousness be-
nominally foi the conveyance of the Duke of Orleans [now comes still more weakened. Reason vacates her throne,
king of the French, who had made no secret of his inten- and grotesque conceptions crowd upon the fancy. Dizzi-
tion to negociate for the regency of Spain], but in reality ness attacks the brain, and surrounding objects, seeming
for Prince Leopold, with whose intended voyage Sir Alex- to lose their balance,
1 About a hundred and forty ; whilst, even by the lowest estimate, the total number of hieroelvnhs
hundred. n '1
on the monuments exceeds eight
D R U D R U 217
i Into strange vagaries fall,
Jf11*611" As they would dance.
^ ^ The drunkard begins to feel the earth unsteady beneath
his feet, his sense of equilibrium gives way, and total
insensibility succeeds, in which a state of stupor, wild
dreams, and horror, strongly contrasts with that of pre¬
vious excitement. Dilferent individuals are differently
affected by the inebriating liquid. The state of the pas¬
sions at the period of indulging in strong liquors also ope¬
rates powerfully in modifying its effects. Persons under
sentence of death, and immediately before execution,
have been known to swallow with impunity draughts of
the strongest alcohol, which, under other circumstances,
would have rendered them senseless. Hence the remark¬
able propriety of the language put into the mouth of Lady
Macbeth previously to the contemplated murder, when,
alluding to the manner in which she had “ drugged the
possets” of the grooms, she says, “ that which hath made
them drunk hath made me bold.” In some persons con¬
stitutional moroseness and melancholy are dispelled; in
others their habitual gloom is aggravated. Cases of the
latter description, however, are by no means so numerous
as those of the former, and the general effect of indulgence
in “ thick potations” is to dispel the clouds of care, at
least for the time being. But the re-action which event¬
ually follows over-excitement serves to deepen the dark¬
ness, and, by a dispensation of retributive justice, to in¬
flict certain punishment for the previous delinquency.
Drunkards who are of a sanguineous temperament are
most intensely excited by the use of strong liquors.
It is unnecessary to enumerate the various inebriating
agents, which, as well as temperament, influence the na¬
ture of the intoxication produced. Thus ebriety from ar¬
dent spirits differs from that generated by malt liquors.
Besides alcohol, which is the intoxicating principle in all
liquors, there are various substances taken, both in the
. solid and fluid state, which induce intoxication. The
most common and remarkable are opium and nitrous ox¬
ide gas. The former, it is well known, is in extensive
use for this purpose in the East, but the latter has not yet
been employed out of the laboratory of the chemist. 1 he
effects produced by this gas are described by the disco¬
verer, Sir Humphry Davy, and others who have experien¬
ced them, as very delightful, and similar to those felt during
the earlier stages of intoxication from wine, but of a purer
and more ethereal nature.
Amongst the physiological effects of drunkenness are
vertigo, double vision, staggering and stammering, heat
and flushing, ringing in the ears, and other analogous af¬
fections. Vertigo, though partly produced by the ocular
delusions under which the drunkard labours, seems prin¬
cipally to arise from the close sympathy which subsists be¬
tween the brain and the nerves of the stomach. Double
vision is readily accounted for by the influence of increased
circulation in the brain upon the nerves of sight. Stag¬
gering and stammering may likewise be explained by the
disordered state of the nervous system. Heat and flush¬
ing result from the strong determination of blood to the
surface of the body, and ringing in the ears particularly
from the throbbing of the internal carotid arteries, which
run in the immediate neighbourhood of the ear. The
mental pleasure arising from intoxication is not so easily
explained, though the primary cause no doubt is physi¬
cal or rather nervous excitement gradually superinduced,
and thus stimulating both the imagination and the pas¬
sions. The evil consequences of drinking, both in a phy¬
sical and moral point of view, are numerous and distress¬
ing. On the unhappy victim of this propensity a long
train of bodily diseases and infirmities are entailed. The
liver, stomach, brain, kidneys, indeed all the functions
VOL. VIII.
of the body, are seriously impaired by the practice; and Druses,
in this state the frame is not only more liable to attacks
of disease, but when they do come they are likely to ex¬
hibit tenfold inveteracy. Thus life is either suddenly short¬
ened, or protracted into a long disease. Death itself is
frequently an immediate consequence of over indulgence.
We shall not attempt a classification of the bodily infir¬
mities and pernicious effects which drunkenness produces;
but we may mention madness, and spontaneous combus¬
tion of the body, as belonging to the number. The former
is by no means a rare occurrence, and there are well au¬
thenticated cases of the latter. Drunkenness in a judicial
point of view is not punishable by our laws; but acts of
violence committed under its influence are held to be ag¬
gravated rather than otherwise; nor can the accused al¬
lege it as an extenuation of the crime of which he has
been guilty. In proof of this it maybe stated, that a bond
signed in a fit of intoxication holds good in law, and is per¬
fectly binding, unless it can be shown that the person who
signed it was inebriated by the collusion or contrivance of
those to whom the bond was given.
Drunkenness has been known from the earliest ages.
Wherever the grape flourished inebriation soon made its
appearance. It has greatly varied at different times and
amongst different nations. There can be no doubt that in
a rude, uncivilized state of society, it prevails to the great¬
est extent, and assumes the most revolting forms. It is
also found to exist more extensively in northern than in
southern latitudes, owing no doubt to the difference of
climate. As society is refined, the vice certainly diminishes
amongst the higher orders, although amongst those in the
lower ranks it is still found to exist to a fearful extent.
For checking this demoralizing practice various moral en¬
gines have been set to work, but without a success com¬
mensurate with the philanthropy of the design or the im¬
portance to society of the anticipated results.
DRUSES, an independent people of Palestine, of warlike
habits, who inhabit the mountains of Libanus, Anti-Liba-
nus, and all the coast from Gibail to Saide, and east as far
as Balbec. There are various conjectures concerning the
origin of this singular race; the most rational of which is,
that they were originally a persecuted sect of Mahomme-
dans, who, flying from oppression, took refuge, about the
commencement of the eleventh century, amongst the
mountains of Lebanon, and there formed an independent
society.
The unity of the Mahommedan faith was at a very early
period broken by contending sectaries; and, according to
the full and accurate details of Volney, from whom the
following account is chiefly compiled, Egypt, under the
influence of these delusions, became, in the reign of the
third caliph of the race of the Fatimites, and in the year
of the Hegira 386 (a. d. 996), the theatre of the most ex¬
travagant enthusiasm and absurdity ever perhaps record¬
ed in history. This prince, called Hakem-b’amr-ellah,
was remarkable for his heresies and fanatical zeal. He
caused the first caliphs, the companions of Mahommed,
to be cursed in the mosques, and afterwards revoked the
anathema; he compelled the Jews and Christians to ab¬
jure their religion, and then permitted them to resume it;
he forbade the pilgrimage to Mecca, fasting, and the five
prayers; and at length carried his madness so far as to
desire to pass for God himself. This impious pretension
was supported by a false prophet, who came from Persia
into Egypt, and who, to ingratiate himself with Hakem,
maintained that this caliph was God himself incarnate.
But unluckily for the prophet, his new god had not the
power to protect him from the fury of his enemies, who
slew him in a tumult almost in the arms of the caliph,
who was himself massacred soon afterwards on Mount
2 E
218
DRUSES.
Druses. Mokhattam, where, as he said, he had held conversation the manner of the Okkals; but the troubles which sue- Dm
with angels. ceeded forced him once more to resume the reins of cq- ^
The death of these two chiefs did not stop the progress vernment, which he held till 1759, when he died univer- '
of their opinions. A disciple of Mohammed-ben-Ismael, sally regretted.
named Hamzu-ben-Ahmud, propagated them with inde- He left three sons, minors, the eldest of whom ought,
fatigable zeal in Egypt, in Palestine, and along the coast according to the custom of the country, to have succeed-
of Syria, as far as Sidon and Berytus. But his prose- ed him ; but being only eleven years of age, the authority
lytes being persecuted by the sect in power, took refuge devolved on his uncle Mansour, agreeably to a law very
in the mountains of Lebanon, where they were better general in Asia, which provides that the people shall be
able to defend themselves ; and shortly after this era we governed by a sovereign who has arrived at years of ma-
find them established there, and forming an independent turity. The young prince was but little fitted to maintain
society. . _ _ his pretensions; but a Maronite, named Sad-el-kouri, to
The difference of their opinions naturally disposes them whom Melhem had intrusted his education, took this upon
to be enemies, but the urgent interest of their common himself. Aspiring to see his pupil a powerful prince, that
safety forces them to allow mutual toleration ; and they he might himself become a powerful vizir, he made every
have always appeared united, and have jointly opposed, exertion to advance his fortune ; and accordingly entered
at different times, the Crusaders, the sultans of Aleppo, into a great many plots and intrigues, in which he suc-
the Mamelukes, and the Ottomans. The conquest of Sy- ceeded by means of an emir of the name of Yussuf in
ria by the latter made no change in their situation. Se- subverting his authority. We have no exact or accurate
lim I. on his return from Egypt, meditating no less than information of the internal state of this country, or of the
the conquest of Europe, disdained to waste his time be- domestic agitations and wars by which it has since been
fore the rocks of Lebanon. Soliman II. his successor, distracted. Nor would the detail of these petty wars,
incessantly engaged in important wars, either with the however ample or correct, possess any peculiar interest!
knights of Rhodes, the Persians, the kingdom of Yemen, The country is ruled by an emir, who is considered as the
the Hungarians, the Germans, or the emperor Charles V. vassal of the Turks.
had no time to think of the Druses. Emboldened by this In their religion the Druses have very peculiar tenets
inattention, and not content with their own independence, and observances. They practise neither circumcision, nor
they frequently descended from their mountains to pil- prayers, nor fasting; they observe neither festivals nor
lage the Turks. The pashas in vain attempted to repel prohibitions. They drink wine, eat pork, and allow mar-
these inroads ; for their troops were invariably routed or re- riage between brothers and sisters, though not between
pulsed. But about the year 1588 they .were at last sub- fathers and children. From this we may conclude, with
dued by Amurath III., to whom they became tributary, and reason, that the Druses have no religion ; yet one* class
under whose powerful sway the anarchy by which the of them must be excepted, whose religious customs are
country was distracted under its different chiefs was put very peculiar. Those who compose it are to the rest
an end to ; and one head or chief was established, who of the nation what the initiated were to the profane. They
was invested with the executive power, and who was assume the name of Okkals, or spiritualists, and bestow
made liable to the sultan for the stipulated tribute, which on the vulgar the epithet of Djahel, or ignorant. They
he was to collect as he best could from the people. The have various degrees of initiation, the highest orders of
whole power and resources of the country being by this which require celibacy. These are distinguished by the
conquest or revolution concentrated under one head, the white turban, which they affect to wear as a symbol of their
Druses were engaged in continual warfare and in maraud- purity; and so proud are they of this supposed puritv,
mg hostilities with the Turks; and towards the middle of that they think themselves sullied by even touching^
the seventeenth century they had attained to the height of profane person. If you eat out of their plate, or drink
their power under the celebrated emir Fakir-el-din or Fakar- out of their cup, they break them; and hence the cus-
din. I his chief extended his conquests, and at lengtn be- tom, so general in this country, of using vases with a sort
came so formidable that he excited the terror of the sultan, of cock, which may be drank out of without touching
who resolved to make an effort for his destruction. To avert them with the lips. All their practices are enveloped
the threatening storm he embarked for Italy to solicit sue- in mysteries. Their oratories stand alone or detached,
cours from the court of the Medici, at Florence, where he and are constantly situated on eminences ; in these they
remained for nine years. On his return he found every hold their secret assemblies, to which women are admit-
thmg prosperous under the wise government of his son Ali. ted. It is believed that they perform ceremonies there in
But.this prince was afterwards defeated in a battle with presence of a small statue resembling an ox or a calf; and
the Turks ; and Fakir-el-din himself being compelled to hence some have pretended to prove that they are de¬
take refuge in the mountains, was betrayed into the hands scended from the Samaritans. But besides that the fact
of the Turks by his companions, and by the orders of is not well ascertained, the worship of the ox may be de-
Amurath he was strangled at Constantinople in the year duced from other sources.
. , , - ^ i • , , . ^ie rest t*ie Druses, strangers to this spirit, are
After the death of rakir-el-din, the posterity ox that wholly indifferent about religious matters. The Christians
prince still continued in possession of the government, who live in their country pretend that several of them
though at the pleasure, and as vassals, of the Porte. But believe in the metempsychosis, and that others worship
as this family failed in the male line at the beginning of the sun, moon, and stars. All this is possible; for every
the last century, tiie authority devolved, by the election one, left to his own fancy, follows the opinion which
of the scheiks, on the house of Shelah. The only emir pleases him most; and these opinions are those which
of that house whose name deserves to be preserved, is present themselves most naturally to unenlightened minds.
Melhem, who reigned from 1740 to 1759; in which inter- When among the Turks, they affect the exterior of Ma-
va xe retrieved the losses of the Druses, and restored them hommedans, frequent the mosques, and perform their ab-
to that consequence which they had lost by the defeat of lutions and prayers. Among the Maronites, they accom-
iu' lowa!'d® the end of hls llfe> about the year PanJ them to church, and, like them, make use of holy
1.54, Melhem, wearied with the cares of government, ab- water. Many of them, importuned by the missionaries,
dicated his authority, to live in religious retirement, after suffer themselves to be baptized; and if solicited by the
D R U
I*ises. Turks, receive circumcision, and conclude by dying neither
Christians nor Mahommedans. But they are not so in¬
different in matters of civil policy.
The Druses may be divided into two classes : the com¬
mon people ; and the people of eminence and property, dis¬
tinguished by the title of scheiks and emirs, or descend¬
ants of princes. The greater part are cultivators, either
as farmers or proprietors ; and every man lives on his in¬
heritance, improving his mulberry trees and vineyards. In
some districts they grow tobacco, cotton, and some grain ;
but the quantity of these is inconsiderable. It appears
that at first all the lands were, as formerly in Europe, in
the hands of a small number of families. But in order to
render them productive, the great proprietors were forced
to sell part of them, and let leases ; which subdivision has
become the chief source of the power of the state, by
multiplying the number of persons interested in the public
welfare. There still exist, however, some traces of the
original inequality, which even at this day produces per¬
nicious effects. The great property possessed by some
families gives them too much influence in all the measures
of the nation; and their private interests have too great
weight in every public transaction. Their recent history
affords sufficient proofs of this, since all the civil or fo¬
reign wars in which they have been engaged have origi¬
nated in the ambition and personal views of some of the
principal families, such as the Lesbeks, the Djambelats,
and the Ismaels of Solyma. The scheiks of these houses,
who alone possess one tenth part of the country,*procured
retainers by means of their money, and at last involved
all the Druses in their dissensions. It must be owned,
however, that possibly to this conflict between contending
parties the whole nation owes the good fortune of never
having been enslaved by its chief.
This chief, called Hakem or governor, and also Emir or
prince, is a sort of king or general, who unites in his own
person the civil and military powers. His dignity is some¬
times transmitted from father to son, sometimes from one
brother to another ; and the succession is determined ra¬
ther by force than by any certain laws. Females can in no
case pretend to this inheritance. They are already ex¬
cluded from succession in civil affairs, and consequently
can still less expect it in political. In general the Asiatic
governments are too turbulent, and their administration
renders military talents too necessary, to admit of the so¬
vereignty of women. Among the Druses, the male line
of any family being extinguished, the government devolves
to him who is in possession of the greatest number of suf¬
frages and resources. But the first step used to be to ob¬
tain the approbation of the Porte, of whom he became
the vassal and tributary. It even happens, that, not un-
frequently, to assert its supremacy, it names the Ha¬
kem, contrary to the wishes of the nation, as in the case
of Ismael Hasbeya, raised to that dignity by Djezzar; but
this constraint lasts no longer than it is maintained by the
violence which gave it birth. The office of the governor
is to watch over the good order of the state, and to pre¬
vent the emirs, scheiks, and villages, from making war on
each other; and in case of disobedience, he may employ
force. He is also at the head of the civil power, and he
names the cadis, reserving to himself the power of life
and death. He collects the tribute, from which he an¬
nually pays to the pasha a stated sum. This tribute, which
is called miri, is imposed on the mulberry trees, vineyards,
cotton, and grain. All sown land pays in proportion to its
extent; every foot of mulberries is taxed at three medins,
or three sols nine deniers (not quite twopence). A hun¬
dred feet of vineyard pays a piastre, or forty medins; and
fresh measurements are often made to preserve a just pro¬
portion. The scheiks and emirs have no exemption in this
S E S. 219
respect; and it may truly be said that they contribute to Druses,
the public stock in proportion to their fortune. The
collection is made almost without expense. Each man
pays his contingent at Dair-el-kamar, if he pleases, or to
the collectors of the prince, who make a circuit round the
country after the crop of silks. The surplus of this tri¬
bute is for the prince; so that it is his interest to reduce
the demands of the Turks, as it would likewise be to aug¬
ment the impost. But this measure requires the sanction
of the scheiks, who have the privilege of opposing it.
Their consent is necessary, likewise, for peace and war.
In these cases, the emir must convoke general assemblies,
and lay before them the state of his affairs. There every
scheik, and every peasant who has any reputation for
courage or understanding, is entitled to give his suffrage ;
so that this government may be considered as a mixture
of monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy. Every thing
indeed depends on circumstances. If the governor be a
man of ability, he is absolute ; if he be weak, he is a cipher.
This proceeds from the want of fixed laws ; a want com¬
mon to all Asia, and the radical cause of all the disorders
in the governments of the Asiatic nations.
Neither the chief nor the individual emirs maintain
troops ; they have only persons attached to the domestic
service of their houses, and a few black slaves. When
the nation makes wrar, every man, whether scheik or pea¬
sant, able to bear arms, is called upon to march. He
takes with him a little bag of flour, a musket, some bullets,
a small quantity of powder made in his village, and re¬
pairs to the rendezvous appointed by the governor. If
it be a civil war, as sometimes happens, the servants, the
farmers, and their friends, take up arms for their patron,
or the chief of their family, and repair to his standard.
In such cases, the parties irritated frequently seem on the
point of proceeding to the last extremities; but they sel¬
dom have recourse to acts of violence, or attempt the
death of each other. Mediators always interpose, and
the quarrel is appeased the more readily, as each patron
is obliged to provide his followers with provisions and
ammunition.
The Druses are noted for their hospitality. Whoever
presents himself at their door in the quality of a suppliant
or passenger, is sure of being entertained with lodging and
food in the most generous and unaffected manner. Vol-
ney often saw the lowest peasants give the last mor¬
sel of bread they had in their houses to the hungry tra¬
veller ; and when it was observed to them that they want¬
ed prudence, their answer was, “ God is liberal and great,
and all men are brethren.” There are, therefore, no inns
in their country any more than in the rest of Turkey.
When they have once contracted with their guest the sa¬
cred engagement of bread and salt, no subsequent event
can make them violate it. Various instances of this are
related which do honour to their character. A few years
ago an aga of the janissaries having been engaged in a
rebellion, fled from Damascus and retired among the Dru¬
ses. The pasha was informed of this, and demanded him
of the emir, threatening to make war on him in case of
refusal. The emir demanded him of the scheik Talhouk,
who had received him ; but the indignant scheik replied,
“ When have you known the Druses deliver up their
guests ? Tell the emir, that as long as Talhouk shall pre¬
serve his beard, not a hair of the head of his suppliant
shall fall.”
In consequence, says Volney, of their prejudices, the
Druses do not choose to make alliances out of their own fa¬
milies. They invariably prefer their relation, though poor, to
a rich stranger; and poor peasants have been known to re¬
fuse their daughters to merchants of Saide and Bairout, who
possessed from twelve to fifteen thousand piastres. They
220 D R U
Druses, observe also, to a certain degree, the custom of the He-
brews, which directed that a brother should espouse his
brother’s widow.
In short, the proper and distinctive character of the
Druses is a sort of republican spirit, which gives them
more energy than any other subjects of the Turkish go¬
vernment, and an indifference for religion, which forms a
striking contrast with the zeal of the Mahommedans and
Christians. In other respects, their private life, their customs
and prejudices, are the same with those of other orientals.
They may marry several wives, and repudiate them when
they choose; but, except by the emir and a few men of
eminence, that is rarely practised. The women are all
veiled, so that no man knows the face of any other woman
than his wife, his mother, his sister, and sisters-in-law.
Every man lives in the bosom of his own family, and goes
little abroad. The women, those even of the scheiks, make
the bread, roast the coffee, wash the linen, cook the vic¬
tuals, and perform all domestic offices. The men culti¬
vate their lands and vineyards, and dig canals for water¬
ing them. In the evening they sometimes assemble in
the court, the area, or house of the chief of the village or
family. There, seated in a circle, with legs crossed, pipes
in their mouths, and poniards at their belts, they discourse
of their various labours, the scarcity or plenty of their
harvests, peace or war, the conduct of the emir, or the
amount of the taxes; they relate past transactions, discuss
present interests, and form conjectures on the future.
Their children, tired with play, come frequently to listen.
This is the only education of those who are termed the
Ignorant.
This account of the character, manners, and religious
tenets of the Druses has been corroborated by modern
travellers. The reverend Mr Connor, a missionary and
travelling agent of the British and Foreign Bible Society,
mentions that there are many sects among them ; but that
they are divided into two great classes, that of the Okkals
or the Intelligent, who to the number of 10,000 form the
sacred order; and the Djahels or Ignorant. It is stated
to be extremely difficult to learn anything satisfactory re¬
specting the religious creed of this people. It is generally
agreed that they believe in the transmigration of souls; and
according to the character of the individual in his journey
through life, will be the nature of the body which his soul
will animate in a future state of existence. If his conduct
has been fair and honourable, his soul will vivify the body
of some respectable character in life. But if his conduct
has been evil, his soul will enter the body of a horse, a
mule, or an ass. In like manner it is believed that persons
of eminent and conspicuous virtue will, as the highest re¬
compense of their merit, pass after death into the bodies
of Chinese Druses. In the schools, which are frequent
among the Druses, the Okkals are generally the masters,
and are paid by the pupils. They teach reading and writ¬
ing, and the book generally used is the Koran. In some
villages where there are Christian schools, the Druses send
their children thither, where they are taught to read the
Psalms of David. There are no Christians among the
Druses, though the emir with his family and some of the
other nobles have their children baptized, have chapels in
their houses, and hear mass on Sunday, not from any ra¬
tional belief in the truths of Christianity, but for the same
reason that, though they dislike the Mahommedans gene¬
rally, and entertain no tenet in common with their faith,
yet many of them, as we learn from Buckingham, are in¬
fected with their customs, and keep the feast of Ramadan
with as much rigour as the most orthodox follower of the
Arabian prophet; just as the Mussulmans of India, though
they despise and hate the Hindus, have nevertheless adopt¬
ed many of their superstitions and ceremonies.
D R U
The Djahels or the Ignorant, who form by far the Dru
most numerous class, perform no religious rites whatever, ^
unless when they are obliged by circumstances to assume
the appearance of Mahommedans. They cherish an equal
dislike to the Christians and Turks ; and believe that the
deity was incarnated in the person of Hakem, caliph of
Egypt, and that he will shortly appear again and utterly
destroy all his enemies.
The Druses are a restless and enterprising people ; they
are formidable in irregular war, being brave even to teme¬
rity ; excellent marksmen, and noted for sudden surprises.
The passion of all classes for arms is remarked by every
traveller; and Buckingham mentions a keen dispute at
which he was present relative to the value of different
weapons, in which the sabres of Ispahan and Damascus,
and the muskets and pistols of England, were unanimous¬
ly preferred. They are of industrious habits, devoting
their attention to the cultivation of the soil; and the
same traveller, who was over all this country, on quitting
a Mahommedan village and entering one inhabited by
Druses, was struck with the contrast of the superior order
and neatness everywhere conspicuous, as well as in the
more cultivated state of the land. No great distinction
of ranks is preserved among them, scheiks and peasants
treating each other with the greatest familiarity. They
speak pure Arabic. Soeda, which is the capital of the
Eastern Druses, and the residence of their emir or prince,
is about two miles westward of the summit of that range
of hills which forms the eastern boundary of the plains of
the Hauran.
DRUSIUS, or Van den Drieche, John, a learned Pro¬
testant and eminent critic, was born at Oudenarde, in Flan¬
ders, on the 28th June 1550. Being designed for the church,
he learned Greek and Latin at Ghent, and philosophy at
Louvain; but his father having been outlawed for his reli¬
gion, and deprived of his estate, they both retired to Eng¬
land, where the son became professor of oriental languages
at Oxford. Upon the pacification of Ghent, however,
they returned to their own country, and Drusius was ap¬
pointed professor of the oriental languages at Leyden.
From this place he removed to Friesland, and was admitted
professor of Hebrew in the university of Franeker; an of¬
fice which he discharged with great honour till his death,
which happened in 1616. His works prove him to have
been well skilled in Hebrew and in Jewish antiquities ; and
in 1600 the states-general employed him, at a salary of
four hundred florins a year, to write notes on the most diffi¬
cult passages in the Old Testament; but being frequently
interrupted in prosecuting this undertaking, it was not pub¬
lished until after his death. He carried on an extensive
correspondence with the learned in different countries ; for,
besides letters in Hebrew, Greek, and other languages,
there were found amongst his papers upwards of two thou¬
sand written in Latin. He had a son, John, who died in
England at the age of twenty-one, and was accounted a
prodigy of learning.
Drusius, who was a man of real learning, and deserves
the encomiums which Simon has bestowed on him, is also
favourably mentioned by Bayle, Freher, Meursius, Fop-
pens, Paquot, and others. Paquot states the number of
the printed works and treatises of Drusius at forty-eight,
and of the unprinted at upwards of twenty. Of the for¬
mer more than two thirds were inserted in the collection
entitled Critici Sacri, sive Annotata doctissimorum Viro-
rum in vetuset novum Testamentum, Amsterdam, 1698, in 9
vols. folio, or London, 1660, in 10 vols. folio. Amongst the
works of Drusius not to be found in this collection may be
mentioned, 1. Alphabetum Hebraicum veins, 1584, 4to ; 2.
Tabulce in Grammaticam Chaldaicam ad usum Juventutis,
1602, 8vo; 3. An edition of Sulpitius Severus, Franeker,
DRY
H ides 1607, 12mo; 4. Opuscula qua ad Grammaticam spectant
D omnia, 1609, 4to; 5. Lacrymce in obitum J. Scaligeri,
[j)r<flder. 2609, 4to; and 6. Grammatica Lingua Sancta nova,
^ ^ 1612, 4to. ^ .
DRYADES, in the heathen theology, a sort of deities
or nymphs, which, the ancients thought, inhabited groves
and woods. They differed from the Hamadryades, the
latter being attached to some particular tree, with which
they were born, and with which also they died ; whereas
the former were goddesses of trees and woods in general.
DRYANDER, Jonas, a Swedish naturalist of eminent
talents, and a distinguished pupil of the great Linnaeus,
was born in 1748. His father, a clergyman near Gotten-
burg, died during the minority, if not the infancy, of his
son; in consequence of which the care of the education
of the latter devolved on a maternal uncle. This was
Dr Lars Montin, a member of the Stockholm Academy,
known to the world by several botanical writings, and,
amongst others, by an inaugural dissertation on the genus
Splachnum, published under the presidency of Linnaeus,
28th March 1750; and reprinted in the Amcenitates Aca¬
demics, vol. ii. 263. The early education of young Dry-
ander, as far as we can learn, was chiefly in the Univer¬
sity of Gottenburg ; but he afterwards removed to Lund,
where he took his degree of master of arts, or doctor
in philosophy, under the presidency of Lidbeck, in 1776 ;
on which occasion he published a dissertation, fungos
regno vegetabili vindicans. He combated the ideas of
certain philosophers, who, led by analogy rather than ob¬
servation and judgment, were disposed to believe that
fungi might, like corals and corallines, be the production
of animals. But though Mr Dryander thus asserted the
vegetable nature of these bodies, he subsequently im¬
bibed, from his friend and preceptor Linnaeus, an insuper¬
able dislike to their use as food; nor could the most deli¬
cate mushrooms of the most luxurious table ever tempt
him to overcome this prejudice. We know not at what
period he went to study at Upsal, nor how long he re¬
mained there. He became for some time domestic tutor
to a young Swedish nobleman, after which he visited Eng¬
land, under the patronage of his countryman the well-
known Dr Solander, who introduced him to the acquaint¬
ance of Sir Joseph Banks; and on the sudden death of So¬
lander in 1782, he succeeded to the place of that eminent
man, in the confidence and friendship of his distinguished
patron. He was, in like manner, domesticated under the
roof of Sir Joseph as his librarian, and continued in that
situation as long as he lived. Mr Dryander also held the
offices of librarian to the Royal and the Linnaean Socie¬
ties. He was one of the first founders of the latter in
1788 ; and took a principal interest in all its concerns, es¬
pecially in drawing up its laws and regulations, when this
society was incorporated by royal charter in 1802. He,
moreover, fulfilled the duties of a very active vice-presi¬
dent, till the time of his decease, which happened towards
the end of October 1810, in the sixty-third year of his age.
His remains were deposited in the vault of St Ann’s Church,
Soho, the funeral being attended by a number of his friends,
principally members of the Linnaean Society.
The acknowledged publications of Mr Dryander on the
subject of botany consist of the following dissertations : 1.
An Account of the Genus Albuca, in the Stockholm Trans¬
actions for 1784, in Swedish ; 2. Observations on the Ge¬
nus Begonia, in the Transactions of the Linncean Society,
vol. i. In this essay twenty-one species are determined,
with an indication of nine doubtful ones, though the genus
was previously supposed to consist of a solitary species
only. 3. On Genera and Species of Plants which occur
twice or three times in Professor Gmelin’s edition of Lin¬
naeus’s Systems Naturae; Trans, of Linn. Soc. vol. ii.
DRY 221
These corrections unfortunately extend no farther than Dryander.
the class Octandria. Their author intended to have com-
pleted them, but other occupations intervened; and the
book which was the object of his correction soon fell into
absolute neglect, as far as regards botany ; insomuch that
its errors, however great and numerous, became harmless.
4. Lindsea, a new Genus of Ferns ; Trans, of Linn. Soc.
vol. iii. This genus is distinguished from Pteris, by the
involucrum opening outward. 5. Botanical Description
of the Benjamin Tree of Sumatra, in the Phil. Trqns. vol.
Ixxvii. The tree in question, about which great mistakes
had arisen, is here shown to be a species of Styrax. This
paper has been republished and translated.
The principal works published under the superintend¬
ence and correction of the subject of this memoir, were,
the Hortus Kewensis of Mr Aiton, printed in 1789, and
about half the second edition of the same work, interrupt¬
ed by his death ; as well as Dr Roxburgh’s Plants of the
Coast of Coromandel, a splendid and highly valuable pub¬
lication, for which the world is indebted to the munifi¬
cence of the East India Company. To both these the
critical learning and accuracy of Mr Dryander were most
usefully applied, especially in the typographical depart¬
ment. It would be vain to seek for an error in the print¬
ing of any thing which had passed through his hands.
We have only to regret that the same critical correctness
was not extended as a principle to every other depart¬
ment of the works in which he took a part. Had this been
the case, the erroneous essential character of Oldenlandia,
copied in Hortus Kewensis from Linnaeus and Willdenow,
would not have been allowed to contradict the plate and
description of Roxburgh, cited underneath. But, above
all, various inaccuracies and faults in nomenclature are
propagated and confirmed by an authority which Mr Dry¬
ander himself never intended to give. He has often assur¬
ed the writer of this notice, that, had he published in his
own name, he would not have adopted such inaccuracies ;
which is mentioned here to prevent the errors of others
being laid to his charge. The popular Species Plantarum
of Willdenow being the avowed guide, the author of that
work must be responsible for matters which it did not
come within the scope of the author or editor of the
Hortus Kewensis to correct. Many subjects, however,
are most skilfully elucidated in this publication, as well
as in the sequel of its second edition by Mr Brown, and
these cannot escape the discrimination of an intelligent
reader. Practical botany was but a secondary or occa¬
sional pursuit of Mr Dryander, and he had a diffidence of
his powers, and a consequent distaste for the technical
and descriptive parts of the science. The descriptions he
had prepared for Mr Bauer’s splendid figures of Erica,
published by Mr Aiton, were readily and even gladly
thrown into the fire, on occasion of a difference of opinion
respecting the intended title of the work.
The study in which this most acute and correct man
found ample scope for the exercise of his talents was bi¬
bliography. His Catalogus Bibliotheca Historico-Natura-
lis Josephi Banks, is a model for all future writers in this
line; but a model rather calculated to check than to ex¬
cite imitation. A work so ingenious in design, and so
perfect in execution, can scarcely be produced in any
science; so faultless a specimen of typography we have
never elsewhere seen. The frank and unvarnished sin¬
cerity of Mr Dryander’s character was secondary only to
his universal and fastidious exactness upon every subject
that came under his notice. He could not be a silent
witness of the slightest injustice, misrepresentation, or
misconception. His impatience of contradiction arose
more from the quickness of his penetration into the con¬
fusion and inaccuracy of ordinary intellects and charac-
222 DRY
DRY
Dryden. ters, than from any natural severity. All clearness, ho-
nesty, and precision himself, he had little indulgence for
those who fell short of his standard, and these were the
greater part of mankind. On being asked what share Dr
Smith had in the composition of the Flora Grceca, he
replied, with a vehemence which startled the inquirer,
“ Every word !” When teazed, as was too often his lot,
by the questions of the heedless and superficial, he never
neglected the duties of the office he had undertaken, if
he coul^ not always conceal his impatience under their
performance. But when the humblest cultivator of real
science applied for his assistance, all his stores were laid
open; the most condescending liberality graced his con¬
versation ; and he was careful that what he communicated
should not only be heard but understood. The versatili¬
ty of his genius and conversation was no less admirable
than their exactness. Whether the subject were a ques¬
tion in science, or a point of history ; the politics of Eu¬
rope, or the tittle-tattle of an obscure German court; the
literary talents and performances of any distinguished
man, or his private transactions; the intrigues for a place
at court, a professorship, or a domestic establishment; he
was sure to throw some light upon it. Few men are
more missed in the circle in which he moved, nor can his
place in general society be readily supplied. (x. x.)
DRYDEN, John, an illustrious English poet, descend*
ed of a respectable family in Huntingdonshire, was born
at Aldwincle, in that county, on the 9th August 1631. He
was educated under Dr Bushby at Westminster school,
whence he removed to Cambridge in 1650, having been
elected scholar of Trinity College, of which he appears
to have been afterwards a fellow. In his earlier days he
gave no extraordinary indications of genius ; for even the
year before he quitted' the university, he wrote a poem
on the death of Lord Hastings, which by no means ex¬
hibits a presage of that perfection in poetical composition
which he was afterwards destined to attain.
On the death of Oliver Cromwell he wrote some “ he¬
roic stanzas” to the memory of the Lord Protector; but
after the Restoration, being desirous of ingratiating him¬
self with the new monarch, he wrote, first, a poem entitled
Astrcea Redux, and afterwards a panegyric on the king up¬
on the occasion of his coronation. In 1662, he addressed a
poem to the lord chancellor Hyde, presented on new year’s
day; and in the same 3rear he published a satire on the
Dutch. In 1668 appeared his Annus Mirabilis, or the
Year of Wonders, an historical poem, intended to cele¬
brate the Duke of York’s victory over the Dutch. These
pieces at length obtained him the favour of the crown ; and
Sir William Davenant having died the same year, 1668, Mr
Dryden was appointed to succeed him as poet-laureat and
historiographer to Charles 11.; and accordingly he entered
upon the office, though his patent was not signed until the
year 1670. The pension of the two offices was L.200 a year.
About this time also his inclination to write for the stage
seems first to have evinced itself. For besides his concern
with Sir William Davenant in the alteration of Shakspeare’s Dn
Tempest, he in 1669 produced his Wild Gallants, a come-
dy, which met with very indifferent success. Yet the au¬
thor, not discouraged by its failure, soon published his In¬
dian Emperor, which having experienced a more favour¬
able reception, encouraged him to proceed. He did so, and
that with so great rapidity, that in the key to the Duke of
Buckingham’s Rehearsal he is recorded to have engaged
himself by contract to write four plays in the year; and,
indeed, in the years 1679 and 1680 he appears to have
fulfilled this obligation. To this unhappy necessity which
he lay under are to be attributed all those irregular and
bombastic flights, and sometimes even puerile exuberances,
for which he has been so severely criticised, and which,
in the unavoidable hurry he usually wrote in, it was impos¬
sible for him to find time either to lop off or to correct.
In 1675, the Earl of Rochester, whose envious disposi¬
tion did not allow him patiently to see growing merit meet
with its due reward, and who therefore felt chagrined at
the just applause with which Dryden’s dramatic pieces had
been received, was determined if possible to shake his in¬
terest at court; and he succeeded so far as to recommend
one Crowne, an obscure author, to write a mask for the
court, a service which of course belonged to Mr Dryden
as poet-laureat. Nor was this the only attack, or indeed
the most formidable one, which Dryden’s fame drew upon
him; for, some years before this, the Duke of Buckingham,
a man of licentious character, but of great wit, had severe¬
ly ridiculed several of our author’s plays in his piece called
the Rehearsal. But though the intrinsic wit which runs
through this performance cannot, even at the present day,
fail to excite our laughter, yet, as ridicule is not always
the test of truth, it ought not to form the standard by
which to fix Dryden’s poetical reputation, more especial¬
ly when we consider that the pieces therein ridiculed are
not the masterpieces of Dryden; that the very passages
burlesqued are frequently, in their original places, much
less ridiculous than when thus detached, like a rotten
limb, from the body of the work, exposed to view with
additional distortions, and divested of that connection with
the other parts which gave it not only symmetry, but
beauty; and, lastly, that the beauties, which the critic
has kept in the back-ground, are infinitely more numerous
than the deformities which he has thus industriously
brought forth into immediate view.1
Dryden, however, did not suffer these attacks to pass
with impunity; for in 1679 there appeared an Essay on
Satire, said to have been written jointly by himself and the
Earl of Mulgrave, containing some very severe reflections
on the Earl of Rochester and the Duchess of Portsmouth,
who, it is not improbable, might have been instrumental
in the affront shown to Dryden; and in 1681 he published
his Absalom and Achitophel, in which the well-known cha¬
racter of Zimri, drawn for the Duke of Buckingham, is
certainly severe enough to repay all the ridicule thrown
on him by that nobleman in the character of Bayes.2 The
Dryden affected to despise the satire of the Rehearsal, which, however, he must have felt acutely. In the dedication prefixed to
ms translation of Juvenal and Persius, he observes, speaking of the many lampoons and libels which had been written against him,
1 answered not the Rehearsal, because I knew the author sat to himself when he drew the picture, and was the very Bayes of his
own larce ; because also I knew, that my betters were more concerned than I was in that satire; and, lastly, because Mr Smith and
llr Johnson, the main pillars of it, were two such languishing gentlemen in their conversation, that I could liken them to nothing
but their own relations, those noble characters of men of wit and pleasure about town.” But notwithstanding this affected insensi-
’)1Dryden did not fail to take his revenge, as will be seen in the succeeding paragraph of the text.
" ,T)r-v, n llle story unfinished ; and the reason he assigns for doing so is, because he could not prevail upon himself to exhi-
. Absalom as unfortunate. “ Were I the inventor,” says he, “ who am only the historian, I should certainly conclude the piece
with the reconcilement of Absalom to David. And who knows but this may come to pass ? Things were not brought to extremity
where I left the story; there seems to be yet room left for a composure : hereafter there may be only for pity. I have not so much
as an uncharitable wish against Achitophel; but am content to be accused of good-natured error, and to hope, with Origen, that the
evil himself may at last be saved. For which reason, in this poem, he is neither brought to set his house in order, nor to dispose of
his person afterwards. Nevertheless, a second part of Absalom and Achitophel was undertaken and written by Tate, at the request
and under the direction of Dryden, who wrote nearly two hundred lines of it himself.
D R Y D E N.
pr^n. resentment shown by these peers was, however, difFerent
and characteristic. Lord Rochester, who was a coward as
well as a man of the most depraved morals, basely hired
three ruffians to cudgel Dryden in a coffeehouse; whilst
the Duke of Buckingham, in a more open manner, took the
task upon himself, and at the same time presented the poet
with a purse containing no very trifling sum of money;
telling him that he inflicted the beating as a punishment
for his impudence, but bestowed the gold as a reward for
his wit.
In 1680 was published a translation of Ovid’s Epistles
in English verse by several hands, two of which, together
with the preface, were by Mr Dryden ; and in 1682 ap¬
peared his Religio Laid, designed as a defence of reveal¬
ed religion, against deists, infidels, et hoc genus omne.
Soon after the accession of King James II. our author
changed his religion for that of the church of Rome, and
wrote two pieces in vindication of the Catholic tenets;
namely, A Defence of the Papers written by the late King,
found in his strong box ; and the celebrated poem, after¬
wards answered by Lord 'Halifax, entitled The Hind and
the Panther. By this extraordinary step he not only en¬
gaged himself in controversy, and incurred much censure
and ridicule from the contemporary wits, but on the ac¬
complishment of the revolution, being, by reason of his
new religion, disqualified from bearing any office under
the government, he was stripped of the laurel, which, to
his still greater mortification, was bestowed on Richard
Flecknoe, a man for whom he had a most settled aversion.
This circumstance occasioned his writing the severely sa¬
tirical poem called MacFlechnoe.
Dryden’s circumstances had never been affluent; but
being now deprived of this little support, he found him¬
self reduced to the necessity of writing for bread. We
consequently find him from this period engaged in tasks
of labour as well as genius, namely, in translating the
works of others ; and to this necessity perhaps our nation
stands indebted for some of the best translations extant.
In the year when he lost the laurel, he published the life
of St Francis Xavier from the French. In 1693 anpeared
a translation of Juvenal and Persius ; in the first of which
he had a considerable hand, and of the latter the entire
execution. In 1695 was published his prose version of
Fresnoy’s Art of Painting ; and in the year 1697 he gave
to the world that translation of Virgil’s works which still
does, and perhaps ever will, hold the first place amongst
all attempts of the kind. The smaller pieces of this emi¬
nent writer, such as prologues, epilogues, epitaphs, elegies,
songs, and the like, are too numerous to be specified here,
though now all happily collected in Sir Walter Scott’s edi-
tion of his works. His last work is what is called his
rabies, consisting of many of the most interesting stories
in Homer, Ovid, Bocaccio, and Chaucer, translated or
modernized in the most elegant and poetical manner; to-
getiier wuh some original pieces, among which is the Ode
to bt Cecilia s Day. This last composition, though written
in the very decline of the author’s life, and at a period
w 'en old age and distress had conspired to damp his poe-
ic ardour, and enfeeble the wings of fancy, possesses never-
ie ess as much of both as would have been sufficient to
besides Um lmmortal ll£U* he never written a single line
Dryden married Lady Elizabeth Howard, the daughter
vL , Berkshire, who survived him about eight
hnv^’ ,louSh f°r the last four of them she was a lunatic,
it r VT ,dePrived of her senses by a nervous fever.
J this ady he had three sons; Charles, John, and Hen-
nf-’nli c1. a llfe’ harassed with the most laborious
erl nr, -a lgUf’ tke rniud, and continually render-
nxious by distress and difficulty, he expired on the
1st of May 1/01. Dryden had no monument erected to Dryd
him tor severd years; a circumstance to which Mr Pope
alludes m his epitaph intended for Mr Rowe. Upon this
hY\t Sheffield duke of Buckingham erected a tomb, for
which the following epitaph was originally intended:
223
This Sheffield rais’d—the sacred dust below
TV as Dryden once; the rest? who does not know ?
But this was afterwards changed into the plain inscription
i to be seen on the monument, containing merely the
dates of the poet s birth and death, together with the fact
of the tomb having been erected by John Sheffield, duke
ot Buckingham.
‘>'1 l^’V^en s character has been variously estimated by
different writers, some of whom have exalted it by the
highest commendation, and others debased it by the seve-
lest censure. I he latter, however, we must charge to that
strong spirit of party which prevailed during the greater
part of Dryden’s lifetime, and which ought therefore to
be taken with great allowances. From some parts of his
history, however, he appears to have been unsteady, and
to have too readily temporized with the several revolutions
in church and state. But this might in some measure have
been owing to that natural timidity and diffidence of dispo¬
sition, which almost all writers seem agreed that he posses¬
sed. Congreve, whose authority cannot be suspected, has
given us such an account of him as must make him ap¬
pear no less amiable in his private character as a man, than
he was illustrious in his public capacity as a poet. In the
foimer capacity, according to Congreve, he was humane,
compassionate, forgiving, and sincerely friendly ; of exten¬
sive leading, tenacious memory, and ready communication;
geniie in the conection of the writings of others, and pa¬
tient under tne reprehension of his own deficiencies ; easy
of access himself, but slow and diffident in his advances to
others ; and of all men the most modest and the most easy
to be discountenanced in his approaches either to his su¬
periors or to his equals. In the latter the highest testimo¬
nies have been borne to his merits by some of the great¬
est men. b
Pope had a very high opinion of Dryden. In a letter to
Wycherly he says, “ It was certainly a great satisfaction
to me to see and converse with a man whom in his writ¬
ings I had so long known with pleasure ; but it was a very
high addition to it, to hear you at our very first meeting
doing justice to your dead friend Mr Dryden. I was not
so happy as to know him ; Virgilium tantum vidi. Had I
been born early enough, I must have known and loved him ;
for I have been assured, not only by yourself, but by Mr
Congreve and Sir William Trumball, that his personal
qualities were as amiable as his poetical, notwithstanding
the many libellous misrepresentations of them; against
which the former of these gentlemen has told me he will
one day vindicate him.” But what Congreve and Pope
have said of Dryden is rather in the way of panegyric
than as an exact and impartial character. Other writers,
however, have spoken of him with greater moderation,
yet probably without doing him any injustice. Thus, ac¬
cording to Felton, “ he at once gave the best rules, and
broke them, in spite of his own knowledge, and the Re¬
hearsal. His prefaces are many of them admirable upon
dramatic writings : he had some peculiar notions, which he
maintains with great address ; but his judgment in disput¬
ed points is of less weight and value, because the incon¬
stancy of his temper did run into his thoughts, and mixed
with the conduct of his writings, as well as his life.” Vol¬
taire describes him as “ a writer whose genius was too
exuberant, and not accompanied with judgment enough
and he adds, that “ if he, Dryden, had written only a tenth
part of the works he left behind him, his character would
224
D R Y D E N.
Dryden. have been conspicuous in every part. But,” says the philo-
sopher of Ferney, “ his great fault is his having endeavour¬
ed to be universal.” “ Perhaps no nation,” says Dr John¬
son, “ ever produced a writer that enriched his language
with such a variety of models. To him we owe the im¬
provement, perhaps the completion, of our metre, the re¬
finement of our language, and much of the correctness of
our sentiments. By him we were taught ‘ sapere et fari,’
to think naturally and express forcibly. Though Davies
has reasoned in rhyme before him, it may be perhaps main¬
tained that he was the first who joined argument with
poetry. He showed us the true bounds of a translator’s
liberty. What was said of Rome adorned by Augustus,
may be applied by an easy metaphor to English poetry
embellished by Dryden, ‘ lateritiam invenit, marmoream
reliquithe found it brick, and he left it marble.” The
public voice, indeed, has assigned to Dryden the first place
in the second rank of our poets ; no mean station in a table
of intellectual precedency so rich in illustrious names:
and it is allowed that, even of the few who were his supe¬
riors in genius, none has exercised a more extensive or
permanent influence on the national habits of thought and
expression. In the following noble passage from an arti¬
cle in the Edinburgh Review (vol. xivii. p. 29), the great
attributes of Dryden’s character and genius are unfold¬
ed with striking vigour of diction and splendour of illus¬
tration.
“ If Dryden had died before the expiration of the first
of the periods into which we have divided his literary life,
he would have left a reputation, at best, little higher than
that of Lee or Davenant. He would have been known only
to men of letters; and by them he wmuld have been men¬
tioned as a writer who threw away, on subjects which he
was incompetent to treat, powers which, judiciously em¬
ployed, might have raised him to eminence, whose diction
and whose numbers had sometimes very high merit, but all
whose works were blemished by a false taste, and by er¬
rors of gross negligence. A few of his prologues and epi¬
logues might perhaps still have been remembered and
quoted. In these little pieces, he early showed all the
powers which afterwards rendered him the greatest of
modern satirists. But during the latter part of his life
he gradually abandoned the drama. His plays appeared
at longer intervals. He renounced rhyme in tragedy.
His language became less tux-gid, his characters less ex¬
aggerated. He did not indeed produce correct repre¬
sentations of human natui'e; but he ceased to daub such
monstrous chimeras as those which abound in his earlier
pieces. Here and there passages occur worthy of the best
ages of the British stage. The style which the drama
requires changes with every change of character and si¬
tuation. He who can vary his manner to suit the varia¬
tion, is the great dramatist; but he who excels in one man¬
ner only, will, when that manner happens to be appropidate,
appear to be a great dramatist; as the hands of a watch
which does not go point right once in the twelve houi'S.
Sometimes there is a scene of solemn debate. This a
mere rhetorician may write as well as the greatest trage¬
dian that ever lived. We confess that to us the speech
of Sempronius in Cato seems very nearly as good as Shak-
speare could have made it. But when the senate breaks
up, and we find that the lovers and their mistresses, the
hero, the villain, and the deputy-villain, all continue to
hai’angue in the same style, we perceive the difference
between a man who can write a play and a man who can
write a speech. In the same manner, wit, a talent for
description, or a talent for narration, may, for a time, pass
for dramatic genius. Dryden was an incomparable reason-
er in verse. He was conscious of his power; he was
proud of it; and the authors of the Rehearsal justly
charged him with abusing it. His warriors and princesses Dr
are fond of discussing points of amorous casuistry, such as ^
would have delighted a parliament of love. They fre¬
quently go still deeper, and speculate on philosophical
necessity and the origin of evil.
“ There were, however, some occasions which abso¬
lutely required this peculiar talent. Then Dryden was
indeed at home. All his best scenes are of this descrip¬
tion. They are all between men; for the heroes of Dry¬
den, like many other gentlemen, can never talk sense
when ladies are in company. They are all intended to
exhibit the empire of reason over violent passion. We
have two interlocutors, the one eager and impassioned,
the other high, cool, and judicious. The composed and
rational character gradually acquires the ascendency. His
fierce companion is first inflamed to rage by his reproach¬
es, then overawed by his equanimity, convinced by his
arguments, and soothed by his persuasions. This is the
case in the scene between Hector and Troilus, in that
between Antony and Ventidius, and in that between Se¬
bastian and Dorax. Nothing of the same kind in Shak-
speare is equal to them, except the quarrel between Bru¬
tus and Cassius, which is worth them all three.
“ Some years before his death, Dryden altogether
ceased to write for the stage. He had turned his powers
in a new dix-ection, with success the most splendid and
decisive. His taste had gradually awakened his creative
faculties. The first rank in poetry was beyond his reach,
but he challenged and secured the most honourable place
in the second. His imagination resembled the wings of
an ostrich. It enabled him to run, though not to soar.
When he attempted the highest flights, he became ridi¬
culous ; but while he remained in a lower region, he out¬
stripped all coinpetitors.
“ All his natural, and all his acquired powers, fitted
him to found a good critical school of poetry. Indeed he
carried his reforms too far for his age. After his death
our literature retrograded ; and a century was necessary
to bring it back to the point at which he left it. The ge¬
neral soundness and healthfulness of his mental constitu¬
tion, his information, of vast superficies though of small
volume, his wit scarcely inferior to that of the most dis-
tinguislxed followers of Donne, his eloquence, grave, deli¬
berate, and commanding, could not save him from dis¬
graceful failure as a rival of Shakspeare, but raised him
far above the level of Boileau. His command of language
was immense. With him died the secret of the old poe¬
tical diction of England, the art of producing rich effects
by familiar words. In the following century, it was as
completely lost as the Gothic method of painting glass,
and was but poorly supplied by the laborious and tesselat-
ed imitations of Mason and Gray. On the other hand,
he was the first writer under whose skilful management
the scientific vocabulary fell into natural and pleasing
verse. In this department he succeeded as completely
as his contemporary Gibbons succeeded in the similar en¬
terprise of carving the most delicate flowers from heart
of oak. The toughest and most knotty parts of language
became ductile at his touch. His versification, in the same
manner, while it gave the first model of that neatness and
precision which the following generation esteemed so high¬
ly, exhibited, at the same time, the last examples of noble¬
ness, freedom, variety of pause and cadence. His trage¬
dies in rhyme, however worthless in themselves, had at
least served the purpose of nonsense-verses : they had
taught him all the arts of melody which the heroic coup¬
let admits. For bombast, his prevailing vice, his new sub¬
jects gave little opportunity; his better taste gradually
discarded it.
“ He possessed, as we have said, in a pre-eminent de-
D R Y D E N,
225
D-ien. gree, the power of reasoning in verse ; and this power
was now peculiarly useful to him. His logic is by no
means uniformly sound. On points of criticism he always
reasons ingeniously, and, when he is disposed to be ho¬
nest, correctly ; but the theological and political ques¬
tions which he undertook to treat in verse were precisely
those which he understood least. His arguments, there¬
fore, are often worthless; but the manner in which they
are stated is beyond all praise. The style is transparent.
The topics follow each other in the happiest order. The
objections are drawn up in such a manner that the whole
fire of the reply may be brought to bear on them. The
circumlocutions which are substituted for technical phrases
are clear, neat, and exact. The illustrations at once
adorn and elucidate the reasoning. The sparkling epi¬
grams of Cowley, and the simple garrulity of the burlesque
poets of Italy, are alternately employed in the happiest
manner, to give effect to what is obvious, or clearness to
what is obscure.
“ His literary creed was catholic, even to latitudina-
rianism, not from any want of acuteness, but from a dis¬
position to be easily satisfied. He was quick to discern
the smallest glimpse of merit; he was indulgent even to
gross improprieties when accompanied by any redeeming
talent. When he said a severe thing, it was to serve a
temporary purpose, to support an argument or to tease a
rival. Never was so able a critic so free from fastidious¬
ness. He loved the old poets, especially Shakspeare.
He admired the ingenuity which Donne and Cowley had
so wildly abused. He did justice, amidst the general
silence, to the memory of Milton. He praised to the skies
the school-boy lines of Addison. Always looking on the
fair side of every object, he admired extravagance, on
account of the invention which he supposed it to indicate ;
he excused affectation in favour of wit; he tolerated even
tameness for the sake of the correctness which was its
concomitant.
“ It was probably to this turn of mind, rather than to
the more disgraceful causes which Johnson has assigned,
that we are to attribute the exaggeration which disfigures
the panegyrics of Dryden. No writer, it must be owned,
has carried the flattery of dedication to a greater length ;
but this was not, we suspect, merely interested servility :
it was the overflowing of a mind singularly disposed to
admiration, of a mind which diminished vices, and mag¬
nified virtues and obligations. The most adulatory of his
addresses is that in which he dedicates the State of Inno¬
cence to Mary of Modena. Johnson thinks it strange that
any man should use such language without self-detesta¬
tion ; but he has not remarked, that to the very same work
is prefixed an eulogium on Milton, which certainly could
not have been acceptable to the court of Charles II.
Many years later, when Whig principles were in a great
measure triumphant, Sprat refused to admit a monument
of John Philips into Westminster Abbey, because, in the
epitaph, the name of Milton incidentally occurred. The
walls of his church, he declared, should not be polluted
by the name of a republican. Dryden was attached both
by principle and interest to the court; but nothing could
deaden his sensibility to excellence. We are unwilling
to accuse him severely, because the same disposition which
prompted him to pay so generous a tribute to the me-
luory of a poet whom his patrons detested, hurried him
jnto extravagance when he described a princess distin¬
guished by the splendour of her beauty and the gracious¬
ness of her manners.
“ This is an amiable temper, but it is not the temper of
great men. Where there is elevation of character there
W1*l fastidiousness. It is only in novels and on tomb¬
stones that we meet with people who are indulgent to the
vol. vm.
faults of others and unmerciful to their own, and Dryden
at all events was not one of these paragons. His charity
was extended most liberally to others, but it certainly
began at home. In taste he was by no means deficient.
His critical works are beyond all comparison superior to
any which had till then appeared in England. They were
generally intended as apologies for his own poems, rather
than as expositions of general principles; he, therefore,
often attempts to deceive the reader by sophistry, which
could scarcely have deceived himself. His dicta are the
dicta, not of a judge, but of an advocate, and often of an ad¬
vocate in an unsound cause ; yet in the very act of misre¬
presenting the laws of composition he shows how well he
understands them; but he was perpetually acting against
his better knowledge. His sins were sins against light:
he trusted that what was bad would be pardoned for the
sake of what was good; what was good he took no pains
to make better. He was not, like most persons who rise
to eminence, dissatisfied even with his worst productions.
He had set up no unattainable standard of perfection, the
contemplation of which might at once improve and mortify
him. His path was not attended by an unapproachable
mirage of excellence, for ever receding and for ever pur¬
sued. He was not disgusted by the negligence of others,
and he extended the same toleration to himself. His
mind was of a slovenly character,- fond of splendour, but
indifferent to neatness. Hence most of his writings exhi¬
bit the sluttish magnificence of a Russian noble, all ver¬
min and diamonds, dirty linen and inestimable sables.
Those faults which spring from affectation, time and thought
in a great measure removed from his poems; but his care¬
lessness he retained to the last. If towards the close of
his life he less frequently went wrong from negligence, it
was only because long habits of composition rendered it
more easy to go right. In his best pieces we find false
rhymes, triplets in which the third line appears to be a
mere intruder, and while it breaks the music, adds no¬
thing to the meaning ; gigantic Alexandrines of fourteen
and sixteen syllables, and truncated verses for which he
never troubled himself to find a termination or a partner.
“ Such are the beauties and the faults which may be
found in profusion throughout the later works of Dryden.
A more just and complete estimate of his natural and
acquired powers, of the merits of his style and of its
blemishes, may be formed from the Hind and Panther,
than from any of his other writings. As a didactic poem,
it is far superior to the Religio Laid. The satirical parts,
particularly the character of Burnet, are scarcely inferior
to the best passages in Absalom and Achitophel. There
are, moreover, occasional touches of a tenderness, which
affects us more, because it is decent, rational, and manly,
and reminds us of the best scenes in his tragedies. His
versification sinks and swells in happy unison with the
subject, and his wealth of language seems to be unlimited.
Yet the carelessness with which he has constructed his
Dryden.
plot, and the innumerable inconsistencies into which he
is every moment falling, detract much from the pleasure
which such various excellence affords.
“ In Absalom and Achitophel he hit upon a new and
rich vein, which he worked with signal success. The an¬
cient satirists were the subjects of a despotic government.
They were compelled to abstain from political topics, and
to confine their attention to the frailties of private life.
They might, indeed, sometimes venture to take liberties
with publie men,
Quorum Flaminia tegitur cinis atque Latina.
Thus Juvenal immortalized the obsequious senators who
met to decide the fate of the memorable turbot. His
fourth satire frequently reminds us of the great political
2 F
226
DRY
DRY
Dryden
II
Dry Rot.
poem of Dryden; but it was not written till Domitian had
fallen, and it wants something of the peculiar flavour which
belongs to contemporary invective alone. His anger has
stood so long, that though the body is not impaired, the
effervescence, the first cream, is gone. Boileau lay under
similar restraints, and, if he had been free from all re¬
straint, would have been no match for our countryman.
“ The advantages which Dryden derived from the na¬
ture of his subject he improved to the very utmost. His
manner is almost perfect. The style of Horace and
Bo-ileau is fit only for light subjects. The Frenchman
did indeed attempt to turn the theological reasonings of
the Provincial Letter into verse, but with very indiffer¬
ent success. The glitter of Pope is cold : the ardour of
Persius is without brilliancy. Magnificent versification
and ingenious combinations rarely harmonize with the
expression of deep feeling. In Juvenal and Dryden alone
we have the sparkle and the heat together. Those great
satirists succeeded in communicating the fervour of their
feelings to materials the most incombustible, and kindled
the whole mass into a blaze at once dazzling and de¬
structive. We cannot indeed think, without regret, of the
part which so eminent a writer as Dryden took in the
disputes of that period. There was, no doubt, madness
and wickedness on both sides; but there was liberty on the
one and despotism on the other. On this point, however,
we will not dwell. At Talavera the English and French
troops for a moment suspended their conflict to drink of a
stream which flowed between them. The shells were
passed across from enemy to enemy without apprehension
or molestation. We, in the same manner, would rather
assist our political adversaries to drink with us of that
fountain of intellectual pleasure which should be the com¬
mon refreshment of both parties, than disturb and pollute
it with the havoc of unseasonable hostilities.
“ MacFlecknoe is inferior to Absalom and Achitophel
only in the subject: in the execution it is even superior.
But the greatest work of Dryden was the last, the Ode
on St Cecilia’s Day. It is the masterpiece of the second
class of poetry, and ranks but just below the great models
of the first. It reminds us of the Pedasus of Achilles—
e;, y.a) Hvyro; swv, iTif 'Itfvroi; uGuvutouTI-
By comparing it with the impotent ravings of the heroic
tragedies, we may measure the progress which the mind
of Dryden had made. He had learned to avoid a too
audacious competition with higher natures, to keep at a
distance from the verge of bombast or nonsense, to ven¬
ture on no expression which did not convey a distinct
idea to his own mind. There is none of that £ darkness
visible’ of style which he had formerly affected, and in
which the greatest poets only can succeed. Every thing
is definite, significant, and picturesque. His early writings
resemble the gigantic works of those Chinese gardeners
who attempt to rival nature herself, to form cataracts of
terrific height and sound, to raise precipitous ridges of Dr
mountains, and to imitate in artificial plantations the vast- ”
ness and the gloom of some primeval forest. This manner Drjll
he abandoned; nor did he ever adopt the Dutch taste j
which Pope affected, the trim parterres and the rectangu-
lar walks. He rather resembled our Kents and Browns,
who, imitating the great features of landscape without
emulating them, consulting the genius of the place, assist¬
ing nature, and carefully disguising their art, produced,
not a Chamouni or a Niagara, but a Stowe or a Hagley.
“ We are, on the whole, inclined to regret that Dryden
did not accomplish his purpose of writing an epic poem.
It certainly would not have been a work of the highest
rank. It would not have rivalled the Iliad, the Odyssey,
or the Paradise Lost; but it would have been superior to
the productions of Apollonius, Lucan, or Statius, and not
inferior to the Jerusalem Delivered. It would probably
have been a vigorous narrative, animated with something
of the spirit of the old romances, enriched with much
splendid description, and interspersed with fine declama¬
tions and disquisitions. The danger of Dryden would
have been from aiming too high ; from dwelling too much,
for example, on his kingdoms of angels, and attempting a
competition with that great writer, who in his own time
had so incomparably succeeded in representing to us the
sights and sounds of another world. To Milton, and to
Milton alone, belonged the secrets of the great deep, the
beach of sulphur, the ocean of fire, the palaces of the fallen
dominations glimmering through the everlasting shade, the
silent wilderness of verdure and fragrance w’here armed
angels kept vratch over the sleep of the first lovers, the
portico of diamond, the sea of jasper, the sapphire pave¬
ment empurpled with celestial roses, and the infinite ranks
of the cherubim, blazing with adamant and gold. The
council, the tournament, the procession, the crowded ca¬
thedral, the camp, the guard-room, the chase, were the
proper scenes for Dryden.
“ But we have not space to pass in review all the works
which Dryden wrote. We, therefore, will not speculate
longer on those which he might possibly have written.
He may, on the whole, be pronounced to have been a man
possessed of splendid talents, which he often abused, and
of a sound judgment, the admonitions of which he often
neglected; a man who succeeded only in an inferior de¬
partment of his art, but vrho, in that department, suc¬
ceeded pre-eminently; and who, with a more independent
spirit, a more anxious desire of excellence, and more re¬
spect for himself, would, in his own walk, have attained
to absolute perfection.”
Among the recent editions of Dryden’s works may be
mentioned, the Prose Works, by Malone, 1800, in 4 vols.;
the Poetical Works, with notes by Warton, and edited by
Todd, 1812, in 4 vols. 8vo; and the whole of his Works,
with a Life by the late Sir Walter Scott, Edinburgh,
1808, in 18 vols. 8vo.
DRY ROT,
A most destructive, and appai'ently infectious disease in
timber, which, by decomposing the fibres, deprives it of all
strength, and in no great length of time reduces it to a
mass of dry dust; a circumstance from which it seems to
have derived its name, which, perhaps, would better be
expressed by that of sap rot.
Though this disease must from its nature have been
co-existent with timber-trees, it would not seem to have
excited much attention, and perhaps was not known, cer¬
tainly not by its present name, beyond the middle of the
last century; at some period, we rather think, of Sir John
Pringle’s presidency of the Royal Society of London. But
for a long time after this little notice appears to have
been taken of it; its ravages being, in all probability, in¬
considerable, in comparison with what they have been of
late years. Even now, the disease is in fact chiefly con¬
fined to modern built houses and modern built ships, and
more particularly to the ships of his majesty’s navy. The
proximate cause of it has, therefore, rightly enough, as it
would seem, been ascribed to the unseasonable state of
F
DRY
Lrviot. the timber, when placed in certain situations, and under
particular circumstances. It could not fail, in the course
AlaMnS of the late long protracted war, to become a matter of gene-
irofapsof'ral observation, that a more rapid decay than usual had be¬
come almost universal throughout the fleet, and especial¬
ly amongst the newest and most recently repaired ships.
Many anxious inquiries were instituted, and experiments
made, with the view of ascertaining the real cause of a
decay, the further prevention of which was so highly im¬
portant to the national welfare and security. The alarm
was greatly increased when, in 1810, the Queen Char¬
lotte, a first-rate ship of war, shortly afterwards launched
at Deptford, was discovered, after a close examination, to
have all her upper works infected with the dry rot; or,
in other words, the ends of most of the beams, carlings,
and ledges, the joinings of the planks, &c. were observed
to be covered with a mouldy, fibrous, and reticulated crust,
and the parts of the timber so covered to be perfectly
rotten. All the newspapers and journals of the day were
filled with this alarming fact, and in consequence thereof
a multitude of dry rot doctors proffered their assistance;
one having a nostrum for eradicating the disease where
it had made its appearance, and another for preventing
its further approach. Some of these specifics were ex¬
pensive and inconvenient, many of them impracticable of
application, and most of them futile and objectionable in
one way or another. These doctors, in fact, like the phy¬
sicians for the human body when the seat of the disease
is unknown, were labouring altogether in the dark, having
no other guide to direct them than their own whims and
fancies, each being ignorant of the effect of the respec¬
tive experiments which they wished to try on this dis¬
eased machine.
Trelses Since the period in question a number of treatises have
on (j dry been written on the subject, for the prevention and cure
r(lt' of the dry rot in ships and houses ; some wild and vision¬
ary enough, and others exhibiting the proofs of plain prac¬
tical good sense, deduced from long observation, or the
result of judicious experiment. Of the latter description
may safely be mentioned A Treatise on the Dry Rot in
Timber, written in 1815 by the late Mr Thomas Wade,
who died previous to its publication, and whilst employed
in making experiments in the dock-yards; and also an¬
other On the Prevention of Timber from Premature Decay,
by Mr Chapman, 1817. A Treatise on the Dry Rot, by
Mr Bowden of the Navy Office, is in many respects de¬
serving of notice, in as far as the facts and his observa¬
tions on the management of timber are carried ; but he
unluckily sets out with a fanciful theory, which, however,
is not his own, concerning the generation of fungi, and
their connection with the dry rot, to which, like most
theorists, he endeavours to make all his facts subservient.
In Mr M;William’s Essay on the Origin and Operation of
the Dry Rot, published in 1818, we find stuffed into a
large quarto almost every theory and every fact gathered
from preceding writers, from Aristotle down to Mr Ralph
Dodd, civil engineer, who has also published his Practical
Observations on the Dry Rot in Timber ; which work ap¬
pears to be little more than an advertisement of A Dry
Tot Preventive, a nostrum which, it would seem, is too
valuable to be disclosed, without calling in the doctor
that he may get his fee. We have also in print the opi¬
nions and the specifics of Mr Gregory, Mr Ogg, and many
others of minor note, all of whom profess to explain the
cause, to secure the prevention, and to effect the cure of
pr the dry rot.
the < L These authors are at variance amongst themselves, whe-
■onjt. t‘ler common rot in timber, and the dry rot, be not one
and the same disease. A little reflection, however, will,
we conceive, lead us to consider them as essentially dif-
ROT.
ferent, both in the symptoms, the progress, and the causes,
though the effect of destroying the fibre of the wood is
pretty nearly the same. If a post of wood, for instance,
be driven into the ground, seasoned or unseasoned, it will
speedily begin to decay just at the surface of the ground,
or, as it were, between the earth and the air; if driven
into the earth through water, as in a pond, the decay will
commence at the surface of the water, or, as it is techni¬
cally expressed, between wind and water, whilst all above
water, and all that is constantly immerged in the water,
as well as the part in the earth, will remain sound. Thus
also a beam of wood let into a damp wall will begin to rot
just where it enters the wall; so will wooden bannisters
when they are let through the top and foot rails. In these
and similar cases the rot' begins externally, and its pro¬
gress is inwards, and is more or less accelerated by the
alternate action of wind, heat, and moisture, being great¬
est when the alternatives of exposure to wet and drought
are most frequent, and least when constantly immersed in
water, or constantly preserved in a dry atmosphere. Such
we conceive to be the usual process of the common rot in
wood, and it is evidently occasioned by alternate expo¬
sure to the vicissitudes of the weather, to moisture and
dryness, to heat and cold.
If the same post be well charred or covered over with Process of
a thick coating of paint, or varnish, or tar, no such effect the dry rot.
will be produced externally, the coating being sufficient
to protect it against the action of the weather; but if it
should happen to be a green or unseasoned piece of wood
so tarred or painted, in no great length of time the wood
will be found to have begun to decay internally, whilst the
outer surface appears uninjured, but at length it will also
yield to the disease. If this piece of wood had been placed
in a warm cellar or close room where there is little or no
circulation of air, and more particularly if the room or
cellar were damp, there would be perceived, in no great
length of time, a fine mouldy coating spread over its sur¬
face, of a brownish yellow or dirty white; and shortly af¬
terwards it would be found, on examination, to resemble
in its form and structure some of the beautifully^ ramified
algce or sea weeds; which in process of time would become
more compact, the interstices being so completely filled
up as to give to the whole mass the appearance and con¬
sistence of leather. “ At first,” says one writer, “ its ap¬
pearance is that of fine fibres running on the surface in
endless ramifications, resembling the nervous fibres of
leaves; presently the interstices are filled up with a
spongy or leather-like substance, assuming the character
of that order of cryptogamous plants distinguished by the
name offungus."
By Mr Wade the general symptoms of dry rot are thus
described: “ The wood at first swells; after some time
it changes its colour, then emits gases which have a
mouldy or musty smell. In the more advanced stages of
it the mass arises, and cracks in transverse directions.
Lastly, it becomes pulverulent, and forms vegetable earth ;
and generally in some of these stages of decay the dif¬
ferent species of fungus are found to vegetate on the
mass.” ( Treatise on the Dry Rot in Timber. By Tho¬
mas Wade.)
These appearances do not invariably take place, the sur¬
face of the diseased timber sometimes remaining unchan¬
ged, while the process of rotting is going on within; they
are, however, pretty constant. But however sound the
surface may be, it will appear, on examining the piece of
wood, placed in a situation similar to those above men¬
tioned, that the whole of the interior fibres are decom¬
posed, and become a mass of dust inclosed within a thin
external shell. No charring of the surface, no paint, tar,
or varnish, will prevent this process from taking place,
228
DRY ROT.
rots.
Causes of
Dry Rot. when the seeds of the dry rot exist, and are placed in a
situation favourable for their growth, though they may
prevent the external character of mouldiness from taking
place on the surface.
Characte. The symptomatic difference, then, between the common
ristic dif- rot and the dry rot may perhaps be thus defined. Con¬
ference of mon rot is a disease in timber, occasioned by the alterna-
the two tjons 0f the weather acting on its surface, and destroying
its fibres externally inwards. Dry rot is a disease in tim¬
ber, occasioned by being shut up in warm, close, and moist
situations, the effect of which is to destroy its fibres by a
process acting internally outwards.
Without stopping to inquire in what manner, and by
the dry rot. wbat agency, chemical or mechanical, or both, the com¬
mon rot acts on the external fibres of the wood, the effect
of alternate exposure to the weather is too well known to re¬
quire any further proof as to its being the immediate cause.
The immediate cause of the dry rot is equally obvious;
but the predisposing state of the timber to contract the
disease is not so clear a problem. Accordingly, theories
without end have been hatched to explain the phenome¬
non. A writer in a public journal, who has slightly touched
on the subject, thus explains it. “ It is well known,” he
observes, “ that if a piece of green wood be laid across a
fire, the air within, expanded by the heat, will drive out
at each extremity a viscous fluid, possessing the property
of disposing itself on the surface in reticulated filaments.
The same appearance of nervous foliation is not uncom¬
mon in the intermediate spaces of the concentric layers
of the alburnum of wood ; and the core or heart of trees,
and particularly of the pitch pine, after its passage in the
heated hold of a ship, is often enveloped with a membra¬
nous corticle, like that which lies immediately beneath the
bark. All these appearances are certain indications of the
dry rot; and they point out, with sufficient clearness, that
the sap, or principle of vegetation, brought into activity, is
the cause of the disease ; the effect, though infinitely more
rapid, is the same as that of the common rot. It is still a
problem in what manner this sap circulates; but there is
no doubt that the tubes and cells of the alburnum, or sap-
wood, are filled with it in the spring of the year, and that
they are empty in the winter ; that it is organized mat¬
ter, developing itself by heat in all the various forms of
new bark, leaves, and branches. The stem of a tree cut
down will, on the return of summer, make an effort to push
out leaves ; a more feeble effort of this organized sap ends
in the production of fungus only.” (Quarterly JReview,
No. 15.)
It is now, we apprehend, pretty well decided, that, like
other vegetables, the fungi or mushroom tribe are propa¬
gated by seed so minute and numerous as to float about
invisibly in the air, and to be carried into all manner of
situations. The fine impalpable powder that issues from
the common puff-ball, like a column of smoke, will give
some idea of the almost inconceivable myriads of minute
seeds which it incloses. Of these seeds, though myriads
perish, yet others, by a concurrence of accidents, being
thrown into proper situations favourable for their growth,
reproduce the species. It cannot be supposed that the
fibres found in the dung of animals, and particularly of the
horse, known by the name of mushroom spawn, and from
which our gardeners construct their mushroom beds, are
generated spontaneously in the belly of the animal, but
that the seeds being devoured with his food, have found
that degree of warmth, moisture, and soil, favourable to
the development of the future plant; and this plant which
the fibres exhibit, by care and cultivation increases and
grows to the perfect state of all plants, and throws out
above the surface the parts of fructification which we call
the mushroom. If it 'be asked why the dung of a cow,
which feeds on the same food with a horse, does not pro- Drv
duce the spawn of mushrooms, the only answer to be given ' *! 1
is, that it is not a proper nidus for the germination of the
seed.
In the same manner may the perfect plant be produced
from the seed, carried up into the longitudinal tubes of a
growing tree, by the rising of the sap; though it would
seem that the process of vegetation in the parasite thus
lodged will not commence so long as the vital principle
of the sap in the tree remains in activity. Indeed it is
pretty evident, from numerous observations, that the pro¬
cess of fermentation is necessary to the growth of all
fungi; and this may explain why in the diseased and
decayed parts of a tree only are fungi found to grow
whilst it is in a living state.
The sap, therefore, may be the cause of the dry rot, in
as far as it is favourable to the growth of fungi, as it would
seem to be when in a state of fermentation, though it
never can by any process be convertible into this order of
cryptogamous plants. But the appearance of fungi, though
a frequent, is by no means a constant symptom of dry rot;
and, therefore, Mr Bowden's definition of dry rot, with his
whole doctrine, must fall to the ground. “ The nature of
dry rot is a vegetable substance,” and this substance, he
tells us, is fungus. Though not very happily expressed,
his meaning is intelligible enough from what follows.
“ This secretion of nature (the juice of a tree) which was
destined to appear in the form of leaves, branches, &c.
being diverted from its original intention, assumes a new
form from its own native energies. Vegetation commences
in the various tubes of the wood, under the form of those
fine fibrous shoots which have been already described (as
mushroom spawn). It continues to increase in every di¬
rection, until, by an extraordinary manifestation, it happi¬
ly averts the otherwise unforeseen but certain destruction
of the vessel. It may confidently be asserted, therefore,
that this is the primary, chief, and predisposing cause of
dry rot; and this opinion may be further confirmed by an
inquiry into the nature of the juices and fungi, and the
manner in which the timber is affected.” (A Treatise on
Dry Dot, by A. Bowden.)
Mr Bowden having totally mistaken the nature of fun¬
gus, by adopting the erroneous principle of the writer in
the Quarterly Review, labours hard to prove, and with
considerable ingenuity, “ that dry rot is caused by a vege¬
tative substance, and that it is one of the species o\fungi;'
and this doctrine he illustrates in the case of spent bark
from the tan-pits, of which he says, “ when taken out and
exposed to the heat of summer, the juices appear desirous
of obeying the laws of nature ; and being no longer capable
of adding to the bulk of a tree, is satisfied with wearing
the humble garb of a mushroom;” nay, so enamoured is
he with the similarity of oak bark, and fungus, and tan¬
nin, that “ an examination of the fungous coat taken from
the end of a timber, would afford a strong presumption,
from its exact resemblance to leather, that it owes its ex¬
istence to no other cause than that which communicates
such peculiar qualities.” Into such absurdities will crude
theories sometimes drive their authors.
Mr Wade has sounder notions on the nature of fungi;
he knew they possessed the principle of reproduction, and
that their seeds, under favourable circumstances, will ve¬
getate ; that the proper nidus for the reception of cer¬
tain species of fungus appears to be wood in a state ot
progressive decomposition, or the remains of wood entire¬
ly decomposed; that, however, the effect produced by
these plants and decaying timber is reciprocal, the latter
furnishing food for the former, while the decomposition
of the wood is accelerated by the growth of the fungus,
the gaseous and soluble products being taken up by the
DRY ROT.
229
DrW plants, as quickly as these principles are disengaged. The
whole tribe of parasitic fungi may, in fact, be considered
as the wolves and tigers of the vegetable world, destroy-
ino- ultimately every plant they fix upon, and most rapid¬
ly where the principle of vegetation has ceased to act,
and the putrefactive fermentation of the juices has in con¬
sequence commenced.
The real efficient cause then of the dry rot, is that of
the juices of the timber being brought into a state of pu¬
trefaction, occasioned generally by exposure to a mode¬
rate degree of heat and moisture in a stagnant atmosphere.
“ To favour this process,” says Mr Wade, “ as much as
possible, the air and water should not be renewed, as they
undergo a decomposition, which takes place very slowly.”
From the structure of timber being composed longitudi¬
nally of an assemblage of pipes or tubes, it is only neces¬
sary that one end of a log of wood should be placed in a
damp or wet situation, to occasion the moisture to be con¬
veyed to the opposite end by capillary attraction; and
hence arises the infectious nature of the disease, which
will always spread wherever the moisture finds its way ;
and even where there is no moisture, it will be created
by the filaments of the fungi working their way through
the tubes of the dry wood, and carrying it with them.
Hence, also, the rapid decay in ships of war, from the
great internal heat occasioned by the number of men,
the moisture, and the close air. Hence, also, in houses,
the dry rot always first appears in the lower apart¬
ments, where the floors, partitions, skirting-boards, &c.
are supplied with moisture from the wet walls on the
ground. In the London houses there is generally a room
on the basement story, called the housekeeper’s room,
which is boarded, and carefully covered over with an
oiled floor-cloth. In such a room the dry rot is sure to
make its appearance. The wood absorbs the aqueous
vapour which the oil-cloth will not allow to escape ; and
being assisted by the heat of the air in such apartments,
the decay goes on most rapidly; and, as Mr Wade ob¬
serves, “ if the seed of fungus be present, the plant is de¬
veloped in all the superfluity of vigour exhibited in a hot¬
house, where the same means are resorted to, namely, an
atmosphere scientifically and artificially heated, and high¬
ly charged with aqueous vapour.” Timber may, in fact,
have the seeds of dry rot within it, and yet by proper
treatment be kept sound for a great length of time. Thus
ships laden with particular cargoes afford remarkable in¬
stances of the effects of such cargoes on their duration.
The warm moisture created by a cargo of hemp is com¬
municated to the timber, and promotes a rapid putrefac¬
tion. Mr Chapman says, that the ship Brothers, built at
Whitby, of green timber, proceeded to Petersburg for a
cargo of hemp. The next year it was found on examina¬
tion that her timbers were rotten, and all the planking,
excepting a thin external skin. A lading of cotton is al¬
ways injurious to the ship, and even teak is affected by a
cargo of pepper. The timber which is brought from Ame¬
rica in the heated hold of a ship, is invariably covered
over, on being landed, with a complete coating of fungus.
It was the too general use of this timber in his majesty’s
ships that at one time increased the disease to such an
alarming degree. Those ships, on the contrary, which are
employed constantly in the coal and lime trade, are very
durable, and have been known to last for a century. These
effects are obviously to be ascribed to the exclusion of air
m the one case from, and the free admission of it in the
other to, the interior surface of the ship, assisted, in the
latter instance, by the absorption of moisture, by the coals
iri . ant^ l*me> from the timbers and planking.
of;:n;r H are arrived at the right conclusion as to the cause
1 > of dry rot in timber, we can be at no loss with regard to
PrJ
the mode of treatment for the prevention of the disease. Dry Hot.
The experiments for this purpose have been very nume-
rous, but may be classed under three general heads; de¬
siccation or seasoning ; immersion in earth, sand, or water;
and impregnation with some foreign matter, which wall
resist putrefaction.
The most simple and common mode of preventing the by desicca-
decomposition of vegetable matter, is by depriving it of^0” or sea*
moisture. Various schemes have been put in practice for sonin8‘
drying the juices in large logs of timber. Time alone will
do it when the wood is placed in favourable situations,
that is to say, in a dry atmosphere, and constantly expos¬
ed to a free circulation of air ; but time will also produce
the rot in timber when piled up in stacks in the open air,
imbibing moisture from the earth, and exposed to the vi¬
cissitudes of the seasons, and the alternatives of weather ;
scorched at one time by the heat of the sun, at another
drenched with rain, and rent and split in every possible
way by the freezing of the water which has insinuated it¬
self into the pores and crevices of the wood. It was for¬
merly, and, indeed, till very lately, the practice to let
ships of war remain on the stocks in frame for two, three,
or four years, to season, as it was called; but there never
was so mistaken a notion. “ When a ship,” says Mr Wade,
“ is built, exposed to the weather, the lower part forms a
grand reservoir for all the rain that falls; and as the tim¬
bers in that part are placed as close together as possible,
the wet escapes very slowly. Those timbers are always
soakqd with moisture, and, to some distance from the keel,
exhibit a green appearance ; their green matter, when
viewed through a microscope, is found to be a beautiful
and completely formed moss, which vegetates at the ex¬
pense of the timber. If to season timber be only to dry
it, the sooner it is dried the better ; and when completely
dry, it cannot too soon be employed in ship-building, when
it should be kept dry. It cannot answer any end to have
seven years wear out of a ship on the stocks.” At length
our ship-wrights are convinced of this truth, and every
ship of war now building in the dock-yards has excellent
roofs placed over them, with the sides open to admit a
free current of air, but to exclude all moisture, as well as
the rays of the sun (See Dock-Yards) ; a practice which
we have tardily adopted from the Swedes and the Vene¬
tians. A new system seems also to have been adopted
on the piling the timber stacks. Instead of their being
placed on old, useless, and often rotten logs of timber rest¬
ing on the ground, they are now insulated from the earth
on stone or iron pillars; and in place of their surfaces
coming in contact with each other, pieces of wood are
placed between them so as to admit of a circulation of air.
Nothing further appears to be wanting but to protect the
tops and the ends of the stocks or piles from the effects
of the weather.
Of the various modes of artificial and rapid desiccation,
that of charring is perhaps the best; but it is liable to
two objections, the first is, that if the surface be com¬
pletely charred, it diminishes very much the strength of
the timber; and, secondly, it the more readily attracts
moisture. The juices of timber may be drawn off or har¬
dened by kiln-drying; but this also disturbs the arrange¬
ment of the fibres, and deprives the wood of a great part
of its strength.
The experiments made by Mr Lukin for the rapid sea- Mr Lu-
soning of green oak timber, promised at one time much kin’s expe-
success, but ended in disappointment. He conceived, Hments for
that if the acid and the watery particles were driven out
of a piece of oak timber by some process which should
prevent the surface from splitting, the fibres would be
brought closer into contact, and whilst the log lost in
weight it would gain in strength. With this view he
230
DRY ROT.
Dry Rot. buried a piece of wood in pulverized charcoal in a heated
v-,,'V'w' oven. The log wore a promising appearance; the surface
was close and compact; it had lost in its weight and di¬
mensions ; but when divided with the saw, the fibres were
discovered to have started from each other, exhibiting a
piece of fine net-work, resembling the inner bark of a tree.
His next contrivance was to supply the place of the
fluids driven out by heat, with some other substance of an
oily or resinous nature, which, while it destroyed the
principle of vegetation, should preserve the timber in a
compact state. For this purpose he erected a large kiln
in Woolwich dock-yard, capable of containing from two to
three hundred loads of timber. At each end, on the out¬
side, was a retort in which the saw-dust of the pitch-pine
was submitted to distillation. From the heads of these
retorts were iron pipes, perforated with holes like a cylin¬
der, continued along the upper part of the kiln the whole
length in the inside. By this arrangement it was expect¬
ed, that while the heat of the kiln drove off the aqueous
matter of the timber, the product of the saw-dust, which
resembled weak oil, or rather spirit of turpentine, would
drop through the holes in the tubes upon the logs, and
supply its place. But before the process of transfusion
was judged to be complete, an explosion took place, which
proved fatal to six of the workmen, and wounded fourteen,
two of whom shortly afterwards died. The explosion was
like the shock of an earthquake ; it demolished the wall of
the dock-yard, part of which was thrown to the distance
of 250 feet; an iron door, weighing 280 pounds, was driven
to the distance of 230 feet, and other parts of the building
were borne in the air upwards of 300 feet. The experi¬
ment was not repeated.
The bad effects of applying artificial heat to the season¬
ing of green timber were strongly exemplified by a prac¬
tice introduced very generally into our ships of war which
had exhibited indications of the dry rot, particularly in
the Queen Charlotte. Enormous fires were made in stoves
placed in various parts of the ship, and the heat led in
tubes to the cavities between the timbers, &e. The con¬
sequence of which was, as might be expected, an increase
of the mischief they were intended to prevent. Every
part of the ship was converted into a hot-house, and every
part where the seeds of fungi had been deposited began
to throw out a luxuriant crop of mushrooms; and where
these did not appear, the juices of the wood were thrown
into a state of fermentation, and, in the course of a twelve-
month, a great part of her upperworks became a mass of
rottenness. After staving the powder magazines of some
of the ships, there appeared under their floors, which are
contiguous to much moisture, numbers of large excres¬
cences of a leathery consistence, of the size and shape of
a quart glass-decanter; and in all such parts where two
surfaces of the wood were imperfectly brought into con¬
tact, were whole masses of fungi,
inter- Another mode, of very ancient standing, was practised
felled tim- for getting rid of the juices of timber. This was supposed
to be effected by felling the tree in the winter season,
when the sap had descended and the vessels were empty.
But by this practice the bark of the oak, so valuable in
the process of tanning, was lost, as it will strip only from
the wood in the spring of the year, when the sap is said
to be rising. The supposed superior quality of the wood
when winter-felled, and the general practice of felling oak
timber at that season, may be inferred from a statute of
James I. by which it is enacted, that no person or persons
shall fell, or cause to be felled, any oaken trees meet to
be barked, when bark is worth 2s. a cart-load (timber for
the needful building and reparation of houses, ships, or
mills, only excepted), but between the first day of April
and last day of June, not even for the king’s use, out of
barking time, except for building or repairing his majes- p.
ty’s houses or ships. - s r-v| *•
The old Sovereign of the Seas is the standing example
generally quoted to prove the beneficial effects of winter-
felled timber. We are informed by one writer that, when
taken in pieces, after forty-seven years’ service, the old
timber was still so hard that it was no easy matter to
drive a nail into it, and all future writers have taken it
for granted that this was owing to its being winter-felled.
Mr Pett, however, who built her, takes no notice of any
such circumstance. He merely says he was commanded
by the king, on the 14th May 1635, to hasten into the
north to procure the frame-timbers, plank, and trenails
for the great new ship at W'oolwich. But he left his son
behind to ship the moulds, provisions, and workmen, in a
hired ship, to transport them to Newcastle; that the frame,
as it was got ready, was sent in colliers from Newcastle
and Sunderland; and that, on the 21st December, in the
same year, the keel was laid in the dock; and in less than
two years after this she was launched. Now, as it was
the middle of May before Mr Pett received his majesty’s
commands tq procure timber for this ship, and as she was
on the stocks the same year, it is not very probable that
the timber procured and sent in colliers from Newcastle
to Woolwich was felled in the winter ; much less could it
have been “ stripped of its bark in the spring, and felled
the second succeeding autumn,” as Mr Wade has it.
Neither is there the least proof of the old Royal Wil¬
liam, recently broken up, when a century old, being built
of winter-felled timber. The fact is, that she was rebuilt
half a dozen times, and the only old and original timber
remaining in her was in the lowest part of her hull, always
immersed in the salt water externally, and washed with
the bilge-water internally; and the wood from this part of
her, when broken up, was perfectly sound, but quite black,
having the appearance of being charred.
As far as experiments have been made, there is no rea¬
son to conclude that timber felled in the winter is at all
more durable than that which is felled at the usual time.
In the year 1793, the Hawke sloop of war was ordered to
be built, one side being of timber that had been barked in
the spring and felled in the winter, and the other side
with timber felled at the usual time. In 1803 she was re¬
ported to be in so bad a state of rottenness, that she was or¬
dered to be taken in pieces, when no difference whatever
could be discovered in the state of the timbers of the two
sides. It is said, however, in Derrak’s Memoirs of the
Navy, “ that the timber had been stripped in the spring
of 1787, and not felled until the autumn 1790,” and this
is given as an explanation of the failure. Why the bark¬
ing in the spring should add to the durability of timber,
is not easily conceived, if the object be to fell the timber
when all the sap-vessels are empty, as, if the sap descends
at all, which is doubtful, it might be expected to de¬
scend more freely when the bark is on than off the tree.
The experiments which, we understand, are now making
by the commissioners of his majesty’s woods and forests,
will, it is to be hoped, throw more light on a subject so
vitally important to the British navy. In France, so long
ago as 1669, a royal ordonnance limited the felling of tim¬
ber from the 1st October to the 15th April; and the con¬
servators of the forests directed that the trees should be
felled when the “ wind was at north,” and “ in the wane
of the moonand we find an instruction of Bonaparte,
that “ as ships built of timber felled at the moment of
vegetation must be liable to rapid decay, and require im¬
mediate repairs, from the effect of the fermentation of the
sap in those pieces which had not been felled at the pro¬
per season the agents of the forests should abridge the
time for felling naval timber, which should take place “ in
DRY
I T)r;[i0t, the decrease of the moon, from the 1st November to the
15th March.”
. n The facts are so numerous and so strong in favour of
the durability of timber when steeped in water or buried
Km'or in earth or sand, that no doubt whatever can be enter-
'wat' tained of the efficacy of such a practice. At Brest all the
timber used in ship-building is deposited in the narrow
creek of the harbour which runs through the middle of
the dock-yard, and it is said that the Brest built ships
never had the dry rot. The same practice prevailed at
Cadiz and Carthagena. Indeed there is reason to think
that steeping in fresh water is a preventive of dry rot, pro¬
bably by dissolving the juices of the timber. It was an
ancient practice, and we believe is still followed in some
parts of England, to place the timber intended for thrash¬
ing-floors in the midst of a stream of water, to harden it;
and all the oak plants intended for the wainscotting of
the old mansions were previously steeped in running wa¬
ter.
“ I know it,” says Mr Chapman, “ to be the opinion of
some well-informed men, whose sentiments are highly de¬
serving of notice, that the sap of trees does not descend,
but, like the arterial blood, is prevented by valves from
returning; as a proof of which, it is asserted, that fresh-
cut timber, if laid in a running stream, with the but-end
towards the current, will have the water percolating
through it, and carrying off the mucilaginous matter, but
not otherwise.” “ There can be no doubt,” he adds, “ that
the effect will be produced sooner in this direction than
the other, and it should therefore be attended to.” The
reason is obvious; the extractive matter, which is the chief,
though not the only, cause of putrefaction, is dissolved
and driven off. The usual mode of preserving timber for
masts, is to keep it immersed in water in what are called
mast-locks. The mast of the Kangaroo sloop of war was
dug out of the mud at the bottom of the mast-pond, at
Deptford dock-yard, where it had been fifty years, and
was one of the most serviceable masts in the navy. Bury¬
ing timber in sand is a usual process for preserving it in
warm climates. Yet, with all these facts and long expe¬
rience, it was but the other day that the steeping of tim¬
ber in salt water was practised in the king’s dock-yards,
and this originated in an accident. The Resistance frigate
went down in Malta harbour. But as she had been re¬
ported in such a state of dry rot, or rather the surface of
her timbers so covered with fungus, as to render it expe¬
dient to send her home, she was suffered to continue un¬
der water for many months. On her arrival in England
it was observed that all appearance of fungus had vanish¬
ed, and she remains a sound ship to this day. Yet even
this fact does not seem to have attracted much attention.
But when the dock-yard was removed from the northern
to the southern side of Milford-haven, a few loads of tim¬
ber that was covered with fungus were suffered to remain
in the water for several months; and it was observed that,
after being taken out and stacked in the new yard, the
timber did not exhibit those appearances of dry rot which
the same timber did most abundantly which had not been
immersed in the salt water. This fact being reported to
the navy board, it was proposed to sink one of two sister
ships, the Mersey and the Eden, both alike infected with
the dry rot, in Plymouth Sound. The Eden was the ship
selected for this purpose. She remained under water for
about eighteen months, and, on being raised, every trace
of fungus had totally disappeared, whilst the Mersey was
almost wholly covered with it. After remaining a year
at home perfectly sound, she was sent out to the East
Indies, where she now is.
It is said, and there seems to be no reason for doubting
t ie fact, that the planks of ships near the bows, which are
ROT. 231
obliged to be boiled in water or steam in order to bend Dry Rot.
them, are never infected with the dry rot: if the water in
which they are boiled be strongly impregnated with salt,
the effects would probably be more durable and decisive.
In a lecture read by Mr Ogg, a salt refiner, to the Ply¬
mouth Institution, on the prevention and cure of dry rot
in ships of war, common salt is strongly recommended,
for its cheapness, its wholesomeness, and its easy applica¬
tion ; but he proposes a saturated solution of salt, in which
he would steep not only single logs or planks, but the
whole frame of a ship, or even the ship itself. “ Let
every ship in the navy,” says the salt refiner, “ be immers¬
ed a sufficient time in this fluid, and let every new ship
be prepared in the same way, and dry rot would be heard
of no more. But how is this to be accomplished ? I an¬
swer, provide a dock or docks sufficiently capacious to re¬
ceive five, ten, or twenty ships, and the work is done.”
As common sea-water will answer the purpose equally
well, the apparatus of extensive docks and water saturat¬
ed with salt are wholly unnecessary. But Mr Ogg, like
Mr Bowden, appears to mistake the real cause of dry rot.
“ I affirm,” says he, “ that dry rot is occasioned by the
vegetative principle; brine will destroy this principle;
then sink the ship in brine.” The experiments in the
case of the Resistance and the Eden show that brine is not
necessary.
The Dutch having observed that their busses, in which
the herrings were caught and stowed away in pickle, last¬
ed longer than any other craft, adopted the practice of
filling up the vacancies between the timbers and planks
of ships with salt, and of boring holes in the large timbers
and cramming them full of salt. The Americans also
found, that the ships employed in carrying out salt for
their fisheries and domestic purposes were the most dura¬
ble ; and both they and the Dutch are glad to get a cargo
of salt into a new ship, as the surest means of preserving
her. The carpenter of the Franklin, an American seven¬
ty-four gun ship, when at Spithead, told some of her visi¬
tors, that at the junction of the beams, and at the but-
ends of the timbers, pieces were cut, and the hollow part
filled with salt, and covered over with felt, for the pur¬
pose of preserving those parts where two surfaces are im¬
perfectly brought together, from the dry rot, where it is
always most prevalent.
There are, however, very serious objections to the im¬
mersion of ships in a strong solution of salt, and the prac¬
tice of inserting salt in the vacant space between the tim¬
bers, which may not, perhaps, apply with equal force to
their immersion in sea-water. It is observed by a writer
in the Quarterly Review for October 1814, that “ the at¬
traction for moisture which salts and acids possess, would
keep the whole interior of the ship dripping wet; which
would not only destroy the ship with the wet rot, but the
ship's company also, whose health, experience has proved,
is best preserved by keeping the ship as dry as possible;
and thus the remedy would be worse than the disease.”
These bad effects have unquestionably been experienced,
the muriate of magnesia, which exists in sea-water, being
one of the most deliquescent salts; but whether the ab¬
straction of moisture from the atmosphere be of long du¬
ration, is a fact which remains to be proved. In corro¬
boration of the injurious effects above described, Mr
Strange, in his Evidences, observes, “ that the practice at
Venice of the fresh cut timber being thrown into saltwa¬
ter prevents its ever becoming dry in the ships, and that
the salt water rusted and corroded the iron bolts.” Mr
Chapman also observes that “ the Florida, a twenty gun
ship, taken from the Americans, and subsequently com¬
missioned in the British service, had been salt-seasoned;
and the result was, that in damp weather every thing bc-
232
DRY ROT.
Dry Rot. came moist, the iron work was rusted, and the health of
the crew was impaired; in fine,” he adds, “ vessels so cir¬
cumstanced are perfect hygrometers; being as sensible
to changes of the moisture in the atmosphere as lumps of
rock salt, or slips of fuci, or the plaster of inside walls
where sea-sand has been used.”
Mr Chapman, however, is of opinion, that vessels im¬
pregnated with bay-salt, or the large grained salt of Li-
mington or of Liverpool (being pure muriate of soda,
without admixture with the bitter deliquescent salts),
will possess decided advantages, as would also vessels
laden with saltpetre, if it has been dispersed among their
timbers; and Mr Ogg sees no difficulty in refining salts
so as to deprive it ol its deliquescent quality. But if a
very weak solution of salt, or even fresh water, shall be
found to answer the purpose, the objection against im¬
mersing timber in sea-water seems to be got rid of. That
it will immediately destroy all vegetable life in the deli¬
cate fibres of the fungus, and also prevent its future
growth, is quite clear; and if it shall be found to prevent
also the putrefactive process, it may be considered as the
most advisable way to prepare timber for all purposes of
house carpentry and ship-building.
Impregna- A great variety of substances besides common salt, in-
tion of tim. deed almost any salt or acid, will destroy and prevent the
berwith fo-gr°wth of fungus. Sir Humphry Davy recommends a
stances!'v^ea^ soluti°n of the corrosive sublimate as the most effi¬
cient. A solution of sulphate of iron or copperas is much
used in Sweden for hardening and preserving wood for
wheel-carriages, &c. It is first boiled in this solution for
three or four hours, and then kept in a warm place to dry,
by which process it is said to become so hard and com¬
pact that moisture cannot penetrate it. “ The wooden
vessels,” says Mr Chapman, “ in which the sulpho-ferru-
ginous solution is finally placed for the copperas to crys¬
tallize, become exceedingly hard, and not subject to de-
cay. A solution of alum has been recommended; but
Mr Chapman seems to think that its earthy basis would
become a nidus of putrefaction. The wood, however,
which is used about alum works, becomes hard and dur¬
able, and resists fire in an extraordinary manner. All
timber, in fact, when completely saturated with saline
matter, is more or less indestructible, and absolutely in¬
combustible. A solution of arsenic has not been found to
prevent the dry rot. With regard to the impregnation of
oils there are various opinions, some thinking them bene¬
ficial and others injurious to the durability of timber. It
is known, however, that ships in the Greenland trade have
their timbers and planks preserved as high up as they are
impregnated with whale oil from the blubber; and Mr
Chapman says, that one of the masters of a Greenland
ship having payed her upperworks with twelve or more suc¬
cessive coats with whale oil in hot weather, they became
covered with a thin varnish, much harder and more com¬
pact than if filled with successive coats of turpentine. Re¬
sinous substances, however, are probably better than oil.
After a variety of experiments and sensible observations,
Mr Chapman sums up the three great operations by which
timber may be brought to resist the tendency to dry rot.
1. To deprive the timber of its mucilage, which is very
liable to fermentation.
2. To impregnate timber with any strongly antiseptic
and non-deliquescent matter.
3. To dry timber progressively by the sun and wind,
or by the latter alone; and then to close its pores com¬
pletely with any substance impervious to air and mois¬
ture, and at the same time highly repellant to putrescency.
Mr Wade recommends the impregnation of timber with
sulphates of copper, zinc, or iron, rejecting deliquescent
salts, as they corrode metals, and would destroy the bolts
and metal fastenings of a ship. He observes, that timber Dr
impregnated with saline matter is no longer capable of w
fermentation, and that, of course, the gases necessary for
the nutriment of fungi are not evolved. Selenite is re¬
commended as being insoluble, or nearly so, and not liable
to any alteration in the ordinary temperature of the at¬
mosphere ; but all salts, he observes, composed of bary¬
tes, should be rejected, because, though they are plenti¬
ful, cheap, and have some qualities eminently fitting them
to be employed for this purpose, yet they are, without
any exception, very poisonous.
From all experiments that have been made, it appears
that the most effectual method of preventing the dry rot,
and of giving durability to timber, is that of depriving
the sap of its mucilage, more especially in the alburnum,
where it most abounds; for though seasoning in the dry
way will coagulate and harden the extractive matter of
timber, yet when exposed to heat, moisture, and a stag¬
nant air, the process of putrefaction will commence, and all
the symptoms of dry rot will speedily make their appear¬
ance. It will be preferable, therefore, that such timber
as is likely to be exposed to the vicissitudes of weather,
should be seasoned by immersion or impregnation, rather
than by the dry way.
In this disease, as in those incident to animal life, pre-Cun
vention is much easier than cure. In fact, there is no dry
other cure for the part affected than excision, and the
sooner it is done the better, as the disease spreads most
rapidly when fungi are propagated, throwing their minute
fibres into the tubes of the contiguous sound wood, and
producing that moisture which is a condition absolutely
necessary to the putrefactive process. If, however, the
fibre of the wood is still sound, and the roots of the fungi
extend not beyond the alburnum near to the surface, im¬
mersion in sea water, as in cases of the Resistance and
the Eden, or impregnation with some of the solutions
above mentioned, may stop the progress of the disease;
but the only safe cure, we apprehend, is that of cutting
out the infected part. The sinking of the Royal George
at her moorings has not been the means of preserving
her timbers. On being visited in the diving-bell, her oaken
sides were broken down into a confused mass of timber and
•ot.
V
the
black mud; having, no doubt, been too far gone in decay
when the fatal accident happened ; but her fir deck appear¬
ed as sound as the day when she sunk.
It is a great mistake to suppose that the ancients wereMisi
unacquainted with the dry rot, or premature decay ofneoiij
timber. Pliny has a number of valuable observations onserv
the preservation of timber, and on its decay occasioned
by the juices ; and, among other things, recommends that
a tree should be cut to the heart all round, in order to let
the juices escape, and that it should not be felled until the
whole had run out. He knew that the sappy part of oak
was more subject to rot, and advised that it should be cut
away in squaring. He knewr, too, that resinous and olea¬
ginous matter in wood preserved it; observing, that the
more odoriferous a piece of timber is, the more durable.
He knew that much depended on the close texture of tim¬
ber, and that box, ebony, cypress, and cedar, might almost
be considered as indestructible. We also know that cedar,
teak, and mahogany, are very durable woods.
The felling of timber while young and full of vigo»•,
making use of the sap-wood or alburnum, and applying it
to ships and buildings in an unseasoned state, have no
doiibt contributed to make the disease of dry rot infinitely
more common and extensive than it was in former times,
when our ships were “ hearts of oak,” and when in our
large mansions the wind was suffered to blow freely through
them, and a current of air to circulate through the wide
space left between the pannelled wainscot and the wall.
I ’■
DUB
n’ Rot In those old mansions which yet remain, and in the an-
’ll cient cathedrals and churches, we find nothing like the
I'plin- dry-rot, though perhaps
 perforated sore
And drill’d in holes, the solid oak is found
By worms voracious eaten through and through.
Numerous examples of the extraordinary duration of
timber may be produced, both from complete desiccation
and exposure to the air, and from the complete exclusion
of air and immersion in earth or water. Without adducing
the surturbrandt of Iceland, covered with several strata of
solid rock, or the logs of wood dug out of peat-moss, the
antiquity of which is mere conjecture, we may instance
the mummy cases of Egypt as being in all probability the
most ancient timber in existence that has been worked
by the hand of man. When Belzoni entered the splendid
tomb of the kings of Thebes, in which was the transpa¬
rent sarcophagus of gypsum, he found two human figures
larger than life sculptured in wood, in as good preserva¬
tion as if it had been worked in his own time; but the
sockets of the eye, which had been copper, were entirely
wasted away. We are told by Pliny, that the image of
Diana at Ephesus, supposed to be of ebony, remained en¬
tire and unchanged, though the temple itself was ruined
and rebuilt seven times. He adds that, in his own time,
the image of Jupiter in the.capitol, made of cypress wood,
was still fresh and beautiful, though set up in the year
after the foundation of Rome 551, nearly three hundred
years before. He further says that there.was a temple of
Apollo at Utica, the timbers of which, being of Numidian
cedar, are said to have stood 1188 years. The roof of
Westminster Hall, which is constructed of chestnut, has
stood for more than three hundred years, and is probably
better now than when newly erected. Similar instances
DUB
233
of the long duration of timber have occurred in situations Dry Rot
where the atmospheric air has been excluded. In the ||
Leverian Museum was a post said to be dug out of Fleet Dublin.
Ditch, charred at the lower end, having the name of Julius
Caesar cut into it. The foundation on which the stone
piers of London Bridge are laid consist of huge piles of
timbei driven close to one another, on the top of which is
a floor of planks ten inches thick, strongly bolted toge¬
ther ; on these the stone piers rest, at above nine feet
above the bed of the river, and, at low water, may be seen
or felt at a very few inches below the surface. These .
piles have been driven upwards of six hundred years, and,
from the solidity of the superincumbent weight, it may be
concluded that they are perfectly sound. In the old city
wall of London, timber is frequently dug out as sound and
perfect as when first deposited there. As the last instance
of the extraordinary preservation of timber, we may men¬
tion, that, in digging away the foundation of the Old Savoy
Palace, which was built about six hundred and fifty years
ago, the whole of the piles, consisting of oak, elm, beech,
and chestnut, were found in a state of perfect soundness,
without the least appearance of rottenness in any part of
them, and the plank which covered the pile-heads was
equally sound. Some of the beech, however, after being
exposed a few weeks to the air, but under cover, had a
coating of fungus spread over the surface ; which affords a
striking proof of the immense length of time that the seeds
of this parasite will remain dormant, without parting with
the principle of vegetable life, which is called into acti¬
vity from the moment that they are deposited in a situa¬
tion favourable to their growth. In this instance we have
only to suppose that the indurated juices of the wood
became dissolved by its exposure to the moist atmosphere,
and the phenomenon of fungous vegetation is capable of
receiving a satisfactory explanation. (m.)
DSJABBE TAR, a small island in the Red Sea, per¬
taining to Arabia, about forty miles west-south-west of
Loheia. Long. 41. 35. E. Eat. 15. 32. N.
DSJABBEL, a small island in the Red Sea, about
twenty-four miles from the coast of Arabia. Long. 43. 34.
E. Lat. 15. 32. N.
DSJAR, a sea-port of Arabia, in the province of Heds-
jaz, situated on the coast of the Red Sea, supposed to be
the Eziongeber of the Scriptures. It is sixty-seven miles
west of Medina.
DSJEBI, a walled town and district of Arabia, in the
country of Yemen, with a citadel. It is the residence of
a chief. The surrounding country is mountainous, and
produces coffee. It is fifty-six miles east of Hodeida. Long.
43. 40. E. Lat. 14. 44. N.
DSJOBLA, a town of Arabia, in Yemen. The streets
are paved, and the houses high and well built. It con¬
tains 600 houses. Part of the population consists of Jews,
who inhabit a particular quarter without the town. It is
twenty-two miles north of Taas, and sixty miles north-east
of Mocha. '
DSJOF, an extensive province of Arabia, in the coun¬
try of \ emen, consisting chiefly of sandy plains and de¬
serts. It is celebrated for its horses and camels, which
aie exported in great numbers; and Mareb, its principal
town, sends salt to Sana.
DUBLIN, the metropolitan county of Ireland, in the
Hovjnce of Leinster, is bounded on the north by the county
of Meath, on the east by the Irish Sea, on the south by the
county Wicklow, and on the wrest by those of Kildare
and Meath. It is the smallest county in Ireland except
Louth and Carlow, containing 248,631 acres, or 3884
vol. vm.
square miles, of which 237,819 acres are cultivable, the
remaining 10,812 being bog or mountain. Its greatest
length from north to south is thirty miles, it greatest
breadth from west to east twenty-three. A small por¬
tion, detached from the rest, lies at a distance of be¬
tween twenty-four and thirty miles from the city, and is
surrounded by the counties of Wicklow and Kildare. In
Ptolemy’s geography it is stated to be inhabited by the
tribe of" the Eblani. At the period of the English inva¬
sion, and for some time previously to that event, the city
of Dublin and all the adjoining districts were in the pos¬
session of the Danes, from whom the tract to the north of
the city was called Fingal, or the country of the White
Strangers, a name given by the natives to those invaders
on account of their fair hair and complexion ; and that on
the south was called Harold’s country, which name it re¬
tained long after it fell into the hands of the English. Of
the nine baronies into which the county is divided, those
of Balrothery, Castleknocl^, Coolock, and Nethercross, are
on the north of the Liffey; those of Donore, Newcastle,
Rathdown, St Sepulchre, and Upperci’oss, are on the south
of the same river. The baronies are subdivided into
seventy-eight parishes, besides four parts of parishes, the
remainders of which are in the city. The ultimate sub¬
division of townlands is retained here, as in other counties,
but is little used, because the county is divided in a differ- .
ent manner for the purpose of collecting the local taxes;
the whole surface being considered as broken up into
114,657 parts, a proportionate number of which is allocat¬
ed to each barony.
The northern portion of the county is flat, and the soil
good, particularly in the parts bordering on Meath ; but,
2 G
DUB
on the southern side, the land soon rises into elevations
of considerable height, which extend into the adjoining
county of Wicklow. Of these, Kippure Head is 2527 feet
above the level of the sea, and the Three Rock Moun¬
tain 1585 feet. The soil in these mountains is very poor,
affording no encouragement for tillage, being chiefly cover¬
ed with heath, except where a subsidence in the ground af¬
fords a nucleus for the formation of bog, with which about
two thousand acres are covered. There are also a few
small tracts of bog in the northern part of the county.
This mountain district is well adapted for timber, to the
growth of which much attention has lately been paid, and
the labours of the improvers are already rewarded by some
fine plantations equally ornamental and profitable. This
range of mountain ground produces a very striking effect
on the traveller proceeding to the metropolis from Wick¬
low county. On arriving at its brow, the whole of the
plain, watered by the Litfey, studded with villas, and en¬
riched with groups of trees, spreads itself out before him,
in the midst of which may be seen the spires and domes
of the city rising through the dusky canopy of smoke that
envelopes them ; whilst beyond, the beautiful expanse of
Dublin Bay, backed by the Hill of Howth, and the islands
of Lambay and Ireland’s Eye, and still more remote the
peaked summit of Slieve Donard towering above them all
on the horizon’s verge, present a view of highly improved
nature not often to be surpassed.
Though by much the greater part of the soil is inclin¬
ed to clay, it is not of the deep and tenacious character so
common in England ; for scarcely any part is without a
mixture of gravel; and due search will generally discover
limestone or other beneficial substrata at no very great
depth, attended with the further advantage, that the ope¬
ration of draining generally raises a sufficiency of gravel
to manure the whole surface. The position of the ground,
usually more or less sloping, affords peculiar facilities
for drainage; and the circumstance of a great city in a
central position furnishes large quantities of ashes and
other species of refuse well calculated to conquer the na¬
tural stubbornness of such soils. Along the coast between
Howth and Balbriggen are salt marshes, but not of any
extent. The only stream deserving the name of river is
the Liffey, which, rising in the table-land of Wicklow, and
precipitating itself over the fine cataract of Polaphuca,
near which it is joined by the King’s River, traverses the
level county of Kildare; on leaving which it rushes over
another elevated ledge of rocks called the Salmon-leap at
Leixlip, after which it resumes its tranquil character, and,
passing through the centre of Dublin city, discharges it¬
self into the bay of the same name. It is joined at its
mouth by the Dodder, a mountain stream which, though
too insignificant to afford depth sufficient for the smallest
boat, supplies water for several mills of various description
during its short course from Kippure Hill to the sea. The
other streams, which are numerous, have all an eastern
direction, but are too small to be noticed, except the Del-
van and Braywater, and these only as forming the county
boundaries to the north and south.
Dublin Bay, much admired by strangers who arrive by
sea, and deemed inferior only to the Bay of Naples in
scenic grandeur, is very unsafe for shipping. It is five
and a half miles wide at the entrance between the Point
of Howth and Dalkey Island, and six miles deep to the
mouth of the Liffey at Ringsend. It is dangerous to na¬
vigators, being exposed to a heavy sea from the east. To
guard against wreck, a lighthouse has been erected at the
Point or Bailey of Howth, another on a pier projecting
from the mouth of the Liffey, and a third on the Kish
Bank, outside the bay. Two artificial harbours have also
been constructed, the smaller at Howth, occupying an area
LIN.
of fifty acres, at an expense of L.300,000. It is now little Bub]
used. The other is at Dunleary or Kingstown, formed by '"•'y
two immense moles, including a space of 250 acres, from
three to four fathoms deep at low water. Its entrance is
marked by a revolving light. A small obelisk, surmount¬
ed by a regal crown, has been erected close to the pier, to
point out the place where King George IV. took his de¬
parture from Dublin in 1821. The place of his previous
landing at Howth has not been marked by any similar me¬
morial. A rail-road from Kingstown to Dublin has been
commenced. The only other harbours are those of Bal¬
briggen and Skerries, to the north of Howth. Each of
them has been improved by artificial piers, but both are
dry at low water. The former admits vessels of some size,
and enjoys a small coasting trade. The latter is little
more than a fishing station. The sailors are considered
as among the most skilful and hardy on the eastern coast.
They fish in decked wherries, manned by a full crew of
twelve or fourteen hands, all of whom have a share in the
boat, and consequently an interest in the capture of fish.
The largest island on the coast is Lambay, to the north
of Howth, comprehending somewhat more than 650 acres.
A castle on it serves as the occasional residence of the
proprietor. Shell-fish of every description is taken in
abundance on the shore, and during the summer season it
is frequently visited by fishing and pleasure parties from
Dublin. To the north are the Skerries, consisting of the
islets of Innispatrick, Colt, Shenex, and Red Island, the
last named of which is connected to the mainland by the
pier already noticed. Innispatrick is noted in the eccle¬
siastical annals of the country as being the place on which
St Patrick first landed, and where he built a church. Be¬
tween Lambay and Howth is Ireland’s Eye, or, as it should
be named, Hirlandsie, a craggy rock, comprehending about
thirty acres, and supposed by some geologists to be an in¬
sulated portion of the neighbouring peninsula. At the
southern extremity of Dublin Bay is Dalkey Island, for¬
merly called St Begnet’s or Bennet’s, and at present re¬
markable only for a martello tower erected on it. The
channel which separates it from the mainland occasional¬
ly affords a good roadstead for shipping. It has been con¬
sidered by some engineers as the most appropriate situa¬
tion on which the public money could be laid out on a
safety harbour with the greatest economy, and the most
probable return of advantage to the trade of Dublin.
The greater part of the county is the eastern extremity
of the great bed of floetz limestone that extends over the
middle of the island, widening as it spreads westward. It
rises in its southern part into a range of mountains, which
forms the verge of an elevated district, extending thence
for more than thirty miles to the south. Through this
latter tract a large body of granite passes in a south-wes¬
tern direction, bounded on its eastern and western sides
by incumbent rocks of great variety of structure and rela¬
tions. Within the portion of this district included in the
county of Dublin, and distinguished by its beautiful scene¬
ry, are veins of lead ore at Dalkey and near the Scalp.
The country near Bray presents, within a small space, an
instructive series of rocks ; and at Killiney, schistoze beds
are to be seen to a considerable extent, reposing on gra¬
nite. Near Booterstown, in Dublin Bay, a mass of com¬
pact limestone is visible, within a few fathoms of the gra¬
nite. The calp of Kirwan, a variety of limestone, is the
prevailing rock in the immediate vicinity of Dublin, and
is much used for building. The brown spar of Jameson is
found in veins in the quarries of Dolphinsbarn, and beds
of magnesia limestone in the Dodder. Petrifactions
abound in many parts of the limestone country. In the
peninsula ol Howth gray ore of manganese, with brown
iron stone, and brown iron ore, have been obtained in quan-
pMin. titles; and a variety of the earthy black cobalt of Werner
wv'-' has been found on the side of the hill, forming a crust of
a rich blue colour, lining the fissures of a rock of clay
slate nearly approaching to whet slate ; a mineral found
in great abundance at Killiney, and for some time consi¬
dered as a nondescript species, is to be referred to the an-
dalusite. It appears thickly on the surface of beds of
mica slate, and seems to abound also imbedded in the sub¬
stance of the same rock. White clay, potters’ clay, and
yellow and brown ochre, are found in Howth, and at
Rush and Skerries. Indications of lead show themselves at
the commons of Kilmainham, near Castleknock, at Clon-
tarf, and near Dalkey and Killiney. The copper mines at
Lough Shinney have been badly wrought; the ore was of
a rich quality, and apparently derived from contemporane¬
ous veins of quartz of uncertain extent.
At Lucan, to the west of Dublin, there is a spring strong¬
ly impregnated with iron and sulphur; another exists at
Goldenbridge, near Kilmainham ; and both are much fre¬
quented by invalids. Chalybeate springs have been dis¬
covered in various places in the vicinity of Dublin city.
The population of the county, taken detached from that
of the city, has until lately been calculated on very uncer¬
tain data, and the results are consequently very unsatis¬
factory. De Burgho, in his Hibernia Dominicana, pub¬
lished in 1762, estimates it at 211,674, including the city ;
but this is evidently too high. Beaufort, in 1792, estimates
it at 64,000, which is probably too low. The subsequent
parliamentary returns give the following results : In 1812
it amounted to 132,000, in 1821 to 150,011, in 1831 to
183,042.
The state of education has been ascertained by parlia¬
mentary returns to be as follows:
Boys.
Girls.
Sex not
ascertained.
Total.
1821, 15,237 9235 ... 23,425
1824-6, 17,989 14,524 495 33,008
The numbers in the latter return are thus classified ac¬
cording to the religious persuasion and pecuniary capabi¬
lities of the pupils : Of Roman Catholics, 20,440 ; of the
established church, 10,372; of dissenters, 465; of those
whose religious persuasion was not ascertained, 1731. As
to the mode of payments, there are stated to be 730
schools, fifty-four of which, containing 3301 pupils, are
supported by grants of public money; 140 schools, con¬
taining 13,467 pupils, by voluntary contributions; while
those in the remaining 535 schools, amounting to 16,605
pupils, are supported wholly by the fees paid for educa¬
tion by the parents and friends of the children.
Previously to the union the county returned ten repre¬
sentatives to parliament; two for the county, two for the
city, two for the university, and two for each of the boroughs
of Swords and Newcastle. The number was reduced to
five by the act of union ; the members for both boroughs
being struck off, and one withdrawn from the university,
but this latter has been restored to it by the reform act.
Ihe constituency at various periods, before, during, and
since the alterations made in consequence of the Catholic
relief bill, presents the following results :—
L.100. L.50. L.20. L.10. 40s. Total.
1st Jan. 1829, ... 1092 434 ... 2490 4016
1st Jan. 1830, ... 1135 465 49 ... 1649
1st May 1831, ... 1223 496 109 ... 1828
1st Jan. 1833, ... 674 592 759 ... 2025
from this table it appears that, though the constituency
has been increased by the reform act beyond what it had
been reduced to by the disfranchisement of the forty-shil-
hng freeholders, it still amounts to but one half of what it
had been before that period. The county court, in which
the elections are held, the county business transacted, and
the records kept, is at Kilmainham, a suburb of Dublin.
W hen opened for legal proceedings, the chairman of the
county, who is a barrister, nominated by the crown, but
not allowed to practise as such, presides. In many points
the jurisdiction of the city police, of which an account will
be given in the description of the city, extends throughout
a great part of the county.
The manners, appearance, and dress of the lower classes
differ less from what may be considered as being peculiar¬
ly characteristical of the rural population of remoter dis¬
tricts, than might be expected in the vicinity of a large
metropolis. Even in the immediate neighbourhood of the
city are to be seen groups of cabins, exhibiting, both in
their external appearance and in the dress and manners
of their inmates, much to remind the observer of the pea¬
santry of the interior. The farms are in general small.
Near .Dublin, particularly^ on the southern side, they are
chiefly villas, with land attached to them, more for orna¬
ment and convenience than for agricultural profit. The
rents are proportionally high, being rated rather from local
circumstances than from the quality of the soil. Tillage,
though not in a backward state, is by no means so far ad¬
vanced as might be expected. Dairy farms, for the supply
of the city with milk and butter, are much run upon. Ve¬
getable gardens are numerous, particularly in the superior
soil of the northern outlets of Dublin. Grazing farms for
black cattle and horses are also frequent. The fences are
generally of white thorn, close, and well kept. Manure of
every kind is abundant; blue, brown, and white marl is
extracted in many parts ; fine shelly sand is drawn from the
flat shores; and coal ashes, night soil, and other refuse of
the metropolis, furnish abundant supplies of this important
material, varying in quality according to the taste of the
fanner and the peculiarity of the soil. The waste from
gas works has also been beneficially used for the same pur¬
pose, when mixed with other substances.
Manufactures are carried on, but in a limited manner, in
the country parts. At Balbriggen is a stocking manufac¬
tory of some extent. The Dodder furnishes sites for se¬
veral paper-mills, a distillery, and some cotton and woollen
factories. There is also an extensive woollen factory at
Kilmainham, and a few smaller ones in the liberties of
Dublin.
This county is distinguished for the superior quality of
its eels; they are found in great abundance in Tullagheen
river, where they are called silver eels, from their clear
white colour, supposed to be derived from the superior pu¬
rity of the water they inhabit. The mud eels are of a yel¬
low tinge and less pleasant flavour. Sand eels are found in
plenty along the coast. At Rush and Skerries the curing
of cod and ling is carried on. Sturgeon has at times ap¬
peared in Dublin Bay; and the sprat is found in the LifFey,
in which river there is also a profitable salmon fishery.
There are oyster beds at Llowth, Lambay, and Poolbeg;
the fish was originally brought from Arklow. Porpoises
are frequent on the Dublin coast. The principal supply
of fish for the Dublin market is from Skerries and llowth.
Among the amusements of the lower classes, horse-ra¬
cing and steeple chases are peculiarly attractive. Latter¬
ly a new direction has been given to the public taste for
manly diversions by means of the new harbour at Kings¬
town. A regatta is annually held there, where prizes are
distributed, by a club of noblemen and gentlemen, for races
of yachts and row-boats. The annual assemblages occa¬
sioned thereby every summer give rise to much festivity in
the neighbourhood. Formerly a club devoted to convivi¬
ality used to assemble once a year on the island of Dal¬
key, where, during the period of the meeting, a king of
the island, elected for his superior qualifications, from
among his boon companions, and who therefore might just-
Dublin.
DUBLIN.
236
Dublin, ly be styled the king of good fellows, held his mimic court,
v—with all the appendages of burlesque royalty. But, during
the period subsequent to the first French revolution, the
love of frolic, as was to have been expected, took a demo¬
cratic bent. The good king of Dalkey was formally de¬
posed. The events which followed were ill adapted for the
indulgence of this species of sociability; the annual meet¬
ings were discontinued, and have never since been reviv¬
ed. At Finglas, a village to the north of Dublin, Mayday
is celebrated by amusements of a different kind, yet not
less grotesque, consisting of races of asses, men in sacks,
pigs with soaped tails, and other feats of waggish skill and
eccentricity. But of all places calculated to exhibit the
peculiarities of Irish frolic in its wildest mood, Donny-
brook bears the palm. A fair is held here annually in Au¬
gust, ostensibly for the sale of cattle; and there is gene¬
rally a good show at it, particularly of horses ; but its lead¬
ing attraction is the great variety of diversions of every
kind likely to draw to it the artizans and lower classes of
Dublin. The festivities are kept up night and day for a
week, and sometimes for a fortnight. Latterly, however,
the irregularities it gave rise to have induced the civic
authorities to restrain its duration, and it is consequently
on the decline as a place of public amusement.
This county reckons three round towers among its an¬
tiquities ; one at Clondalkin in a high state of preservation ;
another at Swords, where also is the remains of a large
monastic institution; a third at Lusk, forming one of the
angles of the steeple. The church of St Doulaghs is worthy
of note for the extreme antiquity of its architecture; it is
covered with a double stone roof. A fine cromleach is
still preserved near Cabinteely. The remains of a stone
chair, and a rudely sculptured piece of granite, mark the
former existence of an ancient temple near Killiney. At
Old Connaught is a cross of considerable antiquity formed
of granite. Its shaft is surmounted by a circle, on which
the crucifixion is rudely sculptured. Among modern mo¬
numents may be noticed the Wellington memorial in the
park; obelisks at Stiltorgan and on Killiney Hill, built by
the proprietors of those demesnes, to supply employment
during seasons of scarcity; and another also near Killiney,
on the spot where the young Duke of Dorset was killed
by a fall from his horse. This county can boast of no
large town except the capital. Balbriggen, the second in
size, contains a population of only 3016 souls.
Dublin, the capital city of Ireland, and the second in
the united kingdom in magnitude and population, is situ¬
ated nearly in the middle of the county of the same name,
and at the mouth of the river Liffey. It was known as a
place of importance as early as the time of Ptolemy, who
notices it by the name of Eblana. By the Irish it is called
Athcliath or Bally-Ath-Cliath, signifying the town of hur¬
dles, and by that of Drom-Col-Choil, or the hill of the
hazel wood, which latter name is supposed to have been
more peculiarly applied to the hill on which the castle of
Dublin now stands, a conjecture confirmed by the fact,
that on removing the walls of the old castle chapel in
1806, they were found to have been laid on piles of hazel
wood. Its modern name is said to be compounded of the
Irish words Dubh and Linn, the black water or black bath,
from the dark appearance of the river in the marshes near
* its mouth.
The city was in possession of the Ostmen at the close
of the fifth century, who maintained themselves in it, and
in the adjoining district, until the arrival of the English, by
whom it was taken after a stubborn resistance, and Asculph
Mactorkill, the Danish governor, made prisoner and put
to death by the conquerors. When Henry II. landed in
Ireland he made it his place of residence, and constructed
a palace of wattles “ after the country manner,” in which
he received the native chieftains who came to do homage Dui
to him. It is also said that he held a parliament here, but4
no records of it are now in existence. Before his depar¬
ture for England he invited over a colony from Bristol, en¬
couraged them to settle by the grant of a charter, the ori¬
ginal of which is still to be seen in the archives of the
city, conferring on them all the rights of citizens of Bris¬
tol. King John visited the city during his father’s lifetime,
as Earl of Morton, and again in 1210, after he came to
the throne, when upwards of twenty Irish chieftains swore
allegiance to him, he on his part covenanting to establish
the English laws and customs throughout the island, and
consequently opening courts of justice according to the
forms of the law of England. In 1216 Magna Charta was
granted to the Irish by Henry III.; a copy of it is to be
found in the Red Book of the Exchequer. In 1217 the city
was granted to the citizens at200marks perannum. In 1227
the same monarch confirmed the charter of John, fixing the
city’s boundaries and the jurisdiction of its magistrates.
During the invasion of Ireland by Edward Bruce, in the
commencement of the reign of Edward II. some of the
suburbs were burnt to prevent them from falling into his
hands when besieging the city. Richard II. erected it in¬
to a marquisate for his favourite Robert de Vere, whom
he also created Duke of Ireland. The same king visited
it twice, first in 1394, on which occasion he bestowed the
honour of knighthood on four Irish princes in Christ
Church; and again in 1399, when his continuance there
was cut short by the rebellion of the Duke of Lancaster.
In 1404 the statutes of Kilkenny and Dublin were con¬
firmed in a parliament held in the city by the Earl of Or¬
mond. The attachment of the people of Dublin to the
house of York induced them to acknowledge Lambert
Simnel, who was crowned in Christ Church in 1486. The
rash rebellion of Lord Thomas Fitzgerald, son of the Earl
of Kildare, seriously endangered the city in 1534. On his
appearing before the walls with a powerful force, the citi¬
zens were induced through fear to give admission to a de¬
tachment of his troops to besiege the castle; but, on hear¬
ing that he had met with a reverse in another quarter,
they suddenly closed their gates and detained his men as
prisoners. He then attacked the city itself; but finding it
too strong to be seized by a covp de main, he raised the
siege on condition of having his captured soldiers ex¬
changed for the children of some of the principal citizens
who had fallen into his hands. At the breaking out of the
civil war in 1641, a conspiracy to seize on Dublin Castle
was detected on the eve of the day in which it was to be
effected, and the city was thus preserved for the king’s
party. In 1646 it was besieged by the Irish army, but
without success, as the Marquis of Ormond, then lord-
lieutenant, had put it into a respectable state of defence,
in doing which he was aided by his wife and the other
ladies of distinction residing there, who assisted in carry¬
ing baskets of earth to repair the fortifications. He was,
however, compelled to surrender it on conditions the next
year to Colonel Jones, commander of the parliamentary
forces; and in 1649 he was totally defeated at Rathmenes
in an attempt to recover possession of it. The same year
Oliver Cromwell landed in Dublin, and proceeded thence
on his career of conquest, which commenced with the cap¬
ture of Drogheda by storm, and the subsequent massacre
of its inhabitants. On the resignation of Richard Crom¬
well in 1659, the castle was surprised by a party of offi¬
cers favourable to the royal cause; and though immedi¬
ately retaken by Sir Hardress Waller, it was forced to
surrender again in a few days. When James II. landed
in Ireland in 1688, to assert his right to the British throne,
he held a parliament in Dublin, and erected a mint there,
in which a large quantity of base money was coined, in
!• the hope of relieving his financial difficulties. On his re-
1)1 w1 turn thither, after the defeat of the Boyne, it is said that
he refused to listen to a proposal to burn the city, in order
to check his adversary’s pursuit. Such a step was, how¬
ever, as unnecessary as it would have been flagitious ; for
William advanced by slow marches, and on his arrival en¬
camped at Finglas, and did not enter the city till the en¬
suing day, when he went in state to St Patrick’s Cathe¬
dral to return thanks for his victory. In 1783 a conven¬
tion of delegates from all the volunteer corps in Ireland
assembled in Dublin for the purpose of procuring a reform
in parliament; but the House of Commons refused to en¬
tertain the proposition, and the convention separated with¬
out coming to any practical result. In May 1798 the ex¬
plosion of a conspiracy planned by the united Irishmen to
seize the city was prevented by the capture of Lord Edward
Fitzgerald and some of the other leaders. In 1800 the act
of union between Great Britain and Ireland was passed in
both parliaments, and on the 1st January following the
imperial standard of the united kingdom was hoisted on
Dublin Castle. In 1803 another insurrection, headed by
Robert Emmett, a young barrister of great talents, broke
out, but was immediately quelled with the loss of some
lives in the tumult, and the death of its leaders on the
scaffold. The only remarkable event in which Dublin was
more peculiarly interested since that event, was the visit
of George IV. to Ireland in 1821, when he spent several
days in inspecting its public institutions and receiving the
congratulations of his Irish subjects ; and on quitting it left
behind him a letter expressive of his feelings on the re¬
ception he had met with, and of his wishes for their wel¬
fare and prosperity.
The site of the city was long confined to the hill on the
south side of the river of which Fligh Street forms the
crest, and the castle the eastern declivity. The walls,
which may still be traced on maps, though scarcely a ves¬
tige of them now remains, did not exceed a mile in length.
From the north tower of the castle they were carried over
Cork Hill, near which was. an entrance called Dame’s
Gate, looking towards Hoggin’s, now College Green. Near
Essex Bridge was another entrance called Essex Gate,
erected on the site of Isod’s Tower. The wall was then
carried westwards along the course of the river to the end
of Fishamble Street. Here stood Fyan’s Castle, sometimes
used as a state prison. Thence it continued along Wood
Quay to Winetavern Street, where was another castle; and,
still continuing parallel to the river, it joined a castle
through which was one of the principal entrances, oppo¬
site to Bridge Street. Thence it was carried to New Row,
and up the hill to Cutpurse Row, at the end of which was
Newgate, also used as a prison. From Corn Market it
passed along the rear of Back Lane to Nicholas Gate,
thence between Ross Lane and Bride’s Alley to Pool Gate,
afterwards Werburgh Gate, and thence in a straight line
till it joined the castle at Birmingham Tower. The part
of the city now called Dame Street and College Green
was a low swampy plot, subject to inundations of the river,
to the north of which were a Danish settlement, now call¬
ed Oxmantown, a corruption from Ostmen’s Town, and the
extensive monastery of St Mary’s, with its appendage the
friary of St Saviour. The only passage across the river
by land was by a bridge at the end of Bridge Street, for¬
merly called Old Bridge, Dublin Bridge, and for some
time Friars’ Bridge. It was taken down in 1815, and its
place supplied by an elegant new erection of three arches
called Whitworth Bridge. In sinking for a foundation the
traces of two or three former ones were discovered, one of
them of excellent workmanship, supposed to have been
the original, laid in the reign of John, and which, having
been swept away in 1385, was replaced by the Dominican
friars, who repaid themselves by a toll. All the other mo¬
nastic buildings were on the south side of the river. These
were, the two cathedrals, to be described more minutely
hereafter; the abbey of St Thomas the Martyr, since call¬
ed Thomas Court; the priory of All Hallows, now Trinity
College; the monastery of St Francis in Francis Street;
the monastery of the Holy Trinity, on the site of the late
theatre in Crow Street; the Carmelite or Whitefriars’
Monastery, lately restored, in Whitefriar Street; and the
nunnery of St Mary de Hogges, on the ground where St
Andrew’s Church now stands. The precise situations of
the nunnery of St Mary des Dames, whence Dame Street
has its name, of the abbey of St Olave, somewhere in Cas¬
tle Street, of the monastery of Witeshan in the west of
Dublin, and of the priory of Knights Templars in Catgott,
in the southern suburbs, are now unknown. The hospital
of St Stephen occupied the site of Mercer’s Hospital; the
Steyne Hospital stood on Lazar’s Hill, now Bank Street;
and Allen’s Hospital lay between St Kevin Street and the
bounds of the archbishop’s palace in St Sepulchre’s.
Though the buildings spread themselves from an early
period in all directions, the walls were never extended
beyond their original limits. During the civil wars in 1641,
indeed, entrenchments were thrown up between the cas¬
tle and the college, from the river to the vicinity of St
Patrick’s Cathedral; but being constructed of earth, they
did not long survive the necessity to which they owed
their origin.
In general it may be observed, that the progress of ar¬
chitectural improvement has taken an eastern direction.
Most of the public buildings and new streets lie on that
side of the castle, whilst those towards the west are ra¬
pidly falling into decay. Flence it is that the boundaries
of the civic jurisdiction are in some parts strangely at
variance with the arrangement of the buildings. In the
north-eastern district the entire parish of St George is
beyond the scope of the municipal authorities, whilst in
the south-eastern they extend beyond the low-water mark
on the South Bull, and to the Blackrock, a village five
miles from the castle, including a large tract of arable and
pasture land, and the villages of Ringsend, Irishtown,
Sandymount, Merrion, Ballsbridge, and Donnybrook.
About the year 1770 a road was carried round the city, so
as to connect all the outlets;,it was called the Circular
Road. The boundary thus formed measures somewhat less
than nine miles. Latterly the lines of the Royal and Grand
Canal on the north and south have afforded a boundary
line still more comprehensive ; but the entire of the in¬
cluded area is not covered with buildings. A circle, with
Essex Bridge as a centre, and with a radius of one mile,
will comprehend very nearly all the inhabited part of the
city, exclusive of the outlying villages subject to munici¬
pal jurisdiction. The area within the limits of the Circular
Road covers a space of 1264 acres, of which about 785
are on the southern side, and 478 on the northern side of
the Liffey, or Anna Liffey, a name said to be derived from
Awen Luiffa, the black river. This river, which, after tra¬
versing the city from west to east, through an extent of
two miles and a half, reckoned from the King’s Bridge to
the quay point, near Ringsend, discharges itself into the
Bay of Dublin, forming a harbour singularly ill calculated
for commercial purposes, in consequence of two sand-banks
called the North and South Bulls, between which it flows.
Attempts were made to diminish the dangers arising from
them, and to deepen the bed of the river, particularly at
the entrance, where a bar having but six or seven feet
water at low tide prevents the entrance of ships of heavy
burden, by carrying out two piers called the North and
South Walls, into the sea. The former of these, which is
much the shorter, is terminated by a small light-house;
238
DUBLIN.
Dublin, the latter extends in the form of a broad road, a mile and
a half in length, to the Pigeon House, a collection of
buildings originally intended as a landing place for the
Holyhead packet boats, but, since the removal of these to
the Howth Harbour, converted into a military magazine.
It is continued two miles farther as a solid wall, thirty-two
feet broad at the bottom, to a light-house at the end of the
South Bull. These walls have not had the ctesired effect
of deepening the channel. Within them there is safe an¬
chorage, and vessels not drawing more than fourteen feet
water can moor at the quays near Carlisle Bridge. Be¬
yond this point the river is navigable for lighters and row¬
boats only as far as Sarah Bridge, to the west of the city,
where a weir thrown across it puts a stop to further navi¬
gation. Both sides of the river are cased by walls of gra¬
nite, forming spacious quays. These are intersected by
nine bridges; Carlisle Bridge, nearest the sea; Welling¬
ton Bridge, a single arch of cast-iron, for foot passengers
only; Essex Bridge; Richmond Bridge; Whitworth Bridge,
formerly Dublin Bridge ; Queen’s Bridge ; Barrack, former¬
ly Bloody Bridge ; King’s Bridge ; and Sarah Bridge. The
two last named are each of a single arch, the first of them
of iron, the other, a building peculiarly elegant in its pro¬
portions, of stone. All except Barrack Bridge are mo¬
dern and beautiful.
Besides the splendid avenue from east to west formed
by the quays, and combining elegance and convenience
with health, there are several lines of communication
formed of fine streets. The passage through the city from
the great northern road is peculiarly striking, particularly
at Sackville Street, on account of its great width, and the
fine houses of which it is built. The entrance from Kings¬
town is equally imposing. Both these avenues meet in
College Green, an opening surrounded by palaces, and
having an equestrian statue of William III. in its centre;
their continuance to Dublin Castle, through Dame Street,
is also fine. But on deviating from these main lines, the
decline of the bustle of business, and of the display of
luxury, is immediately visible. Dublin can boast but of
five squares; St Stephen’s Green, the largest, exhibits
some fine mansions, but the houses are irregular, and of
very unequal merit in their architectural structure. An
equestrian statue of George II. is in its centre. Merrion
Square, the next in size, is more uniform and modern.
Fitzwilliam Square, the smallest in the city, pleases from
its extreme neatness. All these are on the southern side,
and nearly contiguous to each other. Rutland Square, also
of very limited dimensions, is surrounded on three sides by
ranges of splendid private mansions, the fine edifice of the
Lying-in-Hospital forming the interior of its fourth side.
Mountjoy Square resembles Fitzwilliam Square in its style
of architecture, but on a larger scale. These two are in
the north-eastern quarter. The streets are well paved,
flagged, and lighted, and kept in a very respectable state
of cleanliness.
Ihe city, taking the word in its larger acceptation, is
divided into nineteen parishes, fourteen in the south and
five in the north. The southern are St Andrew’s, St Anne’s,
St Audoen’s, St Bridget’s, St John’s, St Luke’s, St Mark’s,
St Michael’s, St Nicholas’, within the walls, and St Wer-
burgh’s within the civic boundaries; St Catherine’s, St
James’s, and St Peter’s, partly within them ; and St Luke’s
wholly without them. St Kevin’s parish is included in that
of St Peter. Besides these, there are the extraparochial li¬
berties of the deaneries of St Patrick’s and Christ Church.
The northern parishes are St Mary’s, which originally em¬
braced all those on the north side of the river; St Michan’s,
St Paul’s, and Thomas’s within the city; St George’s in
the county; and the late manor, but now the parish, of
Grangegorman.
The population of the city is stated by Stanihurst, a na- but
tive, to have been upwards of 300,000 in 1584. Porter ^
who wrote in 1680, computed it at the same amount! '
Though it is nearly certain that each of these estimates
is far above the truth, it is impossible to account satisfac¬
torily for the smallness of the numbers in 1645, particu¬
larly when compared with the sudden and enormous in¬
crease in the beginning of the subsequent century. The
accounts, according to calculations at various periods and
by different rules, some being merely conjectural, others
expressing the number of houses, others that of souls
others again resting on actual enumeration, are given in
the following table. In those cases in which the number
of houses only is stated, the average of inhabitants is cal¬
culated at twelve and a half, that being nearly the amount
ascertained in those estimates in which both houses and
souls have been taken by actual enumeration.
Date.
1584
1G44
1681
1690
1732
1744
1753
1760
1788
1798
1813
1821
1831
Authority.
Stanihurst
Annals of Dublin
Lynch
Porter
Lynch
Lynch
Rutty
Lynch
Bushe
Whitelaw
Parliament
Parliament
Parliament
Houses.
Not stated
Not stated
Not stated
Not stated
13,000
11,923
12,887
13,421
14,327
14,854
14,696
14,949
Inhabitants.
By estimation,
By estimation,
By estimation,
By estimation,
By estimation,
By enumeration,
By enumeration,
By enumeration,
By enumeration,
300,000
8,159
40,000
300,000
162,500
149,037
161,088
167,758
179,088
182,370
175,319
185,881
203,752
In the parliamentary return of 1821 the population of
the city has been given in three forms, the first contain¬
ing the parishes and parts of parishes within the canals,
and also within the corporate jurisdiction; the second
containing the total area within the canals; the third the
same area as the second, together with those parts of pa¬
rishes beyond the canals. The brief extracts from the re¬
turns of 1831 as yet published by parliament give also a
threefold view of the population, but whether the limits
are the same as those of 1821, cannot be satisfactorily
ascertained until the returns shall have been fully be¬
fore the public. The three statements give the follow¬
ing result;—
1st.
2d.
3d..
1821. 1831.
. 175,585 203,752.
224,317 232,362.
.227,335 265,316.
Few large cities present a more striking picture of the
extremes of splendour and destitution than Dublin. A
line drawn from the King’s Inns in the north of Dublin,
directly south, through Capel Street, the castle, and
Aungier Street, will, together with the line of the Liffey,
divide the whole area into four districts, materially dif¬
fering from each other in appearance and character. The
south-eastern district, which comprehends three of the
great squares, is chiefly inhabited by the nobility, the
landed gentry, and the liberal professions. The north¬
eastern, which includes the two other squares, contains
the residences chiefly of the mercantile and official classes.
'I he post-office and custom-house are in this division. These
two districts present every appearance of affluence and lux¬
ury. But on proceeding westward the scene suddenly
changes. The south-western district, which includes the
liberties of St Sepulchre’s and Thomascourt, and was
formerly the seat of the silk and woollen manufactures, is
in a state bordering on ruin, as is also the north-western
DUBLIN.
jUn, district, in which are the barracks, and the great market extremity of the city. They consist of four large squares,
for cattle and hay. capable of accommodating two thousand men, both infan-
Dublin is the seat of the local executive, consisting of try and cavalry. A temporary barrack, capable of con-
the lord lieutenant and the privy council. It is also the taining a regiment of infantry, has been fitted up in some
seat of the supreme courts of judicature, from which an unfinished houses south of the castle. Richmond barrack,
appeal lies only to the House of Lords in Westminster, for infantry, on the banks of the Grand Canal, beyond Kil-
The lord lieutenant resides, for a few months during mainham, on an elevated and healthy situation, forms a
spring, in Dublin Castle, but spends most part of the year fine and substantial fabric of great extent. Portobello
at an elegant \illa in the 1 hcenix 1 ark. ihe castle was banack, for cavalry, is on the banks of the same canal, near
built in 1205, by Henry de Loundres, archbishop of Dub- Harold’s Cross. At Island Bridge, near Kilmainham, there
lin. It originally consisted of a single square flanked by is an artillery barrack; and another at the magazine at
towers at each angle, the two southern of which still re- the Pigeon House.
main. It contains a suite of apartments for the lord The municipal government is vested in the lord mayor,
lieutenant, in which are two magnificent rooms, the au- two sheriffs, a board of aldermen, and an assembly con-
dience chamber, and St Patrick’s hall, where balls are gi- sisting of ninety-six representatives from the twenty-five
ven on that saint’s day. The remainder of the buildings guilds of trade, together with an unlimited number of
are appropriated to the privy council, the apartments of the sheriffs’ peers. The charter of Henry II. already men-
state officers, and some of the public offices. Other build- tioned was confirmed and enlarged by John, and by nu-
ings without the square have been successively attached merous others from succeeding monarchs. The latest is
to the castle. The principal of these is the chapel royal, that by James II. The chief magistrates were originally
projecting from one of the towers yet standing. It is a styled provost and bailiffs. The former title was changed
beautiful pile of highly finished florid Gothic architec- to that of mayor in 1409, the latter to that of sheriff in
ture, of small proportions. Its interior has a fine painted 1547. In 1660 Charles II. granted the lord mayor a
window, and is ornamented with the arms, carved in oak, golden collar, a company of foot, and the right of having
of all the lord lieutenants of Ireland to the period of its a sword of state, a mace, and a cap of dignity. ' In 1665
erection. The treasury, the ordnance, the quarter-mas- the title of lord mayor was conferred on him, and L.500
ter’s office, and some other minor departments, occupy the per annum granted in lieu of the foot company. In 1672
remaining space. A guard of state of horse, foot, and ar- the Earl of Essex, then lord lieutenant, issued new rules
tillery, is mounted here daily. for the regulation of the corporation. In 1682 the tholsel
The judicial functions are committed to the lord chan- was built as its place of assembly; it w^as taken down in
cellor, who presides in the court of chancery, the mas- 1807, and the corporation since meets in a plain building
ter of the rolls, who holds a subordinate court, and the in William Street.
three law courts, viz. the king’s bench, the common pleas, The city assembly is formed of two bodies, the alder-
and the exchequer, over each of which four judges are men and commons. The latter consists, as already noticed,
placed. The building where the courts are held, on of representatives chosen every three years by the twenty-
the King’s Inns quay, is a large and highly ornamented five guilds of trades, in numbers proportioned to the esti-
pile, consisting of a central part containing a circular hall mated importance of each ; besides which, every person
of large size, in each angle of which one of the four prin- who has been elected to the office of sheriff has a seat in
cipal courts is held, that of the master of the rolls being the commons for life, under the name of sheriffs’ peer,
in a detached apartment. The wings, which form two In this assembly the sheriffs preside; they are annually
small squares, are appropriated to the offices and record chosen from among the representatives of the guilds, by the
repositories belonging to the courts. The prerogative, common council. Each person elected must prove himself
consistorial, and admiralty courts, are held in the King’s by oath worth L.2000. Those who please may decline to
Inns buildings, to be described hereafter. serve the office, on paying a sum of L.500. Such persons
The boards of commissioners which had charge of the are said to fine, but are not therefore disqualified from
principal branches of the revenue all sat in Dublin until sitting as sheriffs’ peers.
very lately. They are now removed to London, and the The aldermen, twenty-five in number, are chosen by
details here managed by inferior agents. Ihe customs and the common council out of a list of four names sent down
excise offices were both held in the custom-house, which to them by the board of aldermen, which sits in a sepa-
at first stood on the south side of the river, close to Essex rate chamber, where the lord mayor presides. They hold
Bridge, but on the erection of Carlisle Bridge they were office during life. The lord mayor is elected by the al-
removed to the magnificent structure erected for them dermen generally, according to seniority; he must be ap-
on the north wall, a square building 3/5 feet by 209, with proved and sworn in by the lord lieutenant. This cere-
four fronts, each highly ornamented, and having a beau- mony takes place at Michaelmas. He holds a court for
tiful cupola rising from the centre, but recently con- the trial of petty offences and misdemeanours, and settles
sunied by fire. At present the officers of customs have disputes between workmen, journeymen, and servants, and
little more to do than to collect the duty still levied on their employers. During the year subsequent to that of
coal importeu for the use of private families, dhe busi- office he presides at the court of conscience, which takes
ness of the stamp-office, which had been transacted in summary and final cognizance of suits of debt under L.2
a separate building in William Street, once the private Irish. Every third year he perambulates the city bounds
mansion of the Earl of Powerscourt, has been transferred on horseback, attended by the civic authorities. The tour
to some of the apartments of the custom-house, vacant commences at low-water mark on the South Bull, where
since the removal of the boards to London; and the build- he determines the boundary of his jurisdiction by flinging
mg in William Street has been sold to a mercantile esta- a javelin into the sea. This.ceremony, called riding the
blishment. The post-office, which on its first opening had franchises, was formerly made the occasion of a splendid
been held in College Green, is carried on in a fine build- procession of all the guilds dressed in uniform, and pre-
mg m Sackville Street, under the care of a secretary act- ceded by banners and appropriate emblems. The corpo-
-g-der postmaster-general in London. ration appoints a recorder, treasurer, town-clerk, secreta-
A large military force has always been maintained in and ry, sword-bearer, and other inferior officers. It has also
near Dublin. The principal barracks are at the western the regulation of the markets. The principal wholesale
240
DUBLIN.
Dublin, markets are that of Smithfield for cattle, hay, and straw,
and those near the new prison for fruit, potatoes, vege¬
tables, eggs, and fish. There are ten retail meal markets,
. generally well supplied, but not remarkable for cleanliness,
with the exception of the Northumberland market, lately
opened in the neighbourhood of Sackville Street by a spi¬
rited individual as a private speculation. The custom of
slaughtering cattle in private yards is carried on to an
offensive extent. A small market for hay, straw, and
butter is held beyond the jurisdiction of the corporation in
Kevin Street, in the manor of St Sepulchre. The supply
of fuel is also in some degree under the control of the cor¬
poration. It consists chiefly of coal from England, and some
from Scotland; turf is brought in large quantities by both
canals. Native coal is also sent to the city from Leitrim
and Kilkenny, but not in quantities or at prices to do
away with the demand for the imported article. The cor¬
poration has also the charge of supplying the city with
water, which is brought from the canals into the reser¬
voirs, whence, after having been forced through a filter¬
ing machine of excellent construction, it is conveyed by
pipes through all parts, so that the inhabitants are copi¬
ously supplied with this necessary of life on moderate
terms. Fountains are also set up in several places in the
poori£ parts of the town ; but these are under the control
of a special corporation.
Four distinct courts, besides the court of conscience,
are held within the limits of the lord mayor’s jurisdiction ;
the quarter sessions, at which the recorder, aided by
two aldermen at least, presides to try petty offences ; the
court of oyer and terminer, held by two of the puisne
judges of the superior courts for crimes of a graver nature;
the recorder’s court, which is held in January, April,
July, and October, for actions of debt by civil bill process;
and the lord mayor’s court already mentioned. All are
held in the sessions’ house, a neat building of hewn stone
in Green Street, erected in 1797. The records of the
city are preserved in some of the apartments of this build¬
ing-
For the purposes of police, the city is divided into four
districts, nearly corresponding with those already describ¬
ed. In each there is an office, at which three magis¬
trates, one an alderman, the second a common council
man, and the third a barrister, all appointed by the crown,
sit every day. They have under them an armed force,
consisting of fifty-two peace-officers, thirty mounted, and
a hundred and seventy dismounted police, and six hundred
and fifty watchmen, which last body remains on duty from
an hour after sunset till an hour before sunrise. The police
has the regulation of the public carriages plying in the
city and its neighbourhood. These are chiefly-hackney
coaches and jaunting cars, which latter are now distributed
on convenient stands through most part of Dublin, like
the former.
The criminal prison was formerly at Newgate, between
Thomas Street and Cutpurse Row, but has been removed
to a square building flanked with towers, built in Green
Street for the purpose. Originally it was intended for
prisoners of every description ; but in consequence of ar¬
rangements lately made to diminish the numbers by which
it was thronged, it is not now often overstocked. It is un¬
der the control of the corporation, which appoints all the
officers, and has been annually reported by the inspectors-
general as among the worst arranged prisons in Ireland.
The Richmond General Penitentiary, an extensive pile of
building in Grangegorman Lane, was erected to prevent
the necessity of transportation, being intended for convicts
sentenced to long periods of punishment. It was under
the immediate control of the government, by whom the
jailor and other officers were appointed. The experiment
has not succeeded. An enquiry into its internal manage¬
ment disclosed several grave abuses, the jailor has been 1
removed, and the building was used for a cholera hospital
in 1832. Juvenile offenders are sent, on conviction, to a
house of correction in Smithfield. The bridewell on the
Circular Road for minor offences is under the city magis¬
trates. It is well regulated. Useful works are carried on
so far as to defray part of the expenditure. The tread¬
mill has been introduced into it. The prisoners are also
employed in cultivating a large garden for the use of the
inmates. The prisons for debtors are four. The Four
Courts’ Marshalsea receives prisoners both from the city
and from all the counties in Ireland. It is in a healthy
situation on a rising ground near Thomas Street, and well
secured by a lofty wall, but badly ventilated. A plan
proposed by an intelligent architect for correcting this
defect without the risk of escapes, has not been carried
into effect. Tile Sheriffs’ Prison in Green Street is in¬
tended for all cases of debt above L.10 contracted within
the city. Previously to its erection in 1794, debtors were
detained in the residences of the bailiffs, commonly called
spunging-houses, a custom which occasioned many gross
abuses. For some time also after the opening of this pri¬
son, the keeper was partly remunerated by the rents of the
apartments. The abolition of prison fees has put an end to
this abuse, and the only well-founded cause of complaint
at present arises from the limited extent of its accommo¬
dations. The City Marshalsea, adjoining the Sheriffs’ Pri¬
son, receives debtors for sums less than L.10, under de¬
crees of the lord mayor’s court and the court of conscience.
The prisoners are generally of the poorest classes, and
many of them have nojesource but casual charity for the
support of life ; even a lodging in the common hall must
be purchased at the rate of a penny a night. The state
of the Dublin prisons in general, though considerably im¬
proved by the degree of attention lately paid to remedy
the defects of their construction and their internal eco¬
nomy, still requires much amelioration, not only with re¬
spect to the classification and treatment of the prisoners,
but also to the expenditure, which is much greater than
what would be found to be necessary under a better ar¬
ranged system.
Those parts of Dublin not under the civil magistrates
are, the manor of Grangegorman, which includes a dis¬
trict in the neighbourhood of Glasnevin and Mountjoy
Square, of which the dean of Christ Church is the lord,
and appoints a seneschal, who holds his court in a private
house. The manor of Thomascourt and Donore, granted
to an ancestor of the Earl of Meath, on the dissolution of
the monastery to which it had been appendant. Its court
was first established in the reign of King John, and still
continues open for trial of petty debts and offences. The
manor of St Sepulchre, including the parishes of St Ke¬
vin and St Nicholas Without, of which the Archbishop
of Dublin is lord, with extensive powers that have now
nearly become obsolete. It has a court-house and prison
attached to it. The ground immediately adjoining the
cathedrals of Christ Church and St Patrick are also ex¬
empt jurisdictions, subject to their respective deans; but
their authority is now little more than nominal.
The seat of the archiepiscopal see is in this city. The
palace was till lately in an old building in St Sepulchre’s,
now converted into a police barrack. The archbishop
resides in a house purchased for him in Stephen’s Green.
He exerts spiritual jurisdiction over the two cathedrals
of Christ Church and St Patrick. Of these the former
claims the priority by right of antiquity; its foundation
is attributed to the Danes in 1038. It stands nearly in
the middle of the old city, on the northern declivity of
the hill. Earl Strongbow, the invader of Ireland, is in-
DUB
in terred here, and his tomb was long the place at which
the tenants of the church were bound to pay their rents.
' -pjie m0nument was much injured by the fall of one of the
cathedral walls; but was repaired, and is still to be seen
in good preservation, with a smaller tomb by its side,
having on its top the representation of the superior ex¬
tremities of a boy cut off at the waist, which circumstance
tradition accounts for by informing us that the youth had
been cut in two by his father for his cowardice in battle.
Several fine monuments are in the aisle; and in the chan¬
cel is that of the nineteenth Earl of Kildare, father of the
Duke of Leinster. Under the same roof with the cathe¬
dral is a small building called St Mary’s Chapel. The
chapter consists of the dean, precentor, chancellor, trea¬
surer, the three prebendaries of St Michael, St Michan,
and St John, and four vicars choral. The cathedral is
well endowed; its economy fund, amounting to L.2400
annually, is applied to the payment of the dignitaries and
officers, and to the maintenance of the structure, which
has lately undergone a thorough repair, both internally
and externally. The deanery-house was in Fishamble
Street, which being considered a situation unsuitable to a
dignitary of the establishment, was sold, and it is now a
merchant’s warehouse. The dean resides on some of the
cathedral lands at Glasnevin, in one of the northern out¬
lets. The cathedral of St Patrick was founded in 1190
by John Comyn, archbishop of Dublin, in a very low si¬
tuation, and therefore subject to the bad effects of floods,
by which it is liable to be inundated. About a hundred
years after its erection it was completely burnt, but was
soon after raised from its ruins in increased splendour.
At the reformation it was dissolved, and the building used
for some of the purposes of the courts of justice. King
Edward projected its change into a university; but in
the succeeding reign of Mary it was restored to its pri¬
mary destination, which it still retains. The installations
of the knights of St Patrick, the first of which took place
in 1783, are held here. Its walls have since been orna¬
mented with the helmets, swords, and banners of the
knights, those of the present members being suspended
over their stalls in the chancel, whence they are removed
on their decease into the aisle. This cathedral contains
the monuments of several illustrious persons, among which
the most celebrated, not so much for the execution of the
sculpture, as for the more durable fame of the characters
they commemorate, are those of Dean Swift; of Mrs John¬
ston, immortalized by him under the name of Stella; of
Archbishop Marsh, who bequeathed a fine library to the
public; of the first Earl of Cork; and of Duke Schomberg,
who fell at the Boyne. The northern transept is used as
the parochial church of the adjoining parish of St Nicho¬
las Without. The chapter consists of the dean, precentor,
chancellor, treasurer, the two archdeacons of Dublin and
Glandalogh, nineteen prebendaries, four minor canons,
and twelve vicars choral. The economy fund amounts to
L.2050 per annum. The singing men of these cathedrals
perform conjointly at both, and at the chapel of Trinity
College, at different hours on Sundays; so that it may be
said there is only one choir in Dublin; but that one, from
the combination of musical talent, is excellent, although
it is a question with many whether the amalgamation, by
stifling emulation, does not injure rather than serve the
cause of sacred music. The deanery house is in the im¬
mediate vicinity of the church. Sir James Ware, who
wrote in the reign of Charles L, pronounces this cathe¬
dral to be superior to all others in Ireland for magnificence
of structure and for extent. Some of the parish churches
possess strong claims to admiration. St George’s is a fine
insulated Grecian fabric, with a highly ornamented steeple
and spire. St Andrew’s, commonly called the round
VOL. VIII.
LIN. 241
church, from its elliptical form, is remarkable for a statue Dublin,
of its patron saint over its entrance ; this being the only in-
stance of a statue erected in such a place in Dublin. St Pe¬
ter’s and St Michan’s are chiefly noted for their size. The
cemetery of the former possesses the bones of the ambitious
and arrogant Earl of Clare, who signalized himself in the
stormy scenes of 1798. The piety of the inheritor of his
title and fortune suffers the remains of him to whom he
owes his rank to moulder under the undistinguishing pro¬
tection of a plain grave-stone. The vaults of St Michan’s
are remarkable for an antiseptic quality, which preserves
the relics deposited there from decay. Among these are
the bodies of the two Shears, brothers and barristers,
who were among the first victims of the law on the break¬
ing out of the rebellion just alluded to.
The Roman Catholic Archbishop of Dublin also resides
in the city. The metropolitan church, in Marlborough
Street, is considered as more peculiarly under his charge. •
This is a building of great dimensions, highly ornamented
internally in the Grecian style, but as yet unfinished on
the outside, from the want of adequate funds. When
complete it will be among the finest specimens of archi¬
tecture which the city can boast of. The total number of
Roman Catholic parish chapels is twelve, all large, but
few externally elegant; a circumstance easily accounted for
by the fact, that previously to the year 1745 the strict
enforcement of the penal laws prohibited the public ex¬
ercise of their forms of worship. The relaxation of the
law was occasioned by the falling in of the floor of an
upper apartment, where a Catholic congregation had as¬
sembled to celebrate mass secretly, and by which se¬
veral lives were lost. On hearing of the accident, Lord
Chesterfield, then lord lieutenant, nobly declared that he
would no longer be accessory to the enforcement of a
statute productive of a catastrophe so fatal. The Catho¬
lic places of worship have ever since been kept open
without molestation; but the apprehensions of their pas¬
tors, and the jealousy of the ruling powers, compelled them
long after to select places of comparative privacy for their
erection. The interior of the chapels in Anne Street
and Exchange Street are highly worthy of inspection.
Besides the parochial chapels, there are seven belonging
to friaries of the Franciscans, the Calced and the Dis-
calced Carmelites, the Capuchins, the Dominicans, the
Augustinians, and the Jesuits, and nine belonging to nun¬
neries, viz. two of Discalced Carmelites, two of Poor Clares,
two of the Presentation, one of Dominicans, one of the
Sisters of Mercy, and one of the Sisters of Charity; the
ladies of which last-named order signalized themselves by
their zealous and indefatigable attendance on the dying
beds of the sufferers in the hospitals during the late aw¬
ful visitation of the cholera.
Protestant dissenters are by no means numerous in Dub¬
lin. There are four congregations of Presbyterians, two of
which profess the Trinitarian, and two the Unitarian doc¬
trine ; four congregations of Independents, six of Metho¬
dists, and of Quakers, Seceders, Baptists, Moravians, Kel¬
ly ites, and German Lutherans, one each. The few Jews
resident in Dublin have no synagogue. The following
table will afford a concise view of the comparative num¬
bers of the respective places of abode:
Protestants. Catholics. Dissenters.
Cathedrals  2 Parish chapels 9 Presbyterians 4
Parish churches 19 Chapels of ease 3 Independents 4
Chapels of ease  7 Friaries 7 Methodists.. 6
Unattached chapels 12 Nunneries 9 Other dissent¬
ers one each 6
40 28 20
2 H
242 D U B L I N.
Dublin. _ Each of the parish churches has a cemetery attached to The Inns of Court were intended for the instruction of
it, m which the parishioners of every religious persuasion law students. Collet’s Inn, the first appropriated to this
were interred, until the restraints imposed on Catholics purpose in the reign of Edward I., having been erected
by the law called the burial casement act, as to perform- without the city walls, was destroyed, together with the
ing their burial service over the dead, obliged them to king’s exchequer, by an incursion of the Irish from the
open two large cemeteries, the one at Golden Bridge, the Wicklow Mountains. The inns were revived during the
other at Glasnevin, which, though but two years insti- reign of Edward III. in a building near the castle given
tuted, are both nearly full, to the serious diminution of by Sir Robert Preston, chancellor of the exchequer and
burial fees to the Protestant functionaries. The profits of thence called Preston’s Inns, where the institution was
these cemeteries, which are considerable, though the fees maintained for upwards of two centuries. But the society
are much less than what had been previously demanded, being dispossessed in consequence of a flaw in the title
are devoted to educating the children of the poor. The the inns were removed to the dissolved monastery of St
vaults of the newly built Roman Catholic places of wor- Saviour’s, where the four courts now stand, and there
ship are also appropriated to the reception of the dead, took the name of King’s Inns. These buildings having
The Jews, the Quakers, the French Calvinists, and the been suffered to fall to ruin, a new site was chosen in the
Moravians, have each a cemetery in or near the city. northern extremity of Dublin, where they are now held.
Dublin has had its full share of the benefits arising The principal apartments are the dining-hall and the li-
from improvements in education. As early as the year brary, which latter forms a detached building. Law stu-
1311 a university was erected in it, under a bull of Cle- dents are obliged to attend terms here for two years pre.
ment V. in St 1 atricks Church ; but it gradually declin- viously to being allowed to practise as barristers; but as
ed, until it became virtually extinct at the close of Hen- no arrangements have been made for literary instruction
ry VII.’s reign. After the Reformation, Sir Henry Sid- beyond the use of the library, punctuality of attendance
ney and Sir John Perrot exerted themselves to convert is ascertained solely by their presence in the dining-hall
that cathedral into a university; but they were overruled and therefore they are facetiously said “ to eat their wav
by Archbishop Loftus, who protested successfully against to the bar.” *
what he deemed an encroachment on the rights of the The school of medicine is partly under the control of
church. In lieu of it, however, he prevailed on the cor- the board of Trinity College, which nominates and main-
poration of Dublin to apply the dissolved monastery of tains professors of anatomy, chemistry, and botany, and
All 8aints or Ah Hallows to the same purpose. Hence partly under that of the college of physicians, which no-
arose the university of Trinity College, which at first con- minates the professors of the practice of medicine, of the
sisted only of a provost, three fellows, and three scholars; institutes of medicine, and of materia medica, who are
but now of a provost, seven senior fellows, who together paid by grants of public money; but the emoluments of
form a board which has the regulation of all the concerns ; all depend likewise on the fees of pupils. The college of
eighteen junior fellows, and seventy scholars, besides se- physicians was first incorporated by Charles II., and re-
veral professors in various branches of science. The num- newed by William and Mary. It enjoys some important
her of under graduates amounts to more than 1200. The privileges ; among others, the right of inspecting the shops
bin dings form thiee laige squares, and are used partly as and stores of apothecaries, druggists, and chemists, and of
dwefling apartments, partly for the purposes of education, destroying drugs of bad quality. The college consists of
I e libiary, consisting of more than 100,000 volumes, is fourteen fellows, on whom the management devolves - of
deposited in a noble gallery 210 feet long, adorned with honorary fellows, who are excluded from any interfe-
busts of distinguished literary and scientific characters rence with the financial arrangements; and of licentiates,
from Homer to the present day. It is rich in modern who, though not entitled to take any part in the manage-
ng is i publications, in consequence of having the right ment of the collegiate concerns, are summoned on occa-
to a copy of every book published under the copyright sions of importance. Every physician practising in Dub-
act, and also in theology. It likewise possesses some valu- lin deems it necessary to take out a license, which is
able manuscripts. Its greatest defect is a want of modern granted on examination. The college meets at an infir-
continental publications. The chapel and examination hall mary in the south of Dublin, founded by Sir Patrick Dun,
are also fine buildings ; the latter contains a very fine who bequeathed a large estate to it, and to other uses
monument of Dr Baldwin, one of the chief benefactors to connected with the advancement of medical knowledge,
the college, and some portraits of other remarkable per- Surgery was long considered in Ireland, as well as in
sonages. ic dining-hall, a plain building, has also some England, as a trade, the practitioners being included in the
similar portraits. Hie museum is not well stocked ; but worshipful corporation of barber-surgeons. Nor was it till
t le botanic garden in the suburbs is maintained in a man- 178T that a charter, founding a college of surgery, nut the
ner highly creditable to the college. The school of ana- practice of that inestimable art on a basis enabling it to
tomy is of first-rate excellence. I he regular course of advance in a manner suited to the wants and character of
studies for a batchelor s degree continues for four years, a civilized nation. Still, indeed, so much of the antiquat-
during each of which the student is subjected to four ex- ed prejudice prevails as to require, though not of necessi-
aminations; and at the close of this period gold medals ty, the servitude of an apprenticeship for five years. The
are awarded to the two best answerers in science and the college, which was at first held in an obscure building
classics. The college observatory is at Dunsink, about near Mercer’s Hospital, has been removed to an elegant
five miles north-west of Dublin. The revenues arise from range of buildings in St Stephen’s Green, where lectures
lands to a large extent, and from the fees of pupils. The on all the most important branches are delivered, a mu-
coHege lias also the disposal of a number of valuable be- seum, dissecting-room, and library kept up, and exaniina-
nehces, which, when vacant, are offered to each of the tions held for the admission of practitioners. The large
fellows successively, commencing with the senior. The amount of fees on a diploma has, however, deterred many
acceptor consequently vacates his fellowship, which is from taking advantage of this arrangement, and obliged
filled up by election, after a severe public examination by them to have recourse to London, where the low rates of
t le provost and senior fellows. During the short reign of fees more than compensate for the trouble and expense
James 11. a college for Roman Catholics was opened in of the journey thither.
Back Lane, but was extinguished on his abdication. The apothecaries also have some share in the comple-
DUB
f ilin. tion of a medical education, by lectureships and examina-
v> ^>-^tions on chemistry and pharmacy at their hall in Mary
Street. Their establishment consists of a governor, de¬
puty-governor, treasurer, secretary, and thirteen directors.
There is in Dublin no classical school on a public foun¬
dation similar to the great grammar schools in London
and Westminster; but the institutions for the literary in¬
struction of the poor are numerous. According to the re¬
turns made in 1824-26, there were then nineteen paro¬
chial schools maintained partly by the incumbent and
partly by subscriptions and charity sermons, eleven assist¬
ed by issues of public money through the Kildare Place
Society, two assisted in a similar manner by the Associa¬
tion for discountenancing Vice, one by Erasmus Smith’s
bequest, two by the Charter School Society, and fifty-six
by private contributions from charitable societies and in¬
dividuals. The number of schools wholly maintained by
the pupils’ fees is 323, making the total number 412.
Hospitals or asylums for those reduced by age or other
causes are also numerous, and liberally supported. The
chief is the House of Industry, in North Brunswick Street,
originally established in 1773, in the vain hope of abolish¬
ing mendicity. After an experience of forty-five years,
it was found to be totally inadequate to attain its object,
notwithstanding the great outlay in buildings, and the
heavy annual charges for its maintenance. The buildings,
therefore, instead of being, as before, open to mendicants
of every description, now receive only the aged and dis¬
abled poor. The main edifice consists of a large square
265 feet by 230, attached to which are other ranges for
workhouses, stores, and the like.
Lunatics are maintained in St Patrick’s Hospital, found¬
ed by the celebrated Dean Swift, and conducted by go¬
vernors appointed under its charter. The unhappy in¬
mates have every indulgence compatible with their situa¬
tion. The General Lunatic Asylum, erected near the
House of Industry, and placed under the care of officers
appointed by government, originally received patients
from all parts of the country; but, under a late act of par¬
liament, it has been limited to a district consisting of the
counties of Dublin, Louth, Meath, and Wicklow, each of
these contributing towards its expenses in proportion to
the number of patients sent in. The number in 1831
was 239, of which 101 were males and 138 females. A
lunatic department is also attached to the Llouse of In¬
dustry, to which incurable and epileptic patients are perio¬
dically transferred from that just described. There were, in
1831,470 patients in it, namely, 179 males and 291 females,
of whom 105 males were employed, chiefly in gardening,
and 152 females in occupations suitable to their sex, and
conducive to the economy of the institution. They are
well and economically supported. Cases requiring severe
corporeal restraints are uncommon ; and the whole institu¬
tion, notwithstanding the limited extent of accommoda¬
tion, is conducted in a manner highly creditable. Besides
these public establishments for the recovery^ and safe cus¬
tody of lunatics, five others are maintained by private re¬
sources ; one near Donnybrook, called the Retreat, by the
Society of Friends, and four others by medical practition¬
ers for their own emolument.
The principal institution for the blind is Simpson’s
Hospital, founded by a merchant of Dublin, who had la¬
boured under severe affections of the eyes, and under
gout. The income is upwards of L.2500 per annum, by
which fifty patients, either blind or gouty, are comfortably
maintained, in a large plain edifice in the northern side of
Dublin. The apartments can accommodate a hundred in¬
mates. The Richmond National Institution in Sackville
Street wras founded in order to instruct the blind in some
of the more useful handicraft occupations. The principal
LIN.
branches taught are weaving, netting, and basket-making.
The number of inmates is about thirty-two, besides some
externs, who, after having been taught, are allowed to
work there, and to dispose of the produce of their industry
for their own benefit. These two hospitals are for males
only. The Molyneux Asylum, opened in Peter Street, in
a large building which had been an amphitheatre for
equestrian exhibitions, is confined to blind females, of
whom those above the age of fifty have in it a permanent
asylum, while those under that age are admitted to a tem¬
porary residence, until they can procure a permanent
livelihood elsewhere. There are about twenty on the
establishment; the building could accommodate fifty.
The Retreat at Drumcondra was opened, and is support¬
ed, by some private individuals, to afford a temporary
asylum to aged and indigent persons of respectability suf¬
fering under some sudden emergency. The Old Men’s
Asylum, near Mountjoy Square, accommodates twenty-
four inmates, who must be at least sixty years old on admis¬
sion, and Protestants ; servants and retailers of spirituous
liquors are specially excluded. The Vintners’ Asylum, in
Charlemont Street, affords a place of shelter for indigent
persons of the last-named class. The Goldsmiths’ Jubilee,
founded in the jubilee year by members of that corpora¬
tion, affords a similar place of shelter for reduced and su¬
perannuated artizans of the trade. An institution for the
maintenance and education of children born deaf and
dumb is maintained at Claremount, near Glasnevin. The
plan of the Royal Hospital, for decayed and maimed sol¬
diers, was first suggested by the Earl of Essex, when lord
lieutenant, and w'as carried into effect through the repeat¬
ed applications of the Duke of Ormond to Charles II.
The site chosen for it had been the ancient priory of Kil-
mainham, founded by Strongbow for Knights Templars.
Upon the extinction of that order, and the confiscation of
its property, which was effected by a simultaneous and
secret movement of all the crowned heads in Europe, this
part of their possessions was transferred to the Knights of
St John of Jerusalem, and it became an hospital for guests
and strangers only, to the exclusion of the sick and maim¬
ed. On the dissolution of monasteries, it devolved to the
crown, and so continued till applied to its present use by
Charles II. The building, which is according to a plan
of Sir Christopher Wren, is a square 306 feet by 288,
three sides of which are dwelling-rooms, connected by
covered corridors. The fourth contains the chapel, a ve¬
nerable building, of limited size ; the dining hall, in which
the banners taken from the Spaniards at Gibraltar are sus¬
pended ; and the apartments of the master, who is always
the commander of the forces for the time being. Connect¬
ed with the main building are several subordinate offices,
a garden, and avenue bordered by rows of stately trees.
The entrance from Dublin is through an embattled gate¬
way on the south side of Barrack Bridge. The resident
veterans wear the military costume of Charles II. Besides
these, there is a great number of out-pensioners. The an¬
nual expenditure of the house is about L.20,000, that of
the externs L.50,000. Of hospitals for reduced and aged
women there are, 1. widows’ alms houses ; thirteen of these
are of Protestant foundation, the principal one being for
clergymen’s widows, who are comfortably lodged and
maintained in an asylum in Mercer Street; three are Ro¬
man Catholic, one Presbyterian, one Independent, one
Moravian, and one Methodist: 2. an asylum for super¬
annuated female servants, on Summer Hill: 3. two houses
of refuge for young women of good character when out of
service, one for Protestants, in Baggot Street, the other for
Catholics, in Stanhope Street: 4. six female penitentiaries,
four under the direction of Protestants, viz. the Magdalen
Asylum, in Leeson Street, founded by Lady Arabella
244
DUBLIN.
Dublin. Denny; the Female Penitentiary, on the North Circular
Road ; another under the same name on the South Circular
Road, near Baggot Street, and the Lock Penitentiary, for
the special reception of penitents from the Lock Hospi¬
tal ; two under the management of Catholics, viz. the
General Asylum, in Townshend Street, and the asylum in
Bow Street. This latter has something romantic connect¬
ed with its origin. The founder, a merchant of the name
of Dillon, had been exposed, when an infant, at the door
of a bricklayer, who preserved him, and taught him his
trade. On arriving at years of maturity, he was accosted,
while returning homewards, by an unfortunate street¬
walker. Instead of yielding to her allurements, he per¬
suaded her to relinquish her abandoned line of life, and
engaged to provide her with the means of subsistence till
a permanent asylum could be procured. While thus oc¬
cupied he was recognised by his parents, and succeeded
to a considerable estate, part of which he devoted to the
endowment of this asylum. A penitentiary has also been
opened on the South Circular Road, for females discharged
from prison, until means of honest employment present
themselves.
Among the asylums for destitute children, the Foundling
Hospital was by much the most extensive. It was opened
in 1730 for destitute children of every age, but afterwards
limited to the reception of those under a year old, who are
sent to nurse in the country until old enough to be instruct¬
ed. WTien arrived at a suitable age, they are apprenticed.
The institution was maintained partly by voluntary contri¬
butions, partly by a local tax on Dublin, but chiefly by large
parliamentary grants, whichhavebeen gradually diminished
for several }'ears past, and restraints put on the admission
of children. The average number of children admitted
for twenty years up to 1825 was 2000. Dr Bell’s system
of education is adopted in the schools. The buildings,
with large gardens attached to them, are situated in a
healthy and elevated situation in the west of Dublin.
The Blue Coat Hospital was originally intended as a place
of refuge for all the poor in the city. This object being
soon found impracticable, it was reduced to an asylum for
aged citizens and their orphan sons, and ultimately con¬
fined to this last-named class. The buildings in Oxman-
town originally covered a considerable space; and previ¬
ously to the building of the parliament house in College
Green the parliament held its sittings there. The pre¬
sent edifice is built nearly on the site of the former. It
consists of an elegant centre, with detached wings, one
used as a chapel. Of 120 boys it receives, fifty-eight are
named by the corporation, fifty by the governors of Erasmus
Smith’s schools, ten by the Bishop of Meath as trustee to a
bequest, and two by the incumbent of St Werburghs on a
similar title. They are educated in the tenets of the Pro¬
testant church, and apprenticed to Protestant masters.
The Hibernian Nursery in the Park supports and educates
the children of soldiers. A preference is given to those
whose fathers have been killed, or died on foreign stations.
The buildings, which are spacious, have gardens and exer¬
cising ground attached to them ; and the boys, in addition
to the usual routine of scholastic instruction, are trained
to the rudiments of military tactics. On the southern
quay, near Ringsend, is the Hibernian Marine School, in¬
stituted for sailors’ children. It consists of a centre build¬
ing and two wings, the latter containing the school and
chapel. The age of admission is six years, and the course of
instruction nautical. At a proper age the pupils are placed
in the royal navy, or apprenticed to merchants, who take
them without fee. The number of boys was 180; but it
has been contracted in consequence of the reduction of
the parliamentary grant. The Bedford Asylum, for in¬
dustrious children, is one of the existing branches of the
House of Industry. It forms three sides of a square, Du
and contains apartments for 390 children of both sexes'^
in which they are taught various kinds of useful works!
The teachers are paid by a portion of the profits of the
children’s labour in lieu of salary. The principal esta¬
blishment for female orphans is that on the North Circular
Road, originating with two benevolent ladies, who formed
an institution for maintaining female orphans under ten
years old. The funds were soon considerably augmented
by the exertions of the celebrated Dean Kirwan, whose
appeals from the pulpit for several years brought in a large
additional income. It is now supported by subscriptions,
charity sermons, and a grant of public money. It can
accommodate 160 children, who are educated for servants,
and apprenticed at a proper age. The freemasons of Ire¬
land formed an institution in 1797 for the support of female
orphans of the craft. It supports about twenty children.
In Pleasants’ Asylum twenty female Protestant children
are maintained and educated; and, when of age, receive
a handsome portion on marrying conformably with the
rules laid down in the founder’s will. Most of the places
of religious worship have attached to them schools, in
which a certain number of the destitute children of the
parishioners, chiefly orphans, are maintained by the con¬
tributions of the benevolent part of the congregation.
The progress of disease is combated, and the sufferings
from accidental injuries assuaged, by means of numerous
infirmaries and dispensaries. Of the former, the most
extensive of those which take in cases of all kinds, sur¬
gical and medical, is Stevens’ Hospital. It was founded
by the bequest of a physician wdiose name it bears, and
erected by his sister, who having been left a life interest
in the property previously to its being applied to its final
purpose, immediately devoted the greater part of it to
fulfil her brother’s intentions, reserving to herself only
L.120 per annum, and apartments in the hospital. In ad¬
dition to the original estate, and to other contributions
and bequests, it receives a grant of public money; through
all which means, its income, amounting to L.2200 per
annum, supports about 200 beds. The Meath Hospital,
originally built on the Coombe, for the benefit of the
liberties of Dublin, and afterwards converted into a county
hospital by act of parliament, has been transferred from its
former confined and low situation to another in the outlets,
where a large building was erected for it, chiefly through
the munificence of Mr Thomas Pleasants, who contributed
L.6000 towards its building and maintenance. Its annual
income exceeds L.1000. The medical officers at first re¬
ceived salaries of L.100 each, which they have resigned
for the benefit of the institution. The hospital on the
Coombe, after having been closed for some time, has been
restored to its former purpose by voluntary subscriptions.
The Charitable Infirmary, in Jarvis Street, the oldest in
Dublin, and opened at first in Cook Street by the contri¬
butions and exertions of a few gentlemen of the medical
profession, -was transferred to its present situation in 1792.
It is capable of accommodating fifty patients, but the state
of its funds seldom admits of more than thirty. The
Royal Military Infirmary in the Phoenix Park, near its en¬
trance, is a general infirmary for the army. The edifice,
though plain, is much admired for the elegance of its pro¬
portions. The interior is provided with everything requi¬
site for such an institution. The total annual expense of
each patient is estimated at L.33, which is defrayed by a
public grant, and by stoppages of the soldiers’ pay while
in hospital. Sir Patrick Dun’s Hospital is appropriated
exclusively to medical cases, for the instruction of the
pupils attending the professors of the College of Physi¬
cians. The Richmond Hospital, a part of the House of
Industry, and Mercer’s Hospital, founded by a benevolent
DUBLIN.
245
nifl. ]ajy of that name in Stephen Street, on the site of the
/-^decayed hospital of St Stephen, are set apart for surgical
cases and accidents. There are three fever hospitals.
The House of Recovery in Cork Street, the first and
largest, supported by subscriptions and public money, has
contributed to check considerably the progress of low
fever prevalent among the ill-fed artizans and paupers in
that district. Its beneficial effects led to the opening of
a second in the north of Dublin, on a smaller scale, called
the Whitworth Hospital; the third, the Hardwick Hospi¬
tal, is another of the appendages of the House of Indus¬
try. The Lock Hospital was opened in Townshend Street
in 1792, for the reception of venereal patients of both
sexes; but in 1820 male patients were excluded, and it
has been ever since confined to females. The number of
beds, originally 300, is now reduced to half that number.
The building, of plain granite, consists of a centre con¬
taining apartments for the officers, and two wings in which
are the patients’ wards. It is wholly under the control of
a board appointed by the lord lieutenant.
The formation of dispensaries is encouraged by a special
act of parliament authorizing grand juries to present in
aid of them a sum equal to that subscribed by individuals.
Most of the infirmaries in Dublin have dispensaries at¬
tached to them, besides which there are several unattach¬
ed. St Mary’s and St Thomas’s was the first established;
the next in importance is the Dublin General Dispensary.
The Meath Dispensary has connected with it a depart¬
ment for supplying food, from a conviction that much of
the disease incident to the poor arises from or is augment¬
ed by unwholesome or deficient nutriment. A vaccine
establishment is carried on extensively in Sackville Street;
and a second, connected with a dispensary for the infant
poor, in Clarendon Street; their efficacy is more highly
appreciated every year. There are also several minor
district or parochial dispensaries in various situations, for
particular complaints.
The most remarkable charitable institution among those
which do not undertake to supply lodging as well as main¬
tenance, is the Mendicity Association, formed in 1818,
and since supported solely by voluntary contributions. It
originated in a well-founded conviction of the inefficacy of
the attempt to prevent the practice of street-begging in
Dublin, through the medium of the House of Industry,
from which it differs in two important points; the one, in
declining to provide the poor with lodging, but merely
with food, and in obliging them to procure the means of
lodging and clothing themselves by their own labour, for
the exertion of which the society procures the means; the
other, its total dependence on voluntary contributions, to
the utter rejection of grants of public money. The mana¬
ger’s committee publishes annual reports, which show that,
though it has been more than once on the eve of dissolu¬
tion through want of pecuniary resources, it still continues
to exist in vigour sufficient to diminish considerably,
though not wholly to suppress, the custom of street-beg¬
ging. The Sick and Indigent Room Keepers’ Society ori¬
ginated in an effort made in 1790, by a few householders in
the neighbourhood of Corn-market, to provide for the most
urgent necessities of the poor in their neighbourhood, by
affording a temporary weekly stipend in money for their
lodging and maintenance. It has since extended itself
throughout the whole city, and is managed by four com-
nuttees for its four divisions, who ‘hold a joint meeting
every month to receive reports and issue grants. The
Strangers’ Friend Society somewhat resembles that just
described, but is more particularly directed to the relief
of strangers reduced to want during their temporary so¬
journ in the city. It was set on foot, and is chiefly sup¬
ported, by the Methodists. The Charitable Association has
for its object the relief of all paupers not street beggars, Dublin,
and the procuring of work for the industrious poor. Ano-
ther society, confined to the latter object alone, and esta¬
blished by the Society of Friends, meets at the House of
Refuge in Dorset Street. The Dorset Institution in Ab¬
bey provides suitable work for industrious females ; child¬
ren are also taught in it to plait straw; and a wareroom is
opened, in which wearing apparel, made up by the poor
employed, is sold at reduced prices. The Debtors’ Friend
Society is formed for the release of debtors confined for
sums under L.5, and not contracted for spirituous liquors,
or for other improper purposes. The Musical Fund, for
the special relief of distressed musicians, was formed from
the profits of concerts, and is supported by the annual
subscriptions of the members, who have thereby a right
to its benefits under certain restrictions. The Literary
Teachers’ Society has the same object with respect to
members of their own profession, by whom also it is chiefly
supported. There are two associations for lending small
sums to poor tradesmen, payable by instalments with¬
out interest; the one, the Meath Charitable Society, and
the other, the Charitable Loan. They meet monthly in
the vestry rooms of St Catherine’s and St Anne’s parishes.
The system of Savings’ Banks was introduced into the
city by an association, which had influence enough to pro¬
cure an act of parliament, establishing them on provisions
adapted to the country. The principal bank is in School
Street, which now has several branch banks in various
parts of the city. Another was afterwards opened in St
Peter’s parish; but after continuing some time, its affairs
fell into confusion, from which it is now endeavouring, it
is hoped successfully, to extricate them.
Most of the religious societies spring from kindred
sources in England. The chief among them is the Hiber¬
nian Bible Society, founded in 1807, and which has now a
fine establishment in Sackville Street. Several minor so¬
cieties for the distribution of the Bible, and differing from
one another chiefly as to the channel into which their la¬
bours should be directed, have arisen from it, some de¬
tached, others auxiliaries or branches of the parent asso¬
ciation. The Irish Society was formed for promoting the
religious instruction of the Irish through the medium of
their own language, by publishing Bibles, Testaments,
tracts, and rudimental books in that tongue, and by send¬
ing itinerant teachers through the country for their in¬
struction. The names of the Church Missionary, the
Tartarian Missionary, and the Methodist Missionary So¬
cieties, announce the origin and objects of each. The
Jews’ Society undertakes the conversion of that nation
to the Christian faith. The Religious Tract Society has
an extensive store and sale-room in Sackville Street. The
Continental Society professes generally to promote religi¬
ous knowledge and sentiments throughout Europe.
Scientific and literary societies are few. The Royal
Dublin Society is foremost in seniority and importance.
It owes its origin to some literary characters, who in 1731
formed an association for scientific purposes. In 1749 it
was incorporated by charter, and received an annual par¬
liamentary grant of L.500, which was gradually augment¬
ed until it amounted to L.10,000, but latterly it has been
reduced to L.7000. It embraces a variety of objects.
The encouragement of agriculture and rural economy is
attempted by shows of cattle, and by botanical lectures,
for which the society maintains a fine garden near Glas-
nevin, containing upwards of twenty acres. The study of
mineralogy is promoted by a professorship, and a museum
classed according to the Wernerian system. It contains
the Leskean collection, which is peculiarly rich in shells,
butterflies, beetles, and reptiles. Lectures are also de¬
livered by professors of chemistry and natural philosophy.
246
DUBLIN.
Dublin. The professorships of mining and the veterinary art have
been discontinued. A drawing school is established, in
which pupils of promising talents are instructed gratuitous¬
ly in landscape, figure drawing, architecture, and model¬
ling, and premiums are periodically awarded. The socie¬
ty is also provided with a good library, containing upwards
of 12,000 volumes. It is particularly rich in works on bo¬
tany, and in those relating to Ireland. It has likewise a
gallery of statuary, in which are casts from the Elgin mar¬
bles. The museum and gallery are open to the public on
particular days. The members, who are admitted by bal¬
lot, on payment of an admission fee of L.30, which covers
all subsequent expenses, have the exclusive advantage of
the library, and of a reading-room well supplied with news¬
papers and periodicals. By a late bye-law, annual mem¬
bers are admissible to most of the advantages of the socie¬
ty on payment of a subscription of three guineas. The
society held its meetings in Shaw’s Court until 1767, when
it removed to Grafton Street, and thence in 1796 to a
building erected for it in Hawkins Street. It 1815 it pur¬
chased the splendid museum and grounds of the Duke of
Leinster in Kildare Street, where it still continues. The
Farming Society was formed in 1800, and incorporated in
1815. It was maintained by grants of public money ; but
as the results were ultimately found not to be commen¬
surate with the expenditure, the grants have been with¬
drawn, and the society has sunk into non-existence. The
Kuwvanian Society, which takes its name from the cele¬
brated chemist and mineralogist, was formed in 1812 for
the advancement of chemistry, mineralogy, and natural
history. It is supported wholly by individual subscription.
The Zoological Society, formed in 1830, on the model of
those in Dublin, has a garden on land granted to it by the
lord lieutenant in the Phoenix Park, in which it has already
collected an assemblage of living animals, which makes it
an object of general attraction to the citizens of Dublin. It
is supported by subscriptions, and by the money paid by the
public for admission. The Royal Irish Academy was insti¬
tuted bypatent in 1786, topromote the study of polite litera¬
ture, science, and antiquities. Its formation was chiefly
owing to the exertions of its president, the first Earl of
Charlemont. It holds its meetings in Grafton Street, where
it has a small library containing some valuable manuscripts,
and occasionally publishes a volume of transactions. This
society receives an annual parliamentary grant of L.300.
Several fruitless attempts have been made to excite a
taste for Irish antiquities and literature, by societies under
the names of the Gaelic, the Hiberno-Celtic, and the Ar~
chaeologian. Each has successively failed, but not until
the two first named had sent forth some publications con¬
nected with the objects of their formation. The Dublin
Institution, formed in 1811, in imitation of the London
Institution for literary and scientific purposes, collected a
literary and philosophical apparatus for the use of its mem¬
bers by means of a capital of L.1500 raised in L.50 shares.
The society has been virtually dissolved this year (1833),
by the sale of its books, and the announcement of its in¬
tention of disposing of its mansion in Sackville Street, on
which a considerable sum had been expended for a lecture
room and laboratory.
Several attempts have been made to excite a taste for
the fine arts in Dublin. In 1764 an association of artists
erected p neat building in William Street for their meet¬
ings, and for the exhibition of their works; but the pro¬
fits of the scheme did not cover their expenses, and the
building was consequently offered for sale, and purchased
by the corporation of Dublin as an assembly-house. Ex¬
hibitions of pictures by native artists were afterwards
opened in Hawkins Street, under the patronage of the
Dublin Society. On their discontinuance there, in con¬
sequence of the society’s removal to Leinster House, which n
afforded no suitable room for it, the artists attempted their W ''
revival in the Royal Arcade in 1821, but without success. ^
These failures are attributable not merely to the indiffer-*
ence of the public to the subject, but to dissensions among
the artists themselves. The want of a permanent place
of exhibition has at length been supplied by the liberality
of Mr Francis Johnston, an architect to whom Dublin is
indebted for several of its modern buildings, particularly
the new Castle Chapel. He built an elegant and appro¬
priate structure, at an expense of L. 10,000, which, when
finished, he presented to the Society of Artists. Their ex¬
hibitions have been held in it since its opening in 1825.
The society was incorporated in 1823. The progress of
the arts has been still further promoted by an associa¬
tion of noblemen and gentlemen, who, under the name
of the Royal Irish Association, have erected a building
near College Green, in which an annual exhibition of
pictures of the old masters, sent in for the occasion by
their Owners, is held, and premiums are occasionally of¬
fered to excite emulation among the young artists. This
association also defrayed the expenses of procuring the
patent for the Irish artists’ charter, amounting to L.350.
The principal library in Dublin for the number and value
of its books is that of Trinity College. It is open of right
only to such graduates of that university as take a strict
oath relative to their conduct while in it, and to their treat¬
ment of its contents. Admission by special favour is at¬
tainable, but with some difficulty. The King’s Inns Libra¬
ry is next in value. The right of reading in it is confined
to the members of the King’s Inns Society; that is, to
barristers, attorneys, and law students. Each of these li¬
braries is well supplied with modern English publications,
in consequence of the right conferred on them by act of
parliament, of receiving a copy of every new publication.
Marsh’s Library, attached to St Patrick’s Cathedral by the
munificent bequest of an archbishop of Dublin of that
name, contains a good collection of old books, and is open
to the public on liberal terms; but, from the very small
portion of its funds appropriated to the purchase of books,
it is very deficient in modern publications. It possesses
some valuable manuscripts. Stevens’ Hospital, the Royal
Hospital, Sir Patrick Dun’s Hospital, and the College of
Surgeons, have each a small library attached to it, chiefly
of medical books, for the use of the practitioners. The
want of a public library easily accessible, and provided
with the works most in request, w'as attempted to be sup¬
plied by a society, which, having been formed in 1791,
has collected a large number of books in a handsome and
well-arranged building, raised for their reception in Dolier
Street. Attached to it is a fine reading-room, well sup¬
plied with newspapers. But as the fund, arising solely
from annual subscriptions, is not sufficient to stock the li¬
brary with new publications, and to furnish a sufficient as¬
sortment of newspapers, the former of these demands has
been made subordinate to the latter, and the library con¬
sequently impoverished. The other public reading-rooms
are that in the Commercial Buildings, to which members
are admitted by ballot and the payment of an annual sub¬
scription ; and the Northumberland Reading-room, opened
by the proprietor of an hotel near the Custom House as a
pecuniary speculation.
Dublin owes its commercial rank chiefly to its political
position as the metropolis of Ireland, and to its being the
main pivot of communication with England. The natural
impediments to the entrance of large vessels into the
river, combined with the dangerous navigation of the bay,
present serious checks to the ardour of mercantile specu¬
lation. The want of a communication with the interior
by water is but imperfectly supplied by the two lines of
DUB
lin. inland navigation proceeding from it. A particular ac-
count of these must be postponed to its appropriate place
in the general account of Ireland. As far as Dublin is
concerned, they are mainly serviceable in conveying to it
bulky articles, such as stone, bricks, potatoes, grain, and
turf. The increase of commercial transactions occasioned
by a long continuance of domestic tranquillity after the
revolution of 1688, excited a desire among the merchants
to have a suitable place for transacting their public busi¬
ness with one another, and consequently the foundations
of the Royal Exchange were in 1769 laid on Cork Hill,
and the building was opened in ten years after, at an ex¬
pense of L.40,000, procured by subscriptions, lotteries, and
grants of public money. It is one of the most admired
structures in Dublin. Its principal front consists of a Co¬
rinthian portico of six pillars. The interior is chiefly oc¬
cupied by a magnificent circular hall lighted from above,
with which several smaller apartments are connected.
The progress of civic improvements already noticed gra¬
dually threw this fine building out of the more convenient
channels of business. A more central position for mer¬
cantile transactions presented itself in College Green.
Thither therefore the sagacity of speculation was directed,
and a new building has been raised, principally by L.50
shares, with more numerous and suitable accommodations,
under the name of the Commercial Buildings. The value
of the Royal Exchange has consequently diminished. It
is now little used except for public meetings, for which the
reverberation of the voice from its lofty dome, and the
intercolumniations of the great hall, render it unfit. It is
also a depository for the statues of celebrated characters,
and has in it those of George III., Henry Grattan, and
Doctor Lucas. The Commercial Buildings form a small
square of simple architecture fronting College Green.
They contain a large saloon occupied as a news-room, and
a number of offices for merchants and brokers, together
with an hotel and coffee-house. In order still further to
promote the commercial interests of Dublin, an associa¬
tion was formed about thirty years ago, under the name of
the Chamber of Commerce ; but it soon died away. The
idea was revived in 1820, when a number of merchants
formed themselves into a society under the same name,
which still exists. Its objects are the protection and
promotion of the manufacturing and commercial interests
of Dublin, and of the country in general. The business
is transacted by a council, which is instructed to commu¬
nicate with the officers of government on the subjects of
the association. Their office is held in the Commercial
Buildings. The Ouzel Galley is another voluntary asso¬
ciation of merchants, for determining commercial differ¬
ences by arbitration. It takes its name from that of a
vessel, which u'as the occasion of a complicated and pro¬
tracted suit, that wras ultimately adjusted in an amicable
manner by the interference of some of the most respect¬
able merchants in Dublin. The effect of steam-naviga¬
tion on the cross-channel trade has produced a great al¬
teration in the state of commerce in Dublin. Most of
the business formerly transacted through the merchants
of this city is now carried on by letter with the English
broker, and not unfrequently by a personal visit to the
trading and manufacturing towns in England, to which ac¬
cess is obtained with extraordinary expedition and cheap¬
ness, by the steamers, and by the peculiar facilities for
travelling which that country affords.
ihe Bank of Ireland was formed in 1783, in order to give
security to commerce. It was opened at first in some
old houses in Mary’s Abbey, with a capital of L.600,000,
which was afterwards increased to L.3,000,000. In the
year 1802 the parliament-house was purchased by the di¬
rectors, and adapted to its present destination. This edi-
247
fice was erected in 1729; and notwithstanding the changes Dublin,
made in it since it was diverted from its original purpose,
the exterior has been but little altered. It consists of
three fronts. The principal, towards College Green, a
colonnade of the Ionic order, formed of a facade and two
projecting wings, is much admired for the noble simpli¬
city of its elevation. The western front, a portico of four
Ionic columns, wras connected with the other by a colon¬
nade of the same order, forming the quadrant of a circle.
The eastern front, which was the entrance of the House
of Lords, was, by their special order, a colonnade of the
Corinthian order, which the architect found great diffi¬
culty in uniting with the other parts. The apartment for
the Lords, a fine room, was hung with tapestry. That of
the Commons having been burned in 1792, whether by
accident or design has never been fully ascertained, was
reconstructed after a more elegant design, in the form of a
circle surrounded by pillars, between which was a gallery
for hearers. This fine hall was taken down by the bank
directors, and converted into a square room, now the
cash-office. The bank possesses a very curious and com¬
plicated system of machinery, worked by steam, for print¬
ing the notes, whereby the number struck oft’ can be as¬
certained at any moment without the chance of error. It
has also an armory, containing small arms for all the clerks
and servants, who w7ere formed into a corps in 1798 and
1803. The building is still further secured from assault
by embrasures and loopholes concealed in the walls.
Tanks of great magnitude, and powerful forcing pumps,
have been provided for guarding against casualties by
fire. The private banking houses are those of Latouche
and Company, which transacts the Dublin part of the bu¬
siness of the provincial bank, the Hibernian, Shaw’s, and
Bali’s.
The silk, woollen, and cotton manufactures, have been
carried on in Dublin. The first was introduced by some
French refugees on the revolution of the edict of Nantz.
It employed a number of hands, until the alteration in the
duties in 1815 gave it a blow from w hich it has never re¬
covered. It is now nearly extinct. The article most in
demand was a mixed fabric of silk and worsted, called
tabinet, or Irish poplin. The woollen manufacture gave
employment for many years to the greater part of the .
population of the liberties. Their hall on the Coombe is
embellished with a statue of George II. The process of
tentering the cloth was long performed in the open air;
but as the broken weather to which the country is subject
frequently interrupted this part of the manufacture, or
compelled the workmen to have recourse to public houses
to dry their w'ebs, Mr Thomas Pleasants, whose name has
been already more than once mentioned as a most mu¬
nificent contributor to the benevolent institutions, erected
a tenter-house in Cork Street, at an expense of L. 13,000.
This branch is also rapidly declining. The cotton trade
has always been carried on to some extent in Dublin since
its introduction into Ireland, but there is no public build¬
ing especially connected with it. The board of trustees
for the linen manufacture at first met in a'room on Cork
Hill, afterwards in an apartment in the castle, and ulti¬
mately in buildings erected for the promotion of the ma¬
nufacture in the north of the city. These buildings oc¬
cupy nearly three acres,' and consist of six courts, sur¬
rounded by stores communicating by piazzas and galle¬
ries. Part is used as a yarn hall. The trustees, who-
were nominated from among the leading personages in
each of the four professions, were entrusted with the-dis¬
tribution of a large sum for premiums and other expenses.
The board has been dissolved; but the buildings are still
kept up as warerooms and stores, under the care of a
chamberlain.
L 1 N.
248 DUB
Dublin. The Corn-Exchange was built to obviate the inconve-
niences felt from the want of a well-situated mart. A
charter was obtained in 1817, and a fund raised by shares,
with which a large hall has been erected on Burgh Quay,
in which grain is sold by sample. Attached to it are
buildings intended for an hotel, and hall for public meet¬
ings, which latter was used as such by the Catholic Asso¬
ciation, and since by the National Political Union.
There are few cities in which the pleasures of domestic
society are more indulged in than in Dublin. A spirit of
sociability pervades all ranks. One consequence of this
peculiar feature is a disregard of public amusements. In
Queen Elizabeth’s time plays were performed in the ball¬
room of the castle by the nobility and gentry. In 1635
Lord Strafford erected a theatre in Werburgh Street, for
which Shirley wrote. It was closed in 1641. After the
restoration a new theatre was opened in Orange Street,
now Smock Alley, under the former patent. In 1733
there were three theatres; one in Bainsford Street, in the
liberty of Thomascourt; another in George’s Lane; and
the third in Smock Alley. In 1745 Mr Sheridan had a
theatre in Aungier Street, which was destroyed in a riot
in 1754. Smock Alley still continued open ; and in 1758
another was opened in Crow Street, after which both con¬
tinued, until, after a violent struggle for twenty-five years,
the former was given up. On the expiration of the pa¬
tent, about 1820, the new patentee, not being able to pro¬
cure the building in Crow Street on what he deemed rea¬
sonable terms, purchased the Dublin Society’s premises
in Hawkins Street, then used as the Mendicity Asylum,
on which a large and elegant theatre has been construct¬
ed; but it is not well attended, unless during the extra¬
ordinary excitement of first-rate performers, particularly
singers. A building called the Arena, set up in Abbey
Street for equestrian performances, after having been
closed for some years, was taken as their place of meeting
by the Dublin Trades Political Union. Shortly after the
opening of the Lying-Inn Hospital, an adjoining suite of
rooms was splendidly fitted up for balls, concerts, and as¬
semblies. The principal is a circular hall eighty feet in
diameter, called the Rotunda; the others, of smaller di¬
mensions, are used as music and supper-rooms. They
communicate with the interior of Rutland Square, and
were originally thrown open on Sunday evenings as a place
of relaxation, where the respectable part of society met
together to walk, to look at one another, and to take
refreshments. These promenades, as they were called,
were ultimately put down by the interference of the
clergy. The rooms have since been used for concerts,
public meetings, particularly of religious societies, and
latterly for auction rooms. The gardens are opened two
evenings in every week, and lighted with illuminated
lamps, during the summer season. Military bands attend,
and rope-dancers and tumblers occasionally exhibit. The
attractions thus held out have been found sufficient to
draw together occasionally a large concourse of company.
The profits arising from the trifle paid for admission are
applied to the use of the hospital.
The town residence of the Marquis of Waterford, in
Marlborough Street, and that of the Earl of Charlemont,
in Rutland Square, are fine buildings. The latter contains
a large and choice library, particularly rich in continental
literature, some fine antiques and statues, and a good col¬
lection of pictures.
Steam navigation has considerably augmented the con¬
course of strangers to Dublin, and consequently increased
the number of hotels, and improved their management.
The Commercial Hotel, on Usher’s Quay, which forms
part of a large pile of buildings, intended for a mart for
native manufactures, is remarkable for a colonnade in front;
DUB
and Gresham’s, in Sackville Street, is a splendid and well- Duj
appointed concern.
There are but two public monuments worthy of parti- Dui
cular notice,—Nelson’s pillar in the centre of Sackville '“’“n 1
Street, which is 108 feet high, surmounted by a colossal
statue of Nelson, and raised at an expense of L.6856; and
the Wellington memorial in the Phcenix Park, near its en¬
trance, a stupendous obelisk 205 feet in height, and not
yet finished.
At the north-western extremity of the city, the Phcenix
Park, an inclosure containing about lOOOacres, belonging to
the crown, is thrown open for the recreation of the citizens.
Reviews of the garrison also take place in it. It contains
the lord lieutenant’s lodge, and the residences of some of
the public officers. The name is derived from one of the
town-lands, of which it is formed. The communications
from.Dublin to the interior are maintained by the mail
coaches, thirteen of which leave the city every day; and
by numerous stage-coaches, caravans, and public jaunting
cars. These latter vehicles also afford a convenient and
economical, though by no means elegant, mode of con¬
veyance to visit the picturesque and romantic scenery
that on all sides embellishes the outlets of this beautiful i
city. Dublin is situated in long. 6. 21. W. and lat. 53. 23.
N., and is distant from London 300 miles in a direct line,
339 miles by Holyhead, and 350 by Liverpool in a direc¬
tion nearly west-north-west.
DUBNQ, a circle in the Russian province of Volhynia.
It is bounded on the north-west by Luzk, on the north¬
east by Rowno, on the east by Ostrog, on the south by
Kremenez, and on the south-west by Austrian Galicia.
It is the most fertile part of the rich province to which it
belongs, is watered by the Slyr, and yields abundant crops
of wheat, flax, tobacco, and rye. The capital, of the
same name, is situated on the river Irwa. It is a large
ill-built town, chiefly consisting of wooden houses, with
crooked and ill-paved streets, and contains 5650 inhabit¬
ants, a great proportion of whom are Jews. Long. 25.35.
E. Lat. 50. 26. N.
DUBOI, a town of Hindustan, in the province of Gu-
jerat and district of Chumpaneer, situated in a low and
marshy situation. Here are the remains of a Hindu city
of great antiquity. The fortifications which surround it
are nearly three miles in circumference. It is forty miles
north-east from Broach. Long. 73. 35. E. Lat. 22. 4. N.
DUBOS, Jean-Baptiste, an eminent French author,
was born at Beauvais in December 1670. At first he ap¬
plied himself to theology, but soon renounced this pursuit
for the study of public law, and of the political interests of
Europe. M. de Torcy, when minister of foreign affairs,
employed him with advantage in several secret negocia-
tions ; and both the regent and Cardinal Dubos made the
same use of his talents, with the same success. Having
retired from the field of politics, he entered upon that of
history and literature ; and, in 1720, his works opened to
him the doors of the French academy, of which, in 1722,
he vyas appointed perpetual secretary, in the room of M.
Dacier. He died at Paris on the 23d of March 1742, at
the age of seventy-two, repeating as he expired the well-
known remark of an ancient, “ Death is a law, not a pun¬
ishment. ’ According to Dubos, “ there are three things
which ought to console us for parting with life ; the friends
whom we have lost, the few persons worthy of being loved
whom we leave behind, and lastly, the recollection of our
follies, with the certainty that we shall commit no more.”
His first work was L'Histoire des quatre Gordiens, prouvee
et illustreepar des Medailles, Paris, 1695, 12mo. The com¬
mon opinion, which only admits three emperors of this
name, has prevailed in spite of all the efforts of his erudi¬
tion and criticism. About the commencement of the war
DUG
j 0f 1701, being charged with different negociations both in
II' Holland and in England, in order if possible to engage
jJJc; ^gge powers to adopt a pacific line of policy, he, in order
t0 promote the objects of his mission, published a work
entitled Les Interets de VAngleterre mal entendus dans la
Guerre presents, Amsterdam, 1703, 12mo. But as this
work contained indiscreet disclosures, of which the enemy
took advantage, and predictions which were not fulfilled,
a wag took occasion to remark that the title ought to be
read thus: Les Interets de VAngleterre mal entendus par
lAbbe Dubos. His next work was L'Histoire de la Ligue de
Cambray, Paris, 1709,1728, and 1785, 2 vols. 12mo. This
history, says Voltaire, is profound, political, interesting;
it makes us acquainted with the manners and usages of
the time, and is a model of its kind. In 1734 he publish¬
ed his Histoire Critique de Vetablissement de la Monarchie
Frangaise dans les Gaules, 3 vols. 4to ; a work the object
of which was to prove that the Francs had entered the
Gauls, not as conquerors, but at the request of the na¬
tion, which, according to him, had called them in to govern
it. But this system, though unfolded with a degree of
skill and ability which at first procured it many zealous
partizans, was victoriously refuted by Montesquieu at the
end of the thirtieth book of the Esprit des Lois. “ C’est
un colosse,” said Montesquieu, “ qui a de pieds d’argile, et
c’est parce que les pieds sont d’argile qus le colosse est
immense. Si le systeme de M. 1’Abbe Dubos avait. eu de
bons fondemens, il n’aurait pas ete oblige de faire trois
mortels volumes pour le prouver; il aurait tout trouve
dans son sujet; et sans aller chercher de toutes parts ce
qui en etait tres loin, la raison elle-meme se serait chargee
de placer cette verite dans la chaine des autres verites.
L’histoire et nos lois lui auraient dit: ' Ne prenez pas
tant de peine; nous rendrons temoignage de vous.’ ”
His Reflexions critiques sur la Poesie et sur la Peinture,
published for the first time in 1719, 2 vols. 12mo, but
often reprinted in three volumes, constitute one of the
works in which the theory of the arts is explained with
the utmost sagacity and discrimination. “ All artists,”
says Voltaire, “ read it with advantage. It is the most
useful book which has ever been written on the sub¬
jects of which it treats, in any nation of Europe. The
excellence of the work consists in this, that it contains
few errors, and many reflections which are just, novel,
and profound. It is not a methodical book ; but the au¬
thor thinks, and makes others think. He was, however,
ignorant of music; he had never been able to make verses,
and he had not a single picture in his possession ; but he
had read, seen, heard, and reflected much.” Besides the
works above enumerated, a manifesto of Maximilian, elec¬
tor of Bavaria, against Leopold, emperor of Germany, re¬
lative to the succession in Spain, has been attributed to
Dubos, chiefly, we believe, by reason of the excellence of
the style, which has been greatly commended. (a.)
DEBRIS, in Ancient Geography, a town of Britain;
now Dover, from Dovoria of the lower age, and a port-
town in Kent, opposite to Calais.
DUCAL, in general, something belonging to a duke.
See Duke.
I he letters patent granted by the senate of Venice
were called ducal; and so also were the letters written in
the name of the senate to foreign princes. The denomi¬
nation of ducal is derived from the circumstance that, at the
beginning of such patents, the name of the duke or doge
was written in capitals. The date of ducals is usually in
Latin, but the body is in Italian. In 1716 a courier was
dispatched with a ducal to the emperor, returning him
thanks for renewing the treaty of alliance with the repub¬
lic of Venice, against the Turks.
DU CAS, a learned Greek, who wrote a history of what
vol. vm.
D U C 249
passed under the last emperors of Constantinople, until the Ducat
capture of that city, and the fall of the eastern empire. ||
This work, which is esteemed, was printed at the Louvre Duchy,
in 1649, with the Latin translation and notes of Boillaud.
DUCAT, a foreign coin, either of gold or silver, struck
in the dominions of a duke. The origin of ducats is re¬
ferred to one Longinus, governor of Italy, who, revolting
against the emperor Justin the Younger, made himself
duke of Ravenna, and called himself Exarcha, that is,
without lord or ruler ; and, in order to show' his indepen¬
dence, struck pieces of money of very pure gold in his own
name, and with his own stamp, which, as Procopius re¬
lates, were called ducati, ducats. After him, the first who
struck ducats were the Venetians, who called them zecchi-
ni, or sequins, from Zecca, the place where they were first
struck. This was about the year 1280, and in the time
of John Dandolo. But we have pretty good evidence
that Roger king of Sicily had coined ducats as early as
1240 ; and Du Cange scruples not to affirm that the first
ducats were struck in the duchy of Apulia in Calabria.
See Money.
DUCATOON, a silver coin, struck chiefly in Italy, par¬
ticularly at Milan, Venice, Florence, Genoa, Lucca, Man¬
tua, and Parma, though there are also Dutch and Flemish
ducatoons. See Money.
DUCENARIUS, in Antiquity, an officer in the Roman
army, who had the command of two thousand men. The
emperors had also ducenarii among their procurators or
intendants, called procuratores ducenarii. Some say that
Ducenarii were those whose salary was two hundred ses¬
terces ; as in the games of the circus, horses hired for two
hundred sesterces were called ducenarii. Others hold that
ducenarii were those who levied the two hundredth penny,
or the officers appointed to inspect the raising of that tri¬
bute. In the inscriptions at Palmyra, the word ducena-
rius, in Greek dovxsmpoi, occurs very frequently.
DUCENTESIMA, in Antiquity, a tax of the two hun¬
dredth penny, exacted by the Romans.
DUCHAL, James, D.D. a pious and learned dissent¬
ing minister, was born in Ireland, and finished his studies
at the university of Glasgow, which afterwards, from a
regard to his merit, conferred on him the degree of doc¬
tor of divinity. He resided ten or eleven years at Cam¬
bridge as the pastor of a small congregation, and there en¬
joyed his beloved retirement, with the advantage of books
and of learned conversation, which he improved with the
greatest diligence. On Mr Abernethy’s removal from
Antrim he succeeded him there, and on that gentleman’s
death he again succeeded him as a minister of a dissent¬
ing meeting-house in Wood Street, Dublin. In this situ¬
ation he continued till his death, which happened on the
4th of May 1761, when he had completed his sixty-fourth
year. He published a volume of excellent discourses on
the presumptive arguments in favour of the Christian re¬
ligion, together with many occasional tracts ; and after his
death a number of his sermons were published, in three
volumes 8vo.
DUCHENPARAH, a town of Cashmere, the capital
of a district of the same name, situated at the foot of a
ridge of high mountains which bound Cashmere on the
side of Great Thibet. Long. 74. 58. E. Lat. 34. 51. N.
The district is situated between the thirty-fourth and
thirty-fifth degrees of north latitude.
DUCHOWTSCHINA, a circle in the Russian govern¬
ment of SmoLensko, north-east from the city, well watered
and cultivated. The capital, of the same name, is situated
on two rivers, the Ehewistitza and the Zarrewitza, which
here join. The inhabitants amount to 950 only.
DUCHY, in Geography, an appellation given to the
dominions of a duke.
2 i
I
250
DUG
DUG
Duchy Duchy Court, a court where all matters belonging to
Court the duchy or county palatine of Lancaster are decided by
Duclos ^ecree t^ie chancellor of that court. The origin of this
^ court was in the time of Henry IV. who obtained the
crown by the deposition of Richard II. and having taken
the duchy of Lancaster by descent, in right of his mother,
became seised thereof as king, not as duke; so that all
the liberties, franchises, and jurisdictions of the said
county passed from the king by his great seal, and not
by livery or attornment, as the earldom of March, and
other possessions, which descended to him by other ances¬
tors than the king’s did. Henry IV. by authority of par¬
liament, dissevered the possessions, liberties, &c. of the
said duchy from the crown, but Edward IV. restored
them to their former nature. The officers belonging to
this court are, a chancellor, attorney-general, receiver-ge¬
neral, clerk of the court, and messenger, besides the as¬
sistants, such as an attorney in the exchequer, another in
chancery, and four counsellors.
DUCK. See Ornithology.
Duck, Stephen, originally a common thrasher in a barn,
was born about the beginning of the eighteenth century.
By his poetical talents he first attracted the notice of
some gentlemen at Oxford; and having been recommend¬
ed to Queen Caroline, he, under her patronage, took or¬
ders, and was preferred to the living of Byfleet in Surrey.
Swift, who, one would have thought, might have overlook¬
ed such an object as Duck, but whose splenetic humour
prompted him to be satirical for any reason or none, chose
to feel piqued at the generosity displayed by the queen,
and under the influence of this feeling wrote the following
bitter Epigram “ on Stephen Duck the thresher and fa¬
vourite poet:”
The thresher Duck could o’er the queen prevail;
The proverb says, “No fence against a flail.”
From threshing corn he turns to thresh his brains, |
For which her majesty allows him grains.
Though ’tis confess’d that those who ever saw
His poems, think them all not worth a straw.
Thrice happy Duck, employ’d in threshing stubble !
Thy toil is lessened, and thy profits double.
Duck’s abilities, however, were much more conspicuous in
his primitive station than in his advancement, though it is
said he was not disliked as a preacher. At length, having
fallen into a low-spirited melancholy way, probably owing
to his change of life, and the cessation of his usual labour,
he in a fit of insanity threw himself from a bridge near
Reading, into the Thames, and was drowned. This un¬
happy accident occurred in the year 1756.
DUCKING, plunging in water, a diversion anciently
practised among the Goths by way of exercise; but among
the Celts, Franks, and ancient Germans, it was a sort of
punishment for persons of scandalous lives.
DUCKINSHAHABAZPOOR, a large island of Hin¬
dustan, in the province of Bengal, situated at the junction
of the great river Meyna with the sea, thirty miles in
length by fifteen in average breadth. It lies low, and
during the rains is almost wholly submerged.
DUCKUP, at sea, is a term used by the steersman
when the mainsail, foresail, or spritsail hinders his seeing
to steer by a landmark; upon which he calls out, Duckiip
the clew-lines of these sails, that is, haul the sails out of
the way.
DUCLOS, Charles Pineau, a French author of some
celebrity, was born at Dinant, in Bretagne, in the year
1704. At an early age he was sent to study at Paris.
The imprudence of youth, and his love of pleasure, led
him at first to contract certain intimacies which were
little .suited to his circumstances; but having afterwards
disengaged himself from these, he courted the society of
all the wits oi his time, by whom he was well received.
He became a member of that club, or association of young
men, who published their juvenile productions under the
titles of Recueil de ces Messieurs, Etrennes de la St Jean
(Eufs de Paques, &c. The romance of Acajou and Zir-
phile, which was composed after a series of plates which
had been engraved for another work, was one of the fruits
of this association, and was produced in consequence of a
sort of wager amongst its members. The epistolary dedi-
cation to the public, which was prefixed to this trifle, gave
umbrage to some, in consequence of the flippant tone
w hich the author assumed. Duclos had previously writ¬
ten two other romances, which were more favourably
received: The Baroness de Luz, and the Confessions of
the Count de ***. His first serious publication was the
History of Louis XI. The style of this work is dry and
epigrammatical, but the author has displayed in it con¬
siderable powers of research, and preserved the charac¬
ter of an impartial historian. The reputation of Duclos
as an author was confirmed by the publication of his Con¬
siderations sur les Mceurs, a work which is much praised
by Laharpe, and not without justice; for although the
style, as in most of the writings of this author, is rather
stiff and sententious, the book undoubtedly contains a
great deal of just and ingenious reflection. It was trans¬
lated both into English and German. The Memoim
pour servir d I'Histoire du dix-huitieme Siecle, which were
intended by the author as a sort of sequel to the preced¬
ing work, are nevertheless much inferior both in respect
of style and matter, and are, in reality, little better than a
kind of romance. In consequence of his History of Louis
XL he was appointed historiographer of France, when
that place became vacant on Voltaire’s retirement to Prus¬
sia. His Secret Memoirs of the Reign of Louis XIV. and
Louis XV. and his Considerations on Italy, were not pub¬
lished until after the revolution. The former work is
highly spoken of by Chamfort.
Duclos became a member of the Academy of Inscrip¬
tions in 1739, and of the French Academy in 1747. Of
the latter he was appointed perpetual secretary in 1755.
Both of these academies were indebted to him, not only
for many valuable contributions, but likewise for several
useful regulations and improvements. As a member of
the Academy of Inscriptions, he composed several me¬
moirs on the Druids; on the origin and revolutions of the
Celtic and French languages; on trial by battle, and proof
by ordeal; and on scenic representations, and the ancient
drama. As a member of the French Academy, he assisted
in compiling the new edition of the Dictionary which was
published in 1762; and he made some just and philosophi¬
cal remarks on the Port Royal Grammar. On several oc¬
casions he resolutely supported the honour and preroga¬
tives of the societies to which he belonged, and maintained
the respectability of the literary character in general. He
used to say of himself, “ I shall leave behind me a name
dear to literary men.” His fellow-citizens, whose interests
he always supported with zeal, appointed him mayor of
their town in 1744, although he was resident at Paris. He
was afterwards elected deputy from the commons to the
assembly of the states of Bretagne; and upon the requisi¬
tion of this body the king granted him letters of nobility.
In 1766 he was advised to retire from France for some
time, in order that the government might have an oppor¬
tunity of forgetting some opinions which he had hazarded,
on the subject of the dispute between the Due d’Aiguil-
lon and M. de la Chalotais, the friend and countryman of
Duclos. Accordingly he set out for Italy, and, on his
return, he wrote an account of his travels, which is also
praised by Chamfort. He died at Paris on the 26th oi
March 1772, in the sixty-ninth year of his age.
IS.
j)!t The'character of Duclos, although it exhibited many
singular traits, was still respectable, whether we consider
fcuf/y- him as a man or as an author. Rousseau described him
very laconically as a man, droit et adroit. In his manners
he displayed a sort of bluntness in society, which fre¬
quently rendered him disagreeable; and his caustic wit
on many occasions created enemies. To those who knew
him, however, he was a pleasant companion. He was a
great lover of anecdotes, and had the talent of relating
them in a very agreeable manner. A considerable num¬
ber of his good sayings have been preserved by his bio¬
graphers.
A complete edition of the works of Duclos was pub¬
lished by Desessarts, at Paris, in 10 vols. 8vo, 1806. (See
Biog. Universelle.')
DUCT, in general, denotes any tube or canal. It is a
term much used by anatomists.
DUCTILITY, in Physics, a property possessed by cer¬
tain solid bodies; it consists in their yielding to percus¬
sion or pressure, and receiving different forms, without
breaking.
Some bodies are ductile both when they are hot and
when they are cold, indeed in all circumstances. Such are
metals, particularly gold and silver. Other bodies are duc¬
tile only when heated to a sufficient degree ; such as wax
and other substances of that kind, and glass. Other bodies,
again, particularly some kinds of iron, called by the work¬
men red short, brass, and some other metallic mixtures, are
ductile only when cold, and brittle when hot. The degrees
of heat requisite to produce ductility in bodies of the first
kind, vary according to their different natures. In gene¬
ral the heat of the body must be such as is sufficient to
reduce it to a middle state, betwixt solidity and perfect
fusion. As wax, for instance, is fusible with a very small
heat, it may be rendered ductile by a still smaller ; and
glass, which requires a most violent heat for its perfect
fusion, cannot acquire its greatest ductility until it is
made perfectly red hot, and almost ready to fuse. Lastly,
some bodies are made ductile by the absorption of a fluid.
Such are certain earths, particularly clay. When these
earths have absorbed a sufficient quantity of water to bring
them into a middle state betwixt solidity and fluidity, that
is, to the consistence of a considerably firm paste, they
have then acquired their greatest ductility. Water has
precisely the same effect upon them in this respect that
fire has upon the bodies above mentioned.
DUDLEY, Edmund, a celebrated lawyer and states¬
man in the reign of Henry VIL, who with Sir Richard
Lmpson, another lawyer of the same stamp, assisted in
filling that rapacious monarch’s coffers by arbitrary pro¬
secutions of the people on old penal statutes. Dudley and
kmpson were beheaded on the accession of Henry VIII.
in order to pacify the clamours of the people for justice.
Dudley, John, Duke of Northumberland, son of the
above, a statesman memorable in the English history for
his unsuccessful attempt to place the crown on the head
of his daughter-in-law, Lady Jane Grey, who fell a victim
to his ambition, was born in 1502, and beheaded in 1553.
Ambrose, his eldest son, was a brave general and able
statesman under Queen Elizabeth, and received the ap¬
pellation of “ the good Earl of Warwick.” Henry, the
duke s second son, was killed at the siege of St Quintin.
Kobert, the third son, a man of bad character, was created
Earl of Leicester, and became one of Queen Elizabeth’s
favourites. His fourth son was the unfortunate Lord Guild¬
ford Dudley, whose only crime was his being the husband
of Lady Jane Grey, an offence for which he was behead¬
ed in 1554.
Dudley, Sir Robert, as he was called in England, and,
us he was styled abroad, Earl of Warwick and JDuke of
Northumberland, was the son of Robert above mentioned, Dudley,
by the Lady Douglas Sheffield, and born at Sheen in Sur-
rey in 1573, where he was carefully concealed, in order
to prevent the queen acquiring a knowledge of the earl’s
engagement with his mother. He was entered of Christ
Church, Oxford, where he remained some time. In 1588
his father died, and left him, after the decease of his uncle
Ambrose, his castle of Kenilworth, the lordships of Denbigh
and Chirk, and the bulk of his estate, which before he was
of age he in a great measure enjoyed, notwithstanding the
enmity borne him by the Countess Dowager of Leicester.
He was at this time one of the finest gentlemen in England;
and having a particular turn for navigation, he fitted out a
small squadron at his own expense, with which he sailed
to the river Orinoco, and took and destroyed nine sail of
Spanish ships. In 1595 he attended the Earl of Essex
and the lord high admiral of England in their expedition
against the Spaniards, and, for his gallant behaviour at
the taking of Cadiz, he received the honour of knight¬
hood. He now endeavoured to prove the legitimacy of
his birth, in order to be entitled to his hereditary honours.
But being overpowered by the interest of the Countess
Dowager of Leicester, he applied for a license to travel;
and being well received at the court of Florence, he re¬
solved to continue there, notwithstanding his receiving a
letter of recall; upon which his whole estate was seized by
King James I. and vested in the crown. At the court of
Cosmo II. great duke of Tuscany, he discovered those
great abilities for which he had been admired in England,
and was at length made chamberlain to his serene high¬
ness’s consort. Whilst in this situation, he contrived seve¬
ral methods of improving shipping; introduced new ma¬
nufactures ; and by other services obtained so high a re¬
putation that, at the desire of the archduchess, the Em¬
peror Ferdinand, in 1620, created him a duke of the holy
Roman empire. He afterwards drained a vast tract of
morass between Pisa and the sea, and raised Leghorn,
which was then a mean and insignificant place, into a large
and beautiful town, improving the haven by a mole, which
rendered it both safe and commodious; and having engaged
his highness to declare it a free port, he by his influence
and correspondence drew many English merchants to settle
and set up houses there, which proved of very great service
to his native country, as well as to the Spaniards. He was
also the patron of learned men, and held a high place him¬
self in the republic of letters. His most celebrated work
is his Del Arcano del Mare, Firenze, 1630, 1646, folio.
This work, which has always been scarce, has now be¬
come extremely rare. There is a copy in the British Mu¬
seum, dated 1661, and called the second edition ; but that
which we have seen and examined belongs to the Society
of Writers to the Signet, Edinburgh, whose valuable and
well-selected library contains many works of the greatest
merit, and literary gems and rarities. The work, which
consists of a collection of tracts, comprehends a great num¬
ber of projects for the improvement of navigation and com¬
merce, with the charts and plans relative thereto; all of
them schemes which, considering the time when they
were devised, are quite remarkable for the boldness and
originality with which they are conceived, and the extent
of scientific acquirements which they exhibit.
Dudley, a large town of the hundred of Halfshire, in
the county of Worcester, 130 miles from London. It con¬
tains two parishes, with their respective churches. The
country around it abounds with coal and iron. The chief
employment consists in making nails and other hardware.
It is a very ancient town, the castle of which is reported
to have been built in the seventh century, by a Saxon
prince Dodo or Duddo. There is a large market held
every Saturday. The inhabitants in 1801 amounted to
DUE
10,107, in 1811 to 13,925, in 1821 to 18,211, and in 1831
to 23,043.
DUEL, a combat between two persons. To distinguish
it from the unpremeditated combat or rencontre, it must
take place at a time and place appointed in consequence
of a cartel or challenge, and generally in presence of two
or more witnesses or umpires.
The word is derived from duellum, used by the barbarous
Latin writers quasi duorum helium ; and, as a judicial trial,
it has been defined “ singularis pugnus inter duos ad pro-
bandum litem, et qui vicit probasse intelligitur.” (Fleta.)
The origin of duelling may be traced to that barbarous
state of society in which personal courage was followed as
the ruling principle, and esteemed as the noblest ornament,
of life. Under the influence of such principles, the con¬
siderations of justice and humanity were little regarded ;
and patience under injuries being branded as infamous and
cowardly, men were naturally impelled, not only to avenge
their own wrongs, but to gratify their private resentments,
at the point of the sword.
Before the dawn of Christianity had thrown its light
upon the interesting doctrine of a providence superintend¬
ing the affairs of men, the belief of an adequate distri¬
bution of rewards and punishments in the present life
seems to have been generally received. The rich, the
prosperous, and the happy, were apt to be considered as
the peculiar favourites of Heaven; whilst disease, misfor¬
tune, and sudden or violent death, were regarded as the
inflictions of divine vengeance on the crimes of the suf¬
ferers. Hence, in a superstitious age, arose the practice of
making a direct appeal to the deity in the single combat,
under the persuasion that the justice of Heaven would in¬
fallibly declare for the innocent, and visit the perjured and
the guilty with dishonour and death.
The duel, as a judicial trial, prevailed at an early period
amongst the Germans, Danes, and Franks; and by a law
instituted in 501, by Gondeband, king of Burgundy, it
was allowed in legal proceedings in lieu of swearing.
Louis le Debonnaire was the first French monarch who
permitted to litigants the trial by arms ; and the same
mode of trial was introduced into England, with other
Norman customs, by William the Conqueror. It was only
used, however, in three cases : in the court martial or
court of chivalry, in appeals of felony, and in civil cases
upon issue joined in a writ of right; in which last it was the
only decision, until Henry II., with consent of parliament,
introduced the grand assize. None were exempt from the
trial by battle but females, the sick and the maimed, and
persons under fifteen or above sixty years of age ; ecclesi¬
astics, priests, and monks, being allowed to produce cham¬
pions in their stead.
The trial by battle, however, soon degenerated into a con¬
venient pretext for gratifying private revenge under sanc¬
tion of the law, or on pretence of discovering truth and
punishing perjury. Under the feudal system it was of
course warmly patronized, being but too congenial with
the feelings and habits of the fierce and haughty barons,
who, uncontrolled by any principles of law or religion, dis¬
dained to submit their differences to any arbitration, or to
seek any reparation for an injury but by the sword. Arms
were the sport, plunder and revenge the business, of their
lives. And to such a height did the evils arising from
their private quarrels and petty warfare increase, that it
became necessary to adopt some means for controlling and
directing the torrent of military violence, which threatened
to sweep away every feeling of justice and humanity, and
subject the peace and comfort of the community to the
unrestrained passions of a fierce and lawless aristocracy.
Martial societies were accordingly instituted, whose duty
it was to protect the weak and defenceless, to relieve the
DUE
oppressed, to correct abuses, and to promote the public D
good. J
Hence arose chivalry and knight-errantry, which, al¬
though they modified in some degree the evil of duelling,
by imposing a minute and punctilious system of obser¬
vances, had yet a tendency to perpetuate the practice, by
instituting those false and fantastic principles of honour
the evils of which are still felt in the modern duel. With
the code of punctilious regulations, the grounds and mo¬
tives of the duel were changed and extended. Malice
and revenge gave place to the gratification of personal
vanity, and the desire of that renown for deeds of arms
which was considered as the glory of the age. Tilts and
tournaments were the pastime of the nobles, and were not
only countenanced by the presence of the prince, who not
unfrequently shared the dangers of the field, but graced
by the attendance of female beauty and distinction, from
whose hands the successful champion received the prize
of his achievements, and at whose feet he longed to lay
the trophies of his victory. jSee Chivalry.
The tournament continued in high estimation, notwith¬
standing the many valuable lives sacrificed on the most
frivolous occasions, until the middle of the sixteenth cen¬
tury, when the death of Henry II. of France, in a tourna¬
ment given in honour of his sister’s marriage, gave a check
to these sanguinary amusements. At this entertainment
Henry sent his lance to Count Montgomerie, the captain
of his guards, who at first declined the challenge; but on
the king repeating his commands, he was compelled to
obey. At the encounter, Montgomerie purposely broke
his lance against the king’s breastplate ; but unhappily for
the monarch he wore his helmet open, and a splinter of
the lance flying up into his eye, pierced his brain. He
survived for about a month in great agony, and died on
the 10th July 1559. (Cockburn on Duels.)
In no country has the duel on private and personal
quarrels prevailed to so great an extent as in France.
Francis I. encouraged the practice by his well-known de¬
termination “ that the lie was never to be borne without
satisfaction but by a base-born fellow.” By his challenge
to the Emperor Charles V. he set an example which his
high-minded nobles were but too eager to follow; and
under the countenance of their monarch their native pro¬
pensity to the single combat was indulged to an extent
which all the power of his successors was scarcely able to
control.
The power of the church was frequently exerted to re¬
strain these bloody proceedings, especially by a council at
Valentia in 855, and lastly by the council of Trent, session
xxv. chap. 19, which excommunicated not only the com¬
batants, but their associates, and even the spectators of
the battle; declaring the custom to be detestable, intro¬
duced by Satan for the destruction both of body and soul.
It adds, that “ all advisers, supporters, witnesses, or those
in any way concerned, are likewise excommunicated.
Princes also who connive at duels are to be deprived of
all temporal power, jurisdiction, and dominion over the
places where they have permitted duels to be fought.”
Philip the Fair, at the close of the thirteenth century,
forbade all gages or pledges of battle; but this prohibition
was afterwards relaxed in several instances, and in 1306 a
royal ordonnance was published, prescribing rules, condi¬
tions, and ceremonies for the combat.
In the reign of Henry II. a noted duel was fought in
the king’s presence between Guy Chabot de Jarnac and
Francis de la Chastaignerie, in which the latter was slain;
and on this occasion Henry is said to have taken an oath
never to allow another during his reign. An edict was
published accordingly; but this, which appears to have
been the first royal prohibition of the duel, was produc-
DUE
live of no good effects. The prohibition indeed arose
rather from the king’s grief for the loss of his friend Chas-
taignerie than from any desire on public grounds to abo¬
lish the custom; and it appears rather to have aggravated
the evil, by increasing the number of private duels: for
the same punctilious notions of honour from which the
duel generally originated, and the same dread of the im¬
putation of cowardice which kept it alive, were still enter¬
tained ; and as the royal permission, without which the
duel had formerly been high treason, could not now be
obtained, each man became the judge in his own cause;
and in those delicate cases, of which the law could take
no cognizance, the point of honour was more likely to be
stretched than curtailed.
The parliament of Paris in 1599 declared all persons
who had assisted or been present at the prosecution of
these unlawful quarrels to be rebels to the king, transgres¬
sors of the laws, and disturbers of the public peace.
Henry IV., during the first eighteen years of whose
reign no less than four thousand gentlemen are said to
have perished by the duel, alludes in his edict at Blois,
1602, to the disorders arising from this barbarous custom ;
and in 1609 he added to the penalties already imposed, pu¬
nishment by death, confiscation of goods, fines, imprison¬
ment, and degradation from honour, on all who were in
any way concerned in these combats, not only principals
and seconds, or bearers of challenges, but spectators, and
even those who, being accidentally present, did not inter¬
fere to prevent bloodshed. The severity of these edicts
might have contributed greatly to diminish the evil; but
unfortunately they arose rather from the complaints of the
people, and the persuasions of the Duke of Sully, than
from any desire on the part of Henry himself to abolish
a custom for which he privately entertained a great par¬
tiality, as was evident from the readiness with which he
granted pardons to offenders, and even privately encou¬
raged particular duels. He readily gave permission to
Crequi to fight Don Philip of Savoy, and even added this
encouraging compliment, “ If I were not a king I would
gladly offer myself to be your second.”
It was not be expected that laws, however severe, the
open violation of which was thus countenanced by the mo¬
narch himself, could be productive of any beneficial effects ;
and we find the passion for the single combat continuing un¬
abated during the reign of the succeeding monarch Louis
XIII. To such extent indeed did it prevail, that the
common inquiry when acquaintances met was not, “ what
is the news to-day,” but “ who fought yesterday;” and
Lord Herbert, who was ambassador at the court of Louis,
says, that “ there is scarce a Frenchman worth looking
on who has not killed his man in a duel.”
Two noblemen, however, Montmorenci count de Boutte-
ville, the most renowned duellist of the day, and the Mar¬
quis de Beuoron, persisting to fight in defiance of the royal
interdict, were tried according to law, and both behead¬
ed. This execution caused for a time a cessation of the
sanguinary custom; but it was reserved for Louis XIV. to
give the first effectual check to the continuance of the
practice.
During the minority of this prince a very desperate
battle was fought between the Dukes de Beaufort and de
Nemours, each attended by four friends. The seconds of
the Duke de Nemours were the Marquis de Villars, the
Chevalier de la Chaise, D’Uzerches, and Compan ; and the
Duke de Beaufort was attended by D’Henricourt, De Ris,
Buri, and Brillet. They fought five against five, with
swords arid pistols. Nemours was shot by Beaufort, the
Marquis de Villars killed D’Henricourt, and D’Uzerches
slew De Ris: the rest were only slightly wounded.
This, with another desperate encounter fought in 1663,
DUE
253
four against four, determined the king on taking some de- Duel,
cided step to prevent the recurrence of such disgraceful
and bloody quarrels. The famous edict published in 1679,
with the solemn agreement entered into by the principal
nobility, “ that they would never fight a duel on any pre¬
tence whatever,” and the firmness of Louis in refusing
pardon to all offenders, contributed more to restrain this
unhappy propensity than all the efforts of his predeces¬
sors.
I he practice of duelling in England, although it never
prevailed to such an extent as in France, may be traced
to the same causes which gave rise to it on the Continent.
The duel, as we have already mentioned, was early in
use amongst the Franks and Normans, and was probably by
them introduced into England.
One of the latest instances of the trial by battle occur¬
red in the reign of Elizabeth in the year 1571, of which
Sir Henry Spelman, who was eye-witness, gives an ac¬
count of the whole proceedings, which were conducted, he
says, “ non sine magna jurisconsultorum perturbatione.”
A proceeding having been instituted in the Court of Com¬
mon Pleas, for recovery of some manorial rights in the Isle
of Hartic, Kent, the defendant offered to maintain his right
to possession by the duel. The petitioners accepted the
challenge, and as the court does not appear to have had
the power of refusal, champions were appointed, and all
the requisite forms adjusted. The queen, to prevent
bloodshed, had commanded the parties to compromise ;
but, anxious at once to save the credit of the defendant,
who demanded the combat, and to support the authority
of the law, which enjoined its being fulfilled, the ceremony
of the duel was allowed to proceed. On the appointed
day the justices of the common pleas and the counsellors
appeared at Tothil Fields as umpires of the combat; but
as the petitioners did not appear to acknowledge their
champion, they were nonsuited, and victory declared for
the defendant. Thus ended the last judicial combat we
read of in a civil case. Another, however, occurred in the
court of chivalry in 1631, and in the county palatine of
Durham in 1638; and the trial by battle was claimed so
late as 1818, in the case of Thornton v. Ashford, in an ap¬
peal of murder.
But although the duel was disused in judicial pro¬
ceedings, the fantastic notions of honour to which it gave
rise still prevailed; and as the law could take-no cogni¬
zance of points of honour and personal affronts, private
duelling rather increased in the reigns of Elizabeth and
James I.
During the civil wars the minds of men were too much
occupied with the agitating events of the time to pay
much attention to the settlement of points of etiquette;
and as the contest was between the commonalty and all
that was royal and noble in the land, private feuds were
forgotten, and those who would have turned their swords
against each other in private quarrel, disdained to em¬
ploy them in such a cause against men of mean birth and
ignoble sentiment.
The custom, however, agairs gained ground after the
restoration of Charles II.; and although he did issue a pro¬
clamation to put the existing laws in force, this object
was defeated by his great laxity in pardoning offenders.
In consequence of a duel between the Duke of Hamil¬
ton and Lord Mohum in 1712, which was fought with the
greatest ferocity and apparent determination of murder,
and in which both parties were killed, the subject again
came under the consideration of government. At the
meeting of parliament in the following year, the queen’s
speech alluded to the subject in this sentence : “ thepra-
tice of duelling requires some speedy and effectual reme¬
dy.” No precise notice was taken of this part of the
DUE DUE
speech in the address from the House of Commons; and
a bill which was brought in for the more effectual re¬
straint of the duel was thrown out on a second reading.
Since the fashion of wearing the sword has been aban¬
doned, private duels have become less frequent in this
country, and we have not now to deplore the numerous
and often fatal rencontres which, during the last century,
were so frequently begun and concluded in the moment
and heat of passion, and not seldom on the most frivolous
occasions. Such was the duel between Lord Byron and
Mr Chaworth in 1765, which originated in a dispute du¬
ring dinner about the quantity of game on their respec¬
tive manors. The parties retired to an adjoining room,
where they fought by the uncertain light of one small tal¬
low candle, and Mr Chaworth, although the more expert
swordsman, was mortally wounded.
By the laws of this country all the parties concerned
in a duel which terminates fatally are guilty of murder,
however fairly the combat may have been conducted, and
however great the provocation.
The suddenness of the provocation, and the agitation of
excited feelings, which in other cases may be pled in ex¬
tenuation of the crime, cannot be urged in favour of those
who, after ample time for deliberation, meet for the avow¬
ed purpose of murder. It is seldom indeed that the ex¬
treme penalty is inflicted, except in cases where unfair
advantage has been taken, or which are otherwise attend¬
ed with peculiar aggravation.
The duel between Major Campbell and Captain Boyd,
for which the former was executed in 1808, is well known,
and was considered as little better than deliberate assassi¬
nation. But in the case of Lieutenant Blundell, who was
killed in a duel at Carisbrooke Castle, in the Isle of Wight,
in 1813, every thing appears to have been conducted with
perfect fairness ; yet the surviving principal, the seconds,
and two others who were considered accessary, were con¬
victed of murder at the Hampshire assizes, and senten¬
ced to death; and although the royal pardon was obtain¬
ed, they were all dismissed from his majesty’s service.
Foster expresses the following opinion: “ Deliberate
duelling, if death ensueth, is in the eye of the law mur¬
der. For duels are generally founded on deep revenge.
And though a person should be drawn into a duel, not
upon a motive so criminal, but merely upon a punctilio of
what swordsmen falsely call honour, that will not excuse.
For he that deliberately sheddeth the blood of another,
upon a private quarrel, acteth in defiance of all laws, hu¬
man and divine, whatever his motive may be.” And Judge
Blackstone : “ When both parties meet avowedly with an
intent to murder, thinking it their duty as gentlemen,
and claiming it as their right, to wanton with their own
lives, and those of their fellow-creatures, without any
warrant or authority from any power either divine or hu¬
man, but in direct contradiction to the laws both of God
and man, the law has justly fixed the crime and punish¬
ment of murder on them, and on their seconds also.”
In a moral point of view the practice admits of no de¬
fence, for the very principle on which the duellist pro¬
ceeds is one which, if universally adopted, would be sub¬
versive of all good order, namely, that an individual may be
the judge of his own cause, and the avenger of his own
wrongs. The legislature has provided a reparation for
all those inj uries which the wisdom of legislators has thought
it reasonable to redress ; and for an individual, or body of
individuals, to adopt a law for the regulation of their own
conduct, differing in spirit and opposed in principle to the
laws of the country, is alike inconsistent with sound moral
and political philosophy. Such is the law of honour, as it
is called, a law by which no wise or sober-minded man
would desire to regulate his life: it prescribes none of
those duties which we owe to God as his creatures, it ad- But
mits or connives at many direct violations of his laws, and |i
it imposes no restraint on that indulgence of the sensual huge
passions, which is degrading to human nature, injurious to
society, and opposed to all that is really good and honour¬
able in the character of man. But unfortunately “ the
law of honour having annexed the imputation of cowar¬
dice to patience under an affront, challenges are given and
accepted with no other design than to prevent or wipe off
this suspicion, and without any other concern than to pre¬
serve the duellist’s own reputation and reception in the
world.”
Every man of experience in the world must be convin¬
ced of the truth of this remark. And it is not one of the
least evils of this system, that the word honour^ which,
rightly understood, denotes all that is truly noble and vir¬
tuous, should be prostituted as a pretext for gratifying the
most malignant of human passions, or as a cover for that
moral cowardice, the fear of being thought afraid.
“ Duels,” says Sir George Mackenzie, “ are but illus¬
trious murders. It is an imperious crime, which triumphs
both over public revenge and private virtue, and tramples
boldly upon the laws of the nation and the life of our ene¬
my. Courage thinks law here to be but pedantry, and
honour persuades men that obedience here is cowardice.”
It has been the aim of every moral writer to expose the
folly, and of every wise legislature to check the preva¬
lence, of this pernicious practice; yet so powerful is the do¬
mineering influence of fashion, that a custom originating
in barbarism, and cherished only by pride and selfishness,
has for ages stood its ground against all the arguments of
reason and religion. Its prevalence is indeed abated in
our country, and it is to be hoped there are not many men
in the present day who fight for the mere gratification of
revenge ; but it is to be feared that there are not a few
who, condemning the custom in their hearts, are yet com¬
pelled to “ go as an ox to the slaughter,” and to “ die as
a fool dieth,” under the dread of an imputation of cowar¬
dice, which they would not otherwise deserve. Nor is it
likely that the duel will ever be entirely abolished by the
law as at present administered. Death, which the law of
honour views as but an adequate reparation for an offen¬
sive word, is thought too severe a punishment for what
the laws of God and man both declare to be murder. The
penalty, therefore, is seldom inflicted; and where many are
acquitted, all will hope to escape.
“ Death,” says Mr Addison, “ is not sufficient to de¬
ter men who make it their glory to despise it; but if
every one who fought a duel were to stand in the pillory,
it would quickly diminish the number of these imaginary
men of honour, and put an end to so absurd a practice.”
DUERO, or Douro, a river of Spain and Portugal. It
rises in the Sierra de Urbion, not far from Durcula, in
Soria, and empties itself into the ocean at St Joao da Foz,
below Oporto. Its course through Spain is 306 miles,
and through Portugal 185. In the latter kingdom it is not
navigable more than seventy-four miles, on account of the
rapidity of its course. The streams which flow into it are
the Pisuerga, the Esla, the Adaja, the Valderaguary, the
Yeltes, the Agueda, the Coa, the Sabor, the Tua, and the
Tamaga.
DUFF’S GROUP, a range of islands in the South Pa¬
cific Ocean, about eleven in number, extending fourteen
or fifteen miles in a direction north-west to south-east.
These islands were discovered by Captain Wilson in the
course of his missionary voyage in the ship Duff. The
largest two were covered with wood, the others appeared
barren. The natives appeared shy and apprehensive of
strangers.
DUGD ALE, Sir Willi am, an eminent English antiqua-
D U H
IDiJamel. ry and historian, was born at Shustoke, near Coleshill, in
Warwickshire, in 1605. He was introduced into the herald’s
office by Sir Christopher Hatton, and ascended gradual¬
ly through all the degrees, until he became garter princi¬
pal king at arms. His chief work is the Monasticon An-
glicanum, in 3 vols. folio, containing the charters and de¬
scriptions of all the English monasteries, adorned with
engravings; a work in which he was assisted by Mr Roger
I . Dodsworth. Nor are his antiquities of Warwickshire less
esteemed. He wrote likewise, the History of St Paul's
Cathedral, London, 1658, folio; a History of Embanking
and Draining, London, 1662, 1675, 1676, folio; a Baron¬
age of England; and he completed the second volume of
Sir Henry Spelman’s Councils, with a second part of his
Glossary. He died on the 10th February 1686, in the
eighty-first year of his age. His son, Sir John, was norroy
king at arms, and published a Catalogue of the English
nobility. His daughter Elizabeth was married to Elias
Ashmole.
DUHAMEL, de Vrigny le Monceau, Henri Louis,
author of many valuable works on agriculture, natural
history, and the arts, son of Alexander du Hamel, lord
of Denainvilliers, and of Ann Trottier, was born at Paris
in 1700. His family had formerly emigrated to Holland,
but returned to France as early as the year 1400, with
the Duke of Burgundy.
He was educated at the College d’Harcourt; but the
chief advantage which he derived from his residence there,
was a taste for the further acquirement of physical know¬
ledge, which he afterwards pursued with ardour at the
Jardin du Roi, having for his fellow-students a number of
young men, who afterwards acquired a high degree of ce¬
lebrity, and among the rest Dufay, Geoffroi, Lemeri, Jus¬
sieu, and Vaillant. At the age of twenty-eight he obtain¬
ed the title of adjunct botanist in the Academy of
Sciences; in 1730 he became an associate, and in 1738
an academician, having previously been elected a fellow
of the Royal Society of London, in the beginning of 1734.
Upon his first admission into the list of the academy, his
assistance was requested in the investigation of a disease
which affected the saffron cultivated in the Gatinois, where
his estate was situated; and he found reason to attribute
it to a parasitical fungus attached to the roots of the
plant. His memoirs and notes communicated to the aca¬
demy, as well as his separate publications, are so multitu¬
dinous, that the shortest possible enumeration of their sub¬
jects can barely be brought within the ordinary limits of
a biographical article.
1. A Disease of Plants, Acad. Paris, 1728. 2. The
Multiplication of Fruits, 1728. 3. The Growth of Plants,
1729. 4. Grafting, 1730. 5. The Pear Tree, 1730-1-2.
6. Soluble Tartar, 1732-3. 7. Ether, 1734. 8. Salt of
Sulphur, 1734. 9. Sal Ammoniac, 3 parts, 1735. 10.
The Purple Dye, 1736. 11. The Base of Sea Salt, 1736.
12. The Strata of Wood, 1737. 13. Frosts, 1737. 14.
Bones Tinged Bed, 1739. 15. Poly gala as a Pectoral,
L39. 16. The Misletoe, 1740. 17. Botanico-meteorologi-
cal Observatiotis, continued annually for forty-two years,
l^O—1781. 18. The Union of Fractured Bones, 2 parts,
1741. 19. The Strength of Timber, 1742. 20. The
Growth of Bones, 5 parts, 1742—3. 21. Frobenius s Ether,
1742. ^ 22. Anatomy, 1743. 23. Slips, Layers, and Off¬
sets, 1744. 24. Moisture in Oak Timber, 1744. 25. A
Magnetic Ore, 1745. 26. The Preservation of Seed, 1745.
27. Magnetising a Bar, 1745. 28. Cordage, 1746. 29.
The Wounds of Trees, 1746. 30. Lime, 1747. S\. Cal¬
cination of a Stone, 1748. 32. Ventilation, 1748. 33.
Plants raised in Water, 1748. 34. Gunpowder, 1750.
3o. The Weight of Ignited Metals, 1750. 36. Tull's Agri¬
culture, 1750. 37. The Compass, 1750. 38. The Strata
D U H 255
of Trees, 1751. 39. The Growth of Horns, 1751. 40. Duhamel.
Bees, 1/54. 41. Madder, 1757. 42. Spontaneous Com-
bastions, 1757. 43. Ergot, 1759. 44. An Insect Devour-
ing Corn, 1761; and separately, 12, Paris, 1762. 45. A
Descent of the Barometer, 1763. 46. The Tea Plant in
Sweden, 1763. 47. Inflammable Vapours, 1763. 48.
Salts in Ashes, 2 parts, 1767. 49. Overdriving Animals,
1768. 50. Rhubarb, 1768. 51. Hair Returning after
fifty Years, 1770. 52. A Change of the Needle, 1771.
•>3. Variation Compasses, 1772. 54. A Monstrous Apple
Tree, 1775. 55. The Management of Prisons, 1780.
56. Observations and Experiments with Madder Root,
which has the Faculty of Tinging the Bones of Living
Animals of a Red Colour. Phil. Trans, xli. 1740 n
390. ^
57. Trade, dela Culture des Terres, 6 v. 12. Par. 1750
Ac. Par. 1755-7.
58. Architecture Navale, 4. Par. 1752, 1758. Ac. Par.
1752. Avis pour le Transport par Mer des Arbres, 2d
edit. 12. Par. 1753.
59. Conservation des Grains, 12. Par. 1753, 1754, 1768.
Supplement. Par. 1765, 1771. Ac. Par. 1765.
60. Fabrique des Manoeuvres pour les Vaisseaux. 4.
Par. 1757.
61. Trade des Bois et Forets. 8 v. 4. Par. 1755—1767.
Arbres et Arbustes, 2 v. 1755. Physique des Arbres, 2
v. 1758. Semis et Plantations, 1760. Exploitation, 2 v.
1764. Transport, Conservation, et Force, 1767. Ac.
Par. 1755, 1758, 1760, 1767, 1768.
62. Moyen de Conserver la Sante aux Equipages. 12.
Par. 1759. Ac. Par. 1755, 1758, 1759, 1760.
63. Trade des Arbres Fruitiers. 2 v. 4. Ac. Par. 1768.
64. Trade des Peekes, 1769. Jointly with M. de la
Marre. Ac. Par. 1769.
65. Art du Charbonnier. Par. fol. Noticed Ac. Par.
1761. 66. De la Fabrique des Ancres, 1761. 67. Du
Chandelier, 1761. 68. De VEpinglier, 1761. 69. De
Reduirele Fer en Fil, 1768. 70. Du drier, 1762. 71.
De Faire les Enclumes, 1762. 72. Du Cartier, 1762. 73.
De Rafiner le Sucre, 1764. 74. Du Drapier, 1765. 75.
De Faire les Tapis. 76. De Friser les Etoffes, 1766. 77.
Du Couvreur, 1766. 78. Du Tuilier Briquetier. 79.
Du Serrurier, 1768. 80. De Preparer le Colle. 81. De
Faire les Pipes, 1772. 82. Du Potier de Terre, 1774. 83.
Du Savonnier, 1775.
The earlier part of Mr Duhamel’s life was chiefly de¬
voted to the study of vegetable physiology, which he
had continued for thirty years before the publication of
his principal works. The most original of his observations
related to the growth of plants, the formation of the bark
and the wood, the effects of grafting, the inversion of a
tree, the double motion of the sap, and the influence of
light, air, and soil. In agriculture he introduced the prac¬
tice of drying corn in a particular stove or kiln, with a
heat sufficient to destroy the insects which infested it and
their larvas. He made many experiments on manures,
and he conferred a great benefit on several provinces of
France, by introducing the cultivation of potatoes into
general practice, as well as by promoting that of rhubarb
in different places.
Having obtained from M. Maurepas the appointment
of inspector-general of the marine, he undertook to make
himself master of every department of nautical knowledge;
and setting out with the established doctrines of Euler
and Bouguer, where theory was wanted, he collected for
his works on these subjects an immense mass of facts and
experiments, affording the means of resolving every ques¬
tion on practical grounds. He established a school for
ship-builders, which effectually secured to them an edu¬
cation superior to that of simple carpenters. He also
256 D U H D U H
Duhamel. made some very valuable improvements in the theory of
rope-making, showing especially the disadvantages arising
from the excessive twisting of cordage. His conduct in
this capacity seems to have been as judicious in a moral
as in a mechanical point of view; whilst by his modesty
and good nature he silenced the contending passions of
those with whom he was obliged to enter into discussion,,
and was enabled to unite a variety of opposite interests, in
the important object of the establishment of an academy
lor the cultivation of naval science.
His meteorological observations included, besides the
usual registers, accounts of the direction of the magnetic
needle, of the state of agriculture, of the diseases of the
year, and of the times of migration of birds, and of the
appearance of their young.
From his experiments on the growth of their bones, he
inferred that they are enlarged by means of the ossifica¬
tion of the laminae of the periosteum, nearly in the same
manner as trees are known to grow by the hardening of
the cortical layers; although the bones, while they are
soft, expand in every direction, as the very young shoots
of vegetables are also found to do. Having learned from
Sir Hans Sloane that madder possesses the property of
giving colour to the bones, he fed animals successively on
food mixed and not mixed with madder; and he found
that their bones in general exhibited concentric strata of
red and white, whilst the softer parts showed in the mean
time signs of having been progressively extended. These
experiments are still of great importance in illustrating
the physiology of ossification, although the actual conver¬
sion of the periosteum into bone may justly be disputed.
In trees Mr Duhamel found that the graft was incorpo¬
rated with the stock, so as to form a single substance
completely identical with it; and he showed that animal
bodies were capable of a similar union, the vessels of the
animals forming communications with those of the parts
inserted ; the spur of a cock, for instance, grafted into his
comb, uniting perfectly with it, and becoming gradually
furnished with a bony core, like the horn of a bullock,
which either forms a joint with the cranium, or is firmly
attached to it, and affords nourishment for the growth of
this newly adopted member.
Having demonstrated in 1737 the different natures of
soda and potass, he made an interesting experiment on
the production of these alkalies by different vegetables.
He sowed the head of the salsola kali at Denainvilliers,
and it was found by the analysis of Mr Cadet that its
ashes produced at first soda, but afterwards more and
more potass every year; and after several generations
almost entirely potass. His other chemical memoirs were
of less permanent importance; and, with respect to the
weight of ignited iron, he was unfortunately inaccurate in
his mode of conducting the experiment, otherwise it must
necessarily have led him to an anticipation of some of the
most important discoveries of the last century.
From his extensive correspondence in different countries,
he was enabled to communicate to the academy from time
to time a number of detached facts, which were both
amusing and instructive, and which appear perpetually
in the histories of the respective years. His wrorks were
in general of an elementary nature, and calculated for the
use of such as possessed but little previous information;
and hence they may appear to some readers to contain an
unnecessary detail of explanation. “ Prolixity,” says Mr
Condorcet, “ is injurious to perspicuity, when we are ad¬
dressing ourselves to persons accustomed to fix their at¬
tention firmly on the subject before them, who are able
to observe the slightest shades of difference, and to re¬
ceive at once a variety of ideas; supplying, where there
is occasion, any connecting links of the chain which may
have been omitted. If we are too diffuse, the attention Buh
of such persons droops for want of excitement; their me- e1,
mory is fatigued with the attempt to retain impressions J
which have not been communicated to them with suffi¬
cient force ; and when they are compelled to travel slowly,
the delay exhausts them, from having been in the con¬
stant habit of a more rapid motion. But it was not for
this very limited class of readers that Mr Duhamel’s works
were calculated. He wrote for the use of those who sel¬
dom go beyond the bare expressions of the author, who
find all close attention toilsome, and who read rather for
simple information than for the cultivation of the mind;
and an author may always be said to write well when his
style is appropriate to his subject, and to the capacity of
his readers.”
Mr Duhamel was economical in his habits of life, and
disinterested in his views, sacrificing his own pecuniary
advantage, and that of his family, to the desire of serving
the public by his experiments and his writings. Having
once established a certain scale for his expenses, he never
troubled himself with keeping a minute account of them.
His integrity sometimes wore the appearance of severity,
and his vivacity that of harshness; but no imputation was
ever cast on the goodness of his heart. He was averse to
all changes, both in political and scientific institutions,
which were not connected with obvious improvement.
He was punctual in his attention to the duties which his
religion imposed on him, but he did not sacrifice to un¬
necessary parade such of his hours as he thought might
be more conscientiously employed in studies of general
utility. His application, though assiduous, was seldom
severely laborious. He never entered into any matrimo¬
nial engagements. On some occasions he felt himself
neglected by the public; but he was little disposed to
lament this injustice, except from reflecting on the effect
which it would have had on an individual less zealous or
less independent than himself. Besides his election as a
fellow of the Royal Society of London, he obtained the
honour of diplomas from the academies of St Petersburg,
Palermo, Bologna, Edinburgh, and Padua, and from seve¬
ral agricultural societies; and his name has acquired a
celebrity commensurate to the extent of his varied re¬
searches.
Few persons have ever passed through life with greater
tranquillity of mind, or with a greater desire of rendering
themselves useful to mankind, than Mr Duhamel. He
was one of the most active promoters of the kind of revo¬
lution which took place in the cultivation of science du¬
ring the last century, and of which the characteristic dis¬
tinction was, to endeavour to turn its chief course towards
the grand objects of public utility and domestic conve¬
nience. Upon this modification of the pursuits of natural
philosophy, Mr Condorcet very judiciously remarks, that
“ if the sciences have sometimes raised themselves too
high towards heaven, and if it has been of advantage to
recall them towards the earth, we must still shun the op¬
posite error of condemning them to creep on it for ever.”
And when we see the paths of discovery open before us,
we must follow boldly wherever they lead us, confident
that, sooner or later, all theoretical knowledge may event¬
ually confer some material benefit on society, even with
regard to the more practical purposes of life. Mr Du¬
hamel indeed well knew the necessity of previous study
and of extensive inquiry for the success of his experi¬
mental investigations; and the former half of a long life
he spent chiefly in qualifying himself for making the ob¬
servations which he recorded, and deriving from them
the instructions which he published, in the latter. At a
very advanced age his memory began to fail; he still con¬
tinued his pursuits, but without reaping any advantage
D U K
Julius from his application ; he attended the meetings of the
N os academy, but took little or no interest in any thing that
passed at them; and after having been present at one of
r ite- j.jjggg meetings, on the 22d of July 1782, he had an attack
of apoplexy, which wholly deprived him of his remaining
faculties, and on the 13th of August put an end to his
life.
A few years before his death he had felt very severely
the loss of his brother, who had lived constantly at De-
nainvilliers, and had assisted him in many of his agricultu¬
ral researches and meteorological observations, though he
had always remained anonymous. His nephew, Mr Fou-
geroux, had also been useful to him on several occasions
in his literary pursuits; and this gentleman became heir
to the principal part of the property of both his uncles.
Eloge, by Condorcet, Hist. Ac. Par. 1782, p. 131. (l. l.)
DUILLIUS Nepos, C., a Roman consul, the first who
obtained a victory over the naval power of Carthage, in
the year of Rome 492. He captured fifty of the enemy’s
ships, and was honoured with a naval triumph, the first
of the kind ever granted at Rome. The senate rewarded
his valour by permitting him to have music playing and
torches lighted at the public expense every day while he
was at supper. Some medals were struck in commemo¬
ration of his victory; and there exists a column at Rome
which was erected on the occasion.
DUISBURG, a city of the Prussian province of West¬
phalia, on the river Ruhr. It is an active manufacturing
place, and carries on a regular trade by weekly passage
vessels with Arnheim, Dort, and other places in Holland.
There was formerly a university here, which is now re¬
duced to a gymnasium. In 1817 it contained 4510 inha¬
bitants, but their number has since increased.
DUKE {Dux), a sovereign prince, without the title or
quality of king. The word is borrowred from the Latin
through the medium of the modern Greek. Some sove¬
reigns have the title of grand duke, as the Grand Duke
of Tuscany and the Grand Duke of Muscovy. The title
of grand duke belongs to the heir apparent of Russia;
and the title of archduke is given to all the sons of the
house of Austria, and that of archduchess to all the daugh¬
ters.
Duke is also a title of honour or nobility, the next be¬
low princes.
The dukedom, or dignity of duke, is a Roman dignity,
so denominated a ducendo, from leading or commanding.
Accordingly the first dukes, duces, were the ductores exerci-
tuum, leaders or commanders of armies. Under the later
emperors, the governors of provinces in time of war were
entitled duces. In after times the same denomination was
also given to the governors of provinces in time of peace.
The first governor under the name of duke was a duke of
the Marchia Rhactica, or Grisons, of which mention is
made in Cassiodorus ; and there were afterwards thirteen
dukes in the eastern empire, and twelve in the western.
The Goths and Vandals, upon their overrunning the pro¬
vinces of the western empire, abolished the Roman dig¬
nities wherever they settled; but the Franks, in order to
humour the Gauls, who had long been used to that form
of government, made it a point of policy not to make any
change therein ; and accordingly they divided all Gaul into
duchies and counties, giving to the governors of these some¬
times the names of dukes, and sometimes that of counts,
or comites.
In England, during the Saxon times, Camden observes,
the officers and commanders of armies were called dukes,
duces, in the ancient Roman manner, without any addi¬
tion. But after the conqueror came in, the title lay dor¬
mant till the reign of Edward III., who created his son
Edward, called the Black Prince, first duke of Cornwall;
VOL. VIII.
d i: L 257
a title which has ever since been the peculiar inheritance Duke-
of the king’s eldest son during the lifetime of his father, Duke
so that he is dux natus, non creatus. After this more dukes II
were made, in such a manner that their titles descended ^Iv^on.
to their posterity. They were created with much so-
lemnity, per cincturam gladii, cappceque, et circuli aurei in
capite impositionem. In the reign of Queen Elizabeth,
however, that is, in 1572, the whole order became utterly
extinct; but it was revived about fifty years afterwards
by her successor, in the person of George Villiers, duke
of Buckingham.
Though the French retained the names and forms of the
ducal government, yet under their second race of kings
there was scarcely any such dignity as that of duke. All
the great lords were called counts, peers, or barons, except¬
ing, however, the Dukes of Burgundy and Aquitain, and
the Duke of France, which was a dignity held by Hugh
Capet himself, and corresponded to the modern dignity of
maire de palais, or the king’s lieutenant. By the weakness
of the kings, the dukes or governors sometimes made them¬
selves sovereigns of the provinces entrusted to their admi¬
nistration. This change happened chiefly about the time
of Hugh Capet, when the great lords began to dismember
the kingdom; so that this prince found more competitors
among them than subjects. It was even with great diffi¬
culty that they could be brought to own him as their supe¬
rior, or to consent to hold of him by faith and homage.
What with force, and what by marriages, these provinces,
both duchies and counties, which had been severed from the
crown, were again gradually united to it. But the title of
duke was no longer given to the governors of provinces.
From that time duke became a mere title of dignity, an¬
nexed to a person and his heirs male, without giving him
any domain, territory, or jurisdiction over the place of
which he was duke. All the advantages of the title now
consist in the name, and in the precedence which it
gives.
The dukes of our days retain nothing of their ancient
splendour except the coronet on their escutcheon, which
is the only mark of their departed sovereignty. They are
created by patent, cincture of the sword, mantle of state,
imposition of a cap and coronet of gold on the head, and
a verge or rod of gold in their hand.
The eldest sons of dukes are by the courtesy of Eng¬
land styled marquises, though they are usually distinguish¬
ed by their father’s second title, whether it be that of mar¬
quis or earl; and the younger sons are lords, with the ad¬
dition of their "Christian name, as Lord James, Lord Tho¬
mas, Lord Charles, and they take place of viscounts,
though not so privileged by the laws of the land.
DuKE-Duke, a quality given in Spain to a grandee of
the house of Sylva, on account of his having several duchies
from the union of two considerable houses in his person.
Don Roderigo de Sylva, eldest son of Don Ruy Gomez de
Sylva, and heir of his duchies and principalities, having
married the eldest daughter of the Duke de ITnfantado,
the Duke de Pastrana, who was descended from her, add¬
ed to his other great titles that of duke-duke, to distinguish
himself from the other dukes, some of whom might enjoy
several duchies, but none so considerable ones.
DUKLA, a city in the circle of Jaslow, of the Austrian
kingdom or province of Galicia. It stands on the river Ja-
sielka, on the great road to Hungary, in a fertile district,
in which are manufactories for cloth, flannels, and baizes.
DULVERTON,amarket-town in the hundred of Willer-
ton and Freemanners, in the county of Somerset, 168 miles
from London. The town is well built, and clean, having
two streams of water running through it. It was former¬
ly a manufacturing town for coarse woollen goods, but the
trade has greatly declined. The market is held on Satur-
258 D U M
Dumarsais day. The inhabitants amounted in 1801 to 1049, in 1811
II to 1035, in 1821 to 1127, and in 1831 to 1285.
Ton ^ DUMARSAIS, Cesar Chesnau, a French writer, who
ij- * i distinguished himself as a philosophical grammarian, was
born at Marseilles on the 7th of July 1676. His life con¬
sisted of a succession of misfortunes ; and his merits, con¬
siderable as they were, seem to have been entirely over¬
looked and neglected by his contemporaries. His father
died while he was yet an infant; and his mother, by her
extravagance, dissipated his patrimony. He was educat¬
ed in his native town by the Fathers of the Oratory, into
whose congregation he entered, but left them at the age
of twenty-five, and repaired to Paris, where he married,
and was admitted an advocate in 1704. He soon, how¬
ever, quitted the bar ; separated from his wife, to whom
he gave up the little he possessed, and went to reside with
the President de Maisons, in the capacity of tutor to his
son. But his prospects in this quarter were blasted by
the death of his patron, by whose family he was not treat¬
ed with that respect and gratitude which were due to his
talents and his services. He was afterwards successive^-
ly tutor to the son of Law, the famous projector, and of
the Marquis de Beaufremont. It was during this last pe¬
riod that he published the results of his grammatical in¬
vestigations, which were received with great coldness. At
a subsequent period he opened an establishment for edu¬
cation in the suburb St Victor, which scarcely afforded
him the means of subsistence; and he expired, at length,
under the accumulated pressure of years, infirmities, po¬
verty, and neglect, on the 11th of June 1756, at the age
of eighty.
Dumarsais possessed no ordinary talents. His researches
are distinguished alike by their accuracy, ingenuity, and
depth. As a man, he combined the greatest purity of
morals and simplicity of character with a rare degree of
manly fortitude in the midst of his misfortunes; yet
during the greater part of his life he was left to languish
in obscurity, and his merits scarcely attracted any notice
until nearly half a century after his death. His works on
philosophy and general grammar, however, are worthy of
attention. Of these, the best is his Treatise on Tropes or
Figures. D’Alembert and Voltaire have both paid a just
and discriminating tribute to the merits of Dumarsais.
An edition of his works was collected by Duchosal and
Millon, and published at Paris in 1797, in seven vols. 8vo.
In the year 1804, the French Institute proposed a prize
for an Eloge on Dumarsais, which was gained by M. De-
gerando, whose work was published at Paris, 1805, in 8vo.
A previous and well-written Eloge on the same author,
by D’Alembert, is to be found in the Melanges de Littera-
ture, and prefixed to the above-mentioned edition of the
Works of Dumarsais. See also Biographic Universelle.
DUMBARTON, a county in Scotland, situated between
55. 53. and 56. 25. north latitude, and between 3. 55. and
4. 53. west longitude from Greenwich, consists of two dis¬
tricts, six miles distant from each other, part of Lanark¬
shire running between them. The western, which is
much the larger, is about forty miles long and twelve
broad, and is bounded by Perthshire on the north ; by
Argyleshire, from which it is separated by an arm of the
sea called Loch Long, on the west; by the river Clyde
and Lanarkshire on the south-west and south ; and by
Stirlingshire on the east. The eastern district is com¬
pletely enclosed by Stirlingshire and Lanarkshire. The
whole county contains 298 square miles, or 190,848 English
acres, of which the smaller division contains about forty-
two miles, or 28,000 acres. Itis divided into twelve parishes,
of which there are only two in the eastern district, Kirk¬
intilloch and Cumbernauld. This last belonged to Stir¬
lingshire. till the Earl of Wigton, whose property it was,
D U M
became heritable sheriff of Dumbartonshire, when he pro- Dun
cured it to be annexed to this county. t'’ '
The prevailing winds are from the west and south-west, ^ ;
but easterly winds are frequent in the spring months!
Showers are very common, but heavy and continued rains
of rare occurrence. Frosts are seldom severe, and, ex¬
cept on the mountains, snow never lies long. The climate
is upon the whole salubrious. The range of the barome¬
ter is about 2-80, and of the thermometer from 6° to 80°.
The soils of the lower grounds are schistoze clay mixed
with small stones, rich black loam on the banks of the
Clyde, and gravelly soil on the river Leven; but about
two thirds of the county consist of lofty mountains, some
of them 3000 feet high, part of the ridge which crosses
the island from Forfarshire to the Frith of Clyde, known
in the districts to the eastward by the names of the Sied-
law, Ochil, and Campsie Hills.
Coal, iron ore, limestone, freestone, and slate, are its
most valuable fossil productions. There are pits for work¬
ing coals at Langfauld and Lawmuir in East Kilpatrick,
and at Duntocher in West Kilpatrick, where great quan¬
tities are raised for the consumption of the cotton works at
Duntocher, and for calcining lime at the neighbouring lime
works. Ironstone is raised in considerable quantities in
the parishes of Kirkintilloch and Cumbernauld, which
meets with a ready market at Carron foundery.
Limestone is found in the higher grounds at Kilpatrick,
Dumbarton, and Row ; but it is only wrought at Lang¬
fauld, Lawmuir, and Duntocher, where coal is quarried
along with it, and also at Row, Netherwood, and Cumber¬
nauld. White and red freestone are met with in several
places ; the finest quarries are at Garscube, on the banks
of the Forth and Clyde Canal; and at Levengrove and
Dalreoch, in the immediate neighbourhood of Dumbarton.
Several slate quarries have been wrought with success,
at Luss and Camstradden on the estates of Sir James Col-
quhoun, and at Roseneath on the estates of the Duke of
Argyll. The principal markets are at Glasgow, Greenock,
&c. to which the slates are conveyed in lighters by the
Leven and the Clyde.
The only river of any note which can be said to belong
to this county is the Leven, the outlet of Lochlomond,
which, flowing for about five miles through a fine valley,
joins the Clyde at Dumbarton Castle. Its waters, which
are singularly pure and soft, are well adapted to the busi¬
ness of bleaching and printing cottons, branches which are
established to a great extent along its course. The other
streams are Luss, Froon, Finlays, Douglas, Falloch, and
Luggie. Clyde, Endrick, and Kelvin, flow along its bor¬
ders. Lochlong and Gareloch are arms of the sea, the
first of which separates this county from Argyleshire; and
the other, penetrating the land for about seven miles, near¬
ly detaches the peninsula of Roseneath from the main¬
land. Whilst this extent of sea-coast affords the benefit of
water carriage to so large a portion of the county, the in¬
land tracts are benefited in almost an equal degree by the
Forth and Clyde Canal, which passes through it for more
than sixteen miles. This canal is about thirty-five miles
in length, and it rises and falls about 160 feet, by means
of forty locks. It is carried over the valley where the
Kelvin flows, by an aqueduct sixty-five feet in height and
420 feet in length. The only remarkable lake is Loch¬
lomond, which is about twenty-four miles long, and in its
greatest breadth, towards the south, above six. About
two thirds of the shore, and most of its islands, thirty in
all, are in Dumbartonshire; the rest belong to Stirling¬
shire. It is probably not to be equalled by any lake in
Britain for the variety and magnificence of its scenery;
the picturesque beauty of its wooded banks and islands
affording a striking confcrast to the rugged and lofty moun-
D U M
r, ?,ar. tains that rise in its vicinity. It covers about 20,000
t. acres, and its surface is supposed to be increasing. The
best view of the lake is from a promontory above Luss, a
village on the western shore.
The landed property of this county is divided among
about a hundred and fifty individuals, exclusive of feuars
in towns and villages. One third of the estates are of con¬
siderable extent, and the remainder are small. The va¬
lued rent is L.33,327. 19s. Scots, of which about a third
is held under the fetters of strict entails. In 1811 the ac¬
tual rent of the lands was L.56,972. 15s., and of the houses
L.5791. 15s., total L.62,764. 10s.; and the annual value of
real property in 1815 was L.71,587 sterling. There are a
number of beautiful seats belonging to the larger proprie¬
tors, among which Roseneath, the splendid mansion of the
Duke of Argyll, and Garscube, the residence of Sir Archi¬
bald Campbell of Succoth, are by far the finest specimens
of architecture. There are also a great many fine villas,
the property of manufacturers and merchants.
The county sends one member to parliament, who, prior
to the passing of the reform act in 1832, was elected by
about seventy voters upon superiorities ; but by the reform
measure the constituency has been increased to 924.
The arable lands of Dumbartonshire are divided into
farms ranging in extent from 50 to 250 acres: and of
late years great improvements have been made in agricul¬
ture, and in the breed of all kinds of stock. The land is
generally laboured and manured according to the impro¬
ved system of husbandry; two crops of grain seldom or
never being taken without the intervention of a green crop
properly tilled and manured. The usual rotation is, first,
oats; secondly, potatoes or other green crop; thirdly,
wheat or barley sown with rye-grass and clover ; fourth¬
ly, hay; and, lastly, pasture. Wheat, oats, and potatoes,
are the principal crops. The land is well inclosed and sub¬
divided, principally by hedge and ditch, and partially by
stone-walls. The tenants generally hold leases for nine¬
teen years. Within the last twelve or fifteen years the
breed of draught or farm horses has been greatly improved;
a circumstance which is ascribed partly to the emulation
excited among the tenantry to ride good horses at the
yeomanry drills, and partly to the annual competition for
prizes given by the landlords of this district. The dairy
stock is principally of the Ayrshire breed ; and great im¬
provements have also been made in this department, which
is a source of much profit to the farmers nearest to the
city of Glasgow. The accommodation to the tenantry has
kept pace with these improvements. Many excellent stead¬
ings have been erected, generally in the form of a square,
having in front the dwelling-house, which communicates
with the offices, forming the other three sides of a square.
There are in this county many excellent tracts of pas¬
ture land. Sheep of the black-taced breed, and a limited
number of black cattle, are reared with great success.
The sheep are disposed of in Glasgow, where there is a
weekly sale; and the cattle are sold at the Carman mar¬
ket, held in the Moor of Carman on the first Tuesday of
June. From 12,000 to 17,000 head of cattle, principally
of the Argyleshire breed, are generally disposed of at that
market, for the purpose of being fattened on the rich pas¬
tures of the south. In the highland district, farms for
grazing are necessarily of great extent. But it is not un¬
common for fishermen and mechanics to hold pendicles, or
“poffles” as they are called, below L.12 of rent; and the
cottars, who are usually employed as labourers on the
larger farms, possess small patches of arable ground for
raising potatoes, with hill pasture for a cow, at a rent of
L.5, and sometimes less.
Great improvements have been made on the roads in¬
tersecting this county. A new road along the upper part
D IT M 259
of Lochlomond, and passing through Glenfalloch, com- Dumbar-
municates with the great military road through Perthshire, ton.
Argyleshire, &c. and renders all parts of this county of
easy access.
I he woods and plantations of this county are extensive
and valuable. According to the agricultural survey in
1810, their extent appears to be near 7000 English acres,
of which about the half is coppice; yielding to the pro¬
prietors a yearly income almost equal to the rent of the
arable lands. On spots unfavourable to oak, these cop¬
pice woods consist of ash, yew, holly, mountain-ash, birch,
hazel, aspen, alder, crab, thorn, and willow. The age at
which they are cut is from twenty-two to twenty-four
years, when they are worth from L.4-0 to L.45 an acre;
but there are instances of woods, of considerable extent,
selling at much more, where proper attention has been
paid to inclosing them, and afterwards thickening them by
means of layers, or thinning them, as may be necessary.
It is the usual practice to reserve a certain number of
young trees at each cutting, the greater part of which are
cut down at the second fall, when they are nearly fifty
years old, and the rest left to grow up to timber trees.
The soil and climate of this county are particularly fa¬
vourable to plantations, which begin to make a return to
their owner in ten or twelve years, and, in thirty years af¬
ford supplies to the carpenter. The most extensive planta¬
tions are on the estates of Luss and Bonhill. There is a
very fine ash in Bonhill church-yard, the branches of
which cover an area one hundred feet in diameter. Its
trunk is about nine feet high, the smallest diameter is six
feet, and its three principal branches are from ten to
twelve feet in circumference. On the banks and islands
of Lochlomond there is a considerable number of yew
trees, some of them of great size.
The manufactures of this county are various and ex¬
tensive. The cotton works at Duntocher, belonging to
Mr Dunn of Duntocher, are the most extensive wmrks of
that description in Scotland. He gives employment to a
population of 2500, and he is the second landed proprie¬
tor in the county. There are two paper-mills at Dalmuir;
two extensive ship-building yards, three large glass ma¬
nufactories, and two tan-works, at Dumbarton; a ma¬
nufacture of alkali at Burnfoot of Dalmuir; and a distil¬
lery of pyroligneous acid at Milburn. On the short course
of the river Leven, not much exceeding three miles in a
direct line, there are twelve large print-fields and bleach-
fields. The extent of the whole, in 1810, is thus stated ;
Ground occupied, about (Scotch acres) 350
Value of buildings and machinery L.250,000
Coals consumed annually, tons 32,000
Yearly expense in fuel L.19,000
Number of persons employed, of both sexes and
all ages 3,000
Average earnings about 2s. a day.
Total yearly wages, allowing for interruptions
from sickness and other causes L.90,000
Excise duties annually L.140,000
Besides these large establishments, there is a number of
lint-mills, two woollen-mills, chiefly employed in carding,
and several fulling-mills.
The gross produce of the salmon-fisheries of this county
may be about L.1000 a year; the principal are upon the
rivers Leven and Clyde. Those on Lochlomond are com¬
paratively of little importance. About fifty boats are em¬
ployed in the herring fishery, of which the annual value
may be about L.4500.
The rates of wages are higher in this than in most of
the Scottish counties. In 1810, farm servants, who are
for the most part unmarried, had from L.35 to L.42 a year;
and when manufactures are prosperous, many of the work-
260
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D U M
Dumbar- men in them earn nearly twice as much. Provisions are
L _ton- also dear; and fuel, which consists principally of coal, the
greater part of it brought from the adjoining counties, is
in many parts higher priced than in our largest cities.
There were about 274 paupers in the county in 1811;
but few of them were maintained solely on parochial cha¬
rity. Such as are able to gain their subsistence in part
by their own industry, receive only what is necessary to
support them in addition to their own earnings ; and those
who are altogether incapable of work are in most cases re-Dum]
lieved by the charity of individuals, the parish paying only
for clothes and house rent. The whole sum expended by
the parishes does not much exceed L.1000 a year, of which
a small part is raised by assessment. The rent of land and
interest of capital amount to L.200, incidental funds to
L.120, and the collections at the churches to L.390.
The following is a tabular view of the population of this
county:—
Arrochar parish 
Bonhill ditto 
Cardross ditto 
Cumbernauld ditto 
Dumbarton burgh and parish....
Kilmaronock parish 
Kilpatrick, New or East, parish.
Kilpatrick, Old or West, parish..
Kirkintilloch parish 
Luss ditto 
Roseneath ditto 
Row ditto 
County of Dumbarton.
1801.
470
2,460
2,549
1,795
2,541
879
1,404
2,844
3,210
953
632
970
20,710
1811.
420
2,791
2,859
2,334
3,121
898
1,643
3,428
3,740
965
747
1,243
24,189
1821.
376
3,003
3,105
2,864
3,481
1,008
1,545
3,692
4,580
1,150
754
1,759
27,317
1831.
559
3,874
3,596
3,080
3,623
999
1,675
5,879
5,888
1,181
825
2,032
33,200
Dumbarton, tbe capital of Dumbartonshire, in Scot¬
land, is situated at the confluence of the rivers Clyde and
Leven. It is a very ancient place, and is said to have
been once the capital of a kingdom of the Britons, esta¬
blished in the vale of the Clyde. Alcluyd was the name
of this ancient capital of the Strathclydenses ; but whether
it was situated on the site of the present town, or confined
within the precincts of the castle, cannot be exactly as¬
certained. Dumbarton is built upon the eastern bank of
the Leven, which almost encircles it. The greater part
of the town is composed of one main street, lying in a se¬
micircular form round the head or west end of the penin¬
sula. At the height of the tides it is flooded by the waters
of the Leven. It was erected into a royal burgh by Alex¬
ander II. in the year 1221, and declared to be free of all
imposts and burgh taxes; it afterwards received other char¬
ters front succeeding monarchs; and, finally, it obtained a
confirmation of the whole from James VI. The subsequent
history of the burgh is destitute of interest. It naturally
partook of the fortunes and misfortunes of the adjacent part,
of which it was in reality a dependency. Besides the main
street, there are some bye thoroughfares, lanes, and de¬
tached houses, and a suburb on the western side of the
Leven, leading to Renton. It is connected with the latter
by a good stone bridge of five arches, 300 feet long. The
waters of the Leven form a commodious harbour, and,
for the benefit of trade, an excellent quay and capacious
dock have been formed. Ship-building is carried on to
some extent. Ihe principal article of manufacture and
export is glass. I he glass-works, which are situated to
the north-west of the town, give employment to a great
number of individuals ; and the article made is considered
as equal to any manufactured in Britain. The other and
inferior manufactures of Dumbarton are leather, glue, some
linen, beer, &c. with a considerable quantity of goods for
the Glasgow market. In recent years the intercourse and
trade with Glasgow have been much extended by means
of steam navigation. Dumbarton has an important cattle
market every year on the 4th of June. There are two
other fairs throughout the year, and the town has a large
weekly market on luesdays. The burgal government of
the town consists of a provost, an elder and younger bai¬
lie, a dean of guild, a treasurer, five merchant councillors,
and five trades councillors from the same number of incor¬
porated trades. The town has an excellent grammar-school,
and a good subscription library. A branch of the Commer¬
cial Bank is settled here, and there are a number of agents
of insurance offices. A very excellent jail has recently been
erected. The church of the burgh and parish is a hand¬
some modern structure with a spire and clock. There
are also in the town and its vicinity a burgher and relief
meeting house, and a Roman Catholic chapel. The town
is the seat of a presbytery in the synod of Glasgow. By
the late reform act Dumbarton joins with Kilmarnock,
Rutherglen, Renfrew, and Port Glasgow in returning a
member to parliament. The situation of Dumbarton Cas¬
tle is eminently picturesque. The buildings composing
the fort are perched on the summit of a rocky mount,
shooting up to the height of 206 feet sheer out of the al¬
luvial plain on the east side of the debouche of the river
Leven. lo the west of the castle there are rocky emi¬
nences on the verge of the Clyde, of a similar fabric, though
less detached. rIhe rock of Dumbarton measures a mile
in circumference at the base. It diminishes in breadth
near the top, which is cloven into two summits, of different
heights. The rock is basalt, and has a tendency to the
columnar formation. Some parts of it have a magnetic
quality. rIhe fortress, naturally strong, possesses several
batteries, which command a most exfensive range. The
defences are kept in constant repair, and it is garrisoned
by a limited body of soldiers and functionaries. The rock
of Dumbarton has been occupied by works of a warlike
character during the successive dynasties of 1800 years,
and, as such, it is the most ancient stronghold in the
country of which any record or tradition is preserved; nor
is it necessary to observe, that it was the scene of many a
gallant exploit to be found recorded in the annals of the
country. Dumbarton is fifteen miles north-west of Glas¬
gow, and fifty-nine west of Edinburgh. The population of
the burgh and parish amounted in 1821 to 3481, and in
1831 to 3623.
DUMBLANE, a town of Scotland, in the south-west¬
ern portion of Perthshire. It is delightfully situated on the
eastern bank of the river Allan, at the distance of forty-
f ®
D U M
D U M
261
’ bnessone miles from Edinburgh. In the middle ages this place
II was distinguished as being the seat of a convent of Cul-
ifries, (fees, and continued to be so till about the twelfth cen-
tury. Dumblane was constituted the seat of a bishop by
David I. Amongst those who, subsequently to the refor¬
mation, filled the chair, was the celebrated philanthropist
Robert Leighton, who bequeathed his valuable library to
the cathedral and diocese. It is still in existence, and
has been augmented by several donations. Dumblane is
at present only a village, consisting of a single street of
an old-fashioned character, with various diverging lanes.
A mineral well in the neighbourhood causes an influx of
visitors during the summer months. The chief attraction
of Dumblane is what was once the cathedral of the bishop,
the choir of which is now the parish church. It is a large
Gothic edifice, with a steeple of modern erection of 128
feet in height. Besides the parish church, there is a dis¬
senting meeting-house. There is here a weekly market,
and there are also four annual fairs. The population of
the town and parish amounted in 1821 to 3135, and in
1831 to 3228.
DUMBNESS, the privation of speech. See Deaf and
Dumb.
DUMBOWITSKA, a circle in the western part of Wal-
lachia, between the rivers Ardfisch and Aluta. It is water¬
ed by the streams of the Ardfisch, Jalomitza, and Dum-
bowitska, and contains one city, Tergovst, and 164 villages.
DUMFRIES, a county in the south of Scotland, is si¬
tuated between 55. 2. and 55. 31. north latitude, and 3.
53. west longitude. Its greatest length is nearly sixty
miles, and its greatest breadth from thirty to thirty-one.
The boundaries are Galloway and part of Ayrshire on
the south-west; Roxburgh, Selkirk, and Peebles, on the
north-east; Lanark on the north-west; and on the south¬
east the Solway Frith and the county of Cumberland.
The principal rivers are the Nith, the Annan, and the Esk,
all of which discharge themselves into the Solway Frith.
These rivers are fed by numerous tributaries, and the
whole of them abound in salmon. The square miles of
the county are calculated at 1006, and the acres at
644,385. Like many other Scottish counties, Dumfries¬
shire is popularly divided into districts. Of these there
are three principal; Eskdale on the east, Annandale in
the middle, and Nithsdale on the west, each taking its
name from the river which traverses it. From these
larger divisions diverge smaller vales, which likewise de¬
rive their titles from the streams that flow through them,
such as Moffatdale, Dryfesdale, and Ewesdale. From
various circumstances, the limits of these great divisions
are but imperfectly defined, and have recently been aban¬
doned. The Solway Frith waters the base of the county
for twenty-four miles, and along its margin the land is
generally flat for about ten miles. Beyond this the coun¬
ty expands into a series of hills and valleys, which rise
gradually northward till they reach the mountain chain
which bounds it in that quarter. The principal eleva¬
tions are, Lowthers near Wanlockhead, which rises 3150
feet, and Hartfell in Annandale, which rises 2629 feet
above the level of the sea. In former times it was said
that 86 miles were in general low arable land, lying on
the sea-coast, 322 miles chiefly hilly, and 598 mountain¬
ous. But the calculation has been disturbed by the stea¬
dy progress of bone manure and green crop husbandry.
Steeps which it was impossible to sharpen by common
manure, from the expense and difficulty of transporting
it thither, have been brought into excellent heart by
ground bones, and improved by at least a hundred per
cent, both as crop and pasture land. Many hills which
were nearly bare have been covered to their tops with
thriving plantations. In the spring of 1833 the Duke
of Buccleuch inclosed and planted nearly three hundred Dumfries,
acres, on which are now growing more than a million
and a half of trees; and it is his grace’s intention to pro¬
secute these improvements a great way further. Still a
large proportion of the county is mountainous, and is de¬
voted almost exclusively to sheep farming, which, since
the mortality of 1829, has again become very profitable.
Judging from the map, nearly a third of the land in the
county belongs to the nobleman above mentioned, who
possesses a rental of one hundred and fifty thousand
pounds yearly, two thirds of which are drawn from Dum-
fries-shire. In 1811, when the property-tax pressed on
the energies of the country, the whole rental of the county
was estimated at L.246,001. 12s. 6d.; and although rents
have fallen greatly since that period, so marked has been
the progress of improvement, that at present (1833) it
in all probability exceeds L.300,000 sterling. The prin¬
cipal proprietors are the Duke of Buccleuch, the Marquis
of Queensberry, and the Earl of Mansfield; Mr Hope
Johnstone of Annandale, General Sharpe of Hoddam,
Mr Rogerson of Dumcrieff, Mr Menteath of Closeburn,
and Mr M‘Alpine Leny of Dalswinton.
The climate of Dumfriesshire is mild and salubrious;
much of the land has a southern exposure, and, except¬
ing in very severe winters, the snow speedily disappears.
The soils are gravel or sand loam, and clay, with moor
and moss in some places, particularly along the bed of
the Lochar, with alluvial tracts on the banks of the rivers
and the Solway Frith. The farms vary greatly in size;
but for years there has been a tendency to uproot almost
entirely the pendicle system. On the Buccleuch estates
the farms are generally extensive. Many excellent stead¬
ings of houses have been built, and subdivisions formed
over waste tracts, which for centuries remained uninclosed.
Since the war the wages of rural labour have been pretty
stationary. The usual rate of wages for a ploughman is six
pounds per half year, with board and lodging in the case
of unmarried men, and a proportionate allowance of meal,
potato-land, &c. for hinds with families. House and dairy¬
maids receive from L.2 to L.2. 10s. per half year; day
labourers Is. 2d.a day in winter, and Is. 6d. in summer.
At one time the quantity of lime used, or at least work¬
ed, in Dumfriesshire, was very great, and it is still far from
being inconsiderable. The principal pits are those of Kil-
head, Closeburn, and Barjarg; and within the last fifteen
years the supply was estimated at 1,200,000 Winchester
bushels, valued at L.54,000. The capabilities of the pits
are still excellent, but the demand for lime has diminished
somewhat, owing to the continued progress of bone dust,
a manure which unites to a certain extent the qualities of
lime and common dung. Annandale and Nithsdale have
profited greatly by this valuable mineral. Mr Menteath
of Closeburn is a great land improver, and has converted
bogs which were hardly worth five shillings an acre into
some of the finest pasture land in the county, by the com¬
bined effects of pairing, careful selection of seed, the ap¬
plication of lime, and irrigation. Cattle and sheep are
bought at the Falkirk trysts, and fattened during winter
and the early part of spring. The latter branch of traffic
is yearly extending. The indigenous breed of cattle is still
the Galloway, although not always pure and unmixed. Of
heavy or drove cattle, about 20,000 head are driven south
annually, and their value in good years amounts to nearly
L.200,000. Of the sheep fattened no census has yet been
given, from the circumstance that they are mostly convey¬
ed in steam-boats. Mutton has risen in price in the home
markets; and there can be no doubt that steam naviga¬
tion is rapidly equalizing prices in town and country. The
sheep are of three kinds; black-faced, Cheviots, and half-
breds, the latter beingacross between the Leicester and the
262
D U M
Dumfries. Cheviot. Until 1820, hardly a single half-bred appear-
ed at Loekerby Hill; now, however, they are quite com¬
mon, and appear to be gaining as fast on the Cheviots as
the latter are gaining on the black-faced. Pig husban¬
dry is much cultivated in Dumfries-shire and Galloway;
and a large proportion of the hogs reared in the stewartry
are sold in Dumfries, and cured in Annandale and Cum¬
berland. The curing trade lasts for about three months,
commencing in December and ending in February. The
sales are all paid in ready money, and instances have oc¬
curred in which green pork to the amount of L.6000 has
been sold before breakfast on a Wednesday morning. The
curers have good and bad seasons; but the capital re¬
quired induces caution, and it is a fact that bankruptcy is
nearly unknown among the bacon traders of the district.
The hams of Dumfriesshire are so much esteemed that
they are frequently sold in London under the name of
Westphalian. Those who farm pendicles trust mainly to
their pigs when rent-day comes round; and the trade
every year brings L.3000 into Johnstone, which is equal
to the landed rental of the parish. Its annual value to
the district, including the curer’s profit, must be very
nearly L. 100,000 sterling.
The manufactures of the county are dressed leather,
hosiery, clogs, and carpets. The cotton mill at Langholm
has ceased to work, and such weavers as remain there
are supplied with webs by the manufacturers of Carlisle.
In Dumfries and other parts of the district the same
class of persons derives employment from the city of
Glasgow^. The hosiery trade exceeds L.20,000 per annum,
and that of dressed leather is probably double this amount.
The carpet and spinning and dyeing manufactory at Cra-
wick Mill, in the neighbourhood of Sanquhar, employs 150
persons, young and middle aged. It consumes nearly 5000
stones of wool, and produces 70,000 yards of carpeting
yearly. The wages average from L.180 to L.200 monthly.
Although, as we have already remarked, Dumfriesshire
is mountainous, its lakes are inferior to those of Galloway,
both as to number and extent. We must make an excep¬
tion, however, in favour of the Castle Loch of Lochmaben.
Bruce’s castle stood on a promontory on the farther side of
the loch ; but it is so much dilapidated that such artists as
sketch it contrive to hide the nakedness of bare unashlared
walls by the enlivening screen of green trees. In some of
the lakes a singular fish is found, which naturalists term the
yendace, and which is supposed to be peculiar to this place,
if we except, perhaps, the lake of Geneva. At the
“ four towns of Hightae,” in the neighbourhood, King Ro¬
bert granted feus to a class of persons who were known
as “ the king’s kindly tenants.” Their possessions are
small, but the land is rich, and they sit at almost a no¬
minal rent. They are a peculiar race, who live in a little
world of their own, and are beginning to feel the effects
of continued isolation and intermarriage among the mem¬
bers of their own tribe. Loch Skene, about ten miles
from Moffat, is the only other lake of consequence. It is
1300 feet above the level of the sea; the scenery around
is stern and savage in a high degree; and its superfluous
waters, in escaping to the strath or valley below, foam and
leap from the dizzying heights above, and form the fine
cascade called the gray mares tail.
Considerable quantities of salmon are caught in the Nith,
and in the stake-nets at Caerlavcrock and Annan Water
Foot. The finny tribes push into other streams, such as
the Milk, the Lsk, the Ewes, and the Wauchope; and in
former times were speared in Moffat water. The supply
of red fish is augmented by importations from Galloway.
I he lower parts of Dumfriesshire consist of various va¬
rieties of sandstone, the layers of which generally dip to
the Solway. There is a considerable body of limestone, as
D U M
we have already observed. Iron in different forms is also Durr
found in the strata. Marl abounds in various parts, and '
of freestone and whinstone there is abundance every¬
where. Marble is also procured, and employed for some
purposes; a little slate is likewise found. Coal in con¬
siderable quantities exists at the two extremities of the
county, Sanquhar and Langholm ; and, with one or two
exceptions, all the pits belong to the Duke of Buc-
cleuch. Lengthened land-carriage prevents the tacks¬
men from competing with the coal miners of England •
and consequently the town of Dumfries and many parts'
of the county are supplied with fuel from Workington
and Maryporb The trade employs a considerable amount
of tonnage. The lead mines at Wanlockhead and Lead-
hills belong to the Duke of Buccleuch and the Earl of
Hopetoun. Their capabilities at present are nearly
equal, but both have declined greatly, from the impor¬
tation of Spanish lead, the increased difficulty of work¬
ing the shafts, and the poverty of the ore. For thirty
years previously to 1828 each of the places mentioned pro¬
duced about 700 tons of smelted lead annually; the price
was L.23 per ton, and the gross revenue L.20,700. The
Duke of Buccleuch and the Earl of Hopetoun received a
sixth part each of the produce as rent, and netted respec¬
tively L.3450 per annum. Both have reduced the rent;
the first to one twelfth, and the second to one eighth of
the produce; and their incomes from this source have
fallen to L.700 and L.1000 annually. Neither mine at
present produces more than 650 tons of smelted lead an¬
nually, and the price has fallen to L.13 per ton. The
consequences may be anticipated. Wanlockhead and
Leadhills are no longer what they were, whether as re¬
gards the numbers, the comfort, or the intelligence of the
mining population.
The mineral waters of Moffat are well known, but the
spas in other parts of the county are too obscure to re¬
quire special notice. The chalybeate at Hartfell acts as
a powerful tonic, and contains, of sulphate of iron eighty-
four grains, sulphate of alumina twelve, oxide of iron fif¬
teen, and five inches of azotic gas, in a wine gallon. This
spring was discovered about eighty years ago, but is too
remote from the village to be of much use. The other
spring, which is much more accessible, is strongest and best
at the fountain-head, and probably the walk or ride (about a
mile and a half) does as much good to invalids as the wa¬
ter. The Moffat Spa contains, muriate of soda thirty-six
grains, sulphuretted hydrogen gas ten cubic inches, azotic
gas four inches, carbonic acid gas five inches. More than
two centuries have elapsed since this spring was discover¬
ed. A few years ago baths, with a pump and reading-
room, were erected by subscription in Moffat, at an ex¬
pense of L.2000; an immense improvement, which has
greatly increased the annual number of visitors. Annan,
Lockeroy, and Langholm, are all thriving, well-built towns.
Ihe scenery of the latter place is much admired, particu-
larly the ride along the banks of the Esk to Longtown.
Ihe county sends one member to parliament, and the
united burghs of Dumfries, Annan, Lochmaben, Sanquhar,
and Kirkcudbright, a second. The population amounted
in 1821 to /0,878, and in 1831 to 73,770, increase 2892.
Dumfries, the capital of the above county, is a royal
burgh of considerable antiquity, although the period at
which it became incorporated is not exactly known. Dur¬
ing the border wars it was frequently stormed, and the
public records were destroyed. The current belief, how¬
ever, is, that it received its charter before the middle of the
eleventh century, as a gravestone was discovered a num¬
ber of years ago, bearing the date 1079, and mentioning
that the individual whose ashes it covered had been con¬
spicuous as a merchant and burgess of the town. From
D U M
] mfries. this time it gradually increased in importance ; and in the
y.yw' year 1307, Edward the Second appointed the estates of
Scotland to assemble on the banks of the Nith. In cer¬
tain chronicles the ancient name of the town is said to
have been Cotiac, but this we suspect is mere fancy. It
seems much more probable that, like many other places,
it derived its name from its physical appearances and cha¬
racter. In remote times the Gaelic was spoken on both
sides of the Frith of Forth ; and we concur in the etymo¬
logy of Mr George Chalmers, who conceives the word to
be composed of dun a castle, and /Wes a ridge. Dumfries,
which may be regarded as the capital of the south of Scot¬
land, is beautifully situated on the left bank of the river
Nith, thirty-five miles below its source, and upwards of ten
above the point where its waters mingle with and are lost
in the Solway. The Nith in point of size ranks fifth among
the rivers of Scotland, and is navigable from Carsethorn
to Glencaple quay, even for vessels of considerable burthen.
In consequence of the extraordinary manner in which the
tides ebb and flow in the Solway during the winter months,
the river is similarly aifected.
The origin of the town appears to have been owing to
a strong castle, which flourished as a border fortress dur¬
ing the twelfth century, and frequently became an object
of contention, both prior and subsequent to the times
of Wallace and Bruce. Of this stronghold not a ves¬
tige remains ; but the street occupying the ground on
which it stood retains the name, and is likely to do so till
the latest ages. In razing what remained of this place of
strength, the local authorities, more than a century ago,
found materials for building the new church. The Gray
Friars, like the castle, attracted settlers; and, as early as
the thirteenth century, the old bridge was planned and
built at the expense of the Lady Devorgilla, third daugh¬
ter of Alan, lord of Galloway, and grandmother to John
Cumin, who was slain by Robert Bruce in the above-men¬
tioned cathedral in the beginning of the year 1305. Origi¬
nally it consisted of thirteen arches, and was guarded at
the middle by a gate or port, which was removed in 1709, to
lessen the central pressure when the structure became frail.
This bridge, which still remains, and is crossed every day
by foot passengers, was certainly a wonderful erection for
the time; and, accordingly, the writer of a work entitled
A Journey through Scotland, published by J. Pemberton,
London, in 1723, says, “ I passed the river Nith from
Galloway to Dumfries over a fair stone bridge of thirteen
arches, the finest I saw in Britain next to London and Ro¬
chester.” A right of toll was attached to the bridge, which
in 1789, according to Captain Grose, yielded a yearly
rental of three hundred pounds, and which at the present
day, a little higher up the river, produces to the town
five hundred pounds sterling. The new bridge was com¬
menced in 1793, and finished in 1795. The original con¬
tract price was L.4500, but as no rock could be found at
one point, the landstool on the Dumfries side was found¬
ed on piles of wood, and for this the commissioners of
supply allowed an additional sum of L.500.
After Bruce had committed the crime already mention¬
ed, and commenced that career which terminated at last
in the redemption of his country from a foreign yoke, he
became a mark for the vengeance of Edward of England.
His friends and adherents also suffered along with him.
Amongst these, Sir Christopher Seaton was betrayed by a
pretended friend of the name of Macnab, apprehended at
the Castle of Lochore in Fifeshire, marched to Dumfries,
and barbarously executed on the Gallows-Hill, a slight
eminence on the north-eastern side of the town, better
known by the name of the Christell Chapel. Bruce sin¬
cerely regretted his fate, and, in the words of Sir Richard
Maitland of Lethington, said, “ ‘ It is ane pity that sa noble
D U M 263
ane knight should die sa cruel ane dead.’ And inconti- Dumfries,
nent in the same place where he was standing when the
tidings came to him, garred found a chapel in honour of
tile Virgin Mary; and, in remembrance of the said Sir
Christell, founded a priest to devine service therein per¬
petually, and pray for the said Sir Christell; and gave to
the said priest and his successors the sum of L.5 sterling,
to be taken of the barony of Carlaverock, for their sustena-
tion. I he ruins of the Christell Chapel were visible in
the beginning of 1715; but when the Jacobite rebellion
broke out in Scotland, the inhabitants of Dumfries hastily
constructed a rampart, and during the operation the ruins
of the old chapel disappeared, the line of fortification
having passed close by their site. It is evident, from the
traces of the foundation, that the building must have been
very small. When Lord Scroop made an excursion in
1570 for the purpose of plunder, the chief magistrate of
Dumfries, at the head of the burgesses, joined Lord Max¬
well in opposing the invaders. They fought gallantly, but
were unfortunately defeated. Dumfries suffered consider¬
ably during the reigns of Charles the First and Second.
In 1617 it was visited by James the Sixth whilst returning
to England. It was at this period that the incorporated
trades received from James what is called the “ siller gun,”
which was ordered to be shot for at stated periods, with
the view of fostering their martial spirit, and skill in the
exercises performed at the wappinshaw. This relic is still
in existence, and the custom is yet observed at the dis¬
tance of seven or nine years, more as a holiday exercise
than for any other purpose. The trades muster in great
strength, borrow guns far and wide, spend three fourths
of the day in shooting, return to an entertainment in their
hall in the evening; and the “ siller gun,” after being won,
is worn for a short period by the best marksman. This
festival forms the subject of a poem, written by Mr John
Mayne, and which is praised for its humour and spirit in
the notes appended to the Lady of the Lake.
Almost no town in Scotland stood forward half so pro¬
minently as Dumfries did at the period of the union in
1707. On the 20th of November of the preceding year,
according to Chalmers, two hundred Cameronians entered
the burgh, issued a manifesto against the great pending
measure, and burnt the articles at the market-cross. The
last cofnmotion of any consequence occurred in 1715,
when the Viscount Kenmure hung on the heights of Ten-
waid, willing to do mischief, and yet timid as to the means
and manner of attack. By a well-managed stratagem he
was induced to depart; and this is believed to have been
the last occasion on which the ancient war-cry of the town,
“ Lereburn,” or “ A Lereburn,” was heard.
Dumfries is the seat of a presbytery, synod, sheriff’s
court, record of sasines, and four banks, branches of the
principal companies of Scotland. There are two churches
in connection with the establishment, an episcopalian, a
catholic, and a number of other chapels supported by dis¬
senters.
In 1745, the Pretender and his rebel army, whilst re¬
treating from England, paid a domiciliary visit to the town
of Dumfries; and for a misdemeanour committed against
some of his followers on their march southward, the town
was compelled to pay a fine, which amounted altogether
to L.4000 sterling. In 1750, however, the crown granted -
to Dumfries L.2800 out of a forfeited estate.
Hosiery, leather, hats, wooden shoes, and baskets, are
the only manufactures worth naming in Dumfries. Cot¬
ton checks at one time were woven on speculation in con¬
siderable quantities; but the trade has declined. The
stocking trade gives employment to about 300 persons, and
produces annually not less than L.20,000 sterling. The
tanning trade, as regards money, is also considerable. An
264
D U M
BUM
Dumfries, extensive grazing district is fertile in hides, notwithstand-
ing the great number of bullocks that are driven south;
and in good years dressed leather brings a return amount¬
ing to about L.30,000. Wooden shoes or clogs were long
peculiar to Dumfriesshire and the lower part of Gallo¬
way; but the trade is increasing, and promotes greatly
the health of such as are exposed to outdoor labour. Of
these shoes more than L.1000 worth are annually disposed
of in Dumfries alone.
In the year 1831 the tonnage of Dumfries stood as
follows: Foreign vessels inwards 1071 tons, coasting do.
20,463, goods 6320, coal 11,461, and lime 219; income
to the commissioners of navigation L.870. 12s. 8d. In
the same year vessels that cleared outwards paid duty on
5123 tons register, and on goods 2735 tons. Foreign ves¬
sels are charged at the rate of sixpence per ton, coasters
twopence; goods one shilling and twopence, and lime and
coal sixpence. The united income of the commissioners
in the year above mentioned amounted to L.1072. 17s. 4d.
The exports consist chiefly of grain, bark, wool, and ho¬
siery; and the imports of coal, timber, and goods.
The infirmary was built more than fifty years ago, and
the hospital or poor-house in 1753. Both are well en¬
dowed, though supported partly by subscriptions; and the
former expends fully L.1000 annually on medicine and
other necessary outlays. The infirmary, since the time
it was founded, has received in the shape of donations
L.18,000, and the hospital L.6000; and the expenditure
of the latter is about L.600 annually. In connection with
such institutions, it may be noticed that the town was
some time since left nearly L.100,000 to be employed for
charitable purposes. Dumfries possesses an excellent aca¬
demy, where Greek, Latin, French, English, mathematics,
geography, drawing, &c. are taught. It has also a very
handsome theatre. In 1826 a gas-work was erected in
Dumfries, and has since flourished well. There is a week¬
ly market, which is held on Wednesday, when a great
deal of business is transacted.
Since the year 1817, Dumfries has improved rapidly in
appearance, although nearly stationary as to population.
The High Street, which is broad and spacious, is one con¬
tinued series of shops, which are nearly as handsome as
the same description of buildings in Edinburgh or Glasgow.
St Michael’s church-yard attracts the notice of all stran¬
gers. It is to a great extent a city of tombs, and has been
frequently referred to as the Westminster of Scotland.
Many of the monuments are very beautiful; and amongst
these there is a sumptuous one over the ashes of the ce¬
lebrated poet Burns.
Ihe situation of Dumfries is admired by all tourists.
With the exception of the point where it dips to the ocean,
it is surrounded by a chain of hills, many of which are
green to the top, and undulate in a very pleasing manner.
In point of latitude, Dumfries is nearly a degree farther
south than Edinburgh, and considerably more than a de¬
gree in climate. The chilling east winds which prevail so
much on the east coast of Scotland are but little felt on
the banks of the Nith ; and pulmonary complaints, though
not unknown, are comparatively unfrequent.
In 1831 the population of Dumfries, burgh and parish,
was returned at 11,606 souls, being an increase on the
preceding census of 554. Apart from the landward part
of the parish, Dumfries contains about 9500 inhabitants.
In Troqueer, on the opposite side of the river, the present
population is 4665; but here again there is a distinction
between the burgh and the parish, Maxwelltown contain¬
ing above 3000 inhabitants, and the country part of Tro¬
queer little more than 1000. Both localities are recog¬
nized in law, the one being a royal, and the other a burgh
of barony of some standing; and as they are merely di¬
vided by a running stream spanned by two stone bridges,
they may be considered as forming parts of the same
town. The population in round numbers is 13,000.
DUMONT, Etienne, or Stephen, the friend, and of¬
ten the Mentor, of Mirabeau, the redacteur of the princi¬
pal works of Jeremy Bentham, and one of the most re¬
markable men of his time, was born in the month of July
1759 at Geneva, of which his family had been citizens of
good repute from the days of Calvin. Shortly after his
birth his father died, leaving a widow and five children
wholly unprovided for. But the good widow, though
placed in such destitute circumstances, and supported by
little except the courage inspired by maternal affection,
found means to educate her children in a place where ne¬
cessary knowledge was accessible, and poverty not dis¬
graceful. Induced by an anticipation of future eminence,
seldom more happily realized, she accordingly contrived to
send Stephen to the College of Geneva, where he justified
her determination and the sacrifices necessary to carry it
into effect, not only by his ability and proficiency, but by
the virtuous purpose to which he turned his earliest attain¬
ments ; for ere long, he not only defrayed the cost of his
own education, but even contributed to the support of the
family, by assisting the private studies of his comrades in
the capacity of repetiteur; an office somewhat resembling
that of a private tutor in our academical system, and hav¬
ing for its object to prepare the students for examination
in the public class, by “ grinding” them on the contents
of the preceding lecture. Having completed his acade¬
mical course, he took clerical orders ; and in the year 1781
he was chosen one of the pastors of the city, where his ta¬
lents as a preacher soon attracted general notice, and gave
promise of his becoming one of the most brilliant and per¬
suasive of pulpit orators. But the political troubles which
disturbed Geneva in 1782 suddenly turned the course of
his life into a different channel.
Two parties of opposite principles, one being attached to
the authority of the magistrates, and the other anxious to
extend the privileges of the people, but most widely sepa¬
rated as to the extension or limitation of the right of suf¬
frage, had long divided that republic ; and the disputes of
these parties gained lustre from Jean-Jacques Rousseau,
the most wayward, moody, and perverse of all the men of
genius who have approached the borders of insanity, which,
indeed, he appears more than once to have overpassed.
The more liberal party received the name of representans,
or petitioners, from a representation presented by them
against the legality of the proceedings of the magistrates
respecting the writings and person of that celebrated but
unhappy man; whilst, on the other hand, the magistrates,
who refused the prayer of the petition, and their adhe¬
rents who supported them in this refusal, were thencefor¬
ward called the negatives. During twenty years a strug¬
gle had been maintained between these parties with va¬
rious success, but without bloodshed, though certainly not
without violence. At length, in the autumn of 1782,
when the petitioners had gained the ascendency, the
courts of Versailles and Turin, in concert with the canton
of Berne, surrounded Geneva with an armed force, and,
under pretence of some ancient guarantees, imposed anew
constitution on the republic, and at the same time com¬
pelled the leaders of the representative party to fly from
their country.
Dumont was not included in the proscription. But his
heart had been touched with the love of liberty; he could
endure chains nowhere patiently, and chains at home,
where he was free by birthright, not at all. He therefore
became a voluntary exile, and went to join his mother and
sisters at St Petersburg, a city to which many Genevese
had carried their honourable patrimony of ability and
Dm
DUMONT.
265
’ t knowledge. In this he was probably influenced in part by
1 the example of his townsman Lefort, who was the first
W tutor, minister, and general of the Czar At St Peters¬
burg he became pastor of the French church, an office
he filled for eighteen months, during which time he ob¬
tained the consideration due to his great merit and excel¬
lent character. But his views were directed towards Great
Britain, where most of the Genevese exiles had taken re¬
fuge, and where some of them were actually employed in
negociating with government for permission to establish a
Swiss colony in Ireland. He left St Petersburg in 1785;
and soon after his arrival in London went to reside with
Lord Shelburne, then a minister of state, who confided to
him the education of his sons. Lord Shelburne, after¬
wards Marquis of Lansdowne, a man distinguished for
his cultivation of the society of men of letters, foreign
as well as native, soon discovered the great talents of
Dumont, who gradually became a friend, or rather mem¬
ber of the family; and it was at the house of this mi¬
nister that he became acquainted with some of the most
illustrious men of the country, amongst whom may be
mentioned Fox, Sheridan, Lord Holland, and Sir Samuel
Romilly. His connection with these and other distin¬
guished individuals, founded upon friendship, similarity
of opinions and literary occupations, and the pursuit of
great objects of public utility, gave them full opportuni¬
ties of appreciating his worth. He was generally known
as a man of profound knowledge, correct judgment, irre¬
proachable character, and brilliant wit, and esteemed for
the possession of these high and invaluable qualities, which
were exemplified throughout the whole course of his life.
About this time began his close connection with Sir
Samuel Romilly, “ a man,” says Sir James Mackintosh,
“ whose whole excellence will be little understood by the
world, until they see the narrative traced by himself of
those noble labours of self-education, by which he taught
himself every sort of ability which is necessary to serve
mankind, and still more of that self-discipline by which
he at length formed a character yet more exalted than his
genius, composed of a probably unparalleled union of ten¬
der affection with unbending principle, and producing those
dispositions towards the magnanimous and heroic which
were hidden from the vulgar by the solemn decorums of
a formal profession, and are seldom found to be capable of
breathing so long under the undisturbed surface of a well-
ordered and prosperous community. The habitual or me¬
chanical part of Romilly’s life was necessarily governed
hy those of his profession and country. The higher ele¬
ment, however, secretly and constantly blended itself with
every thought and feeling; and there were moments when
his moral heroism carried the majesty of virtue into the
souls of the perplexed and affrighted vulgar.” The friend¬
ship which united these two remarkable men increased
daily; nor did its ardour or activity cease, until death un¬
expectedly rent asunder the tie which bound them toge¬
ther, and left Dumont inconsolable for the loss of his de¬
parted friend, whom he never mentioned without tears.
There was a third in the circle, who is very strikingly
described by Sir James Mackintosh.
“ Among the closest friends of Romilly and Dumont
was George Wilson, a man little known beyond the circle
of his friends and that of his contemporaries in the pro¬
fession of the law, and one whom it would be difficult to
make known to others, without the use of that language
of vague panegyric, the abuse of which had more lowered
it in his own eyes, than even in those of most men of mo¬
desty and taste. It might be said by as unaffectedly con¬
scientious a man as himself, if such another there be, that
among those who thoroughly knew him, the degree of es¬
teem for him was always considered as exactly indicative
VOL. vm.
of the degree of sagacity and purity of the man who en- Dumont,
tertained it. Yet even he was not more upright and be-
nevolent than his two friends; though, having less vivacity
than the one and less ardour than the other, he was not so
liable to be allured by imagination from the rigid observ¬
ance of the severe maxims of that moral prudence which
is the safeguard of virtue. With a keen relish for plea¬
santry, and perfectly exempt from all gloom and harsh¬
ness, he yet shunned the amusement of Wilkes’s conver¬
sation, solely from deference to morality. WThen Mira-
beau visited England about 1786, Wilson did not follow
the example of his friends in cultivating the society of
that extraordinary man, whose ill-trained fancies were
better adapted to sudden felicities than to composition,
and whose conversation was animated by an irregular be¬
nevolence, neither smothered by the profligacy of his
youth, nor altogether extinguished by the intrigues and
corruptions of his latter years.”
In 1788 Dumont undertook a journey to Paris in com¬
pany with Romilly; and it was under the auspices of the
latter that he first became acquainted with Mirabeau.
During a sojourn of two months in the French capital, he
saw that extraordinary man almost every day; and a cer¬
tain affinity of talents and pursuits led to an intimate con¬
nection between two persons diametrically opposed to
each other in habits and in character. It was after his re¬
turn from Paris that Dumont commenced his acquaint¬
ance with Mr Bentham; a circumstance which exercised
a powerful influence over his future opinions, and, as it
were, fixed his career as a writer on legislation. Filled
with admiration for the genius of Bentham, and profound¬
ly impressed with the truth of his theory, and the impor¬
tant consequences to which it immediately led, Dumont
applied all his talents to make the writings of the great
English jurist generally known, and devoted the greater
part of his life in order to render available to the world
at large the inexhaustible store of knowledge which the
active mind of Bentham was continually increasing. We
may mention here, that the following works are the result
of that confraternity of genius, talents, and labour, which
was thus established, viz. Treatises on Legislation, publish¬
ed in 1822, in 3 vols. 8vo, now (1833) in the third edi¬
tion ; Theory of Punishments and Rewards, 2 vols. 8vo,
also in the third edition; Tactics of Legislative Assemblies,
two editions, 1815 and 1822; Judicial Evidence, publish¬
ed in 1823, second edition 1830; and. Judicial Organiza¬
tion and Codification, 1828, 8vo. Of course we make no
mention here of the numerous editions published in foreign
countries.
In the summer of 1789, that season of promise and of
hope, especially to a Genevese exile, Dumont suspended his
labours in England in order to proceed to Paris along with
his friend Duroverai, ex-attorney-general of the republic
of Geneva. The object of the journey was to obtain through
M. Necker, who had just returned to office, and by means
of the events which were then passing in France, an unre¬
stricted restoration of Genevese liberty, by cancelling the
treaty of guarantee between France and Switzerland,
which prevented the republic from enacting new laws
without the consent of the parties to this treaty. The pro¬
ceedings and negociations to which this mission gave rise,
necessarily brought Dumont into connection with most of
the leading men in the Constituent Assembly, and made
him an interested spectator, sometimes even a participator,
indirectly, in the events of the French revolution. The
same cause also led him to renew his acquaintance with
Mirabeau, whom he found occupied with his duties as a
deputy, and with the composition of his journal, the Cour-
rier do Provence, in which he was assisted by Duroverai,
Claviere, and other Genevese patriots. For a time Du-
266
DUMONT.
Dumont, mont took an active and very efficient part in the conduct
of this journal, supplying it with reports as well as origi¬
nal articles, and also furnishing Mirabeau with speeches
to be delivered or rather read in the assembly. This is
now completely established by his highly instructive and
interesting posthumous work entitled Recollections of Mira¬
beau. In fact, his friend George Wilson used to relate,
that one day, when they were dining together at a table
d hole at Versailles, he saw Dumont engaged in writing
the most celebrated paragraph of Mirabeau’s address to
the king for the removal of the troops, which was believed
to have been written by the orator himself. He also re¬
ported such of Mirabeau’s speeches as he did not write,
and, with a disinterested sacrifice of his own reputation
to the diffusion of what he considered as truth, embellish¬
ed and strengthened them from his own stores, which
were inexhaustible. But this co-operation, so valuable for
Mirabeau, and so self-devoted on the part of Dumont, was
destined soon to come to an end; for, being attacked in
pamphlets as one of Mirabeau’s writers, he felt hurt at
the notoriety thus given to his name in connection with a
man occupying Mirabeau’s peculiar position, and resolved
to return to England, which he accordingly did in 1791.
The reputation of being a subaltern writer was, as he him¬
self states, by no means flattering; and the credit of an
influential connection with a man whose character wyas far
from being untainted alarmed his delicacy. He saw that
he had no alternative but to put an end to a copartnership
of which Mirabeau was certain to reap all the advantage,
whilst the odium or discredit would alone fall to the lot of
Mirabeau s associate; and he acted upon this conviction
with a promptitude and decision worthy of his character.
In the eventful years which followed he continued to
live chiefly at Lansdowne House, or at Bowood, where
the most remarkable men of Europe as well as of Britain
were frequent and welcome guests. Latterly, he began
to form an intimate friendship with Lord Holland, whom
he had known from childhood ; and he became a member
of the society of familiar friends, the habitual visitors at
Holland House, who, during many years, saw a succession
of celebrated guests of every country, party, religion, and
of every liberal profession or station, which is likely to
continue unmatched until another house be found that
boasts such a master. “ His mind was at that time in
& most perfectly mature state, with much experience of
very memorable events, and familiar intercourse with the
most eminent men, besides an abundant store of amus¬
ing and striking anecdotes. “ He had entirely subdued
the popular and declamatory propensities which charac¬
terize youthful genius, yet without being in the least
degree withdrawn from the love of letters and the de¬
lights of society by those scientific pursuits which occu¬
pied a subsequent period.” In 1801 he travelled over
various parts of Europe with Lord Henry Petty, now Mar¬
quis of Lansdowne, and brought back a fresher acquaint¬
ance with the mental occupations of the continental na¬
tions, from whom England had for years been separated
by a wider and deeper channel than that formed by the
hand of nature. But Dumont had then opened a new
course of more serious occupations.
“ J801 he published the Traites de Legislation ; the
first fruits of his zealous labours to give order, clearness,
and vivacity, to the profound and original meditations of
Bentham, hitherto praised only by a very few patient
readers, and but little better known, even by name, to the
English than to the. European public. The extraordinary
merit of these writings, manuscript and printed, chiefly
attracted his mind towards them; inferior circumstances,
however, contributed their part to the fervour with which
he devoted himself to them. Trained in the hasty and
shallow philosophy which then reigned, metaphysical prin- Du
ciples were a novelty, in the contemplation of which he nt
was too agreeably employed to examine the solidity of
the foundation on which they rested. Wearied with the
common-places of philanthropic declamation, which pass¬
ed for philosophy, he ran with eagerness into the opposite
extreme of new terms, dry definitions, and simple princi¬
ples. The method of Bentham is undoubtedly a powerful
instrument for the discovery of truth, especially in the
juridical part of moral science. It is, however, a method
which may become more than mischievous, by the very
circumstance of its apparent perfection.
“ Supposing every other objection to that system to be
answered, it will still be evident that the value of its ap¬
plication in every particular instance must be in propor¬
tion to the exactness and completeness with which every
circumstance is enumerated that can affect the determina¬
tion of the question. But the enumeration is not complete,
merely because the names of all such circumstances are
enumerated. It is not thus that the philosopher proceeds
in those sciences where the success is uncontested. He
calculates the degree of every force that acts on a body;
he ascertains the proportion of every element which goes'
to make up a compound; and an error in either of these
respects is, in truth and effect, a want of exact and com¬
plete enumeration, which may lead to the most false re¬
sults. Such mistakes in the physical sciences are easily
detected. In the moral sciences it is extremely easy to
seem to form a complete theory by such general and vague
inductions, because the means of quick and palpable de¬
tection are wanting. Wherever analysis is really exhaus¬
tive, it is the most perfect of instruments; but where it
only reaches a semblance of exactness, it produces or per¬
petuates error in the exact proportion of its seeming ap¬
proach to truth. There is no remedy against this dan¬
gerous distemper but the habit of never forgetting that,
in each case, the main question always must be, ‘ How
much of each enumerated cause is likely to act in the in¬
stance before me ?’ No show of accuracy, no superiority
of method, can dispense with this question, or enable any
man to answer it otherwise than by approximation. But
with these high and arduous matters we must not deal
more largely in this place. The talent with which M.
Dumont performed his task is as generally acknowledged
as the perfect disinterestedness which led him to employ
so much talent in expounding the opinions and enlivening
the reasoning of others. It is due to him to say, that he
always considered the system as a model, to be always
consulted and approached, but never imposed without a
cautious regard to circumstances. It must also be ob¬
served, that however entirely he adopted the speculations,
delighted in the method, and even acquiesced in the lan¬
guage of Bentham, that for which he really felt a warm
zeal, and consecrated the labour of his life, was the prac¬
tical establishment of that grand reformation of law, which
owes indeed much to the writings of Bentham, and to the
discussions which they daily contribute to spread and
keep up, but which, so far from being peculiar to him, is
zealously supported by those who dissent from his moral
theories, and was common to him, at least in that more
obvious part of it which relates to criminal law, with the
philosophers of the eighteenth century, who pursued the
same object, though with less distinctness of view, less
precision of language, and less knowledge of the abuses
to be reformed. I he mind of Dumont moved onward
with that of the reformers of jurisprudence throughout
Europe. He does not needlessly question the singulari¬
ties of his venerable master; but his attachment was to
the main stock of reforming principle. Those who knew
him need not be reminded, that if his principles have any
D U M
’ nt tendency to a cold and low morality, they were in that
^ ^ respect altogether defeated by the nature of Dumont; a
man of the utmost simplicity and frankness, of a most un¬
usually affectionate and generous disposition. A man of
so much letters and wit could not have worked into his
practical nature any indifference to art and accomplish¬
ment, to real learning, or to the only eloquence which de¬
serves the name.”
In 1814 the restoration of Geneva to independence in¬
duced Dumont to return to his native place, which he
loved with that fervour which can only be felt by the ci¬
tizen of a small republic. He was immediately chosen a
member of the supreme council, and by conciliating op¬
ponents, moderating partizans, and gaining the confidence
and respect of all, he became in time its chief leader
and ornament, as he would have been in more conspicu¬
ous and powerful assemblies. At the time of his death
he had completed a code of law, which, as chairman of
a committee appointed for that purpose, it would have
been his duty to present to the supreme council on its
assembling after its vacation ; but at the moment when he
was thus about to engrave his name on the annals of his
beloved country, and to honour her, by rendering her, as
he hoped, an example to Europe, he was cut off in the full
vigour of his faculties, and on the eve of their most con¬
spicuous exertion. In the autumn of 1829 he undertook
a tour of pleasure, or rather of relaxation, to the north of
Italy, in company with one of his friends, M. Bellamy Au-
bert; and his family were impatiently expecting his re¬
turn when they received the tidings of his death. He
died at Milan, in October 1829, in the seventy-first year
of his age.
Dumont was wholly untainted by political or philoso¬
phical bigotry, which has corrupted so many of those who
inveigh against every form of that vice. His friends at
Geneva, at Paris, or in London, were very far from sharing
his peculiar opinions. Surrounded by fifty-three nephews
or nieces in the first or second degree, the issue or pro¬
geny of three sisters, he treated them with a patriarchal
tenderness very foreign from the scorn of some Epicu¬
reans for “ the charities of father, son, and brother.” In
his will he leaves legacies to all; touchingly assuring them
that they must not measure his kindness by his bequests.
In every instance of the youngest child, he seems, with
the most affectionate solicitude, to have weighed the needs
and desires of each, and to have considered all their little
claims as worthy of conscientious consideration. His will,
which is dated in May 1826, opens with an acknowledg¬
ment worthy of him. “ I begin this testamentary disposi¬
tion by an act of gratitude towards God, for having bless¬
ed me with a peaceable and independent life, which has
owed its chief happiness to the charm of study and the
enjoyments of friendship.” Such was Dumont, a pattern
of wisdom and goodness, the like of which it is seldom
indeed given us to contemplate, in the ordinary course of
this rude and selfish world. (Notice of M. Dumont by Sir
James Mackintosh, Foreign Quarterly Review, No. ix.;
Recollections of Mirabeau, preface; Bibliotheque Univer-
selle, November 1829; Revue Encyclopedique, vol. xiv. p.
258.) (a.)
Dumont, John, a well-known publicist, was born in
1 ranee in the seventeenth century. He followed the pro¬
fession of arms, but not obtaining promotion so rapidly as
he expected, he quitted the service, and travelled through
different parts of Europe. He stopped in Holland with the
intention of there publishing an account of his travels. But
in the interval, at the request of his bookseller, he wrote
and published several pamphlets, which were eagerly sought
atter, by reason of the unceremonious manner in which
be treated the ministry of France, This freedom having
DUN 267
deprived him of all hope of employment in his own coun- Dumpalis
try, he now thought of forming a permanent establishment II
in that wrhere he resided; and the knowdedge which he Dun.
had already acquired of the relations and interests of differ-
ent nations having led him to entertain the idea of opening
a course of lectures on public law, he lost no time in carry¬
ing it into effect. The project succeeded far beyond his
expectations ; and some useful compilations which he pub¬
lished about the same period made him favourably known
in foreign countries. The emperor of Germany appointed
him his historiographer, and some time afterwards confer¬
red on him the title of Baron de Carlscroun. He died at
Vienna in 1726, at an advanced age. Dumont wrote with
facility, but his style is deficient in vigour and correctness ;
nevertheless, his works are esteemed as containing a great
number of documents valuable for history. The following
is a list of the works published by Dumont: 1. Nouveau
Voyage au Levant, Hague, 1694, reprinted under the title
of Voyages en France, en Italic, en Allemagne, a Malte et
en Turquie, Hague, 1699, 4 vols. 12mo; 2. Memoires Po-
litiques pour servir a la parfaite intelligence de I'Histoire de
la Paix de Rysivick, Hague, 1699, 4 vols. 12mo; 3. Me¬
moires sur la Guerre presente (1700), Hague, 1703, 12mo,
reprinted under the title of Recherches modestes des Causes
de la presente Guerre, en ce qui concerne les Provinces Unies,
1713, 12mo ; 4. Recueil de Trades d'alliance, de paix, et de
commerce entre les Rois, Princes, et Etats, depuis la paix de
Munster, Amsterdam, 1710, 2 vols. 12mo; 5. Soupirs de
VEurope d la vue du projet de paix contenu dans la harangue
de la reine de la Grande-Bretagne, 1712, 12mo ; 6. Corps
Universel Diplomatique du Droit des Gens, contenant un
Recueil des Trades de paix, d'cdliance, etc. fads en Eu¬
rope, depuis Charlemagne jusqud present, Amsterdam,
1626, and following years, 8 vols. fol. continued after Du¬
mont’s death by J. Rousset; and 7. Battailles gagnees par
le Prince Eugene de Savoie, Hague, 1723. To the Corps
Universel Diplomatique du Droit des Gens ought to be
subjoined, EHistoire des anciens Trades jusqu d Charle¬
magne, by Barbeyrac, 1739, in 2 vols. folio; 2. Supple¬
ment au Corps Diplomatique, avec le ceremonial des Cours
de VEurope, collected by Dumont, and arranged by Rous¬
set, 1739, in 3 vols. fol.; 3. Histoire des Trades de Paix
du dix-septieme Siecle, by St Priest, 1725, in 4 vols. folio.
Dumont was also the author of Lettres Historiques conte¬
nant ce qui se passe de plus important en Europe, 12mo.
This periodical, which was commenced in 1692, and two
volumes of which appeared annually, Dumont conducted
till 1710, from which time it was continued by Basnage,
with the aid of several collaborateurs, until 1728. The
earlier volumes are much esteemed. (a.)
DUMPALIS, a spacious bay on the west coast of the
island of Celebes, into which flow two considerable rivers.
Good anchorage is found here, and the bay is much re¬
sorted to on account of the great quantity of fish which
are found in it. At the bottom of this bay is situated the
town of Dumpalis, which has a considerable trade. The
inland merchants bring gold dust and a particular drug,
which they dispose of to the inhabitants in the town, re¬
ceiving in return tobacco, opium, white cloths, iron knives,
and creeses. The natives here fight with poisoned barbed
arrows, blown out of black ebony tubes; and are sure to
kill at the distance of twenty yards.
DUN, or Burgh, the name of an ancient species of
building, of a circular form, common in the Orkney and
Zetland Islands, the Hebrides, and the northern parts of
Scotland. The latter term points out the founders, who at
the same time bestowed on them their native name of borg,
a Sueo-Gothic word signifying a defence or castle; and the
Highlanders universally apply to these places the Celtic
name dun, signifying a hill defended by a tower, which
268
DUN
V
DUN
Dunaburg plainly points out their use. They are confined to the
II countries once subject to the crown of Norway. With
,_U1—- few exceptions, they are built within sight of the sea, and
several of them within sight of each other; so that, on a
signal by fire, by flag, or by trumpet, they could give
notice of approaching danger, and afford mutual support.
In the Orkney and Zetland Islands they are most fre¬
quently called wart or toard hills, which shows that they
were garrisoned. They had their wardmadher, or watch¬
man, a sort of sentinel, who stood on the top, and chal¬
lenged all who came in sight. The gackman was an offi¬
cer of the same kind, who not only had to watch against
surprise, but was also bound to give notice if he saw any
ships in distress. He was allowed a large horn of gene¬
rous liqunr, which he had always by him, to keep up his
spirits. Along the Orkney and Zetland shores they al¬
most formed a chain, and by that means not only kept the
natives in subjection, but were situated commodiously for
covering the landing of their countrymen, who were per¬
petually roving on piratical expeditions. These towers
were even made use of as state prisons ; for we learn from
Torfseus, that after Sueno had surprised Paul, count of
Caithness, he carried him into Sutherland, and confined
him there in a Norwegian tower. Out of this kingdom
no buildings similar to these are to be found anywhere,
except in Scandinavia. On the mountain of Swalberg
in Norway is one; on the Stir-biskop, at Upsal, in Swe¬
den, is another; and on Umsborg, in the same kingdom,
is a third.
These towers vary in their inner structure, but exter¬
nally they are universally the same, though some have an
addition of strength on the outside. The burgh of Culs-
wick, in Zetland, notwithstanding it is built on the top of
a hill, is surrounded with a dry ditch thirteen feet broad;
that of Snaburgh, in Unst, has both a wet and a dry ditch,
the first being cut with great labour through the solid rock.
The burgh of Moura is surrounded by a wall, now redu¬
ced to a heap of stones, and the inside is cylindrical,
not tapering, as is usual with others. The burgh of Hog-
ster, upon an isle in a loch of the same name, has also the
addition of a wall; a peculiarity in a causeway to join it
to the main land, and a singular internal structure. Num¬
bers of little burghs, with single cells, are scattered about
these islands, in the neighbourhood of the greater, and
were probably built by the poorer sort of people, in order
to enjoy their protection. A multitude of places in these
islands have the addition of burgh to their names, not¬
withstanding there is not a vestige of a tower near them,
the materials having long since been carried away and
applied to various uses.
DUNABURG, a circle in the Russian government of
Witebsk or Witepsk, formerly a part of Lithuania. It is
bounded on the north by Livonia, on the east by Resitka,
on the south-east by Wilna, and on the west by Courland.
It is watered by the Diina, which is joined by other
streams, and fertilizes the land, which is highly productive
of rye and flax, and maintains a large stock of cattle. It
contains three cities, one town, and 1078 villages, with a
population in 1797 of 47,785, in 1827 of 61,500 inhabi¬
tants. The extent is 328 square miles, or 190,000 acres.
The chief city, of the same name, is situated on the Dima.
It was formerly fortified. It contains a Greek and a
Catholic church, and 4000 inhabitants.
DUNBAR, a royal burgh, post, and market town of
Scotland, in the county of Haddington, is pleasantly si¬
tuated on a gentle acclivity rising from the shores of the
German Ocean, near the mouth of the Frith of Forth. It
consists of one main street, which runs the length of the
town, with several others of smaller dimensions which
intersect it. I he whole has a neat and commodious ap¬
pearance. Dunbar is a place of considerable antiquity, Di
and, there is reason to believe, was built by the Piets. R W
originated in a castle, once of great strength and import¬
ance as a bulwark for the defence of this route into Scot¬
land, against the invasion of the English. The site of the
fortress was well chosen both for defence and convenience.
The coast is here bold, and studded with rocky islets along
and within the margin of the sea ; and these in early times
afforded room for the battlemented walls of a fort, which
gradually increased by connection with the adjoining land
and with the islets by walls of great strength. It was thus
admirably adapted to receive succour by sea, or allow the
escape of its keepers with impunity. We find it men¬
tioned as early as the year 856, and subsequently it stands
conspicuously prominent in the various conflicts in which
Scotland was embroiled. It endured several memorable
sieges, the most remarkable of which was that by the
English in 1337, when it was defended by a female mem¬
ber of the Douglas family. The place is now a total ruin.
The harbour and quay of Dunbar are on a confined plan!
and the usual depth of water is scarcely sufficient to float
vessels of 250 or 300 tons burden. The main evil of the
port arises from the existence of various craggy islets
and sunken rocks near the entrance, which renders the
navigation somewhat dangerous. Contiguous to the inner
parts of the harbour are some large granaries and store¬
houses, a small graving dock, and other conveniences for
shipping, which, however, exists here, to a very limit¬
ed extent. There is a market on Tuesday, and there
are two fairs annually. Formerly Dunbar was famous for
its herring fishery, but that branch of trade has now al¬
most totally disappeared. The manufactories of the town
are a soap-work, an iron foundery, and a manufactory of
steam engines. I here is also here some small trade in
corn. The most remarkable house in Dunbar is a large
plain mansion, situated at the west end of the town, the
property and residence of the family of Lauderdale. In
1819 a handsome new church was erected upon the old
site, which was founded in the fourteenth centur}'. The
new building is in the semi-gothic style, and is internally
commodiously and elegantly fitted up. Besides this place
of worship, there are two Seceder meeting-houses and a
Methodist chapel. There are two public besides several
private seminaries of education in the town ; and the cha¬
ritable and other institutions are also extensive. The
town is governed by a provost and three bailies, a trea¬
surer, town-clerk, and chamberlain, with fifteen members
of council. The annual revenue of the burgh is about
L.1300. Dunbar lies twenty-eight miles almost due east
from Edinburgh. The population, including the country
part of the parish, amounted in 1831 to 4735.
Dunbar, William, the most eminent of all the early
Scotish poets, appears to have been born about the middle
of the fifteenth century. Notwithstanding the high reputa¬
tion which he enjoyed among hiscontemporaries,therecords
of his personal history and character are extremely scanty;
and although he belonged to the church, his progress is
not to be traced by successive preferments. He describes
himself as a native of Lothian. Kennedy represents him
as related to the earl of March ; but this perhaps is only
to be considered as a poetical fiction, introduced for the
purpose of heightening his invective. His latest biogra¬
pher however supposes that he may' have been the grand¬
son of Sir Patrick Dunbar of Beill in the county of Had¬
dington, a younger son of George the tenth earl of March.
“ 1 his Sir Patrick,” we are informed, “ signalized him¬
self on many occasions, and was one of the hostages for
James the hirst in 1426; and it also appears from an ori¬
ginal charter, dated August 10th, 1440, that one of his
sons was named William, who in all probability was either
ar.
DUN
rhbar. the father or uncle of the poet. No other person of the
ur*"' same baptismal name can be traced during the whole of
that century; and as such names generally run in families,
the circumstance of our author’s alleged descent from the
carls of March, in connection with his own avowal respect¬
ing his birth-place, adds some strength to the conjecture
of his being the grandson of Sir Patrick Dunbar of Beill.”1
During the present age, the births, marriages, and deaths
of persons possessing little property and less distinction
may in a great variety of instances be very easily traced ;
but as the same diurnal records did not exist in the fif¬
teenth century, it is only where names are connected
with property, rank, or office, that in most cases we can
succeed in an attempt to discover the outlines of private
or domestic history. Neither the name nor the surname
was uncommon : at that period Scotland certainly con¬
tained many Williams and many Dunbars; and if nu¬
merous instances of this combination of name and sur¬
name have not been detected, it is not difficult to assign a
reason.
In the year 1477, William Dunbar of St Salvator’s
College took the degree of A. B. in the university of St
Andrews ; and as the statutes required the candidate to
be of three years standing, he must have been matricu¬
lated in 1474. In 1479 he took the degree of A. M.2
Whether this was the poet, or another individual of the
same name, we have no means of ascertaining : but there
is an apparent coincidence in the time ; and the supposi¬
tion that he studied at St Andrews, is highly probable in
itself. There is likewise some reason to suppose that he
studied in the university of Oxford: “ Quod Dunbar at
Oxenfurde,” is the colophon of one of his poems ; and we
need scarcely remark that Oxenford was once the current
name of this seat of the Muses. But it is also to be re¬
collected that the poet might visit Oxford in some other
capacity than that of a student. In his youth he appears
to have been a novice of the order of St Francis. His sen¬
timents with regard to this profession we are enabled to
glean from one of his poems; and those sentiments we
shall here endeavour to exhibit in plain prose. “ Before
the dawn of day,” says Dunbar, “ methought St Francis
appeared to me with a religious habit in his hand, and
said, go, my servant, clothe thee in these vestments, and
renounce the world. But at the sight of him and his ha¬
bit I was scared like one who sees a ghost. And why art
thou terrified at the sight of the holy weed ? St Francis,
reverence attend thee, and thanks for this intended bene¬
fit; but with regard to those garments of which thou art
so liberal, it has never entered into my mind to wear them :
sweet confessor, take it not in evil part. In holy legends
have I heard it alleged that bishops are more frequently
canonized than friars ; if therefore thou wouldst guide my
soul towards heaven, invest me with the robes of a bishop.
Had it ever been my fortune to become a friar, the sea¬
son is now long past: between Berwick and Calais, in every
flourishing town of the English dominions, have I made
good cheer in the habit of thy order ; in friar’s weeds have
I mounted the pulpit at Dernton and Canterbury, in them
have I also crossed the sea at Dover, and instructed the
inhabitants of Picardy; but this mode of life compelled
me to have recourse to many a pious fraud, from the guilt
of which no holy water could cleanse me. What had thus
appeared to me as St Francis, was a fiend in the likeness
of a friar : he vanished away with stench and fiery smoke ;
methought he carried one end of the house along with him,
and I awoke like a wight in perplexity.”3
BAR. 269
•
From this and some other passages of his works, it is Dunbar,
evident that Dunbar had in some degree imbibed the spirit
of a reformer ; and it is obvious that in all countries which
have in any measure been extricated from the supersti¬
tions and delusions of the Romish church, the poets have
contributed to prepare the way for the theologians. Wit
and satire, when thus directed, are formidable weapons ;
and although ridicule is no test of truth, it has often been
found a powerful instrument for exposing inveterate error.
The best arguments may be employed in vain, and force
commonly interposes in behalf of established opinions :
but poets have in all ages claimed and exercised consider¬
able freedom of animadversion ; and, as light troops are
sometimes more serviceable than the heavy-armed soldiery,
the gay satirist is sometimes more successful in his attacks
than the learned controversialist. Another inference to
be drawn from this poem is equally obvious: as the au¬
thor had preached in England and France, he must have
been familiarly acquainted with the languages of both
countries; or, if we suppose him to have preached at
Canterbury in his native tongue, we must at least con¬
clude that he spoke French when he instructed the inha¬
bitants of Picardy. His travels are likewise mentioned in
Kennedy’s Flyting, where we must however make some
allowance for satirical exaggeration.
Fra Atrik Forrest furth ward to Drumfreiss
Thow beggit with ane pardoun in all kirkis,
Collapis, crudis, meill, grottis, gryce, and geiss,
And undir nycht quhylis thow stall staigis and stirkis.
Becauss that Scotland of thy begging irkis,
Thow schaipis in France to be a knycht of the feild ;
Thow hes thy clamschellis, and thy burdoun keild,
Unhonest wayis all, wolroun, that thow w irk is.4
Dunbar, in one of his invectives against Kennedy, has
furnished us with some further information respecting his
own adventures.
Or thow durst move thy mynd malitius,
Thow saw the saill abone my heid updraw;
But Eolus full woid and Neptunus,
Mirk and moneless, wes met with wind and waw,
And mony hundreth myle hyne cowd us blaw
By Holland, Seland, Zetland, and Northway coist,
In desert [place] quhair we wer famist aw ;
Yit come I hame, fals baird, to lay thy boist.
After the period of his travelling noviciate, Dunbar ap¬
pears in the character of a court poet, and of a candidate
for preferment in the church. On one occasion he speaks
of his dancing “ in the quenis chalmer.”
Than cam in Dunbar the makkar,
On all the flure thair was nane frakkar,
And thair he daunsit the Dirrye dantoun;
He hoppet lyk a fillie wantoun,
For luiff of Musgraiffe, men tellis me ;
He trippet quhill he tint his pantoun :
A mirrear dance mycht na man see.
Than cam in Maist.riss Musgraiffe;
Scho mycht haiff lernit all the laiffe.
Quhen I saw hir sa trimlye dance,
Hir guid convoy and countenance,
Than, for hir saik, I wissit to be
The grytast erle or duik in France:
A mirrear dance mycht na man see.
But neither his dancing nor his solicitations seem to
have procured him any considerable preferment. From
the strain of his earlier compositions, it is evident that his
first hopes were sufficiently sanguine, and from that of his
1 Laing’s Memoirs of Dunbar, p. 3.
* Ibid. p. 9.
3 Dunbar’s Poems, vol. i. p. 28.
4 Ibid. vol. ii. p. 81.
270
DUNBAR.
Dunbar, later compositions, that those hopes had been completely
frustrated. <£ Why shouldst thou,” says the desponding
poet, “ be induced to hope for preferment, when an Ita¬
lian impostor finds means to thrust himself into the chair
of an abbot ? How the affairs of the church are managed,
I know not; but assuredly its benefices are not distribut¬
ed with an impartial hand. While some enjoy seven, I
am not possessed of one; and some, unworthy as they
are to fill a stall, would fain climb to the rank of cardinal,
a bishopric being too mean an object for their ambition.”
He addressed some stanzas to the king when many bene¬
fices were vacant; he frequently renewed his petition, and
frequently complained that his life was suffered to wear
away in fruitless expectation. From the wish which he
expresses “ To the King, that he war Johne Thomsounis
Man, it may be inferred that Queen Margaret was anx¬
ious to promote his interest: the tenor of his prayer is,
that the king were more subservient to the wishes of his
consort.
My advocat, baytk fair and sweit,
The hale rejosing of my spreit,
Wald speid in to my errandis than.
And ye war anis Johne Thomsounis man.
Whether Dunbar’s advancement was in any degree re¬
tarded by his own imprudence, can only be conjectured.
The clergy of that age do not appear to have been gene-
rally promoted for their piety or learning; and so very
moderate was the ordinary standard of external decency,
that it must only have been the most gross and flagrant
profligacy that could operate as a disqualification for pre¬
ferment. It must however be acknowledged that some
of his strains are highly reprehensible: his compositions
are occasionally tinctured with expressions which we can¬
not but regard as grossly indecent and profane ; one of his
addresses to the queen is such as might offend a modern
courtezan ; the more solemn observances of the church he
has converted into topics of ridicule ; the litanies are bur¬
lesqued in a parody which is not easily to be paralleled
for its profanity. But it is more than probable that such
indecent levities excited little or no disgust in his con¬
temporaries : the age was not distinguished by any un-
common share of piety, nor had it attained to that degree
. rennement which frequently secures a certain osten¬
sible decorum, a decent appearance of virtue, where vir¬
tue itself is not to be found. To whatever cause his fail¬
ure may be attributed, there is reason to suspect that he
never obtained a benefice. But we learn from the public
records that he was indebted to the king for a regular pen¬
sion, as well as for occasional grants of money. The re¬
gister of the privy seal, 15th August 1500, mentions a
yearly pension often pounds, payable at Whitsuntide and
Martmmas, to “ Maister William Dunbar for all the dayis
o us life, or until he should be promoted by the king to
a benefice of the yearly value of forty pounds or upwards.
It appears from the treasurer’s accounts that the payment
due at Martinmas 1501, was deferred on account of his
<£emg. VI611 In Kngland; and it has been considered as
probable that he accompanied the ambassadors who were
sent, to England to conclude the negociations for the
king s marriage m October 1501; and that he remained to
witness the ceremony of affiancing the princess Marga¬
ret, which took place at St Paul’s cross, with great so¬
lemnity and splendour, on the 25th of January 1502.
Under this supposition, we can have little hesitation in
believing that Dunbar was the person then styled the
Rhymer of Scotland, who received L.6. 13s. 4d. in reward
from Henry VII. on the 31st of December 1501, and a
similar sum on the 7th of January follow ing.’’1 He speaks
of his long and faithful services to the king, and of his
having been employed in many foreign countries, in Eng¬
land, Ireland, France, Spain,'Italy, and Germany. Mr
Laing conjectures, perhaps with sufficient probability
that in these extensive peregrinations he was attached to
diplomatic missions, in which his knowledge of Latin and
French might be available to persons of higher rank and
inferior learning.
On the 17th of March 1504-, or, according to our pre¬
sent computation, 1505, Dunbar for the first time said
mass in the king’s presence; and on that occasion he re¬
ceived a gratuity of seven French crowns, which was a
larger sum than the king usually allotted for a priest’s first
mass. At the term of Martinmas 1507 his pension was
encreased to twenty pounds; and on the 26th of August
1510itwasencreased to eighty pounds, to be paid during
his life, or until he should be promoted to a benefice of
the yearly value of one hundred pounds or upwards. How
long he enjoyed this pension, and whether he ever exchan¬
ged it for a benefice, no research has yet ascertained.2
On the 9th of September 1513 the king perished at Flod-
don-field; and there may be some reason to apprehend
that his interest was not unaffected by that fatal event.
From one of his poems, written “ quhen the Governour
past into France,” it is evident that he must have surviv¬
ed for several years. John duke of Albany, regent of the
kingdom, sailed for France in June 1517, again in Octo¬
ber 1522, and finally in May 1524 ; nor can we safely de¬
cide to which of those three voyages the poet refers. It
is at least certain that he was dead in the year 1530,
w hen Sir David Lindsay composed his Complaynt of the
Papingo.3 He describes himself as having attained to an
advanced age; nor does he appear to have been so unwise
as to continue his levities to the utmost verge of life; se¬
veral of his poems are written in a moral and religious
strain, not unbecoming an aged priest.
Ihe poems of Dunbar are numerous and miscellaneous,
but none of them extends to any considerable length.
He evidently unites a brilliant imagination with an ele¬
gant taste; nor is he less conspicuous for his skill in the
mechanical part of poetry. The elasticity of his mind
and the versatility of his talents enabled him to arrive at
eminence in different departments of composition; his
allegoi ical poems display a rich and fertile invention ; and
ie is equally distinguished for his powers of description
and satirical humour. His diction is often remarkable for
its terseness and forcible simplicity; but it is not always
fi ee fi om the vicious and pedantic phraseology with which
the English poetry of that period is so deeply infected.
Dr Nott observes that Dunbar, “ a poet of a rich and
lively fancy, and possessing great natural command of lan¬
guage, was nevertheless induced to use such pedantic
diction as occurs in the opening of his beautiful moral
‘ Lamg’s Memoirs of Dunbar, p. 20.
1515, whichmlgh^haveThrown so°me ithfon the^uEt1 (& Tv11* P^vious to the battle of Floddon) to the 25th of January
tember 1518 (from which time to the 5th of June 1'‘,92 ^ not j^een Prese.rved ? and in those from that date to the 4th of Sep-
We cannot therefore discover the date of the last navmeni'r?!' ’f. anotP^r blank in the series) there is no mention of Dunbar’s name,
means follows that his pension was entirely withdr-iwn n -1S. Pen^on ’ but although we now lose all trace of his name, it by no
revenue, or the poet might at last ha^ have been transferred to some other branch of the royal
Memoirs of Dunbar, p. 34.) The treasurer’s account* Sst'V whe" conse(luently his pension would cease.” (Laing’s
two shillings. ccounts, 1st April 1513, mention a payment to Dunbar of so small a sum as forty-
s Lindsay’s Works, vol. i. p. 285.
DUN
nibar. poem, entitled the Goldyn Targe.1 He has employed a
great variety of measures; and his versification, when
compared with that of his most eminent contemporaries
in both kingdoms, will in general appear highly ornamen¬
ted and poetical.
Mr Ellis, after having quoted three of his shorter
poems, subjoins the following remarks: “ In these spe¬
cimens we see much good sense and sound morality, ex¬
pressed with force and conciseness. This indeed is Dun¬
bar’s peculiar excellence. His style, whether grave or
humorous, whether simple or ornamented, is always ener¬
getic ; and though all his compositions cannot be expect¬
ed to possess equal merit, we seldom find in them a weak
or redundant stanza.”2 The accomplished historian of
English poetry likewise mentions him with no faint ap¬
probation. “ I am of opinion,” says Mr Warton, “ that
the imagination of Dunbar is not less suited to satirical
than to sublime allegory; and that he is the first poet
who has appeared with any degree of spirit in this way
since Pierce Plowman. His Thistle and Rose and Gold¬
en Terge are generally and justly mentioned as his capi¬
tal works: but the natural complexion of his genius is of
the moral and didactic cast.”3 But, subjoins Mr Pinker¬
ton, “ this remark must not be taken too strictly. The
Goldin Terge is moral, and so are many of his small
pieces; but humour, description, allegory, great poetical
genius, and a vast wealth of words, all unite to form the
complexion of Dunbar’s poetry. He unites in himself,
and generally surpasses, the qualities of the chief old
English poets; the morals and satire of Langland, Chau¬
cer’s humour, poetry, and knowledge of life, the allegory
of Gower, the description of Lydgate.”4
But the most striking proofs of his genius are certainly
to be found in his two allegorical poems. The Thrissill
and the Rois was composed in celebration of the nuptials
of James the Fourth and Margaret Tudor; an event pro¬
ductive of very important consequences to both kingdoms,
inasmuch as it ultimately led to that happy union which
the nature of the territory and the kindred origin of the
people rendered so suitable and so desirable. In the plan of
this poem Dunbar displays boldness of invention and beau¬
ty of arrangement; and some particular passages are re¬
markable for their strength and even beauty of colouring.
The Goldyn Targe, which is written in a different stanza,
is another allegorical poem of nearly equal merit. The
golden targe, or the shield of reason, is found an insuffi¬
cient protection against the assaults of the train of love.
Some of his short poems, of a serious character, are
likewise to be distinguished from the ordinary composi¬
tions of that period. The stanzas bearing the title of
Learning vain without guid Lyfe possess superior merit as
a moral descant. His Meditatioun in Wyntir is also to
be classed among the best of his serious pieces : some of
the stanzas are beautiful and pathetic; and they may all
be perused with more than common interest as the soli¬
tary musings of neglected genius.
Nor are his satirical less remarkable than his serious
productions. His poem entitled the Dance of the sevin
Deidly Synnis presents many admirable strokes of comic
and grotesque description. On the eve of Lent, the poet
falls into a trance, and is presented with a glimpse of hea*
BAR.
271
ven and hell. Mahoun, or the devil, proclaims a dance of Dunbar,
those wretches who have died without absolution ; he com-
mands them to prepare a mummery, and to “ kast up ga-
mountis” according to the newest French fashion. The
seven Deadly Sins immediately present themselves, and
are each accompanied by a select band of votaries. Pride
is with evident propriety represented as leading the dance,
and is dressed in the first fashion of that period: his hair
is thrown back, his bonnet is placed on one side of the
head, and his gown flows to his heels in ample folds.
Lat se, quoth he, now quha begynnis :
With that the fowll sevin Deidly Synnis
Begowth to leip at anis.
And first of all in dance was Pryd,
With hair wyld back, and bonet on syd,
Lyk to mak vaistie wanis;
And round abowt him, as a quheill,
Hang all in rumpillis to the heill
His kethat for the nanis.
Mony prowd trumpour with him trippit;
Throw skaldand fyre ay as thay skippit,
Thay gyrnd with hyddouss granis.
This group is succeeded by holy harlots ; but Mahoun and
the other fiends are not much entertained till a company
of priests present their shaven crowns.
Heilie harlottis on hawtane wyiss
Come in with mony sindrie gyiss,
Bot yit luche nevir Mahoun,
vjuhill priestis come in with bair schevin nekkis:
Than all the feyndis lewche and maid gekkis,
Black-belly and Bawsy-Broun.
Anger, who next makes his appearance, is very forcibly
described in a single distich.
Than Yre come in with sturt and stryfe,
His hand wes ay upoun his knyfe.
He is attended by a band of ruffians, who follow in pairs, all
equipped for war; and, as they move along, they frequent¬
ly wound each other with swords and knives. The train
of Anger is followed by that of Envy. He is attended by
many a dissembler, flatterer, and back-biter, with “ rown-
aris of fals lesingis,” or whisperers of lies ; from whom the
poet cannot avoid expressing his regret that the courts of
princes are never free. The next prominent figure in the
dance is Covetousness, who is accompanied by catives,
wretches, usurers, and hoarders of wealth. From their
throats they discharge at each other torrents of molten
gold; and when this ammunition is exhausted, the fiends
replenish them with the same metal.
Nixt him in dans come Cuvatyce,
liute of all evill, and grund of vyce,
That nevir cowd be content:
Catyvis, wrechis, and ockeraris,
Hud-pykis, hurdaris, and gadderaris,
All with that warlo went.
Out of thair throttis thay schot on udder
Hett moltin gold me thocht a fudder,
As fyre-flawcht maist fervent;
Ay as thay tumit thame of schot,
Feyndis fild thame new up to the thrott
With gold of allkin prent.
Sloth, after being twice called, joins unwillingly in the
dance, attended by many suitable companions. He drags
1 Dissertation on the State of English Poetry before the Sixteenth Century, p. cxci.
Ellis’s Specimens of the Early English Poets, vol. i. p. 385.
* Warton’s History of English Poetry, vol. iii. p. 109.
4 Pinkerton’s List of the Scotish Poets, p. xciv—u It is evident,” says Dr Drake, “ that a union of talents of this wide range
niust necessarily be of rare occurrence ; nor can we wonder that a century should elapse before a poet in any high degree approach-
e £e£lus Chaucer made his appearance in our island. Not indeed until Dunbar arose in the sister kingdom, had we another
ns ance oi the combination of first-rate abilities for humour and comic painting, with an equally powerful command over the higher
regions ot fiction and imagination.” (Mornings in Spring, vol. ii. p. 4. Lond. 1828, 2 vols. 8vo.)
I
272
DUNBAR.
Dunbar, them along with a chain, and Belial lashes them on the
loins; but their motion is nevertheless so tardy, that they
are occasionally roused by being scorched in fire. The
succeeding group consists of Lust and his loathsome train ;
he snorts like a stallion, is led by Idleness, and is attend¬
ed by many foul associates who have died in their sins.
When they engage in the dance, their visages become as
red as the turkis stone. The foul monster Gluttony next
presents himself, followed by many a drunkard and prodi¬
gal. When they become clamorous for drink, the fiends
drench them with melted lead. All these terrific exhibi¬
tions might have been expected to satisfy Mahoun him¬
self; but he is nevertheless pleased to close the entertain¬
ment with a Highland pageant.
Than cryd Mahoun for a Heleand padyane.
Syne ran a feynd to feche Makfadyane,
Far northwart in a nuke :
Be he the correnoch had done schout,
Ersche men so gadderit him abowt,
In hell grit roume thay tuke.
Thae tarmegantis, with tag and tatter,
Full lowd in Ersche begowth to clatter,
And rowp lyk revin and ruke.
The devill sa devit wes with thair yell,
That in the depest pot of hell
He smorit thame with smuke.
Dunbar’s tale of “ The twa maryit Wemen and the We-
do” presents us with the only specimen of blank verse
which the ancient Scotish language affords. The rhythm
is of that, species which the author of Piers Plowman, or
some of his predecessors, borrowed from the Anglo-Saxon
poets, and which appears to have derived its origin from
a remote era. It was employed by the Islandic as well as
by the Anglo-Saxon poets, and was constructed with some
degree of nicety.1 Their lines are generally short, and
they do not rigorously confine themselves to a definite
number of syllables. Hei’e alliteration supplies the place
of rhyme ; the corresponding sounds are at the commence¬
ment, not at the termination of words. In two contiguous
and connected lines there must be three words beginning
with the same letter; and, according to the strictest rule,
two of those words ought to occur in the first, and the other
ought to begin the second line. It was on such a model
that Dunbar and the author of Piers Plowman constructed
their verses, though they have not observed all the niceties
of their predecessors. In the editions, and indeed in the
manuscripts of their respective poems, what is exhibited
as a single verse is in reality a distich, and admits of a di¬
vision without any degree of violence.
This work of Dunbar presents us with a lively though
indelicate picture of ancient manners, and is a very curious
relique of ancient poetry. Bishop Percy considers it as
equal to one of the most humorous productions of Chaucer.
-The peculiarity of the versification has compelled the au¬
thor to adopt many uncouth terms; and accordingly the
language of this tale is more difficult to be understood,
and appears more obsolete, than that of his other poems;
but his shrewdness of remark and strength of description
shine through the mist of obscure phraseology in which
they are sometimes involved. Soon after midnight in a
morning of June, the poet walks by a goodly garden, and, Du
on hearing the sound of voices, is induced to look through
the lofty hedge, when he perceives three ladies seated in
a green arbour* and regaling themselves with wine: he
secretly listens to their conversation, of which he profess¬
es to give a faithful report. As the wine circulates, they
become more communicative, and, at the suggestion of the
widow, they successively detail their experience of a mar¬
ried life. The sentiments which they utter, are as profli¬
gate as can well be imagined; and it is to be hoped that
Dunbar did not intend this as a general representation of
the ladies of his own age and nation.
Two of his satirical poems relate to a certain Italian
named John Damian, on whom James the Fourth had be¬
stowed the abbacy of Tungland in Galloway. This adven¬
turer appears to have been an empiric and an impostor
and to have persuaded the king that he had discovered
the secret of converting baser metals into gold; nor is it
surprising that Dunbar should feel some degree of indig¬
nation on seeing high preferment bestowed upon such a
person. The abbot having failed to produce the promised
gold, made a still more desperate attempt to maintain his
reputation as an adept in science and art: he provided him¬
self with a pair of wings, and appointed a particular day
for taking his flight from the walls of Stirling castle;
when the day arrived, he indeed plunged from the ram¬
part, but instead of mounting in the air, he fell to the
ground, and broke his thigh-bone. These anecdotes do
not rest on the authority of a satirical poet, for this must
cojnmonly be regarded as a very dubious authority; but
they are circumstantially related by Bishop Lesley in his
history of that reign ;2 and the one account may so far be
considered as a confirmation of the other, although the
poet has added many particulars of ludicrous exaggera¬
tion. Thus, according to Dunbar’s dream, he slew a friar
in Lombardy, in order to obtain possession of his habit;
and having fled to France, he began to practise physic,
and in this way committed many new murders. The
course of his adventures at length conducted him to Scot¬
land, where he followed his leechcraft with similar suc¬
cess. When raised to the dignity of a prelate, he was not
to be seen at mass; he did not appear at matins in his
stole and scarf, but was generally to be found in his labo¬
ratory, as sooty as a blacksmith.
In lechecraft he was homocide; *
He wald haf for a nycht to byd,
Ane haknay and the hurt mannis hyd,
So mekle he was of niyans.
His irnis was rude as ony rauchtir,
Quhar he leit blude it was no lauchtir,*
Full mony instrumentis for slauchtir
Was in his gardyvians.
He couth gif cure of laxatif,
To gar a wicht horse want his lyf;
Quha evir assay wald, man or wyf,
Thar hippis yeid hiddy-giddy.
His praktikis nevir war put to preif
Bot sudand deid, or gret mischeif;
He had purgacioun to mak a theif
To de without a wedye.
Wonnn Literatura Runica, p. 178. Hafnise, 1636, 4to. Olafsen om Nordens gamle Digtekonst, dens Grundregler, Versarter,
Spi og og I oredragsmaade, S. 57. Kibbenhavn, 1786, 4to. Rasks Vejledning til det Islandske eller gamle Nordiske Sprog, S. 211.
Kiobenh. 1811, 8vo. Rasks Angelsaksisk Sproglsere, S. 108. Stokholm, 1817, 8vo. Hickesii Grammatica Anglo-Saxonica, p. 195.
217. Bosworth s Elements of Anglo-Saxon Grammar, p. 215. Conybeare’s Illustrations of Anglo-Saxon Poetry, p. Ixv. Percy’s
Essay on the Metre of Pierce Plowman’s Vision : Reliques, vol. ii. p. 298. Whitaker’s Introductory Discourse on P. Ploughman,
* Leslaeus de Rebus gestis Scotorum, p. 345. Romae, 1578, 4to—“ Eadem tempestate rex (ut hoc quoque, quod vulgo non sine
nsu hucusque memoratur, dicam) Italum quendam, cujus faceto sennone ingenioque delectatus erat, abbatem Tunglandiae creavit.”
See likewise Lesley’s History of Scotland, p. 76. Edinb. 1830, 4to.
^ 3 Lors que mon frere fut en Escosse, il n’y avoit qu’un medecin, qui estoit medecin de la reyne, et de mon temps en Angleterre, il
n y avoit gueres de medecins. En Escosse un menuisier saignoit, et il v avoit des barbiers qui tondoient seulement.” (Scaligerana,
p. 223.)
DUN
Unto no mess preissit the prelat.
For sound of sacrying bell nor skellat;
As blak smyth brukit was his pellat,
For battiring at the study.
Thocht he come hame a newe maid channoun,
He had dispensit with matinnis cannoun;
On him come nothir stole nor fannoun,
For smwking of the smedye.
His unfortunate flight is afterwards related in a very lu¬
dicrous manner. The abbot of Tungland has furnished
Dunbar with the subject of another poetical dream, which
contains one passage remarkable for the strength of its sa¬
tirical conception.
He sail ascend as ane horrible griphoun,
Him meit sail in the air ane scho dragoun ;
Thir terrible monsteris sail togidder thrist,
And in the cludis gett the Antechrist,
Quhill all the air infeck of thair puysoun.
Many of the comic and satirical compositions of Dun¬
bar are valuable memorials of ancient manners; and, if
incapable of gratifying the reader of taste, they are at
least objects of curiosity to the antiquaiy. Of this de¬
scription are the stanzas entitled the Devill’s Inquest;
which strongly evince that our ancestors were grossly ad¬
dicted to profane swearing. “ It might,” as Dr Ogden
remarks, “ puzzle a philosopher to trace the love of swear¬
ing to its original principle, and assign its place in the
constitution of man.’ I his vice is now regarded as a
characteristic of the vulgar, of those who are truly vulgar
in their habits and associations, whatever may be their
external circumstances ; but during the age of Dunbar, it
seems to have been practised by all ranks and denomina¬
tions. To swear like a Scot, was once a proverbial ex¬
pression.1 In this general muster of swearers, the priest
takes precedence.
Me thocht as he went throw the way,
Ane priest sweirit braid, be God verey,
Quhilk at the alter ressavit he.
Thou art my clerk, the devill can say,
lienunce thy God, and cum to me.
BAR. 273
Bishop Douglas, who certainly did not fall below the com- Dunbar,
mon standard of clerical decorum, has not scrupled to be- v«—-v-w'
deck his compositions with abundance of oaths. The vice
of profane swearing at length arrived at so scandalous a
height as to require the interference of the legislature,
and it was found necessary to extend the penalties to the
clergy as well as the laity : by an act of Q. Mary in 1551,
a “ prelate of kirk, ’ earl, or lord, was to be fined in tw elve
pence for the first offence committed within the next three
months; different penalties were apportioned to different
ranks during the first year; and for the fourth offence
committed after the expiration of that period, a prelate,
earl, or lord was to be banished or imprisoned for the
space of a year and a day.2
Dunbar has left some examples of a motley species of
composition, which at that period wras not uncommon, and
in which shreds of different languages are fantastically
combined. It does not strictly come under the denomi¬
nation of macaronic poetry, in which Latin are mingled
with vernacular words of Latin terminations, and in which
the rules of prosody are observed with at least some de¬
gree of care.3 The earliest macaronic poet is sometimes
supposed to have been Teofilo Folengo, a Benedictine
monk, better known by the name of Merlinus Cocaius,
who was born near Mantua in the year 1491.4 Of his
Macaronics the first edition bears the date of 1518; but
during the preceding century a work had appeared under
the title of “ lyphis Odaxii Patavini Carmen Macaroni-
cum de Patavinis quibusdam Arte magica delusis.”5 This
model was followed by Folengo, and by Antonins Arena,
or Antoine du Sablon, a French lawyer; and these twro
are the most celebrated poets of this fantastic school.
Among the Scotish poets they have found a few imitators,
particularly Drummond and Dr Geddes. Dunbar has not
adhered to the same model; without regarding the rules
of prosody, he intermingles Latin with Scotish lines, and
produces an effect sufficiently ludicrous. Of this particu¬
lar mode of composition, much earlier specimens are to bo
found; and Dante himself has written a canzone which
nrofaneIswaearinaVerTbrpmpmnp!•0,T’1SCOVR^, sa^s Lord Hailes, “ from what cause our ancestors became so monstrously addicted to
tflinl v rrmct ,1 om Brown some where uses, ‘swear like a Scotsman,’ as a proverbial expression.' There cer-
in Holland the'children^dlln U contlnent, l’!at. t,Iie ’"habitants of the whole island were apt to swear in common conversation ; for
a smatterincr nf any ^Uish people say, ‘ there come the G_dams and the Portuguese, when they acquire
Scottish Poems n 941 a nV H 'T * (V°e C ° U— damn you Queen Elizabeth was a common swearer.” (Notes on Ancient
subioined to the “ V ‘v de v & ft™|l l.ot ‘)>ne these remarks we find a curious confirmation in the collection of Norman chansons
subjoined to the Vaux-de-Vire d’Olmer Basselin.” Caen, 1821, 8vo.
Mauldicte en soyt trestoute la lignye!
11s ont charge 1’artellerye sus mer,
Force bisquit et chascun ung bydon.
Ft par la mer jusq’ en Bisquaye ailer
Pour couronner leur petit roy Godon.
flte'wofk^ofhCretan IT” ^ the wh°1succeeded his father at a very tender age. The subsequent passage occurs in
168 Parisf S SvoO " P ° W * Ut beSinninS of the sixteenth century. (Les Poesies de Guillaume Cretin, p.
Cryant qui vive aux Godons d’Angleterre.
’ nCt^°f the Farhaments of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 485. See likewise p. 482."
thev made t-le fbl!owillS re,m.arks in reference to the English translators of Blainville’s Travels through Italy: “ When
its beinrr surmn oTt1'11011 C f00 T’ w!llcb 18 ^ mixture of Italian and Latin words, possessing a Latin termination, ‘ is so called from
disnlVv ”, 3 ? resemble (as being a mixture) the Italian maccheroni, these being composed of flour, cheese, and butter’—thev
blockhead -m ^ 18noiante 0 . e Sl'hject they attempt to elucidate. Maccherone is a term in the Italian language, significative of a
burl3e f f f; °r ln1equlvalent1 Fnghsli a puddhiff-patcd fellow : and Maccheronea (Macaronics) are obviously, therefore,
voTq 3 t llT,f il6 U?C aSS1Cal style °f such wnterS.” (Memoirs of the Rev. Alexander Geddes, LL D. p. 256. Lend. 1803,
of com™ • ,,?ads must ^"el-ally be unclassical; but the origin of the term macaronic, as applied to this motley species
selfTE ’ )S,ne,vertheles!S Jery truly explained by the translators. For this explanation we have the authority of Folengo him-
nn’rnn° ' r6 APolofffca prefixed to his Opus Macaronicorum speaks in the following manner : “ Ars ista poetica nuncupatur ars
rust*p ’ niacarom ms (envata. qui macarones sunt quoddam pulmentum, farina, caseo, botiro compaginatum, grossum, rude, et
delln r ? t.o macaro"lce ni1 nisl grassedinem, ruditatem, et vocabulazzos debet in se continere.” See likewise Menage’s Origini
uena i.mgua Itahana, p. 301. o o
* Tiraboschi, Storia della Letteratura Italiana, tom. vii. p. 1469.
1831J 0y()Cdd Bibliotheca 1 inelliana, tom. ii. p. 456. Tiraboschi, tom. vii. p. 1468. Specimens of Macaronic Poetry, p. xi. Lend.
yol. viii. . ' 2 M
274
DUNBAR.
Dunbar, contains a mixture of three languages, Latin, Romance,
and Italian. It concludes with the following lines :
Chanson, vos pogues ir per tot le mond ;
Namque locutus sum in lingua trina,
Ut gravis mea spina
Si saccia per lo mondo, ogn’ uomo il senta:
Forse pieta n’ avrii chi mi tormenta.1
Skelton, the contemporary of Dunbar, has occasionally in¬
dulged in this vein of humour; and a poem of the same
description occurs among the works of Dr Arbuthnot,
though it has likewise been attributed to Meston. The
following stanza, which forms the conclusion of Dunbar’s
Testament of Kennedy, may be considered as a sufficient
specimen.
I will na priestis for me sing
Dies ilia, dies irm,2
Na yit na bellis for me ring,
Sicut semper solet fieri;
Bot a bag-pipe to play a spryng,
Et unum ail wosp ante me;
In stayd of baneris for to bring
Quatuor lagenas cervisiae,
Within the graif to set sic thing
In modum crucis juxta me,
To fie the feyndis, than hardely sing
De terra plasmasti me.
The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy is an extraordi¬
nary effort of unrefined wit; and is at least sufficient to
evince that the ancient Scotish tongue was not deficient
in terms of abuse.3 Lord Hailes is inclined to believe that
this altercation may have been a mere play of illiberal
fancy, without any real quarrel between the antagonists;
and this opinion he supposes to be confirmed by the affec¬
tionate manner in which Dunbar afterwards speaks of
Kennedy, and of Quintin Shaw, who in this literary duel
seems to have acted the part of Kennedy’s second. A
similar altercation was maintained by Luigi Pulci and
Matteo Franco: although for the amusement of their
readers they loaded each other with the grossest abuse,
yet the intimacy of their friendship is said to have conti¬
nued without interruption.4 The example of Dunbar and
Kennedy was followed by James the Fifth and Sir David
Lindsay, and at a later period by Montgomery and Hume.
It is not to be imagined that a king and one of his cour¬
tiers were engaged in actual hostilities; and in the verses
prefixed to the “ Flyting betwixt Montgomery and Pol-
wart,” it is expressly stated that their altercation was not
the result of a real quarrel, but of what is there described
as generous emulation.
A comic tale, entitled the Freiris of Berwik, and pos¬
sessing a large fund of genuine humour, seems to have
been composed about the period to which our attention
is now directed. Mr Pinkerton supposes it to have been
written by Dunbar; but this opinion is founded on no his¬
torical evidence, nor can the internal evidence of style
and manner be considered as very striking or satisfactory.
“ But this tale,” he remarks, “ cannot at any rate be above
thirteen years later than Dunbar, who must have died
about 1525. In 1482, Berwick was wrested from Scot¬
land, and was ever after in the possession of the English.
Now this poem speaks of all the monasteries as actually
standing and flourishing while it was written; and it is
well known that in 1535 Henry VIII. suppressed the lesser
monasteries, and in 1539 the greater. It follows that this
tale must, at all events, have been written before ISSQ.”5
But the poet, whoever he may have been, does not speak
of the monasteries of Berwick as actually flourishing;
he merely avers, that when the adventures took place,
friars of the different orders were not to seek, but were
dweliing in the town. It is therefore evident that this
chronological argument is by no means satisfactory, and
that the tale may have been written after the suppression
of the English monasteries.
In the Freiris of Berwik, every reader acquainted with
the poems of Allan Ramsay must recognize the original
of the Monk and the Miller’s Wife; and we will venture
to add that the ancient is greatly superior to the modern
tale. Ramsay’s tale, says Lord Woodhouselee, “ would
of itself be his passport to immortality, as a comic poet.
In this capacity he might enter the lists with Chaucer
and Boccaccio, with no great risk of discomfiture. Though
far their inferior in acquired address, his native strength
was perhaps not widely disproportionate. Of this admi¬
rable tale, I conceive he has the merit of the invention;
as the story is not to be found in any of the older writers,
as Sachetti, Boccaccio, or in the Cento Novelle antiche. In
a few circumstances there is indeed a small resemblance
to the 73d of the Cent nouvelles Nouvelles, entitled ‘ L’Oi-
seau en la Cage,’ which barely affords a presumption that
Ramsay may have read that story; but in all the material
circumstances, his Monk and the Miller’s Wife is original.
A story of more festive humour could not have been de¬
vised. The characters are sustained with consummate
propriety; the manners are true to nature; and poetic
justice is most strictly observed in the winding up of the
piece.”6 But whatever merit this comic tale may possess,
it is evident that the praise of invention does not belong
to Ramsay: he had doubtless read the old Scotish tale in
Bannatyne’s MS. from which he transcribed other poems
less capable of arresting his attention. It may scarcely
be worth while to remark that the ecclesiastic whom he
introduces is a secular, a parish-priest, and is therefore
most improperly described as a monk. That the author
of the Freiris of Berwik was likewise indebted to some
preceding poet, may perhaps be considered as highly pro¬
bable. In the collection of Le Grand d’Aussy there is a
fabliau which exhibits some lineaments of the story. A
poor clerk, after having studied at Paris, is returning
homeward without any money in his pocket, and, on the
approach of night, calls at a solitary house to entreat a
lodging; but the farmer’s wife very unceremoniously re¬
fuses to shelter him during the absence of her husband.
As he is leaving the house, he observes a servant bringing
some wine in a basket; and at the same time the maid
Opere di Dante Alighieri, tom. iy. p. 342. ed. Venezia, 1758, 4 tom. 4to—Rodrigo de Valdes, a Jesuit, has written a long and
extraordinary poem, containing a mixture of Latin and Spanish, and entitled “ Poema heroyco Hispano-Latino panegyrico de la
Fundacion y Grandezas de la muy noble y leal Ciudad de Lima.” Madrid, 1687, 4to.
Ihis is an allusion to an ancient sequence, known to many English readers from the translations of Drummond and the earl of
Roscommon. It begins in the following manner:
Dies irse, dies ilia
Solvet seclum in favilla,
Teste David cum Sybilla.
1 he Poems of V illiam Dunbar, with notes, and a memoir of his life, by David Laing: to which are added Poems by Walter
Kennedy, and other contemporaries. Edinb. 1833, 2 vols. 8vo—Of the poems of Dunbar this is the first collective edition that has
yet been undertaken ; and it is fortunate that the task was reserved for so industrious and so skilful an editor.
* Roscoe’s Life of Lorenzo de’ Medici, vol. i- p. 252.
5 Ancient Scotish Poems, vol. if p. 394. Loud. 1786, 2 vols. 8vo.
* Woodhouselee’s Remarks cn the Genius and Writings of Ramsay (p. cvii.) prefixed to his Poems, Lend. 1800. 2 vols. 8vo.
DUN
DUN
275
<bar. places in a cupboard a cake which she has just made,
together with a piece of fresh pork which she has taken
out of the pot. A priest, wrapped in his cope, soon af¬
terwards passes the clerk in silence, and glides into the
house. The wayfaring scholar, overwhelmed with fatigue,
and dying of hunger, seats himself by the road-side : there
he is found by the farmer, who happens to return sooner
than he is expected; and they procure admittance, after
the priest has found a place of refuge in the stable,
which seems to be the ground-floor under the family¬
dwelling. While the maid is preparing some refreshment,
the labourewr proposes that the clerk should either sing a
song or tell a story: he declares that he knows neither
song nor story, but offers to relate an adventure which
happened to him in the morning; and by detailing this
supposed adventure, he very dexterously contrives to take
his revenge on the farmer’s wife. As he was traversing a
wood, he saw a numerous herd of swine : some of them
were large, others small, some white, others black, in a
word, they were of all sizes and of all colours; but above
all he admired the leader of this herd; he was fat, shin-
ing, plump—in a word, just such another as must have
been that, of which Catherine lately took a morsel from
the pot. The clerk prosecutes his tale with the same
arch simplicity, and contrives to reveal the secret of the
wine, the cake, and finally of the priest concealed in the
stable. The enraged farmer, having seized a cudgel, chas¬
tises his wife; and the priest, anticipating the same dis¬
cipline, makes an attempt to escape, but is unmercifully
beaten, stripped naked, and in this condition turned out
of the house, leaving the clerk to enjoy his joke, together
with the supper and wine provided for another guest.1
This is certainly not the identical story of the Freiris of
Berwik: several of the incidents are essentially the same,
but the comic scene of the pretended conjuration is want¬
ing. Still however the Scotish tale may have been bor¬
rowed from some preceding writer. A story not mate¬
rially different occurs in a French collection published in
1065, and probably in many others: the scene is laid in
Granada; the unfortunate gallant is an advocate, and the
pretended magician a soldier.2 This publication is indeed
of a recent date; but such a tale is too pungent and cha¬
racteristic to have been devised by the obscure compiler
of the collection ; and it is sufficiently probable that this
tale and the Freiris of Berwik were both derived from
one common source.3 Many stories, both tragic and hu¬
morous, seem to have passed with rapidity from language
to language, even at a period when the different nations
of Europe are generally supposed to have maintained
but little intercourse with each other. In many instances
it is by no means easy to account for this speedy trans¬
mission ; but there were some peculiar circumstances
which may be conceived to have had considerable in¬
fluence ; as, for example, pilgrimages to remote coun¬
tries ; the various missions and visitations of the clergy;
the extensive journeys of merchants and their attendants ;
and the associations of people of different nations in the
same military service, particularly in the successive cru¬
sades. The original stock of materials is much more
scanty than is commonly imagined ;4 and the most distin¬
guished writers of tales, whether in prose or verse, have
very frequently contented themselves with borrowing the
entire skeleton of a story, but from them it still derives
its flesh and blood, its life and spirit; for inmost instances
the chief merit consists in the mode of telling the story,
and not in the story itself. (x.)
DUNCAN, Adam, Lord Viscount, an illustrious na¬
val commander, the second son of Alexander Duncan, of
Lundie, in the county of Angus, Scotland, by Helen,
daughter of Haldane of Gleneagles, in the county of Perth,
was born in the month of July 1731. Fie received the
rudiments of his education at Dundee, which is only
about four miles distant from the family residence ; and
as his elder brother Alexander was designed for the army
(in which he died lieutenant-colonel in 1771), Adam ap¬
pears to have been early intended for the naval service.
Accordingly, about the year 1746, he was placed under
Captain Haldane, who then commanded the Shoreham fri¬
gate, and he remained two or three years with that officer.
In 1749 he was entered as midshipman on board the Cen¬
turion of fifty guns, which then bore the broad pendant of
Commodore Keppel, commander-in-chief on the Mediter¬
ranean station. In the beginning of 1755 he was promoted
to the rank of lieutenant, and appointed to the Norwich, a
fourth rate, one of the squadron under Keppel, destined to
convoy to America the transports having on board the land
forces commanded by General Braddock. After the debar¬
kation of this armament he was transferred to the Centu¬
rion, where he continued until that ship returned to Eng¬
land ; when Captain Keppel, who had for a short time com¬
manded the Swiftsure, procured his appointment as second
lieutenant of the Torbay seventy-four, to which he him¬
self had just been appointed. Having remained on the
home station for three years, he proceeded with the expe¬
dition sent against the French settlement of Goree, on the
coast of Africa, and was slightly wounded in the attack
of the fort, after which he became first lieutenant of the
Torbay, and in this capacity returned to England. His pro¬
motion was now rapid. In September 1759 he was raised
to the rank of commander; in February 1761 he was ad¬
vanced to that of post-captain ; and having been appoint¬
ed to the Vaillant, of seventy-four guns, he again became
connected in service with his original friend and patron
Keppel, who, having received the command of the naval
part of the expedition against Belleisle, now hoisted his
broad pendant on board the Vaillant. After this affair
Captain Duncan accompanied the commodore in the same
ship to the attack of the Havanna, and commanded the
boats in which the troops were landed, the commodore
covering the disembarkation. He was afterwards very ac¬
tively employed in the siege, during which he greatly dis¬
tinguished himself; and when the town surrendered, he
was dispatched to take possession of the Spanish ships in
the harbour, being five of seventy and four of sixty guns.
Duncan.
1 Fabliaux ou Contes du XIR et du XIIR Siecle, tom. iv. p. 1. edit. Paris, 1781, 5 tom. 12mo.
* Les Recreations Francoises; ou nouveau Recueil de Contes a rire; pour servir de divertissement aux melancholiques, et de
joyeux entretien dans les cours, les cercles, et les ruelles, part. i. p. 178. A Rouen, cbds David Berthelin, dans la Cour du Palais, 1665,
2 part. 8vo—The compiler, whose name is Nipe, professes to have gleaned from all the ancient and modern books of tales, and to
have added new stories of his own invention, “ plus capables de faire mourir de rire, que de faire dormir de bout.”-
3 A similar incident occurs in Ravenscroft’s London Cuckolds, a Comedy, act ii. sc. ii. Lond. 1683, 4to. In reference to this
scene, Langbaine has remarked that “ Loveday’s discovering F.ugenia’s intrigue, and pretending to conjure for a supper, is borrowed
from Les Contes d'Ouville, part ii. pag. 235.” (Account of the English Dramatick Poets, p- 421. Lond. 1691, 8vo.)
4 The earl of Orford professes to have derived the dreadful plot of his Mysterious Mother from an English tradition, though he
aiterwards discovered the supposed origin of this tradition in the novels of the queen of Navarre. A similar story, under the title of
■n mayor Confusion, occurs in the novels of Montalvan. (Sucessos y Prodigies de Amor, en ocho Novelas exemplares, f. 58. Sevilla,
1633, 4to.) . The scene is laid in Madrid; and Bishop Taylor has quoted from Comitolus its exact parallel in “ a strange and rare
case happening in Venice.” (Ductor Dubitantium, or the Rule of Conscience, vol i. p. 118. Lond. 1660, 2 vols. fol.)
276
D U N C A N.
Duncan. After the capture of the Havanna, he, in the same capacity during all these periods, excepting the two last, the merit
as formerly, accompanied Admiral Keppel, who had been of Admiral Duncan, which was never of an obtrusive, bust-
appointed to the command on the Jamaica station, and ling, or forward kind, seemed to have been wholly over¬
continued with him as captain of the flag-ship until the looked; and though he frequently solicited employment
conclusion of the war, when he returned to England. his applications proved unavailing; in consequence of
On the recommencement of war with France in the year which he had it in contemplation to retire altogether from
1778, Captain Duncan was appointed to the Suffolk, of the service. This period of obscuration, however, at length
seventy-four guns; but before the end of the year he was passed away. In February 1795 he received an appoint-
removed into the Monarch, of the same rate, which, during ment, constituting him commander-in-chief of the North
the summer of 1779, was employed in the Channel fleet Seas, that is, from the North Foreland to the Ultima
under Sir Charles Hardy, who, owing to the junction of the Thule; and he accordingly hoisted his flag on board the
French and Spanish fleets, was now acting upon the defen- Prince George, of ninety-eight guns, at Chatham, but af-
sive. Towards the close of the same year, the Monarch was terwards shifted it to the Venerable, of seventy-four guns
one of the ships placed under the orders of Sir George the Prince George being considered as too large for the
Bridges Rodney, who had received instructions to force his particular quarter in which he was destined to act. Hav-
way through all impediments into Gibraltar, and to relieve ing thus attained the object of his wishes, Admiral Dun-
that fortress, then closely invested by a Spanish army on can lost no time in proceeding to carry into execution the
the land side, whilst it was blockaded on the seaward face important trust which had been confided to him; and du-
by a flotilla sufficiently powerful to oppose the entrance of ring the whole time he held the command, he exhibited
any ordinary force. In the beginning of 1780, the British that inexhaustible patience and unwearied constancy
fleet, when off Cape St Vincent, fell in with a Spanish squa- which, with cool judgment and determined gallantry, form-
dron under Don Juan de Langara, which had been sta- ed the great attributes of his professionardiaracter. In
tioned there to intercept Sir George Rodney, who was the midst of many discouragements, and on a station ex-
supposed to have only a squadron of four sail of the line, posed to peculiar dangers from the shoals and sand-banks
On this occasion Captain Duncan carried the Monarch which cover the coasts of the United Provinces, and the
into action before any other ship of the fleet; and the St storms with which the North Sea is frequently visited, he
Augustin, of seventy guns, struck to him, after having never shrunk from the duty which had been assigned him
been so much disabled that he was obliged to abandon or failed at any season, however tempestuous, to show his
her. In this action the disparity of force wms great; the squadron off the coast w-hich it domineered over and in-
British fleet consisting of nineteen ships of the line, and suited.
the Spanish of only eleven ships and two frigates. Of the For more than two years, however, nothing occurred
latter, four were taken, one was blown up, three surrender- beyond the ordinary routine of such a service ; namely,
ed, but afterwards got away much damaged, one was re- occasional captures, and smart affairs with the coast bat-
duced almost to a wreck, and two others, together with terics and the craft which took shelter under their guns,
the frigates, made their escape. Soon after his arrival in The Dutch trade, however, was nearly annihilated; their
England Captain Duncan quitted the Monarch, and re- merchant-vessels were frequently captured in sight of their
mained without employment until the beginning of 1780, own ports ; and the whole coast was so completely blockad-
when he was appointed to the Blenheim, of ninety guns, ed that few vessels could venture out to sea, and escape the
and continued in command of this ship during nearly the vigilance of the British fleet or its cruisers. The Batavian
whole remainder of the war. He was constantly employ- fleet, though consisting of five sail of the line, six frigates,
ed with the Channel fleet, then under the command of and five sloops, was also obliged to remain quietly in port,
Earl Howe; and in September 1780, having accompanied or to confine itself to short cruises, at times when want of
his lordship to Gibraltar, he was appointed to lead the water or provisions compelled the British ships to repair
larboard division of the centre, or squadron of the com- for a few days to their own coasts; and in the beginning
mander-m-chief, and greatly distinguished himself in the of June 1797, it even suffered itself to be blocked up in
encounter with the combined fleets of France and Spain, port, although for several days Admiral Duncan’s force
winch took place off the entrance of the Straits. Soon after was limited to his own ship the Venerable, of seventy-four
the return of the fleet to England Captain Duncan was re- guns, and the Adamant, of fifty. This was owing to the un¬
moved into theroudroyantjof eighty-four guns ; and on the happy and dangerous spirit of mutiny which at that period
conclusion of the peace in the spring ensuing he passed had infected in succession almost every portion of theBri-
into the Edgar, of seventy-four guns, one of the guard tish navy. It first broke out amongst the ships at Ports-
siwps at I ortsmouth, where, as is customary in such cases, mouth, then extended itself to the fleet at the Nore, and
'o.,.001111111161 m command during the three succeeding afterwards reached the North-Sea fleet, in which almost
^elp,S. , , . . every ship hoisted the flag of defiance. At this alarming
i his was the last commission which he ever held as cap- and unprecedented crisis, the conduct of Admiral Duncan
tain of a ship. In September 1789 he was promoted to the proved him to be equal to the fearful exigencies of the oc-
rank of rear-admiral of the blue, and in September 1790 he casion, and perhaps contributed more to the safety and true
was made rear-admiral of the white ; in February 1793 he glory of the country than even his subsequent victory. Al-
was raised to be vice-admiral of the blue, and in April 1794 though by the secession of the disaffected ships his fleet bad
ie became vice-admiral of the white; in June 1795 he been so thinned that, towards the end of May 1797, he found
7,rr,nted ac m!ra] of the blue ; and lastly, in February himself at sea with only his own ship and another, he never-
le received the rank of admiral of lire white. But tireless proceeded to his usual station off the Texel,1 where
a,iaSl3!i?d °f/Une.,1797’ Admiral1 Du"can having assembled the officers, seamen, and marines of his own ship (the Venerable),
h , . ,them f7‘T; th® quarter-deck as follows My lads, I once more call you together with a sorrowful heart, from what I
♦ hJf 1 r °f t le- dlsa1ffectlon cd the fleets; 1 call it disaffection, for the crews have no grievances. To be deserted by my fleet in
orPitpVf eiiem-V’ 18 a disgrace which I believe never before happened to a British admiral; nor could I have supposed it. My
^°dT’ 1S’ that 1 have been suPP°rted hy the officers, seamen, and marines of this ship; for which, with a heart
bv brinoW 7l! lgara itiUdae’ 1 rrlli y°U t0 ffpt ni-v 81 ucere thanks. I flatter myself, much good may result from your example,
y b ging those deluded people to a sense of the duty which they owe, not only to their king and country, but to themselves. The
DUN
< there lay at anchor the Dutch fleet of fifteen sail of the
W'-w' line, under the command of Vice-Admiral de Winter; and
in order to detain the latter in port until a reinforcement
should arrive, he caused repeated signals to be made, as if
to the main body of his fleet in the offing; a stratagem
which, it was supposed, had the desired effect. At length,
about the middle of June, several line-of-battle ships, in
detached portions, joined the British admiral, and in a
short time thereafter the two fleets were again placed on
an equal footing.
But the Venerable having been upwards of eighteen
weeks at sea, and during part of that time exposed to
boisterous weather, w as now in wrant of almost every de¬
scription of stores; whilst others of the ships had also
suffered by the recent gales, and were besides short of
provisions. In these circumstances, the admiral, on the 3d
of October, put into Yarmouth roads in order to refit and
revictual; having left off the Dutch coast a small squadron
of observation under the orders of Captain Trollope of the
Russell. But early on the morning of the 9th, the Black
Joke hired armed lugger showed herself at the back of
Yarmouth sands with the signal for an enemy flying at
her mast-head. Immediately all was bustle and prepara¬
tion, and, by incredible exertions, Admiral Duncan, with
eleven sail of the line, was enabled, a little before noon,
to weigh and put to sea; directing his course with a fair
wind right across to his old station. On the following
day, the Powerful, Agincourt, and Isis joined, and on the
afternoon of the 11th the advanced ships were near enough
to count twenty-two sail of square-rigged vessels at anchor
in the Texel. Meanwhile the admiral having received from
Captain Trollope information of the course the enemy’s
fleet was steering, now stood along shore to the south¬
ward. At about seven on the morning of the 12th,
the Russell, Adamant, and Beaulieu were descried in the
south-west, bearing at their mast-heads the signal of an
enemy in sight to the leeward; and about half-past eight,
a strange fleet, consisting of twenty-one ships and four
brigs, made its appearance in the quarter pointed out by
the signal.
This was the Dutch fleet, under Vice-A dmiral de Winter,
consisting of four seventy-fours, seven sixty-fours, four fif¬
ty gun ships, two forty-four gun frigates, two of thirty-two
guns, two corvettes, four brigs, sloops, and two advice-
boats, all which had quitted the Texel at ten o’clock in
the morning of the 10th, with a light breeze at east and
CAN. 277
by north. As soon as Admiral de Winter had learned that Duncan,
the British fleet was approaching, he recalled some ships ''V*—'
which he had previously detached, and edged away with
the wind at north-west, towards Camperdown, the ap¬
pointed place of rendezvous. At daylight on the 11th,
the Dutch fleet was about nine leagues off the village of
Schevenningen, in loose order; but on receiving additional
information, Admiral de Winter ordered his captains to
their respective stations, and, to facilitate the junction of
the ships to leeward, stood towards the land. On the Wy-
kerdens bearing east, distant about four leagues, the
Dutch fleet hauled to the wind on the starboard tack,
and shortly afterwards discovered the British fleet in the
north-north-west; upon which it put about, and as soon
as a close line was formed, with frigates and other smaller
vessels opposite the openings, the Dutch ships throwing
their main-top-sails aback, resolutely awaited the approach
of the British.
When the Dutch appeared in sight, the British fleet
was, owing to the inequality of the ships in point of sail¬
ing, in very loose order. To connect the squadron, there¬
fore, and enable the heavy-sailing ships to take their allot¬
ted stations, the admiral made the signal to shorten sail,
and bring to on the starboard tack; but observing, soon
afterwards, that the Dutch ships were drawing fast in
shore, and finding there was no time to be lost in making
the attack, he made the signals to bear up, break the ene¬
my’s line, and engage them to leeward, each ship her op¬
ponent, and also tor the van to attack the enemy’s rear. In
his dispatch the admiral states that his signals were obeyed
with the greatest promptitude ; but it has been asserted
that, owing to the thickness of the weather, the signal to
pass through the enemy’s line and engage him to leeward
was not generally understood during the short time it was
displayed, and that hence some uncertainty prevailed in
the fleet as to the precise mode of attack. In fact, the
admiral perceived that if he waited to form line, there
would be no action ; and, with equal judgment and bold¬
ness, he dispensed with this preliminary arrangement, and
notwithstanding the still disunited state of the ships, he
hurried them into action as fast as possible. The signal
above mentioned was replaced by that for close action,
which continued flying for an hour and a half, until it was
shot away by the enemy. This signal could not possibly
be mistaken.1
About forty minutes past twelve o’clock (12th October)
British navy has ever been the support of that liberty which has been handed down to us by our ancestors, and which, I trust, we
shall maintain to the latest posterity, and that can only be done by unanimity and obedience. The ship’s company, and others who
have distinguished themselves by their loyalty and good order, deserve to be, and doubtless will be, the favourites of a grateful coun¬
try ; they will also have, from their individual feelings, a comfort which must be lasting, and not like the fleeting and false confidence
of those who have swerved from their duty. It has often been my pride with you to look into the Texel, and see a foe which dreaded
coining out to meet us. My pride is now humble indeed. My feelings are not easily to be expressed. Our cup has overflowed, and
made us wanton. The all-wise Providence has given us this check as a warning, and I hope we shall improve by it. On Him, then,
let us trust, where our only security can be found. I find there are many good men among us: for my own part, I have had
full confidence of all in this ship, and once more beg to express my admiration of your conduct. May God, who has thus far con¬
ducted you, continue to do so ; and may the British navy, the glory and support of our country, be restored to its wonted splendour,
and be not only the buhvark of Britain, but the terror of the world. But this can only be effected by a strict adherence to our duty
and obedience; and let us pray that the Almighty God may keep us in the right way of thinking. God bless you all.” If this
speech has but little to recommend it on the score of rhetoric, it has qualities of a nobler kind to compensate for the want of the
graces of diction or oratory : it is indeed affecting and impressive in a very high degree ; and it is recorded that, among the crew of
the Venerable who listened to it, there was not a dry eye when the good admiral had concluded his address.
1 The following anecdote, which is told by Admiral Sir Charles Kkins {Naval Baltics, p. 236), shows that the instinct of true va¬
lour sometimes supplies the place of knowledge, if not of genius. Captain Inglis of the Belliqueux, sixty-four guns, owing either to
long absence from active service, or an inaptitude for the subject sometimes apparent in naval officers, had neglected to make himself
competently master of the signal-book ; and hence, on the morning of the day of battle, when it became necessary to act with promp¬
titude, in obedience to the signals, he found himself more puzzled than enlightened by it; so, throwing it with contempt upon the
deck, he exclaimed in broad Scotch, “ Damn me, up wi’ the hellem, an’ into the middle o’t.” In this manner he bravely anti¬
cipated the remedy in such cases provided by the illustrious Nelson, who, in his celebrated Memorandum on the eve of the battle of
Trafalgar, observed, that “ if a captain should be at a loss, he would not do very wrong if he laid his ship alongside of the enemy.” In
strict conformity with this doctrine, the Belliqueux was carried by her brave and honest captain into the very thickest of the fight,
and got very roughly handled by the van of the enemy.
278 DUN
Duncan, the action commenced, when Vice-Admiral Onslow in the
V-a-Y-w' Monarch, which led the advanced or larboard division of
the British fleet, cut through the Dutch line between the
Haerlem and Jupiter, pouring into each in passing a well-
directed broadside ; and then leaving the Haerlem to the
Powerful, luffed up alongside of the Jupiter, upon which
the two ships became warmly engaged. In rounding, the
Monarch received the raking fire of the Monnikendam
frigate and the Atalanta brig, stationed in the rear or se¬
cond line. The remaining ships of the larboard division,
particularly the Monmouth and Russell, were soon in ac¬
tion with those of the enemy’s rear; amongst which the
last to surrender was the Jupiter, which had been first
engaged. About twenty minutes after the Monarch had
passed through the Dutch line, the Venerable, frustrated
in her attempt to pass astern of the Vryheid, by the prompt¬
ness of the States-General in closing up the interval, ran
under the stern of the latter, and soon compelled her to
bear up; whilst the Triumph, theVenerable’s second astern,
found immediate employment for the Wassemaer, the se¬
cond astern of the States-General. In the meanwhile the
Venerable had ranged up close on the lee-side of the Vry¬
heid, with which, on the opposite side, the Ardent was also
warmly engaged, and, in front, the Bedford, as she cut
through the enemy’s line astern of the Gelykheid. The
Brutus, Leyden, and Mars, not being pressed by opponents,
advanced to the assistance of their admiral, and did consi¬
derable damage to the Venerable, Ardent, and other ships
of the British van. At this time the Hercules, having
caught fire on the poop, bore up out of the line, and came
drifting near the Venerable to leeward ; but although the
Dutch crew contrived to extinguish the flames, yet hav¬
ing thrown their powder overboard, they were compelled
to surrender their ship to the nearest opponent. The Ve¬
nerable, which had sustained serious damage, was now
obliged to haul off, and to wear round on the starboard
tack. As soon as this was observed, the Triumph, which
had compelled the Wassemaer to strike her colours, ap¬
proached to give the finishing blow to the Vryheid, which
still persisted in defending herself. At length, from the
united fire of the Venerable, Triumph, Ardent, and Direc¬
tor, the three masts of the gallant ship fell over her side,
and disabled her starboard guns; upon which the Vryheid
dropped out of the line an ungovernable hulk, and then
struck her colours. With the surrender of De Winter’s
ship the action ceased, and the British found themselves
in possession of the Vryheid and Jupiter, seventy-fours;
Devries, Gelykheid, Haerlem, Hercules, and W^assemaer,7
sixty-fours; Alkmaar and Delft, fifties; and the frigates
Monnikendam and Ambuscade. The victors then hastened
to secure their prizes, in order that, before night-fall, they
might get clear of the shore.
This battle presented on both sides the singular specta¬
cle of heroic courage and determined perseverance, con¬
trasted with conduct little, if at all, short of downright
cowardice or disaffection ; and from first to last the oppos¬
ing forces were, from various causes, pretty nearly equal.
Seven Dutch line-of-battle ships quitted the action in
order to return home, and nearly as many British seem
scarcely to have entered it. The actual combatants, how¬
ever, maintained the strife with fierce, unflinching valour;
and hence the loss on both sides was projiortionally
severe, lhat of the British amounted to 203 killed and
622 wounded, while the Dutch had 540 killed and 620
wounded. During the action the latter directed their
shot solely at the hulls of their adversaries, and this not
until they were so near that scarcely any aim could miss ;
which accounts for the unusual severity of the loss sus¬
tained. On the other hand, the captured ships were all
either dismasted outright, or so injured in their masts
CAN.
\
that most of these fell in the passage home ; whilst as to
their hulls, they were completely riddled, and only worth
bringing into port as trophies of the victory.
If any proof were wanting of the superior efficacy of
Admiral Duncan’s mode of attack, it would be found, first
in a manly declaration made by the gallant Dutchman*
and, secondly, in the practical testimony to its excellence
borne by Lord Nelson. “ Your not waiting to form a line ”
said De Winter to Admiral Duncan, “ ruined me; if'l
had got nearer the shore, and you had attacked, I should
probably have drawn both fleets on it, and it would have
been a victory to me, being on my own coast.” And after
the battle of the Nile, Nelson, although unacquainted with
Lord Duncan, wrote his lordship to tell him how he, Nel¬
son, “ had profited by his example.” Besides, the British
squadron was composed of very indifferent and inadequate
ships; many of them having been intended for Indiamen,
and otherwise ill conditioned and deficient. Had Lord
Duncan’s fleet been composed of the same materials as
Lord St Vincent’s, every Dutch ship would have been
taken ; and had all the ships imitated the example of their
chief, the same result must have followed. Few people are
aware of the merits of the chief on that memorable day.
When the action ceased, the ships were in nine fathoms
water, within five miles of a lee shore, with every appear¬
ance of the gale which followed; a situation as critical as
it is possible to imagine. And it should also be recollected,
that when the Dutch put to sea, the admiral had only
been two days in port, after a blockade of nineteen weeks.
It was the opinion of Lord Duncan that, upon such occa¬
sions, the commander-in-chief should hoist his flag on
board of a frigate ; and he stated that, if he should ever
fight another battle, he would certainly do so. He was
often heard to declare that, if his flag had been flying on
board of a frigate in this action, not one of the Dutch fleet
would have escaped.
No victory was ever more seasonable, none more gratify,
ing to the nation, than that of Camperdown. Politicians
beheld in it the annihilation of the marine of Holland, long
our most formidable rival on the seas ; naval men admired
the promptitude, decision, and address displayed by the
admiral in approaching to the attack, in circumstances alto¬
gether unprecedented ; and the people at large were trans¬
ported with admiration and delight, though they did not
very well know why. Hence the honours whLch were
immediately conferred on the admiral received the appro¬
bation ol all parties. On the 21st of October he was created
Lord Viscount F)uncan of Camperdown, and Baron Dun¬
can of Lundie, in the county of Angus ; his second in
command, \ ice-Admiral Onslow, was made a baronet; gold
medals were struck and presented to the flag officers and
captains ; and the thanks of parliament were voted to the
fleet. A pension of L.2000 per annum was likewise grant¬
ed to Lord Duncan for his own life, with remainder to
the two next heirs of the peerage.
Alter the victory of Camperdown, Lord Duncan con¬
tinued to hold the same command until the commence¬
ment of 1800, when, being advanced in years, he withdrew
from the service, and passed the remainder of his life in
retirement, chiefly at his patrimonial residence. At the
period of his death, however, which happened on the 4th
August 1804, he was, we believe, about to be recalled
into active service; and he had signified his determination
to obey the call of his country at a season of unexampled
difficulty and danger, when his career was terminated for
ever by a sudden and fatal illness. In June 1777 he had
married Henrietta, daughter of the Right Honourable
Robert Dundas, lord president of the Court of Session in
Scotland, and father of Lord Viscount Melville; and by
this lady he had a large family. Lord Duncan was suc-
I)ui
DUN
DUN
279
Jan’s ceeded in his titles and estate by his second son, Robert,
sui Loaf now Earl of Camperdown.
Lord Duncan was a man as remarkable in appearance
Du: >mbe. as jie was distinguished for character and worth. In per-
son he was of a colossal and athletic form, six feet four
inches in height, erect in his carriage, and, notwithstand¬
ing his great size, graceful in his movements, with a coun¬
tenance strongly expressive of intelligence and benevo¬
lence. In him, singular meekness of disposition, extreme
modesty in all that concerned himself, and the most un¬
affected dignity of mind, were blended with genuine spi¬
rit, high professional genius, vigorous and active wisdom,
singular alacrity and ability for performing great achieve¬
ments, and a decided indifference about success, except¬
ing in as far as it might contribute to advance the good
of his country. His private character was that of a man
most exemplary in all the social relations of life ; an affec¬
tionate relative, a steady friend, and a pattern of virtue
and true piety. Lord Duncan was a most sincere and
devout Christian, nor did he ever lose sight of the duties
belonging to that character. He encouraged religion by
his own practice, and, wherever he held a command,
caused the public observance of it to be maintained. Im¬
mediately after the victory, which has immortalized his
name, was decided, he ordered the crew of his ship to be
called together, and, at their head, upon his bended knees,
in the presence of the Dutch admiral, who was greatly
affected with the scene, he solemnly offered up praise and
thanksgiving to the God of battles for having crowned
with success the arms of his country. In like manner,
when all eyes were upon him, in the cathedral of St Paul’s,
on the day of general thanksgiving, in December follow’-
ing, his demeanour was so humble and devout, as not only
to increase the admiration which his services had other¬
wise gained him, but to impress on all present a sense of
the real dignity as well as importance of religion. In a
word, Lord Duncan afforded a conspicuous instance of
the truth of the remark, that piety and true courage are
naturally allied, and that death loses its terrors to those
who have placed their hope beyond it. (Collins’s Peerage,
by Sir E. Brydes ; Naval Chronicle, vol. iv.; Charnock’s
Biographia Navalis; Chalmers’s Biographical Dictionary,
art. Duncan; James’s Naval History of Great Britain,
vol. ii.; Ekins’s Naval Battles, p. 231.) (a.)
DUNCAN’S Sugar Loaf, an, island in the Mer-
gui Archipelago, of a triangular form, about six miles in
circuit, near the south coast of the island of St Matthew.
Lat. 9. 42. N.
DUNCHURCH, a small town of the hundred of Knight-
low, in the county of Warwick, eighty-one miles from
London. It is situated on what was once a heath, cele¬
brated for an ancient legend of the Dun Cow, some of
whose bones are still affirmed to be preserved there. The
inhabitants amounted in 1801 to 1087, in 1811 to 789, in
1821 to 947, and in 1831 to 1029.
DUNCOMBE, William, younger, son of John Dun-
combe of Stocks, in Hertfordshire, was born in London
in January 1690. He published in 1722 a translation of
Racine’s Athalie, which was well received by the public,
and has gone through three editions. In 1724 he was
editor of the works of Mr Needier ; in 1735, of the poems
of his deceased brother-in-law Mr Hughes, two vols.
12mo; in 1737, of the miscellanies of his younger brother
Mr Jabez Hughes, for the benefit of his widow, in one
volume 8vo ; and in 1745, of the wmrks of the Rev. Samuel
Say, in one vol. 4to. In 1726 he married the only sister
of Mr John Hughes, whom he long survived. In 1734
his tragedy of Lucius Junius Brutus was acted at Drury
Lane Theatre. It was published in 1735, and again in
i<47. The works of Horace, in English verse, by several
hands, were published by him in two vols. 8vo, with notes,
in 1757; and a second edition, in four vols. 12mo, with
many imitations, appeared in 1762. In 1763 he collected
and republished “ Seven Sermons by Archbishop Herring,
on public occasions, with a biographical preface.” He
died in February 1769, at the age of eighty.
DUNDALK, a seaport town of Ireland, in the county
of Louth, about forty miles from Dublin. It is a large and
thriving town, with a wide street nearly a mile in length,
and a very fine market-house near the entrance from Dub¬
lin. In the reign of Edward II. it was a royal city, the
last we read of where a monarch of all Ireland was actually
crowned and resided. It was formerly very strong, and
had many towers and small castles in it. The bay has
good moorings at all times, and from four to above eight
fathoms water, with very good landmarks, either for bring¬
ing up to or making the harbour. In crossing the bar
at high water, or ordinary neap tides, there is from fif¬
teen to eighteen feet water. The manufacture of cambric
was established in this town in 1737, for the first time in
Ireland, and it has ever since flourished. Muslin is also
made here, and corn is exported. It is the assize town
of the county. The population amounts to 10,078.
DUNDAS, Henry, Viscount Melville, a late emi¬
nent British statesman, was born about the year 1741.
He was a younger son of the Right Honourable Robert
Dundas, lord president of the Court of Session in Scot¬
land, by Miss Gordon, a daughter of Sir William Gordon
of Gordonston, Bart. He was educated at the High School
and University of Edinburgh, and having been brought
up to the profession of the law, was admitted a member
of the Faculty of Advocates in the year 1763. He soon
distinguished himself at the bar, and rapidly attained to
extensive practice. The first promotion he obtained was
the situation of one of the assessors to the magistrates of
Edinburgh ; after which he became successively an advo-
cate-depute and solicitor-general. In 1775, when Sir
James Montgomery was appointed lord chief baron, Mr
Dundas succeeded him in the office of lord advocate,
which situation he continued to occupy until 1783. In
the month of March 1777, he was appointed joint keeper
of the Signet for Scotland.
From the period of his appointment to the office of
lord advocate, Mr Dundas in a great measure abandoned
the ordinary practice of the bar, and devoted himself to
public business. In 1774 he became a member of parlia¬
ment, having been elected representative for the county
of Edinburgh. Some years afterwards he resigned the
representation of the county in favour of the late lord chief
baron of the Court of Exchequer, and was chosen mem¬
ber for the city of Edinburgh, which he continued to re¬
present until his advancement to the peerage. Although
originally returned to parliament in opposition to the mi¬
nisterial interest, he soon joined the party in power, and
became a strenuous supporter of Lord North’s measures
during the American war. He frequently spoke in the
House of Commons, and, notwithstanding the disadvan¬
tages of an ungraceful manner and a provincial dialect,
he was always listened to with great attention, on account
of the clearness of his statements and the weight of his
arguments.
In the year 1782, Mr Dundas was admitted a member
of the Privy Council, and appointed treasurer of the navy,
under the administration of the late Marquis of Lans-
downe, then Earl of Shelburne; and he continued to fill
that office, and to support the measures of government,
until the dissolution of that ministry. During the short
coalition administration he was out of place, and made a
conspicuous figure in opposing the memorable East India
bill, a measure which occasioned the overthrow of the
Dundalk
II
Dundas.
280
DUN
DUN
Dundas. ruling party. Upon that occasion he displayed a know-
ledge of the affairs of the East India Company, which was
evidently the result of much study and laborious investi¬
gation. In the month of December 1783, when Mr Pitt
became prime minister, Mr Dundas was restored to the
same office which he had previously held; and was ap¬
pointed president of the board of control, under the new
East India system. In 1791 he became a member of the
cabinet, in consequence of his appointment to the office of
principal secretary of state for the home department. The
duties of this office he discharged with energy and ability.
The volunteer system, which, undoubtedly, contributed
much to rouse the spirit of the country during a period
of peculiar difficulty and danger, has been ascribed to Mr
Dundas. On the accession of the Duke of Portland to the
administration of Mr Pitt, he resigned the home depart¬
ment, and became secretary at war. At this time he also
held the offices of lord privy seal, and governor of the
Bank of Scotland, and enjoyed an extent of patronage in
his native country, which has seldom or never fallen to
the share of any individual, and has been considered by
many as more exclusive than can be safely confided to
the hands of any one man. For many years he was the
intimate friend and coadjutor of Mr Pitt, and took a lead¬
ing part in all the important measures of his administration.
The details of these measures, and Lord Melville’s con¬
duct in regard to them, belong to history. In the present
article we must restrict ourselves to a general outline of
the events of his life, and a short summary of the leading
traits of his character.
Upon the resignation of Mr Pitt in 1801, Mr Dundas also
resigned his political offices ; and in 1802, under the admi¬
nistration of Mr Addington, afterwards Lord Sidmouth, he
was elevated to the peerage, by the titles of Viscount
Melville and Baron Dunira. The last public situation
which he held in the government was that of first lord
of the admiralty, to which he was appointed, on Mr Pitt’s
return to power, in the room of Lord St Vincent. It was
in his administration of the affairs of the naval department
that his lordship incurred that irregularity relative to the
balances of public money remaining in his hands, which
produced his celebrated impeachment. We conceive it
unnecessary to dwell upon the proceedings of that well-
known trial. It is sufficient to say that the House of Lords
finally acquitted him of all the charges brought forward in
the articles of impeachment exhibited by the Commons ;
but he had previously resigned all his offices in the ad¬
ministration.
Subsequently to his acquittal, Lord Melville was restor¬
ed to his seat in the privy council; but he did not return
to office. He sometimes took a share in the debates in the
House of Lords ; and, in 1810, he brought forward a motion,
the object of which was to recommend the employment
of armed troop-ships, instead of hired transports, for the
accommodation of such troops as it might be found ex¬
pedient to embark in furtherance of the public service.
But the greater part of his time was spent in Scotland,
where he died suddenly, at the house of his nephew, the
Right Honourable Robert Dundas, lord chief baron of
the Exchequer, on the 27th of May 1811, at the age of
seventy-one. He appeared in his usual health for some
time preceding, and Ids death is supposed to have been
hastened by the affection he felt for the loss of his old
and valued friend the Lord President Blair, who died a
few days before.
In his person Lord Melville was tall, stout, and well
formed. In public life he was principally distinguished by
his great capacity for business, by the unwearied attention
which he paid to the details of all official measures, and by
the manliness and decision of his conduct. For many years,
as we have already observed, he was the steady friend and Dui
firm supporter of the measures of Mr Pitt, to whom he '
proved a very powerful auxiliary. Whilst he held the
offices of treasurer of the navy, and first lord of the ad¬
miralty, his exertions are admitted to have been attend¬
ed with great advantage to the public service. He de¬
vised several improvements in the details of that depart¬
ment, which have been found of great utility; and, in
particular, the regulations with regard to the payment of
seamen’s wages, transmission of letters, and other matters
connected with that branch of the public service, contri¬
buted much to the comfort of that class of men, and are
highly honourable to the character of their author. In
parliament he was a clear, acute, and argumentative speak¬
er. Llis eloquence, however, was that of a man pos-
sessed of strong natural talents, wholly unadorned by li¬
terary taste or acquirements ; and his speeches produced
their effect from the solidity of his arguments, and the
fearlessness with which he delivered his opinions, not from
any powers of oratory or graces of style. The ornamental
parts of eloquence, indeed, he seemed to despise, and was
satisfied to bring his audience at once to the object he had
in view. Political power was his passion, and the bustle
of official life was the element in which he loved to move.
In private life his lordship was a most agreeable com¬
panion ; easy, frank, and convivial; careless of money,
even to a fault; always disposed to do kind offices; af¬
fectionate in his domestic relations, and greatly beloved
by the numerous circle of his friends.
Lord Melville was twice married: first, to Miss Ran-
nie, daughter of Captain Rannie of Melville, by wdiom he
had one son, Robert, now Lord Melville; and three
daughters. His second wife was Lady Jean Hope, sister
of the late Earl of Llopetoun, by whom he left no issue.
Although not, strictly speaking, a literary man, Lord
Melville is the author of several pamphlets on political
subjects, which are distinguished by his usual sense and
knowledge of business. These are, 1. The Substance of a
Speech in the House of Commons, on the British Govern¬
ment and Trade in the East Indies, April 23, 1793. Lon¬
don, 1813, 8vo. 2. Letter to the Chairman of the Court
of Directors of the East India, Company, upon an open
Trade to India. London, 1813, 8vo. 3. Letters to the
Eight Honourable Spencer Percival, relative to the Estab-
lishment of a Naval Arsenal at Northfleet. London, 1810,
4to.
DLNDEE, a seaport town in Forfarshire, situated on
the north bank of the river Tay, about twelve miles from
its mouth. It is forty-two miles from Edinburgh, twen¬
ty-two miles from Perth, and eighteen south-west from
Arbroath, being in latitude 56. 2. 23. north, and longi¬
tude 3. 2. 55. west. The history of Scotland narrates
many sackings and burnings of this town. The last of these
was by General Monck; and such was its wealth at that
time, that every soldier in Monck’s army is said to have re¬
ceived L.60 sterling as his share of the plunder. Dundee
was erected into a royal burgh by William the Lion in 1165.
I he town is governed by a provost, four bailies, a dean
of guild, and thirteen councillors, and sends a member to
parliament. In 1831 the government, at the solicitation
of the inhabitants, granted them a resident sheriff-substi¬
tute. The market-place, or High Street, is a spacious
square, 360 feet long by 100 broad, from which diverge
the Nethergate, Seagate, Overgate, and Murraygate, the
principal streets, which run from east to west, parallel to
the river. These streets, till within the last forty years,
formed the chief part of the town ; and the access from it
to the harbour being through narrow lanes, it had a very
hampered and crowded appearance. This defect has been
remedied by the opening up of several spacious streets
DUN
ylilee. leading from north to south, with houses built in a mo-
clern style. Castle Street leads from the south-east end
of the High Street to the new docks on the south, and con¬
tains, among other neat buildings, an episcopal chapel
and a theatre. At the south-east corner is an elegant
building in the Grecian style, erected for an exchange and
reading-room. On the south side of the market-place or
square stands the town-hall, surmounted by a steeple, and
having piazzas below; it was built in 1743. Opposite to this
building is a spacious new street, named Reform Street;
at the north end of which, and fronting the town-hall, an
elegant edifice has lately been erected, in the Grecian style
of architecture, for an academy and public schools. At
the east end of the High Street, and rather obstructing
the entrance to the Murraygate, stands the trades’ hall, a
plain edifice, with pilasters of the Ionic order, the princi¬
pal apartment of which is used as a reading-room, and it
contains, besides, apartments for each of the nine incor¬
porated trades. A little to the west of the High Street
is the Nethergate, a spacious and well-built street, in which
are the remains of an old cathedral, containing four places
of worship, one of which, the most entire, is built in the
finest Gothic style, the groining of the arches being much
admired. This structure is said to have been originally
built by David earl of Huntingdon as far back as the year
1185. On the west end of these churches stands a mag¬
nificent Gothic tower 156 feet high. There are several
other churches and chapels connected with the establish¬
ment, besides two episcopal chapels, and various other
places of worship for dissenters, who form no inconsidera¬
ble part of the population. Among the public institu¬
tions may be mentioned a lunatic asylum, an infirmary, a
dispensary for out-patients, and an orphan institution; a
chamber of commerce, the society of writers, incorporated
by royal charter, and a mechanics’ institution. Dundee
has four joint-stock banking establishments, viz. the Dun¬
dee Bank, the Union Bank, the New Bank, and the Com¬
mercial Bank. Besides these, there are agencies for the
British Linen Company, the National Bank of Scotland,
and the Bank of Scotland. There is a native establish¬
ment for fire insurance, and one for sea insurance. There
are two weekly newspapers published in the place. The
trade of Dundee has long been extensive, and it has rapid¬
ly increased of late years. Its manufactures are chiefly
brown and bleached linens for the home and foreign mar¬
ket, great quantities of which are exported directly to
North and South America. It also carries on a great trade
to the Baltic, and has a number of vessels employed in the
whale fishery. In the London trade, besides a number
of sailing smacks, there are two splendid steam-vessels,
having each two engines of 125 horse power. A railway
was opened some years ago between Dundee and New-
tyle, a village in Strathmore, about ten miles distant, which
lays open the traffic of that extensive agricultural dis¬
trict. This undertaking has been attended with consider¬
able expense, from the nature of the ground. It crosses
the Law of Dundee, a high hill, by means of an inclined
plane and tunnel, and the Siedlaw range of hills by an in¬
clined plane at Balbeuchly. Two locomotive engines of ten
horse power each are employed on it. The difficulties en¬
countered in crossing the mountainous ridges being over¬
come, it is about to be extended to Coupar Angus, Glammis,
l orfar, &c. Among the undertakings either in progress or
in prospect may be mentioned a new jail and bridewell, a
new custom-house, and an establishment for supplying water
to the town. The tonnage of the port in 1832 amount¬
ed to 32,868 tons, which employed about 3500 seamen.
Its imports in flax and hemp in 1832 amounted to 21,967
tons. There are in the town and neighbourhood about
fifty spinning-mills, all worked by steam ; and the steam
VOL. VIII.
DUN 281
power employed in the different establishments exceeds Dunferm-
1400 horse power. There are several extensive iron foun- hne-
deries, and establishments for the manufacture of steam- '*~~SC***>
engines and machinery. The grandest and most impor¬
tant feature, however, of Dundee is its harbour, upon which
nearly L.200,000 has been expended. It consists of mag¬
nificent wet docks and a number of spacious quays, grav¬
ing dock, &c. spreading along the margin of the Tay, and
terminated on the west by the Craig Pier, which is ex¬
clusively appropriated to the use of the ferry, on which
two twin steam-boats are employed, of a construction
which admits of horses and carriages being transported
across the river, which is here two miles broad, without
unloosing the horses from the vehicles to which they are
attached. The increase of the trade of Dundee within the
last eighteen years has been in a greater ratio than that
of any other place in the empire, if we except Liverpool
and Glasgow, as will be seen from the following statement:
In 1815 it had 157 vessels, registering 15,275 tons; in
1832 it had 274 vessels, registering 32,867 tons. In 1815
sixty-six vessels entered inwards with cargoes from foreign
ports, registering 10,620; in 1832 there were 307 vessels,
registering 46,539 tons, being an increase of 241 vessels,
and four times the amount of tonnage. In 1815 three
vessels cleared outwards with cargoes for foreign ports,
registering 679 tons; in 1832, fifty-six vessels cleared
outwards for foreign ports, registering 11,159 tons, being
an increase of fifty-three vessels, and more than sixteen
times the amount of tonnage. The population of Dundee in
1821 was 30,575, and by the census of 1831 it was 45,355,
exclusive of the seamen belonging to the port. It is now
understood to exceed 50,000. This town has become the
principal seat of the linen trade of Great Britain, and the
great emporium of flax and hemp.
DUNFERMLINE, a royal burgh of Scotland, situat¬
ed in the western district of the county of Fife, fifteen
miles north-west of Edinburgh, in longitude 3. 27.11. west,
latitude 56. 5. 3. north. The town is built on an exten¬
sive eminence, having a pretty steep and uniform decli¬
vity towards the south, and likewise declining into a ra¬
vine on the west, which divides the more ancient part of
the town from the extensive and extending suburb of
Pittencrieff. This ravine is crossed by an earthen mound,
on which an excellent street has been built, which equals
the second-rate streets of the metropolis, and exceeds in
its uniformity, and the splendid appearance of its shops,
the principal streets of most country towns. The town is
situated about 270 feet above the level of the sea, and
about two miles and a half distant from Limekilns, the
nearest place on the coast. It may be described as con¬
sisting of one principal thoroughfare, stretching from east
to west, near the top of the eminence on which the town
is built, which is intersected at right angles by streets
running up and down the hill, terminating in a plain both
at the top and bottom. From its elevated situation, the
prospect all around is very extensive. Seen from the south
or west, the town has a very noble appearance, principal¬
ly from its irregular outline, and the many prominent ob¬
jects, such as steeples and public buildings, with which the
wdiole is adorned; and it is here and there interspersed
with gardens and trees, which give it a very pleasing and
picturesque appearance, flanked as it is on the east and
west by the extensive policies of Viewfield and Pitten-
crieffi The building most worthy of notice is the Abbey
Church, which has been erected on the site of the
Church of the Holy Trinity, built by Malcolm Ceanmore,
about the middle of the eleventh century; which was de¬
molished by Edward I. on the 10th February 1304, and
subsequently at the Reformation, on the 28th of March
1560. However, at the latter period, the nave escaped
2 N
282 DUN
Dunferm- destruction, and was used as a place of worship till Sep-
line. tember 1821, when the new church was opened for divine
service. It is a splendid edifice, in the most elegant Go¬
thic style. Over the centre of the cross is erected a square
tower ninety feet high, terminating in a flat roof, round
the four sides of which, in open hewn work, are the
words “ King Robert tbe Bruce,” in capital letters four
feet in height, surmounted by royal crowns and lofty pin¬
nacles on the four corners, which give an elegant and ap¬
propriate finish to the whole. The old church forms a
very fine entrance to the new; and, were a little expense
laid out in some small repairs, it might be rendered still
more impressive. It is of various orders of architecture,
accordant with the different ages in which it has been al¬
tered and repaired. The interior of the new Abbey Church
is even more elegant than its exterior. Its tower and
galleries are supported by magnificent pillars, moulded on
the solid mason-work with Roman cement, into small co¬
lumns, which form the aggregate pillar, the capitals of
which are adorned with exquisite imitations of foliage.
The ribs of the arches composing the different roofs and
the central ornaments are in the purest style, and, seen
from any point, the effect of the whole is at once magni¬
ficent and pleasing. Exactly below the pulpit, which is
of wainscot, and in the Gothic style, lie the remains of
Robert Bruce ; and in the north transept lie seven other
kings, two queens, and numbers of the nobility. Besides
the old church, all that now remains of the ancient build¬
ings is the south-west wall of the palace, wdiich hangs on
the brink of a deep hollow, through which runs a small
stream. A building over a gate, probably the principal
entrance to the palace yard, the south wall of the Refec¬
tory or Fraters Hall, and a large window of elegant work¬
manship, form the whole antiquities of the abbey and
palace. There is likewise some slight traces of Malcolm
Ceanmore’s tower, which formed the original nucleus of
the town. The Guildhall, which was erected in 1808,
is a superb edifice of the Grecian order, having a spire
a hundred and thirty-two feet in height. It consists of
a large hall intended for meetings of guildry; the cham¬
ber is occupied as a reading-room, and the rest of the
building is fitted up as a hotel. The town-house is a nar¬
row building, with a prison above. The council hall is
adorned with some good paintings, and the whole is sur¬
mounted by a spire. The Bank of Scotland is an elegant
building in the Abbey Park, surrounded with an extensive
policy. The High School is a beautiful building in the
Grecian style, and is taught by a rector and usher; the
Commercial Academy is in the form of a villa, where
the several branches of education are taught by two in¬
dependent teachers, with assistants. A handsome new
row of houses has been erected at the eastern entrance to
the town.
The linen trade is of considerable antiquity in Dunferm¬
line ; it began originally with ticks and checks. The first
table-linen manufactured here was a kind called hucka-
buck ; this was followed in course of time by damask, the
richest and most ingenious kind of table-linen, which has
been for the last century improving in quality and pattern,
and is still continuing to be improved. The value of table-
linens and covers annually manufactured here is estimated
at about L.200,000. Another important branch of indus¬
try is the spinning of yarns and threads; there are eight
large spinning mills, at some of which the very finest
quality of yarns is manufactured.
Phis town is remarkable as being the theatre in which
the principal dissents from the established church have
taken their rise; namely, the Seceders under Ralph Er-
skine, and the Relief under George Gillespie.
The population of the parish in 1821 was 13,690, and of
DUN
the town 8041 ; in 1831 the former was 17,068, and the Dur
latter 10,624. ! *
DUNGALLY, a town on the western coast of the 1)111
island of Celebes, situated on the south point of land
which forms one side of Parlow Bay, which affords good
anchorage. It is defended by a fort, and carries on a con.
siderable trade.
DUNGANNON, a town of Ireland, in the county of
Tyrone, situated on a hill. It is of some extent, and con¬
tains a charter school liberally endowed, also barracks for
a troop of horse. This place is said to have been the
chief residence of the O’Neils, monarchs of Ulster. There
are coal mines in the neighbourhood of the town. It lies
seventy-two miles north-west of Dublin. The population
amounts to 3515.
DUNGARVON, a town of Ireland, in the county of
Waterford, situated on the south side of a bay of the
same name. The principal article of export is potatoes.
This place is much resorted to in summer for sea-bath¬
ing. It lies twenty-two miles west-south-west of Water¬
ford, and a hundred miles south-south-west of Dublin.
The population amounts to 6519.
DUNG YE, a town of Hindustan, province of Bahar,
district of Shahabad, sixty-eight miles south-west from
Patna. Long. 84. 17. E. Eat. 24. 55. N.
DUNKELD, a town of Scotland, in the county of
Perth, situated on the northern bank of the river Tay, in a
truly romantic spot, embosomed among lofty crags, now al¬
most wholly covered with wood. It is the chief market-town
of the Central Highlands. The immediate vicinity has
been greatly improved by the Dukes of Atholl, particular¬
ly by the last, under whom much was done not merely to
beautify his own residence, but also to enrich the scenery
which encloses Dunkeld, particularly on the north. He
also commenced building anew mansion, or rather palace,
on an extensive and magnificent scale; but the building
was interrupted by his death, and has not yet, it seems,
been resumed.
Dunkeld is of great antiquity. It was the capital of
ancient Caledonia. About the dawn of Christianity, a
Pictish king made it the seat of religion, by erecting there
a monastery of Culdees, which king David I., in 1130,
converted into a cathedral, and it ranked as the first in
Scotland. Since the Reformation it has in a great measure
fallen into ruins. The choir, however, is still entire, and
converted into the parish church, which has of late been
very elegantly fitted up. On the north side of the choir
is the charter-house, built by Bishop Lauder in 1469, the
vault of which is now used as the burying-place of the
Atholl family. In the porch of the present church is
the tomb of Alexander Stuart, earl of Buchan, third son
of Robert II., but better known by the name of The
Wolfe of Badenoch, who died in 1394. The seat of the
Atholl family, when the new building is completed, will
be one of the finest in the kingdom. There is, almost
right opposite, a cascade, on the water of Bran, which,
in its way from the western hills, forms a considerable
fall called the Rumbling Brig, from a narrow bridge made
by the fall of two rocks across the stream. The pencil of
Rosa never delineated a wilder or more striking scene.
The stream has a second fall, which, but for the other,
would be deemed superb. Sir James Galloway, master of
requests to James VI. and to Charles I. was created Lord
Dunkeld in 1645; but his grandson James was attainted
at the Revolution, and having died at the beginning of
last century, the title became extinct. Besides the pa¬
rish church, there are two dissenting meeting-houses in
Dunkeld. The village has five fairs annually. The po¬
pulation amounted in 1821 to 1915, and in 1831 to 1471.
DUNKIRK, an arrondissement of the department of the
f -
DUN
i rk North, in France, extending over 310 square miles, divid-
11 eci into seven cantons, and these subdivided into fifty-nine
Dtiing- communes, containing 86,580 inhabitants.
Dunkirk, a city in the department of the North, in
France, at the end of a harbour which is nearly dry at low
water. It was formerly more flourishing than it is at pre¬
sent, and once created such apprehensions on the part of
England, that in several treaties the demolition of the
fortifications was stipulated. It now contains 1800 houses
and 24,600 inhabitants. There are still the rudiments of
a naval arsenal; and it has some trade, and shipping em¬
ployed in the whale fishery.
DUNMOW, Great, a market-town of the hundred of
the same name, in the county of Essex, thirty-seven miles
from London, and situated on the river Roding. It is a
town of very ancient date, supposed to be the Cmsaro-
magus of the Romans, and where remains of the road to
Colchester, constructed by that people, are still visible.
It is governed by a corporation. The market is held on
Saturday. The inhabitants amounted in 1801 to 1828,
in 1811 to 2015, in 1821 to 2409, and in 1831 to 2462.
Near to it is Little Dunmow, remarkable for the ancient
right which a happy couple have to demand a flitch of
bacon at the end of a year from their marriage.
DUNNING, John, Lord Ashburton, a celebrated
English counsellor, was the second son of Mr John Dun¬
ning of Ashburton, Devonshire, an attorney. He was born
at Ashburton, on the 18th of October 1731, and was edu¬
cated at the free grammar school of his native place, where
he soon distinguished himself by his proficiency in classi¬
cal literature as well as the mathematics. On leaving school
he was taken into his father’s office, where he remained
until the age of nineteen, when he was sent to the Temple.
After he came to the bar he got very slowly into practice.
In the year 1762 he was employed to draw up A Defence
of the United Company of Merchants of England trading
to the East Indies, and their Servants, particularly those at
Bengal, against the Complaints of the Dutch East India
Company to his Majesty on that subject; which was consi¬
dered as a masterpiece of language and reasoning, and from
which he derived not only immediate profit, but such a
large share of reputation as secured him extensive prac¬
tice in his profession.
In 1763 he distinguished himself as counsel in the me¬
morable proceedings in the case of Wilkes, and his profes¬
sional business, from that period, gradually increased to
such an extent that, in 1776, he is said to have been in
the receipt of nearly L.10,000 per annum. In 1766 he was
chosen recorder of Bristol, and on the 23d of December
1767 he was appointed to the office of solicitor-general,
which he held until the month of May 1770, when he re¬
tired, along with his friend Lord Shelburne. In 1771 he
was presented with the freedom of the city of London.
From this period he was considered as a regular member
of the opposition party, and distinguished himself by many
able speeches in parliament. He was first chosen member
for Caine in 1768, and continued to represent that borough
until he was promoted to the peerage. In 1782, when the
Marquis of Rockingham became prime minister, Mr Dun¬
ning was appointed chancellor of the duchy of Lancaster;
and about the same time he was advanced to the peerage,
by the title of Lord Ashburton. He died w hile on a visit
to Exmouth, on the 18th of August 1783.
Ihe person of Lord Ashburton was by no means agree¬
able or prepossessing. He was a short, thick man, with a
sallow countenance, a constant shake of the head, and a
dun 283
hectic cough, which frequently interrupted the stream of Durs
his eloquence. His oratory, however, was at once fluent,
elegant, and argumentative, and he possessed a sound
knowledge of the laws, and of the theory of our constitu¬
tion. His language was pure and classical, yet peculiar to
himself, and he had a great fund of wit and humour. His
disposition was originally timid, but this defect he over¬
came by practice, as he became more familiar with foren¬
sic habits. Of the great extent of his practice some notion
may be formed from the fortune he left behind him, which
was all earned by his own exertions, and amounted to no
less a sum than L.180,000.
Sir William Jones has pronounced a splendid eulogium
on the character of Lord Ashburton. “ His language,”
says that accomplished scholar, “ was always pure, always
elegant; and the best words dropped easily from his lips
into the best places, with a fluency at all times astonish¬
ing, and, when he had perfect health, really melodious.
His style of speaking consisted of all the turns, opposi¬
tions, and figures, which the old rhetoricians taught, and
which Cicero frequently practised, but which the austere
and solemn spirit of Demosthenes refused to adopt from
his first master, and seldom admitted into his orations,
political or forensic. That faculty, however, in which no
mortal ever surpassed him, and which all found irresistible,
was his wit. This relieved the weary, calmed the resent¬
ful, and animated the drowsy ; this drew smiles even from
such as were the objects of it; scattered flowers over a
desert; and, like sun-beams sparkling on a lake, gave spirit
and vivacity to the dullest and least interesting cause. He
was endued with an intellect sedate yet penetrating,
clear yet profound, subtle yet strong. His knowledge,
too, was equal to his imagination, and his memory to his
knowledge.”
Besides the Answer to the Dutch Memorial, Lord Ash¬
burton is supposed to have assisted in writing a pamphlet
on the law of libel, and to have been the author of A Let¬
ter to the Proprietors of East India Stock, on the subject of
Lord Clive's Jaghire, occasioned by his Lordship's Letter on
that Subject, \1^, 8vo. His lordship was at one time sus¬
pected of being the author of the celebrated Letters of Ju¬
nius. (See Chalmers’s Biog. Diet., and Sir W. Jones’s
Works, vol. iv.)
DUNS, John, a schoolman of the highest reputation, is
said to have been born in the year 1274, but the place of
his birth has been long and much disputed. Dempster has
asserted the claims of Scotland by twelve arguments J but
a less formidable number might perhaps have been suffi¬
cient. The designation Scotus, which is commonly added
to his name, evinces him to have been a native either of
Scotland or of Ireland; and the pretensions of the latter
country cannot be supported by the authority of a single
early writer. Wadding and other Irish authors who claim
him as their countryman, persuade themselves that he was
born at Dunum, or Downpatrick, and must thence have
derived the name of Duns;2 but this is obviously a mere
conjecture, unsupported by tradition, and carrying with it
no great plausibility. Leland claims him as an Englishman,
on the authority of certain manuscript copies of his works,
preserved in the library of Merton College, and bearing a
colophon which describes him as born at the village of
Dunstane in the county of Northumberland.3 But if this
had been the place of his birth, his surname ought to have
been Dunstane. It apparently belongs to the class of local
surnames, or those derived from places of birth or habita¬
tion ; and we have little or no hesitation in supposing him
1 Dempsteri Asserti Scotiae Gives esse sui; S. Bonifacius rationibus ix. Joannes Duns rationibus xii. Bononiae, 1621, 4to.
3 W adding Scriptores Ordinis Minorum, f. 201. a. Itomae, 1050, fol. 1 Lelandus de Scriptoribus Britannicis, tom. ii. p. 317*
284 DUN
Dunse. to have been a native of Dense in the county of Berwick.
This surname is still to be found in Scotland. He is men¬
tioned as a native of Scotland by Trithemius,1 and likewise
by Paulus Jovius, Sixtus Senensis, Possevin, and many other
writers of various countries. We are told thatwdien a boy
he became accidentally known to two Franciscan friars, who,
finding him to be a youth of very extraordinary capacity,
took him to their convent at Newcastle, and afterwards per¬
suaded him to become one of their fraternity. From thence
he was sent to Oxford, where he became a fellow of Mer¬
ton College, and professor of divinity; but it appears that
he had likewise studied at Paris. His lectures were fre¬
quented by a prodigious concourse of students. His fame
was now become so universal, that the general of his order
removed him to Paris, that the students of that university
might also have the benefit of his lectures. He went to
Paris in the year 1304, where he is said to have been ho¬
noured first with the degree of bachelor, then of doctor
of divinity, and in 1307 to have been appointed regent of
the divinity schools ; but as he had taught divinity at Ox¬
ford, he must previously have taken at least one degree in
that faculty. During his residence at Paris, arose the fa¬
mous controversy about the immaculate conception of the
Virgin Mary. Albertus Magnus maintained that she was
born in original sin. Scotus advanced two hundred argu¬
ments in support of the contrary opinion, and convinced
the university of Paris that she was really conceived im¬
maculate. This important nonsense however continued to
be disputed till the year 1496, after the council of Basel,
when the university of Paris made a decree, that no stu¬
dent who did not believe the immaculate conception should
be admitted to a degree. Duns had not been above a year
at Paris, when the same general of the Franciscans ordered
him to remove to Cologne, where he was received with
great pomp and ceremony by the magistrates and nobles
of that city, and where he died of an apoplexy soon after
his arrival, in the year 1308, in the thirty-fourth year of
his age. Some writers have reported that he was buried
in an epileptic fit, and that, upon removing his bones, he
appeared to have turned himself in his coffin. The genius
of this renowned schoolman, who obtained the appellation
of Doctor Svbiilis, or the Subtle Doctor, reflects no incon¬
siderable lustre on the nation to which he belonged: he
maintained a reputation almost unrivalled till the scholas¬
tic theology and scholastic philosophy were finally explod¬
ed. His followers, who were called Scotists, opposed the
opinions of the Thomists, or followers of St Thomas Aqui¬
nas. An edition of his works, accompanied by a life of the
author by Luke Wadding, was published at Lyon in twelve
volumes folio.
DUNSE, a market-town of Scotland, in the district of
Merse, Berwickshire. It is situated on a rising ground in
the middle of the shire, and though not the county town,
is by far the largest and most respectable place in Ber¬
wickshire. It is a burgh of barony, and is governed by a
bailie. The town is of great antiquity, and was frequently
destroyed in the Border wars. As seen from any point
around, Dunse has the appearance of a city, and on closer
inspection it is found to possess a respectable proportion
of good houses. In the market-place stands the town-
house, an elegant modern building, in the Gothic style.
Besides a parish church, Dunse possesses twm Seceder
meeting-houses and a Relief chapel. There is here a week¬
ly market, and four fairs for sheep and three for horses
and cattle annually. Dunse is considered as the birthplace
of the famous John Duns Scotus. A mile south of the
town is a well of mineral water, which is a powerful chaly-
D
U N
beate. The population in 1821 amounted to 3773, and in bun
1831 to 3469.
DUNSTABLE, a market-town in the hundred of Mans- ^Ul
head, in the county of Bedford, thirty-three miles from W
London. This neighbourhood was celebrated formerly for
the size of its larks, and for the great number of straw
and chip hats made by the females, a trade which is still
extensively carried on. It was a Roman station, the Ma-
geovinium of Antoninus. There is here a weekly market,
which is held on Saturday. The inhabitants amounted in
1801 to 1296, in 1811 to 1616, in 1821 to 1831, and in
1831 to 2117.
DUNSTAN, Saint, a famous archbishop of Canter¬
bury. He was descended from a noble family in Wessex,
and educated in the abbey of Glastonbury, where he stu¬
died so hard that it threw him into a violent fever, which * j
brought him to the very point of death. When the whole
family were standing about his bed, dissolved in tears, and
expecting every moment to see him expire, an angel came
from heaven in a dreadful storm, and gave him a medi¬
cine which restored him to perfect health in a moment.
Dunstan immediately started from his bed, and ran with
all his speed towards the church to return thanks for his
recovery; but the devil met him by the way, surrounded
by a great multitude of black dogs, and endeavoured to
obstruct his passage. This would have frightened ordi¬
nary boys, but it had no effect whatever upon Dunstan,
who, having pronounced a sacred name, and brandished
his stick, put the devil and all his dogs to flight. The
church doors being shut, an angel took him up in his arms, |
conveyed him through an opening in the roof, and set him
softly down on the floor, where he performed his devo¬
tions. After his recovery, he pursued his studies with the
greatest ardour, and soon became a perfect master in philo¬
sophy, divinity, and music; painting,writing,andsculpture;
besides working in gold, silver, brass, iron, and other me¬
tals. Whilst still young he entered into holy orders, and
was introduced by his uncle Athelm, archbishop of Can¬
terbury, to King Athelstan, who, being charmed with his
person and accomplishments, retained him at his court,
and employed him in many great affairs. At leisure hours
he used to entertain the king and his courtiers with play¬
ing on the harp, or some other musical instrument; and
now and then, by way of variety, he wrought a miracle,
which gained him great admiration. But his old enemy
the devil was much offended at this, and prompted some
envious courtiers to persuade the king that his favourite was
a magician ; a story which that prince too readily believed.
Dunstan, however, having discovered by the king’s coun¬
tenance that he had lost his favour, resolved to resign
rather than be turned out, and accordingly retired from
court to another uncle, who was Bishop of Winchester.
This good prelate prevailed upon his nephew to forsake
the world and become a monk; after which he retired to
a little cell built against the church wall of Glastonbury.
Here he slept, studied, prayed, meditated, and sometimes
amused himself with forging several useful things in brass
and in iron. One evening as he was working very busily at
his forge, the devil, putting on the appearance of a man,
thrust his head in at the window of his cell, and asked him
to make something or other for him. Dunstan was so in¬
tent upon his work that he made no answer, upon which
the devil began to swear and to talk obscenely. This be¬
trayed the lurking fiend. But the holy blacksmith was
prepared for all casualties ; so putting Up a secret ejacula¬
tion, he pulled his tongs, which were red hot, out of the fire,
and seizing the devil by the nose, squeezed the Satanic
1 Trithemius de Scriptoribus Ecclesiasticis, f. 7G. a. Basil. J404, fol.
DUN
stan organ of smell with a degree of energy which caused his
infernal majesty to bellow and scold at such a rate that he
W awakened and terrified all the people for many miles
around. Thus far the monkish legend.
However ridiculous these fictions may seem, they serv¬
ed, in those times of ignorance, to procure Dunstan a re¬
putation which has been confirmed by the authority of
several succeeding historians. It appears that this extra¬
ordinary person was called to court in 941, by King Ed¬
mund, who bestowed upon him the rich abbey of Glaston¬
bury, which for his- sake he honoured with many peculiar
privileges. Dunstan enjoyed in a very high degree the
favour of this prince during his short reign of six years;
but he stood much higher in the grace of his brother and
successor King Edred, to whom he was confessor, chief
confidant, and prime minister. During this period of court
favour he employed all his influence in promoting the in¬
terest of the monks of the Benedictine order, to which he
belonged, and of which he was a most active and zealous
patron. Having the treasures of these two princes, espe¬
cially of the last, at his command, he lavished them away
in building and endowing monasteries for these monks, be¬
cause almost all the old monasteries were in the posses¬
sion of secular canons; and not contented with this, he
persuaded Edred, who was a bigoted valetudinary, to be¬
stow, by his last will, such immense treasures on the
churches and monasteries, that the crown was stripped of
its most valuable possessions, and left in a state of indi¬
gence. This conduct of Dunstan, whilst he was in power,
rendered him very odious to Edwy, who succeeded his uncle
Edred in 955; and his rude behaviour to the king him¬
self, and his beloved queen Elgiva, raised the resentment
of that prince to such a height that he deprived Dunstan
of all his preferments, and drove him into exile. The ba¬
nishment of Dunstan, the great patron, or, as Malmsbury
calls him, the prince of monks, was a severe blow to that
order, who were in consequence expelled from several
monasteries. But their sufferings were not of long conti¬
nuance ; for Edgar, the younger brother of Edwy, having
raised a successful rebellion against his brother, and usurp¬
ed all his dominions on the north side of the Thames, re¬
called Dunstan, and in 957 conferred on him the bishopric
of Worcester. From this moment he was the chief confidant
and prime minister of King Edgar, w ho in 959 became sole
monarch of England, by the death ofhis elder brother Edwy.
In the following year Dunstan was raised to the archiepis-
copal see of Canterbury; and being thus possessed of the
primacy and assured of the royal support and assistance, he
prepared to execute the grand design which he had long me¬
ditated, of compelling the secular canons to put away their
wives and become monks, or, in case of resistance on their
part, of driving them out, and introducing Benedictine monks
in their stead. With this view- he procured the promotion
of Osw-ald to the see of Worcester, and of Ethelwald to
that of Winchester, two prelates who were monks them¬
selves, and animated with the most ardent zeal for the
advancement of their order; and these three great cham¬
pions of monachism found means, by their arts and in¬
trigues, in the course of a few years, to fill no fewer than
forty-eight monasteries with Benedictines. But on the
death of Edgar in 975 they received a check. The suffer¬
ings of the persecuted canons had excited much compas¬
sion, and many of the nobility, who had been overaw-ed by
the power and zeal of the late king, now espoused their
cause and promoted their restoration. Elferc duke of
Mercia drove the monks by force out of all the monas¬
teries in that extensive province, and brought back the
canons, with their wives and children; whilst Elfwin duke
of East Anglia, and Brithnot duke of Essex, raised troops
to protect the monks in these countries. In order to al-
D u p 2S5
lay these commotions, several councils were summoned, Dunster
and Dunstan was so hard pushed by the secular canons II
and their friends, that he was obliged to practise some of Duplicate,
his holy stratagems; but finally, by dint of miracles, he
overcame all opposition.
St Dunstan died in 988, in the sixty-fourth year of his
age, having held the bishopric of London, together with
the archbishopric of Canterbury, about twenty-seven years.
As this prelate was the great restorer and promoter of the
monastic institutions, the grateful monks, who were al¬
most the only historians of those dark ages, have loaded
him with the most extravagant praises, and represented
him as the greatest wonder-worker and highest favourite
of heaven that ever lived.
DUNSTER, a borough-town in the hundred of Car-
hampton, in Somersetshire, 163 miles from London. It is
situated in a beautiful vale at the foot of the Quartoch
Hills, about one mile from the Bristol Channel. It has
ceased to send members to parliament for many years.
The market is held on Friday. The inhabitants amounted
in 1801 to 772, in 1811 to 868, in 1821 to 895, and in 1831
to 983.
DUNTEEW^ARAH, a town of Hindustan, belonging
to independent chiefs, in the province of Gujerat. Long.
72. 45. E. Lat. 24. 55. N.
DUNUM, a Celtic term, denoting a hill or eminence,
and often concurring to form the names of towns, as well
as to indicate their elevated situation as places of strength
or citadels; hills or eminences being adapted to such
structures. See Dun.
DUNWICH, a small borough-town of the hundred of
Blything, in Suffolk, once a city, and remarkable only from
having sent two members to parliament, but it is now dis¬
franchised. The inhabitants amounted in 1801 to 184, in
1811 to 208, in 1821 to 200, and in 1831 to 232.
DUPIN, Louis Ellies, doctor of the Sorbonne, and
professor of philosophy in the Royal College, one of the
greatest critics of his time, especially in ecclesiastical
matters, was born at Paris in 1657. When he published
the first volume of his Biblioth&que Universelle des Auteurs
Ecclesiastiques, in 1686, the liberty with which he treated
some ecclesiastical writers gave so much offence that
M. de Harlay, archbishop of Paris, obliged Dupin to re¬
tract many of his propositions, and besides suppressed the
work. Nevertheless he was suffered to continue it, by
altering the title from Bibliotheque Universelle to Bi-
bliotheque Nouvelle. This great undertaking, continued in
successive volumes till it reached as many as fifty-eight,
though sufficient to occupy the life of an ordinary man,
did not prevent M. Dupin from obliging the world with
other works. He was a man of prodigious reading, and
had an easy, happy way of writing, with an uncommon
talent for analyzing the works of an author; a quality
which renders his Bibliotheque so valuable. M. Dupin
was banished for a time from his chair in the Royal Col¬
lege, to Chatelherault, on account of the famous Cas de
Conscience, but he was afterwards restored, and died in
1719.
DUPINASCHA, a city of Turkey in Europe, in the
province of Kostendill. It stands at the foot of a mountain
of its* own name, which is watered by the Isker, and con¬
tains about 6000 inhabitants, chiefly employed in the iron
mines of the mountains near them.
DUPLE, among mathematicians, denotes the ratio of
2 to 1. Thus the ratio of 8 to 4 is duple, or as 2 to 1.
Sub-duple ratio is just the reverse of the former, or as
1 to 2. Thus the ratio of 4 to 8, or 6 to 12, is sub-duple, or
as 1 to 2.
DUPLICATE, among lawyers, denotes a copy of any
deed, writing, or account. It is also used for the second
286 D U P
Duplica- letters-patent granted by the Lord Chancellor in a case
tion wherein he had done the same before. A second letter
n II . written and sent to the same party, and of the same tenor
as a former one, from fear of the first miscarrying, is call¬
ed a duplicate.
DUPLICATION, in general, signifies the doubling of
any thing, or multiplying it by 2; also the folding of any
thing back again on itself.
DUPLICATURE, among anatomists, is a term used
to denote the folds of any membrane or vessel. Thus we
say the duplicatures of the intestines, peritonaeum, and the
like.
DUPONDIUS, in Antiquity, a weight of two pounds,
or money of the value of two asses. See As.
Since the as at first weighed a pondo or libra, the du-
pondius must have weighed two; and hence the name.
Though the weight of the as was afterwards diminished,
and consequently that of the dupondius, yet they still re¬
tained the denomination. See Pound and Libra.
DUPPA, Brian, a learned English bishop, was born in
1589, at Lewisham, in Kent, of which place his father was
then vicar. In 1634' he was constituted chancellor of the
church at Sarum, and soon afterwards made chaplain to
Charles I. He was appointed tutor to Charles prince of
Wales, and his brother James duke of York; and about
the same time nominated to the bishopric of Chichester.
In 1641 he was translated to the see of Salisbury, but
received no benefit from this preferment, owing to the
suppression of episcopacy. Charles I. held him in high
esteem, and is said to have derived assistance from him
in composing the E/xcov BaovX/xij. After the restoration he
was made bishop of Winchester, and lord high almoner.
He died at Richmond in 1662, aged seventy-three.
DUPPAU, or Daupow, a town in the circle of Ellbo-
gen, in the Austrian kingdom of Bohemia. It is situated
in a vale watered by the river Auboche, and has a castle,
a monastery, and about 1200 inhabitants, chiefly employed
in the cloth manufacture.
DUPUIS, Charles Francis, an eminent French wri¬
ter, and member of the Institute, was born of poor parents,
at Trye-Chateau, between Gisors and Chaumont, on the
26th of October 1742. His father, who was a teacher,
instructed him in mathematics and land-surveying. The
Duke de la Rochefoucault, who accidentally became ac¬
quainted with the youth, took him under his protection,
and gave him a bursary or exhibition in the College of
Harcourt.
Dupuis made such rapid progress in his studies, that,
at the age of twenty-four, he was appointed professor of
rhetoric at the college of Lisieux. In his hours of lei¬
sure he applied himself to the study of the law, and on
the 11th of August 1770 he was admitted an advocate
before the parliament. He was charged by the rector of
the university with the task of delivering the customary
discourse at the distribution of prizes; and he was also
employed in the name of the university to compose the
funeral oration of the Empress Maria Theresa of Austria.
These two works having been printed, were admired on
account of their elegant latinity, and laid the foundation
of the author’s fame as a writer.
The mathematics having been the object of his early
studies, he now devoted his more serious attention to that
science; and for some years he attended the astronomi¬
cal lectures of Lalande, with whom he formed an intimate
friendship. In 1778 he constructed a telegraph on the
principle suggested by Amontons; and he succeeded so
well, that he was enabled to correspond with his friend
M. Fortin, who, from the village of Bagneux, where he
had a country seat, observed with a telescope the signals
made by Dupuis at Belleville, and returned his answer on
D U P
the following day. In this manner they continued to cor- Du
respond every year, during the fine season, from 1778 to's-^!
the commencement of the Revolution. Dupuis then de¬
stroyed his machine, lest it should render him suspected
in those dangerous times.
Much about the same time, Dupuis formed his ingeni¬
ous theory with respect to the origin of the Greek months.
In the course of his investigations upon this subject, he
composed a long memoir on the constellations. He had
been struck with the singularity of the figures bv which
the groups of stars called constellations were represent¬
ed on the most ancient planispheres; and had also re¬
marked that these groups did not present to the eye any
form analogous to their representations. Hence he con¬
cluded, that the real configurations of these constellations,
or asterisms, could not have been the origin of the figures
and of the names which had been given to them from the
highest antiquity. Dupuis attempted to resolve this enig¬
ma, in so far at least as related to the constellations of
the zodiac. He conceived that this representation of the
heavens during the course of the year must have some re¬
ference to the state of the earth, and to the labours of agri¬
culture at the time, and in the country, in which these
signs had been invented; so that the zodiac was, for the
people who invented it, a sort of calendar at once astro¬
nomical and rural. It seemed only necessary, therefore,
to discover the clime and the period in which the constel¬
lation of Capricorn must have arisen with the sun on the
day of the summer solstice, and the vernal equinox must
have occurred under Libra. It appeared to Dupuis that
this clime was Egypt, and that the perfect correspondence
between the signs and their significations had existed in
that country for a period of between fifteen and sixteen
thousand years before the present time; that it had ex¬
isted only there; and that this harmony had been dis¬
turbed by the effect of the precession of the equinoxes.
He therefore ascribed the invention of the signs of the
zodiac to the people who then inhabited Upper Egypt or
Ethiopia. This was the basis on which Dupuis establish¬
ed his mythological system, and endeavoured to explain
the curious subject of fabulous history, and the whole sys¬
tem of the theogony and theology of the ancients.
Persuaded of the importance of his discoveries, which,
however, were by no means entirely original, Dupuis pub¬
lished several detached parts of his system in the Journal
des Savants for the months of June, October, and De¬
cember 1777, and of February 1781, which he afterwards
collected and published, first in Lalande’s Astronomy, and
then in a separate volume in 4to, 1781, under the title of
Memoire sur T Origine des Constellations, et sur lExplica-
tion de la Fable par VAstronomic. The theory propound¬
ed in this memoir was refuted by M. Bailly, in the fifth
volume of his History of Astronomy ; but, at the same
time, with a just acknowledgment of the erudition and in¬
genuity exhibited by the author.
Condorcet proposed Dupuis to Frederick the Great of
Prussia as a fit person to succeed Thiebault in the pro¬
fessorship ol literature at Berlin ; and Dupuis had accept¬
ed the invitation, when the death of the king put an end
to the engagement. The chair of humanity in the col¬
lege of France having at the same time become vacant
by the death of M. Bejot, it was conferred on Dupuis;
and in 1788 he became a member of the Academy of In¬
scriptions. He now resigned his professorship at Lisieux,
and was appointed by the administrators of the depart¬
ment of Paris one of the four commissioners of public in¬
struction.
At the commencement of the revolutionary troubles
Dupuis sought an asylum at Evreux; and having been
chosen a member of the national convention by the de-
D U R
Wlla partment of the Seine and Oise, he distinguished himself
J || by the moderation of his speeches and public conduct.
Dt.ndus. jn the third year of the republic he was elected secretary
to the assembly, and in the fourth he was chosen a mem¬
ber of the council of Five Hundred. After the memora¬
ble 18th of Brumaire he was elected by the department
of the Seine and Oise a member of the legislative body,
of which he became the president. He was afterwards
proposed as a candidate for the senate ; and here termi¬
nated his political career.
In 1794 he published his large work, entitled Origins
de tons les Cultes, ou la Religion Universelle, 3 vols. 4to,
with an atlas, or 12 vols. 12mo. This work excited con¬
siderable sensation at first; it gave umbrage to many, was
attacked and defended with warmth, at length ceased to
be read, and fell into utter neglect. In 1798 he pub¬
lished an abridgment of this work in one volume 8vo,
which met with no better success. Another abridgment
of the same work, executed upon a much more methodi¬
cal plan, was published by M. de Tracy. The other works
of Dupuis consist of two memoirs on the Pelasgi, insert¬
ed in the Memoirs of the Institute ; a memoir On the Zo¬
diac of Tentyra, published in the Revue Philosophique
for the month of May 1806 ; and a Memoire Explicatf du
Zodiaque Chronologique et Mythologique, published the
same year, in one volume 4to. It was from the perusal of
the poem of Nonnus, which he once thought of translating
into French, and of which a fragment was printed in the
Nouvel Almanack des Muses for the year 1805, that Du¬
puis caught the first idea of his astronomical system.
Dupuis died at Is-sur-Til, on the 29th of September
1809, leaving behind him several manuscripts on subjects
connected with the works which he had published during
his life. He was a member of the legion of honour; and
his character was that of an honest man and a paradoxical
writer. He was born poor, and never acquired any for¬
tune. M. Dacier, secretary to the third class of the In¬
stitute, delivered his Eloge ; and an historical account of
his life and writings was published by his widow. (See
also Biographic Universelle.)
DUQUELLA, a province of Morocco, about seventy-five
miles long and sixty broad. It is chiefly remarkable in
an agricultural point of view for the production of a species
of water melon, which grows to a prodigious size. Grain
is also raised, but not in such quantities as in some other
parts of the empire. Goats are bred in immense numbers,
and their skins form one of the principal articles of export
from Mogadore. Honey and w ax are in great abundance.
The inhabitants are industrious, and much inclined to
commerce.
DURADSCH, the ancient Dyrrachium, a sea-port in
Greece, in the country of the Arnauts. It is the see of a
Greek archbishop and of a Catholic bishop, is fortified,
and contains 5000 inhabitants. There is a good harbour,
whence both commerce and piracy have long been carried
on. The air is most unwholesome.
DURAKAH, a small island in the Red Sea, about
sixteen miles from the coast of Arabia. Long. 41. 31. E.
Lat. 16. 48. N.
DURANDUS, William, one of the most learned
lawyers of the thirteenth century, was born at Puimois-
sion, in Provence. He was a pupil of Henry of Susa, and
taught canon law at Modena. He was afterwards made
chaplain and auditor of the sacred palace, legate of Gre-
gory X. at the council of Lyons, and bishop of Mende in
1286. His works are, 1. Speculum Juris, Rome, 1474,
D U R 287
folio, whence he derived the name of Speculator ; 2. Ra- Durango.
tionale Divinorum Officiorum, Mentz, 1459, folio, scarce; s—
3. Repertorium Juris, Venice, 1496, folio.
DURANGO, a town of Spain, in the province of Bis¬
cay. It stands twenty miles south-east of Bilboa, on one
of those numerous streams which, when united, form its
river. It contains 2800 inhabitants. Manufactories of
iron and steel goods are carried on here.
Durango, or New Biscay, an intendancy of Mexico,
in North America. According to Humboldt, it extends
from long. 104. 40. to 110. 0. W. and from lat. 23. 55. to
29. 5. N.1 It is bounded on the west by Sonora; on the
east it touches on San Luis Potosi; and towards the north
and east, for upwards of 200 leagues, it borders on an un¬
cultivated country, inhabited by warlike and independent
Indians. It comprehends the northern extremity of the
great table-land of Anahuac. Its length from north to
south, from the celebrated mines of Guarisamey to the
mountains of Car^ay, is 232 leagues. Its breadth is very
unequal, and near Parrel is scarcely fifty-eight leagues.
Its extent of surface is greater than that of the united
kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland; and yet its total
population, according to Humboldt, was in 1803 rather
less than 160,000. Of these, Major Pike thinks, three
twentieths might be European whites, five twentieths
Creoles, five twentieths Mestizoes and half-castes, and
seven twentieths Indians. It comprises, besides the city
of Durango, six towns (villas), 199 villages (pueblos),
seventy-five parishes (paroquias), 152 haciencias, thirty-
seven missions, and 400 cottages (ranchos).
The climate of this intendancy is stated by Major Pike
to be dry, and the heat, at that period of the year which
precedes the rainy season, to be very great. The rains
commence in June, and continue by light showers till Sep¬
tember. During the remainder of the year there falls
neither rain nor snow to moisten the earth, and the at¬
mosphere becomes highly electrified. The agricultural
produce consists of wheat, maize, rice, oats, cotton, flax,
indigo, and the fruit of the vine. To the north of Chi¬
huahua, about thirty miles to the right of the main road,
there is some pine timber. In one place, near a spring,
Major Pike noticed a solitary walnut tree ; and in all the
small streams there are, he says, shrubby cotton trees.
“ With these few exceptions, the whole province is a
naked, barren plain, which presents to the eye an arid un¬
productive soil; and, more especially in the neighbourhood
of mines, even the herbage appears to be poisoned by the
qualities of the land.-’ New Biscay trades with the south¬
ern provinces, and also with New Mexico and Sonora,
furnishing to the more populous parts of the kingdom a
great number of horses, mules, beeves, sheep, and goats,
in return for dry goods, European furniture, ammunition,
books, and other articles, which are brought from the ca¬
pital on mules. “ Some individuals make large fortunes
by being the carriers from Mexico to Chihuahua, the
freight being eight dollars per cent.; and they generally
put 300 lb. on each mule. The merchants make their re¬
mittances twice a year, in bullion. Goods sell at Chihua¬
hua about 200 per cent, higher than the prices in the sea¬
port towns of the Atlantic. This was in 1807. Horses
then averaged six dollars; some, however, fetched a hun¬
dred dollars; and trained mules twenty dollars. Rice sold
for four dollars the hundredweight. They manufacture
some few arms, blankets, stamped leather, embroidery,
coarse cotton and woollen cloths, and a species of carpet¬
ing.” This traveller concludes his statistical account of
T*1 NCCOr<^n^-t0 ^aj°r a more recent traveller in these parts, it is situated between long. 105. and 111. W. and lat. 24. and
• -N. He gives its length from north-west to south-east at 600 miles, its greatest breadth at 400, and its population at 200,000.
288 D IT R
D U R
1
Durango, the province by stating, that law here is merely a shadow,
t]le on]y ^awg t^a(. can gaj(j to ^ jn porce toeing jiie
military and the ecclesiastical; that the corruption of mo¬
rals is general, this being the natural concomitant of a
great degree of luxury among the rich, and of misery among
the poor; and that the Roman Catholic religion is in full
force, but the inferior clergy are much dissatisfied.
There are no slaves in this province, nor, according to
Humboldt, a single tributary individual; and “ all the in¬
habitants, are either white, or consider themselves as
such.” Major Pike explains the state of things more
specifically. Except the Apadus, who inhabit the Bol-
son de Mapimi, there are, he says, no uncivilized tribes
in this province. “ The Christian Indians are so incor¬
porated amongst the lower grades of Mestizoes, that it
is scarcely possible to draw the line of distinction, ex¬
cept at the ranchos of some nobleman or large landhold¬
er, where they are in a state of vassalage. This class
of people laid a conspiracy, which was so well concerted
as to baffle the research of the Spaniards for a length of
time, and to occasion them the loss of several hundreds of
the inhabitants. The Indians used to go out from their
villages in small parties; in a short time a part would re¬
turn with a report that they had been attacked by the In¬
dians. The Spaniards would immediately send out a de¬
tachment in pursuit, when they were led into an ambus¬
cade, and every soul cut off. They pursued this course so
long that the whole province became alarmed at the ra¬
pid manner in which their enemies multiplied ; but some
circumstances leading to a suspicion, they made use of
the superstition of these people for their ruin. Some offi¬
cers disguised themselves like friars, and went round
amongst the Indians, pretending to be possessed of the
spirit of prophecy. They preached up to them that the
day was approaching when a general deliverance from the
Spanish tyranny was about to take place, and invited the
Indians to join with them in promoting the work of God.
The poor creatures came forward, and in their confessions
stated the great hand that had already been put to the
work. After they had ascertained the nature and extent
of the conspiracy, and obtained a body of troops, they
commenced the execution, and put to death about four
hundred ol them. This struck terror and dismay through¬
out the Indian villages, and they durst not rise to support
their freedom and independence.”
Durango or Guadiana, the principal city, is the resi¬
dence of the intendant and of a bishop. It is situated in
the most southern part of the province, in long. 107. W.
and lat. 25. N., at 170 leagues distance in a straight line
from the city of Mexico, and 289 leagues from the town
of Santa Fe, in New Mexico. The elevation of the town
above the sea level is 6800 feet. There are frequent falls
of snow, and the thermometer descends to 14>° Fahren¬
heit below the freezing point. The city was founded in
1559. The population in 1803 was 12,000, but Major
Pike makes it 40,000. He also states that the city is in¬
fested in a very remarkable manner by scorpions. “ They
come out of the walls and crevices in May, and continue
for about a fortnight in such numbers that the inhabit¬
ants never walk in their houses after dark without a light,
and always shift or examine the bed-clothes and beat the
curtains previously to going to rest, after which the cur¬
tains are secured under the bed.”
In the midst of a very level plain, between this city, the
plantations Del Ojo and Del Chorro, and the town of
Nombre de Dios, which lies in the road to the famous
mines of Sombrereto, there arises a singular group of rocks,
of a^ very grotesque form, covered with scoria, called La
Brena. They extend twelve leagues from north to south,
and rise fiom east to west, and appear to be a volcanic
production, consisting of basaltic amygdaloid. On the sum- Dur.
mit of one of the neighbouring mountains (the Treayle), U
is found a crater 300 feet in circumference and 100 feet
in perpendicular depth. In the environs of Durango there ^ >
is also to be found, insulated in the plain, an enormous
mass of malleable iron and nickel, said to weigh upwards
of 40,000 pounds avoirdupois, and corresponding in its
composition to the aeroliths which fell in 1751, near Agram
in Hungary. Major Pike also informs us that there "is “ a
mountain or hill of loadstone” about a hundred miles south
of Chihuahua.
DURATION, an idea obtained by attending to the suc¬
cession of feelings and thoughts in the mind. Duration
as marked by certain periods and measures, is what we
most properly call time.
DURBUNGAH, a town of Hindustan, province of Ba-
har, district of Tirhoot, fifty-five miles north-north-east
from Patna. The inhabitants are chiefly Mahommedans,
who support themselves by breeding horses. Long. 85.54
E. Lat. 25. 7. N.
DUREN, a circle in the Prussian government of Aix-la-
Chapelle, extending over 122 square miles, and containing
38,048 inhabitants, in three cities, one market-town, and
twenty-seven villages. The chief place, a city of the same
name, is situated on the river Roer, and is a manufactur¬
ing place for fine cloths, blankets, paper, and ironmong¬
ery. It contains four churches, and 4938 inhabitants.
DURER, Albert, descended of an Hungarian family,
and born at Nuremberg in May 1471, was one of the best
engravers and painters of his age. He was a man of let¬
ters and a philosopher, and an intimate friend of Eras¬
mus, who revised some of the pieces which he published.
He was a man of business also, and for many years the
leading magistrate of Nuremberg. Though not the inven¬
tor, he was one of the first improvers of the art of engrav¬
ing ; and he bethought himself of working also in wood,
on which he engraved the life and passion of Christ in
thirty-six pieces, which were very highly esteemed. In
many of those prints which he executed on copper, the
engraving is exceedingly elegant. His Hell scene par¬
ticularly, which was engraved in the year 1513, is as
highly finished a print as ever was engraved, and as hap¬
pily executed. In his wooden prints too we are surprised
to see so much meaning in so early a master; the heads
being well marked, and every part admirably executed.
1 his artist seems to have understood the principles of
design. His composition, too, is often pleasing; and his
drawing generally good. But he knew very little of the
management of lights, and still less of grace; yet his ideas
are purer and more elegant than we could have supposed
from the awkward archetypes which his country and edu¬
cation afforded. In a word, he wms certainly a man of
very extensive genius; and, as Vasari remarks, he would
have been an extraordinary artist if he had had an Italian in¬
stead of a German education. Flis prints are very nume¬
rous, and were much admired and eagerly bought up in his
own lifetime. He was rich, and chose rather to practise
his art as an amusement than as a business. This eminent
person died at Nuremberg, on the 6th April 1528, and was
interred in St John’s Church, where an inscription was
placed over his remains. Durer wrote several books in
German, which were translated into Latin by other per¬
sons, and published after his death. Among these we
may mention, 1. De Symmetria Partium in rectis formis
Humanorum Corporum, Nuremberg, 1532, Paris, 1557,
fob ; 2. Institutiones GeometricParis, 1532 ; 3. De Urbi-
bus, Arcibus, Castellisque condendis et muniendis, Paris,
1531 ; 4. De Varietate Figurarum, et flexuris Partium, et
gestibus Imaginum, Nuremberg, 1534. (See Reliquien
von Albrecht Durer, seinen Verehrern geiceiht, Taschenbuch
DUE
DUE
289
.. ',sse flir Deutschland’s Kunstfreunde, zu Albrecht Diirer’s dritter
* Secidar-feier, Niirnberg, 1828.)
I pu am. DURESSE, Hardship, in Larv, is where a person is
jjept in prison or restrained of his liberty contrary to order
of law; or is threatened to be killed, maimed, or beaten.
In which case, if a person so in prison, or in fear of such
threats, make any specialty or obligation, by reason of
such imprisonment or threats, such deed is void in law;
and in an action brought on such specialty, the party may
plead that it was brought by duresse.
D’URFEY, Thomas, more generally known by the fa¬
miliar name of Tom d’Urfey, an English satirist and song¬
ster, of whom, though his name was as well knowm as that
of any writer extant, yet few particulars have been col¬
lected. He was born in Devonshire; but when, where,
or of what family, is uncertain. He was bred to the law,
which he forsook for the more agreeable employment of
writing plays and songs ; and the latter he had so happy
a talent both of writing and singing, that he received
many favours from persons of quality on that account.
Even crowned heads did not disdain his company. A
writer of the Guardian (No. 67), tells us, he remembered
to have seen Charles II. leaning on Tom d’Urfey’s shoul¬
der more than once, and humming over a song with him.
This indeed was not extraordinary in so merry a monarch ;
but even the phlegmatic King William could relax the ri¬
gour of his Dutch muscles on hearing Tom sing a song.
He was certainly by all accounts a cheerful, honest, good-
natured man ; but as this character does not include pru¬
dence, D’Urfey became poor as he grew old; and having
prevailed on the managers of the playhouse to act his
comedy of the Plotting Sisters for his benefit, Mr Addison
wrote the above-mentioned paper in the Guardian, with
another (No. 82) representing him in a good-humoured
light, in order to procure him a full house. He died at
an advanced age, in 1723.
DURHAM, Bishopric of, one of the counties of Eng¬
land. Before the arrival of the Romans it was included
in the British principality of the Brigantes, and after their
arrival made part of the province of Maxima Ccesariensis.
During the heptarchy it formed part of the kingdom of
Northumberland, the fifth established, which began in 547,
and ended in 827, having been governed by thirty-one
kings. It was not mentioned by Alfred in his division of
counties, being at that time considered as a part of York¬
shire. At present it is included in the northern circuit,
in the province of York, and is a diocese and principality
under the government of its own bishop, being a county
palatine, the second in rank, and the richest in England.
It is bounded on the north by Northumberland, on the
south by Yorkshire, on the east by the North Sea, and on
the west by Cumberland. It extends, according to the
view of Mr Rickman, over 1061 square miles, and contains
one city of the same name, nine market-towns, and 223
villages. It is divided into four wards. Until the passing
of the reform act, it returned two members to the House
of Commons for the county, and two for the city. The
county has been formed, by that law, into two divisions,
for the purpose of parliamentary elections; each of which
returns two members. The northern division compre¬
hends the wards of Chester and Easington, and the polling
places are Durham, Sunderland, Lancheton, Wickham,
Chester-le-Street, and South Shields. The southern di¬
vision comprehends the wards of Darlington and Stockton,
and the poling places are these two towns, and Bishop Auck¬
land, Stanhope, Middleton-in-Teesdale, Barnard Castle,
and Sedgefield. The following places within the county
have by the same law obtained the privilege of electing
two members each, viz. Gateshead, South Shields, Sun¬
derland, and Tynemouth.
VOL. VIII.
This is the only county palatine remaining in England, Durham,
and it is called palatine, a palatio, because the owners
thereof had, in this county, the authority to use the royal
prerogative, as fully as the king had in his palace. The
palatine privileges were granted to this county probably
on account of its bordering upon the inimical kingdom of
Scotland, in order that the inhabitants, having justice ad¬
ministered at home, might not be obliged to go out of
their county, and leave it open to an enemy’s incursions ;
and that the owners, being encouraged by so large an au¬
thority, might be the more watchful in its defence. There
is a court of chancery in this county, and the bishop is at
the head of the administration of justice.
The western angle of the county of Durham is hilly
and mountainous, with black, naked, and barren regions,
crossed by a ridge of high hills, from whose sides issue
numerous streams flowing to the sea. There are some
beautiful and fertile valleys in the eastern and central
parts, pleasantly varied with hill and dale, and alternately
appropriated to corn and pasture. The waste lands oc¬
cupy nearly 120,000 acres of the western part of the
county ; but in the southern districts many hundred acres
have been inclosed and cultivated within the last forty
years. The common fields are now but few; for the land
belonging to tbe townships has been inclosed for above a
century. There is a great portion of wet ground still re¬
maining, although draining is carried on to a great extent.
Near the river Tees, and in some spots bordering on
the other rivers, the soil is loam or a rich clay. At a far¬
ther distance from these rivers the soil is of an inferior
quality, and marshy, with patches of gravel interspersed.
The hills between the sea and an imaginary line from
Barnard Castle on the Tees to Alansford on the Der¬
went, are covered with a dry loam, the fertility of which
varies with its depth. From this line westward the sum¬
mits as well as the sides of the hills are moorish wastes.
The woodlands of Durham are not of very considerable
extent, trees being chiefly confined to the parks and seats
of the nobility and gentry, but many plantations have been
made of late years. The banks of the rivers and brooks,
however, particularly in the vicinity of Durham, are frin¬
ged with wood of long growth and much value. The pub¬
lic roads are in general good, but those belonging to pri¬
vate districts and townships want improving.
The port of Stockton-upon-Tees is well situated for
commerce. Hartlepool, situated on a promontory, nearly
encompassed by the German Ocean, which on the south
side of the town forms a capacious bay, is advantageously
placed for the reception of vessels, and landing of troops
from the Continent; and South Shields sends out many
ships.
The mineralogical substances found in Durham are nu¬
merous and valuable. The coal mines are some of the
most extensive and productive in the kingdom, and the
quantity of this important article is so great as to exceed
all calculation. At Sunderland the coal trade furnishes
employment for 520 vessels, independently of the keels
which convey the coal from the staiths to the ships, which
are 492 in number. This coal is chiefly conveyed to tire
metropolis, though great quantities are sent to the differ¬
ent ports of the Baltic, and in time of peace to France
and Holland. The whole quantity annually exported from
Sunderland alone amounts to about 315,000 Newcastle
chaldrons, each chaldron being equal to 53 cwt. The
number of persons dependent on this trade is very great,
and some years ago, when the consumption was by no
means so great as it is at present, amounted to upwards of
26,000 on the river Wear only. The seams or strata now
worked are five in number, extending horizontally for
many miles, and are from twenty to one hundred fathoms
2 o
290
D U R
D U R
Durham, beneath the surface; while each stratum is from three to
eight feet thick. Below these are several other seams of
coal; and many parts of the county, besides those where
the pits are now open, abound with this substance.
The principal lead mines of Durham are situated in
Teesdale and Weardale; those of the former place have
not been very productive, but the produce of the latter
is of considerable value. The general method of working
them is similar to that pursued in other mining counties.
The ore of Weardale is melted by the blast-hearth, but
in Teesdale air-furnaces have been introduced with much
success.
Ironstone is found in the neighbourhood of Swalwell
and Winlaton, where are the first iron-works in England.
Some excellent quarries of slate for buildings have been
opened in different parts of the county. A beautiful black
spotted limestone is dug up near Walsingham, and made
into hearths, chimney-pieces, and other ornaments. This
neighbourhood abounds also with fine millstones. The
Newcastle grindstones are procured at Gateshead Fell ;
and firestone of high estimation, for building ovens, fur¬
naces, and the like, is obtained in various parts of Dur¬
ham, and exported in immense quantities.
Several extensive works for manufacturing salt from
sea-water have long been established in the neighbour¬
hood of South Shields ; but owing to the discovery of a
very singular salt spring at Birtley in this county, that
process is not so much attended to now. This water rises
at the depth of seventy fathoms, in an engine pit con¬
structed for drawing water out of coal mines. It has for
many years produced 20,000 gallons per day, four times
more strongly impregnated with salt than any sea-water.
In consequence of the discovery of this spring, about
twenty-five years ago, a large and extensive manufactory
of salt has been established near the spot, the quality of
which is excellent. At Butterby, near Durham, is ano¬
ther salt spring, which issues from a rock in the river
Wear, but is only visible when the water is low; it con¬
tains more of the sulphate of magnesia, or Epsom salt,
than the spring at Birtley. Within a few yards of the
W ater-gate, on the south side of the town of Hartlepool,
is a chalybeate spring, covered every tide by the sea. It
is impregnated slightly with sulphur, which evaporates
very quickly, leaving a sediment with salt of tartar; a
gallon will yield 120 grains of sediment, two parts of which
are nitrous, and the rest limestone.
Improvements in agriculture have been pursued with
considerable spirit and success, in the environs of Dar¬
lington, chiefly through the patronage of a society of re¬
spectable gentlemen, who hold their meetings in the town,
and bestow premiums upon merit. The usual rotation of
crops in this county is, after summer fallow, wheat, oats,
beans, or peas. On some spots of gravelly soil, turnips
and barley are grown in almost perpetual succession, a
crop of clover being sometimes interposed. The produce
of wheat on good land is from twenty to thirty bushels
per acre, the produce of barley is from thirty to forty, of
oats from twenty to forty. The manures are chiefly lime
and the produce of the fold-yard; and though abundance
of sea-weed might be collected on the coast, the farmers
make but little use of it. The farms are of a middling
size, few of them exceeding 200 acres. The largest por¬
tion of each farm is appropriated to tillage, but towards
the western extremity of the county the whole is applied
to pasture. The leases seldom exceed six years, and are
too frequently rendered of little value by injudicious re¬
strictions. I he leases held of the see of Durham are
generally for life, or for twenty- one years, renewable every
seven years on payment of a fine. The farm-houses are
well situated and commodious, and improvements in farm¬
ing and farming machinery become more and more com- Dm
The cattle at Durham are, at present, in great repute •
as, for form, weight, produce of milk, and quickness of
fattening, there are none better. The sheep also, parti¬
cularly the Tees Water breed, stand high in estimation.
It is the largest breed in the island ; the legs being lono-er'
finer boned, and supporting a thicker and more firm and
heavy carcass, than the Lincolnshire. They are also much
wider on the backs and sides, and afford a fatter and finer
grained mutton. The weight per quarter, in two-years’
old wethers, is from twenty-five to thirty-five pounds
and in particular instances fifty-five pounds or more. The
wool is shorter and lighter than some other English
breeds. The Weardale sheep are small, but the meat is
finely flavoured. When fat, the quarters seldom weigh
more than fourteen or eighteen pounds each.
Durham, taking its dimensions into consideration, is in¬
ferior to no county in Great Britain for its numerous ma¬
nufactures. It has cast-metal founderies, iron manufac¬
tories, potteries, glass-houses, copperas works, coal-tar
and salt-works, quarries of marble, &c.; besides linen and
woollen manufactories.
At the distance of about three miles from Darlington,
at Oxenhall, are cavities in the earth, denominated Hell
Kettles, to the origin of which are attached many fabulous
conjectures. The diameter of the largest is not less than
114 feet, and that of the least seventy-five. About five
miles from Hartlepool is one of the most singular and ro¬
mantic clusters of rocks in the north of England, called
Black Halls, formed by the force and constant action of
the waves, which have separated enormous masses from
the coast, washing some entirely away, but leaving others
standing, like the vast towers of a cathedral; in some
places the rock is perforated so as to resemble a fine point¬
ed archway.
Near the north wall of the church-yard at Ryton is a
large barrow, about twenty feet in perpendicular height,
now planted with trees. It does not appear to have been
opened ; but a similar one, near Bradley Hall, in the same
parish, inspected about thirty-five years ago, was found
to contain a square cavity, formed by stones placed edge¬
wise, in which a human body had been interred. Between
one and two miles north of Brancepeth is Brandon Hill, a
lofty eminence, on the summit of which is a remarkable
tumulus, ot an oblong form, 120 paces in circumference
at the base, and about twenty-four feet in perpendicular
height. It does not appear to have been opened. One
mile north of Eggleston is an ancient structure, called the
Standing Stones. This originally consisted of a cairn in
the centre, surrounded by a trench, and that again en¬
compassed by a circular arrangement of rough stones,
many of which have been removed and broken, to repair
the roads. Near a brook, at a small distance, is a large
barrow, crossed from east to west by a row of stones.
On Fullwell Hill, a gigantic skeleton and two Roman
coins were discovered about fifty-five years ago, together
with a small urn of unbaked clay. Several copper coins
have been found at the village of Whitburn. Some coins
of the Emperor Hadrian were found while widening the
road near Gateshead, which is supposed to have been a
Roman station.
South Shields was the ad Jinem of Richard of Cirences¬
ter’s itinerary, as appears from the Roman altars, coins,
anjl other relics found there. Evchester, a small irregular
village, is supposed to be the Vindomara of Antoninus;
many Roman inscriptions, and an urn of uncommon form,
nearly a yard high and seven inches wide, with a small
cup in the centre, having been found there. Chester-
le-Street has been supposed to be the Condercum of the
TTir
D U R
I Romans, situated on the. military way leading to New-
castle. Glanibanta, near the village of Lanchester, is
another Roman station, which has survived the ravages of
cultivation in an extraordinary degree, and is one of the
most perfect in the kingdom. It occupies a fine eminence,
and is of an oblong figure, being 174 paces from north to
south, and 160 from east to west, within the vallum. In
some parts the wall still remains perfect; the outside is
perpendicular, twelve feet in height, and built of ashler
work in regular courses, each stone being about nine
inches thick and twelve long. The site of the Praetorium
is clearly distinguishable. Binchester, the seat and ma¬
nor of the Wren family, is the site of the Roman station
called Vinovium by Antoninus. Its figure and extent
seem nearly similar to those of the station just mention¬
ed ; but the walls have been destroyed, and the area in¬
closed and cultivated. A military way, it is supposed,
issued from it, leading towards Chester-le-Street. Innu¬
merable fragments have been discovered here.
The most ancient part of Durham Castle is the keep,
now a mere shell; the magnificent hall is fast going to
decay. Hilton Castle, an ancient baronial residence of
the Hyltons, is situated in a pleasant vale on the north
side of the Wear, about three miles from Wearmouth : its
present form is that of an oblong square ; the interior con¬
sists of five stories ; the rooms are small, and exhibit every
symptom of neglect and decay. Ravensworth Castle, the
seat of Sir Thomas Henry, occupies part of the site of an
ancient castle, which seems to have formed a quadrangle,
having a square tower at each angle, connected by a cur¬
tain wall. Two of the towers are built up in the offices,
the others are partly in ruins. Lumley Castle, about a
mile to the east of Chester-le-Street, is one of the seats of
the Earl of Scarborough. It forms a quadrangle, with an
area in the centre; at each angle are projecting turrets
of an octangular form ; it is a grand model of the taste of
its age. Brancepeth Castle, an irregular but stately pile,
was erected about Stephen’s reign, by the family of Bul-
mers. The original building has had many modern im¬
provements added to it by the present proprietor. The
castle of Bishop Auckland stands on the north angle of
the town, and, together with its courts and offices, covers
about five acres of ground. Raby Castle, the magnificent
seat of the Earl of Darlington, owes its splendour to the
Earl of Westmoreland, who enlarged a more ancient
castle which stood here prior to the year 1379. The pre¬
sent mansion of Streatham Castle was erected on the
foundation of the old castle at the beginning of the last
century, and several of the apartments are retained in it.
Barnard Castle is situated on the southern acclivity of an
eminence, rising with a steep ascent from the river Tees;
its ruins cover an extensive plot of grohnd.
Kepier Hospital, near Durham, was founded in 1112;
but the only part of the monastic buildings now standing
is the gateway, a strong and not unhandsome piece of
masonry with pointed arches. The ruins of a monastery
for gray friars may be seen at Hartlepool. Several re¬
mains of monastic buildings occur near the church at
Monk Wearmouth. The monastery of Jarrow may still
be traced in its ruins on the summit of an elevated ridge
near the church. On the east side of the main street of
Gateshead are the ruins of St Edmond’s Monastery, which
appears, from Bede, to have been established before the
year 653. Finchall Priory was beautifully situated in a
vale on the banks of the Wear; the ruins cover an exten¬
sive plot of ground, but are so much dilapidated that the
original appropriation of their respective parts can be
traced only with great difficulty. The remains of a chapel
at Bear Park are most perfect, and display some neat or¬
namental architecture. There is at Walsingham the ruins
DVR 291
of a considerable building, inclosed with a deep moat, sup- Durham
posed by some to have been a part of a monastery. II
The ecclesiastical buildings now remaining, and most ^).ur<>-
worthy of notice, are, the Cathedral of Durham, begun in
1093, in the Saxon and Norman style ; Sedgefield Church,
in the Saxon style ; Bishop Wearmouth Church, supposed
to have been founded very soon after the restitution made
by Athelstan ; and the parish church of Brancepeth, an
ancient structure of the conventual form, but apparently
of different ages.
The county of Durham contains a great number of
noblemen and gentlemen’s seats. The following are some
of the principal: Streatham Castle, the seat of the Earl
of Strathmore ; Shincliff-Hall, that of R. Scott, Esq.;
Croxdale-Hall, that of W. Salvin, Esq.; Raby Castle, that
of the Duke of Cleveland; Lumley Castle, that of the
Earl of Scarborough; Castle Eden, that of R. Burdon,
Esq.; Harwicke, that of M. Russell, Esq.; Windleston,
that of Sir John Eden, Bart.; Grange-Hall, that of G.
Allan, Esq.; Winyard, that of the Marquis of London¬
derry ; Seaham, that of Sir R. Milbanke, Bart.; Ravens¬
worth Castle, that of Sir S. H. Liddel, Bart.; Axwell Park,
that of Sir T. Clavering, Bart.; Gibside, that of the Earl
of Strathmore ; Lambton Hall, that of Lord Durham ; and
Bradley Hall, that of the Bowes family.
The following titles are furnished from this county:
Earl of Darlington to the Duke of Cleveland; Earl of
Stanhope ; Viscount Lumley to the Earl of Scarborough ;
Baron Auckland to the Eden family; and Baron Durham
to the family of Lambton.
The inhabitants of this county, by accounts of doubtful
accuracy, amounted in the year 1700 to 95,500, and in
1750 to 135,000. By the four decennial returns they
are stated as follows: In 1801 they amounted to 160,561,
in 1811 to 177,625, in 1821 to 207,673, and in 1831 to
253,700. The annual value of the real property appears
by the assessment of 1815 to have been L.791,359.
Durham, a city, the capital of the county of that name,
260 miles from London. It is situated on the river Wear,
which nearly surrounds it, and contributes to the fine si¬
tuation ; the castle and cathedral standing on an eminence,
communicate no inconsiderable share of beauty. Besides
the cathedral, there are six parish churches. The see is
the most richly endowed of any in England, and the pre¬
bendaries are of great value. In the vicinity of the city
are many interesting remains of antiquity. The corpora¬
tion consists of a mayor, twelve aldermen, and twenty-four
common council men, who nominate the freemen, by whom
two members are returned to parliament. The market,
held on Saturdays, is well attended. There is very little
of trade, and there are no manufactures. The inhabitants
amounted in 1801 to 7530, in 1811 to 6763, in 1821 to
9822, and in 1831 to 10,125.
DURKHEIM, a city, the chief place of a canton in
the circle of the Rhine, in the kingdom of Bavaria. It
stands on the river Isenach, and contains 500 houses, with
3081 inhabitants, who grow much wine.
DURLACH, a circle in the grand duchy of Baden, con¬
taining one city, two market-towns, and twelve villages,
with 12,626 inhabitants. The capital is of the same name,
situated on the river Pfing. It contains 471 houses, and
3873 inhabitants employed in making linen cloth, China
ware, and other goods, and in growing fruit and wine.
DUROCHSKOI, a town of Asiatic Russia, in the go¬
vernment of Irkutsk, on the confines of China, near the
Argun, 160 miles south-south-east of Nertchinsk.
DURON, an island in the Straits of Malacca, about
twelve miles in length and three in breadth. Long. 103,
30. E. Lat. 0. 42. N.
DUROTRIGES, an ancient British nation, established
292 DUS
DUS
Durour’s in that part of the country which is now called Dorsetshire.
Island Their name is derived from the two British words dur,
Dussara. water’ an<^ trigo, to dwell; and it seems pretty evident
. -_i that they obtained their name from the situation of their
country, which lies along the sea coast. It is not very
certain whether the Durotriges formed an independent
state under a prince of their own, or were united with their
neighbours the Danmonii; for they were reduced by Ves¬
pasian under the dominion of the Romans, at the same
time and with the same ease as the latter, and never af¬
terwards revolted. The peaceable disposition of the in¬
habitants was probably the reason why the Romans had
so few towns, forts, and garrisons in this pleasant coun¬
try. Dorchester, its present capital, seems to have been
a Roman city of some consideration, though our antiqua¬
ries are not agreed about its Roman name. It is most
probable that it was the Durnovaria in the twelfth Iter of
Antoninus. Many Roman coins have been found at Dor¬
chester. The military way, called Jeening Street, pass¬
ed through it; and some vestiges of the ancient stone¬
wall with which it was encompassed, and of the amphi¬
theatre with which it was adorned, are still visible. The
country of the Durotriges was included in the Roman
province called Flavia Ccesariensis, and was governed by
the president of that province as long as the Romans
maintained any footing in these parts.
DUROUR'S Island, in the East Indian Ocean, disco¬
vered by Captain Carteret in 1767. Long. 143. 21. E.
Lat. 1. 15. S.
DURRAJAH, a town of Hindustan, belonging to the
Mahrattas, in the province of Malwah, twenty-five miles
north-west from Bopal. Long. 77. 9. E. Lat. 23. 28. N.
DURRAMPOOR, a town of Hindustan, in the pro¬
vince of Aurungabad, fifty miles south-south-east from
Surat. Long. 73. 23. E. Lat. 20. 34. N.
DURRESTEIN, a town of Austria, in the province of
the Lower Ens, and circle of Upper Manhartsberg. It is
situated on the banks of the Danube, and belongs to Count
Staremburg. Above it are the ruins of a castle in which
Richard king of England was kept a prisoner. Near to
it are extensive quarries of millstones and grindstones.
The inhabitants are about 1000.
DURSLEY, a market-town of the hundred of Berkeley,
in the county of Gloucester, 108 miles from London. It
is a corporate town, but has long ceased to elect members
of parliament. A considerable quantity of broad cloth is
made, chiefly for the China trade. A market, held on
Thursday, is well supplied. The inhabitants amounted in
1801 to 2379, in 1811 to 2580, in 1821 to 3186, and in
1831 to 3226.
DURY, John, a Scotch divine, who travelled much, and
laboured with great zeal to reunite the Lutherans with
the Calvinists. His discouragements in this scheme start¬
ed another still more impracticable, namely, to reunite all
Christians by means of a new explication of the Apoca¬
lypse, which he published at Frankfort in 1677. He there
enjoyed a comfortable retreat in the country of Hesse;
but the time of his death is unknown. His letter to Peter
du Moulin, concerning the state of the churches of Eng¬
land, Scotland, and Ireland, was printed at London in
1658, under the superintendence of Du Moulin, and is
esteemed curious.
DUSKY Bay, on the west coast of Tarai Poenammoo,
one of the islands of New Zealand. It is of considerable
extent, and affords good anchorage in coves and harbours
near the shore. In other parts of it the water is very
deep. This bay was discovered by Captain Cook in 1769.
Long. 166. 48. E. Lat. 45. 40. S.
DUSSARA, a fortified town of Hindustan, province of
Gujeiat, which contains about 1300 houses, which are
chiefly possessed by Kurbatties; the remainder of the Du
population being Coolees, Rajpoots, and other castes, be¬
sides a few Banyans. This place, with twelve surround-^
ing villages, is the property of a Mahommedan zemindar 'w'
of Arabian descent, one of whose ancestors, about the
year 1209, was put to death for killing a cow, and he has
since been considered as a martyr, and his tomb is held
in high esteem. The military force of the chief is esti¬
mated at 2000 horsemen and 100 infantry.
DUSSAULX, John, a French writer, best known as
the translator of Juvenal, was born at Chartres, on the 28th
of December 1728. He studied first at La Fleche, and
afterwards at Paris; and having obtained the situation of a
commissary in the gendarmerie, he served under the Mar¬
shal de Richelieu, in Hanover, during the seven years’
w'ar. At the age of twenty-one he was admitted a mem.
ber of the academy at Nanci; and in 1770 he published
his translation oi' Juvenal. This work procured him ad¬
mission into the Academy of Inscriptions ; and he was also
appointed ordinary secretary to the Duke of Orleans.
For some years he quietly prosecuted his literary oc¬
cupations at Paris ; but, upon the breaking out of the Re¬
volution, his enthusiastic disposition led him to adopt its
principles; and he took part in the debates of the legis¬
lative assembly. He spoke and voted, however, at all
times for moderate measures; and, on several occasions,
he was employed to calm the passions of the people dur¬
ing public tumults. At the memorable sitting of the con¬
vention of the 15th of January 1793, he voted that the
king should be detained in custody during the war, and
banished on the return of peace. It is rather remarkable,
that when the committee of public safety wished to send
him to the scaffold, his pardon was obtained by Marat,
who represented him as an old dotard, incapable of be¬
coming dangerous. He became president of the council
of ancients in the month of July 1796, but left it in 1798.
At the sitting of the 27th of April, he took leave of the
assembly in a speech which was ordered to be printed.
He died on the 16th of March 1799, after a long and
painful illness.
lit
on;
V
Dussaulx wras a man of considerable literary attain- |
ments, and amiable, upright, and disinterested in his con¬
duct. His translation of Juvenal is esteemed the best
version of that poet in the French language. His other
works are, Memoires sur les Satiriques Latins; Lettres et
Reflexions sur la fureur du Jeu, auxquelles on a joint une
autre Retire Morale, Paris, 1775; Discours sur la Passion
du Jeu dans les difl'erents Siecles ; De la Passion du Jeu,
depuis les temps anciens jusqud nos jours, 1779, 8vo; Vie
de I’Abbe Blanchet, prefixed to the Apologues and Tales
of that author, Paris, 1784, 8vo; De l'Insurrection Pari- '■
sienne, et de la prise de la Dastille, Paris, 1790 ; Retire au
Citoyen Freron, 1796, 8vo ; Voyage a Barrege, et dans les
Hautes-Pyrenees, Paris, 1796, 2 vols. 8vo; De mes Rap¬
ports avec Jean-Jacques Rousseau, &c. Paris, 1798, 8vo,
a curious work, which throws considerable light on the
character of that celebrated man.
Marie-Jeanne Lieutau, the widow of Dussaulx, pub¬
lished memoirs of his life, which are exceedingly interest¬
ing. See also Palissot, Memoires sur la Litterature; and
Biographie Universelle.
DUSSELDORF, a circle of the Prussian province of
Westphalia, on the right bank of the Rhine. Its extent
is 144 square miles, and it comprehends three cities, two J
market-towns, and thirty-four villages, with a population
of 28,500 inhabitants.
Dusseldorf, a city, the capital of the circle of the
same name, in the Prussian dominions. It stands where
the river Dussel falls into the Rhine. It is one of the
finest cities of Germany; and, though deprived of the
D U T
ist splendour it exhibited under its ancient dukes, has be¬
come a flourishing place by the introduction of various
p ens, manufactures. The former fortifications are converted
jnt0 extensive and prolific gardens. It contains three
Catholic, one Lutheran, one reformed church, and ten
chapels, with a house of industry, penitentiary, and an
hospital, with appropriate institutions for education. The
houses are 1387, and the inhabitants, including the mili¬
tary, in 1817 were 18,084. Long. 6. 40. 35. E. Lat. 51.
14. 12. N. .
DUST, or Dustee, a river of Persia, flowing from the
interior through the province of Mekran, from the south¬
ern shore of which it is discharged into the Indian Ocean.
Its course is supposed to extend, under different appella¬
tions, about 1000 miles.
DUTENS, Louis, a late French writer of some cele¬
brity, was born at Tours, of Protestant parents, on the
15th of January 1730. In his youth he addicted himself
to poetry; and in 1748 he repaired to Paris and compos¬
ed a tragedy, entitled The Return of Ulysses to Ithaca,
which he showed to the comedian Lanoue, requesting
him to bring it on the stage. The latter, however, re¬
turned the piece, advising the author to retouch it. Irri¬
tated at this advice, Dutens went to Orleans, where he
got his play represented with great applause; but he soon
became sensible of the faults of his work, and abandoned
a species of composition in which he found he was not
destined to excel. He soon afterwards went to England.
Before leaving France, he accidentally became acquaint¬
ed with Miss Pitt, sister to the Earl of Chatham, who
gave him a letter to her brother ; but after a short stay in
London he returned to France. Not long afterwards, he
was recalled to London by one of his uncles, to accom¬
pany a young English nobleman on his travels. Soon after
his arrival, the young nobleman changed his intention;
but, at the same time, he procured for Dutens the situa¬
tion of a tutor in a private family. The father of the
pupil was a man of considerable literary and scientific
attainments, who instructed Dutens in those branches of
knowledge in which he was deficient. In this manner he
learnt Greek and mathematics; and he at the same time
applied himself to the oriental languages, and to Italian
and Spanish. At the end of three years his pupil died ;
but one of his sisters being deaf and dumb, Dutens under¬
took to educate her. His young pupil, however, having
become enamoured of her instructor, he deemed it a mat¬
ter of delicacy and of duty to leave the house.
About this time he wms appointed chaplain and secre¬
tary to the Honourable Mr Stuart Mackenzie, the Eng¬
lish minister at the court of Turin, and left England in
the month of October 1758. In 1760, when Mr Macken¬
zie returned to England, the secretary remained at Turin
as charge d’affaires. Dutens came to England in 1762,
and attached himself to the family of Lord Bute, wdio,
before he retired from office in 1763, procured him a pen¬
sion. He again went to Turin as charge d’affaires, and
during this second mission he undertook the task of col¬
lecting and publishing a complete edition of the wrorks of
Leibnitz, and wrote his work on the Discoveries of the An¬
cients. He afterwards quitted Turin, returned to Britain,
and attached himself to the Duke of Northumberland, who
procured him a living in the north of England. He ac¬
companied the duke’s son, Lord Algernon Percy, in his
travels through France, Italy, Germany, and Holland;
and while at Paris, he w as chosen a member of the Aca¬
demy of Inscriptions. In 1776 he returned to England,
and soon afterwards accompanied Mr Mackenzie and his
lady on a tour to Naples. On his return he was invited
by Lord Mountstuart, who had been appointed envoy ex¬
traordinary, to accompany him to Turin, and Dutens found
D U T 293
himself for the third time chargfi d’affaires at that court, Dutens
during a short absence of the envoy. From Turin, which II
he left on account of some unpleasant circumstances, he v Duty,
went to Florence, and thence to Rome. He was in Paris
in 1783, and returned to London the following year. The
revenue he derived from his living of Elsdon, amount¬
ing to L.800 per annum, together with a considerable
legacy left him by Mr Mackenzie, and estimated at
L. 15,000, enabled him to pass the remainder of his life
in affluence, and in the best company. He died at his
house, Mount Street, Grosvenor Square, on the 23d of
May 1812.
Dutens was the editor of the works of Leibnitz, pub¬
lished at Geneva, 1769, in 6 vols. 4to ; of the Greek pas¬
toral romance of Daphnis and Chloe, by Longus, 1776,
12mo, and of Dacier’s translation of the Manual of Epic¬
tetus, 1775, 18mo. He was also the author of the follow¬
ing works : Le Caprice Poetique, a collection of poems,
1750, 16mo. Recherches sur Vorigine des Decouvertes attri-
buees aux Modernes, 1766, 2 vols. 8vo, 4th edition, 1812.
Poesies, 1767, 12mo, and 1777, 8vo. Le Tocsin, Rome,
1769, 12mo, reprinted under the title of Appel au bon
Sens, London, 1777, 8vo. This work was directed against
the French philosophers, and was published anonymously.
Explication de quelques medailles de Peuples, de Villes, et
de Rois, Grecques et Phenicienn.es, 1773, 4to. Explica¬
tion de quelques medailles du cabinet de Duane, 1774, 4to.
Troisieme Dissertation sur quelques medailles Grecques et
Pheniciennes, oil se trouvent des observations pour servir a
Vetude de la Paleographie Numismatique, 1776, 4to. Du¬
tens, at the same time, published a more complete edition
of the two preceding works. Logique, ou Vart de Raison-
ner, 1773, 12mo, 1777, 8vo, and reprinted also in his mis¬
cellaneous works. Du miroir ardent d'Archimede, 1755,
1777, 8vo ; Des pierres precieuses et des pierces fines, avec
les moyens de les connaitre et de les evaluer, 1776, 12mo,
and reprinted at London and Paris. Itineraire des routes
les plus frequentees, ou Journal d'un Voyage auxprincipales
Villes d’Europe, 1775, 8vo, and frequently republished
with additions and improvements. Lettre d M. D. B. {De-
bur e) sur la refutation du livre VEsprit, par J. J. Rousseau,
1779, 12mo, which contains some letters of Helvetius and
Rousseau. De VEglise, du Pape, de quelques points de con-
trover se, et moyens de reunion detoutes les Eg Uses Chretiennes,
1781, 8vo; several times reprinted, and finally under the
title of Considerations Theologiques sur les moyens de reunir
toutes les Eglises Chretiennes, 1798, 8vo. (Euvres melees,
1784, 8vo. Under the same title almost the whole works
of Dutens were collected and published at London, 1797,
4 vols. 4to. EAmi des etrangers qui voyagent en Angle-
terre, 1789, 8vo, frequently reprinted. Uistoire de ce qui
sest passe pour le retablissement dune regence en Angleterre,
1789, 8vo. Recherches sur le terns le plus recule de Vusage
des Voutes chez les anciens, 1795. Memoires dun Voy-
ageur qui se repose, Paris, 1806, 3 vols. 8vo. The two first
volumes contain the life of the author, written in a roman¬
tic style; the third bears the title of Dutensiana, and is
filled with remarks, anecdotes, bon mots, and so forth.
Dutens is the author of the Catalogue of Medals in Swin¬
burne’s Travels, and of the French text to the second vo¬
lume of the Marlborough Gems. There is a Memoir of his
in the Collection of the Academy of Inscriptions, and he
also published a small tract on the Iron Mask. He was a
member of the Royal Society of London, and had the title
of historiographer to the king. (See Memoirs of Dutens
in the Gentleman s Magazine for 1812; Chalmers s Bio¬
graphical Dictionary; and Biographic Universelle.)
DUTCHY. See Duchy.
DUTY, in general, denotes any thing that one is obli¬
ged to perform.
294
D W A
Duty
Dwarf.
Duty, in commerce, signifies an impost laid on mer¬
chandise, at importation or exportation, commonly called
^ the duties of customs; also the taxes of excise, stamp
duties, &c. See Political Economy, and Taxation.
DUUMVIRI, in Roman antiquity, a general appella¬
tion given to magistrates, commissioners, and officers,
where two were joined together in the same functions.
Duumviri Capitaleswere the judges in criminal causes.
From their sentence it was lawful to appeal to the peo¬
ple, who alone had the power of condemning a citizen to
death. These judges were taken from the body of the
decuriones, and had great power and authority ; they were
members of the public council, and had two lictors to walk
before them.
Duumviri Municipales were two magistrates in some
cities of the empire, answering to the consuls at Rome.
They were chosen out of the body of the decuriones, and
their office commonly lasted five years, upon which ac¬
count they were frequently termed quinquinales magistra-
tus. Their jurisdiction was of great extent. They had
officers who walked before them, carrying a small switch
in their hands ; and some of them assumed the privilege
of having lictors carrying axes and the fasces or bundles
of rods before them.
Duumviri Navales were the commissaries of the fleet,
first created at the request of M. Decius, tribune of the
people, in the time of the war with the Samnites. The
duties of their office consisted in giving orders for the fit¬
ting out of ships, and issuing their commissions to the ma¬
rine officers, &c.
Duumviri Sacrorum were magistrates created by Tar-
quinius Superbus for the performance of the sacrifices,
and for keeping the sibyls’ books. They were chosen
from among the patricians, and held their office during
life; they were exempted from serving in the wars, and
from the offices imposed on the other citizens; and with¬
out them the oracles of the sibyls could not be consulted.
DWAL, in Heraldry, the herb nightshade, used by
such as blazon w'ith flowers and herbs, instead of metals
and colours, for sable or black.
ARACA, a town and celebrated temple of Hindu¬
stan, province of Gujerat, situated at the south-west ex¬
tremity of the peninsula. There are twenty-one villages
belonging to Dwaraca, containing 2500 houses, and, on the
most accurate calculation, 100,000 inhabitants. The in¬
habitants were formerly much addicted to piracy, but of
late years have been restrained by a treaty with the Bri-
Bsli- fhe temple is fabled to have been the residence of
Krishna, at which 15,000 pilgrims annually pay their de¬
votions, which is an abundant source of wealth to the
Brahmins. Long. 69. 15. E. Eat. 22. 21. N.
DWARF, in general, an appellation given to things
greatly inferior in size to that which is usual in their se¬
veral kinds. Thus there are dwarfs of the human species,
dwarf dogs, dwarf trees, and the like.
ihe Romans were passionately fond of dwarfs, whom
they called nani or nano;, insomuch that they often used
artificial methods to prevent the growth of boys designed
for dwarfs, by inclosing them in boxes, or by the use of
tight bandages. Augustus’s niece, Julia, was extremely
fond of a dwarf called Sonopas, who was only two feet
and a handbreadth in height. We have many other ac¬
counts of human dwarfs, but most of them deformed in
some way or other, besides the smallness of their size.
Many relations concerning dwarfs we must necessarily
look upon as not less fabulous than those concerning Hants
The following history, however, which there is reason to
regard as authentic, is too remarkable not to be acceptable
to the generality of our readers.
D W A
Jeffery Hudson, the famous English dwarf, was born at Dw
Oakham, in Rutlandshire, in 1619; and about the a^e ofn
seven or eight, being then but eighteen inches high, he was
retained in the service of the Duke of Buckingham, who
resided at Burleigh-on-the-Hill. Soon after the marriage
of Charles I. the king and queen being entertained at Bur¬
leigh, little Jeffery was served up at table in a cold pie,
and presented by the duchess to the queen, who kept him
as her dwarf. From seven years of age till thirty he never
grew taller; but after thirty he shot up to three feet nine
inches, and there remained fixed. Jeffery became a consi¬
derable part of the entertainment of the court. Sir William
Davenant wrote a poem called Jeffrddos, on a battle be¬
tween him and a turkey-cock; and in 1638 was published
a very small book, called the New Year’s Gift, presented at
court by the Lady Parvula to the Lord Minimus, commonly
called Little Jeffery, her majesty’s servant, written by
Microphilus, with a little print of Jeffery prefixed. Be¬
fore this period Jeffery was employed on a negotiation of
great importance; he wms sent to France to fetch a mid¬
wife for the queen ; and on his return with this gentlewo¬
man and her majesty’s dancing-master, and many rich pre¬
sents to the queen from her mother Mary de’Medicis, he
was taken by the Dunkirkers. Jeffery, being thus made
of consequence, began to think himself really an important
personage. He had borne with little temper the teasing
of the courtiers and domestics, and had many squabbles
with the king s gigantic porter. At last, being provoked
by Mr Crofts, a young gentleman of family, a challenge
ensued; and Mr Crofts coming to the rendezvous armed
only with a squirt, the little creature was so enraged that
a real duel ensued; and the appointment being on horse¬
back with pistols, to put them more on a level, Jeffery,
with the first fire, shot his antagonist dead. This happen¬
ed in France, whither he had attended his mistress in the
troubles. He was again taken prisoner by a Turkish rover,
and sold into Barbary. But he probably did not remain
long in slavery; for at the beginning of the civil war he
was made a captain in the royal army, and in 1644 attend¬
ed the queen to France, where he remained till the Resto¬
ration. At last, upon suspicion of his being concerned in the
Popish plot, he was seized in 1682, and confined in the Gate¬
house, Westminster, where he ended his life, in the sixty-
third year of his age. This little hero cuts a considerable
figure in Sir Walter Scott’s novel of Peveril of the Peak.
In the Memoirs of the Royal Academy of Sciences, a re¬
lation is given by the Count de Tressau, of a dwarf called
Hebe, kept by Stanislaus, king of Poland, and who died in
1764, at the age of twenty-three, when he measured only
thirty-two inches. At the time of his birth he measured
only between eight and nine inches. Diminutive as were
his dimensions, his reasoning faculties were not less scanty,
appearing indeed not to have been superior to those of a
well-taught pointer. But that the size and strength of the
intellectual powers are not affected by the diminutiveness
or tenuity of the corporeal organs, is evident from a still
more striking instance of littleness, given us by the same
nobleman, in the person of M. Borulawski, a Polish gen¬
tleman, whom he saw at Luneville, and who at the age
of twenty-two measured only twenty-eight inches. This
miniature of a man, considering him only with reference
to his bodily dimensions, appeared a giant with regard to
his mental powers and attainments. He is described by
the count as possessing all the graces of wit, united with
a sound judgment and an excellent memory; so that we
may with justice say of M. Borulawski, in the words of
Seneca, and nearly in the order in which he has used
them, posse ingenium fortissimum ac heatissimum sub quo-
libet corpusculo latere.
i
295
DYEING
jii ry. Is the art of communicating a new and permanent co-
lour to any substance whatever; but it is usually con¬
fined to the art of giving colours to wool, silk, feathers,
cotton, or flax, or the thread or cloth formed of any of
these substances. To this more limited signification we
shall restrict ourselves in the following treatise. For dye¬
ing or staining paper, wood, bone, leather, marble, &c. the
reader is referred to these articles. We shall divide this
article into six chapters. In the first we shall give a rapid
sketch of the history of the art; in the second we shall
treat of the nature and properties of wool, feathers, silk,
cotton, and flax, of which the fabrics to be dyed are compos¬
ed; in the third chapter we shall treat of mordants, or the
substances by means of which the colours are fixed on the
cloth or thread. The fourth chapter will be occupied with
the mode of dyeing the simple colours, or red, yellow, blue,
black, and brawn. The object of the fifth chapter will be
the compound colours, or the different shades of green,
purple, orange, and gray. The sixth chapter will be occu¬
pied with a sketch of the processes of calico printing.
Our object will be to give a general view of the processes,
and to explain the theory of dyeing, so far as the present
state of our knowledge enables us to go. We shall avoid
minute details, except when they may be necessary for
understanding the nature of the processes.
CHAPTER I.
HISTORY OF DYEING.
Nature has implanted in man a sense of pleasure which
he derives from beholding lively colours properly dis¬
played and contrasted. And this sense receives ample gra¬
tification from the gay plumage of the feathered tribes, and
the endless variety displayed in the blossoms of the vege¬
table kingdom. The diversity in the colours of flowers
must have early attracted the attention of man, and he
could scarcely avoid feeling a desire to employ them to
adorn his person ; but their fading nature fitted them only
for a temporary ornament. It would naturally occur to
attempt to transfer some of the most lively colours of the
vegetable kingdom either to the skin of the naked savage,
or to the different articles of dress with which he covered
himself up from the cold, or with which he decorated his
person.
A few trials would speedily show that the gay colours
of most flowers could not be transferred to any article of
dress, at least without a great diminution of their splen¬
dour; but a considerable difference would be observed
depending upon the colour of the flower. The red flowers
would either lose their colour altogether, as they would
communicate to cloth, not a red, but a blue colour. The
yellow coloured berries, on the other hand, would be
found in some instances to communicate a very lively and
beautiful, though not a permanent colour.
By multiplying trials, various roots, barks, and fruits
would be found capable of communicating certain colours
to cloth. These facts would be treasured up, and thus a
beginning would be made of the art of dyeing. Accord-
ingly we find this art practised to a greater or smaller
extent in the most remote ages, and among the most
savage and barbarous nations. Even the lowest of the History.
American tribes, in point of civilization, understood how to
communicate several very fine colours, and considerable im¬
provements in dyeing were borrowed from the Americans.
It would be in vajn, therefore, to attempt to discover Produced
to whom the art of dyeing is indebted for its origin, as early in
the practice of it precedes the origin of history. From^gyP1-
the writings of Moses, who led the Israelites out of Egypt
about 1555 years before the commencement of the Chris¬
tian era, it is obvious that the art of dyeing had in his
time made great progress in Egypt. He mentions blue,
and purple, and scarlet, and badgers’ skins dyed red.1
There are some reasons for believing that what is trans¬
lated in the Old Testament fine linen was in reality a cloth
made of cotton wool. Indeed it is certain that cloth made
of cotton w^as used in India and Egypt in the most remote
ages. Cotton wool would naturally attract the attention
of mankind in those countries where the plant which yields
it grows. Now we know that the cotton plant is a native
of India. India and Egypt are countries in which the
processes of dyeing are as likely to have originated as any
other; for they constitute the cradle of the human race,
and civilization appears to have made earlier progress in
them than in any other.
The art of dyeing was brought to a considerable degree Tyrian
of perfection at a very early period in Phoenicia. It appears dye.
that it was in Tyre where the method of dyeing woollen
e\o\\\purple was first discovered ; and this discovery, there
is reason to believe, is at least as old as the time of Moses.
The purple was communicated by means of several species
of univalve shell-fish, which no doubt abounded on the
coast of Phoenicia. Pliny, in the thirty-sixth chapter of
his sixth book, gives us an account of two species of shell¬
fish from which the purple was obtained. The first spe¬
cies was caWe&buccinum, doubtless from some resemblance
to a hunting horn ; the second was called purpura. A
single drop of the dyeing liquor was obtained from each
fish by opening a vessel situated in the throat of the ani¬
mal. The liquor, when extracted, was mixed with a con¬
siderable portion of salt, to prevent putrefaction. It was
then diluted with five or six times as much water, and
kept moderately hot in leaden or tin vessels, for the space
of ten days, during which the liquor was frequently skim¬
med, to separate all impurities. After this, the wool, being
first washed, was immersed and kept in the liquor for five
hours. It was then taken out, carded, and again immers¬
ed and kept in the liquor till all the colouring matter was
extracted. To produce particular shades of colour, car¬
bonate of soda, urine, and a marine plant called fucus,
were occasionally added. Several of these colours are
particularly described by Pliny, though it is difficult to
form an SrCcurate conception of his meaning. The purple
itself seems to have been similar to the colour of blood.
Pliny says the Tyrians first dyed their wool in the liquor
of the purpura, and afterwards in that of the buccinum.
We find allusions to this practice in several passages of
the Old Testament. Doubtless Horace alludes to the
same process when he says,
 te bis Afro
Murice tinctse
Yestiunt lanse.
Od. ii. 16, line 35.
1 Exodus, xxv. 4 and 5.
296
DYEING.
History. The shell-fish employed in this process were found abun-
dantly both on the European and /African shores of the
Mediterranean. They still exist on these shores, and have
been also met with abundantly on the coasts of England
and France.
Purple. The purple mentioned in Exodus was probably that
dyed by the Tyrians. Ezekiel, who wrote about 593
years before the Christian era, in his prophecy against
Tyre, says, “ Fine linen with broidered work from Egypt,
was that which thou spreadest forth to be thy sail; blue
and purple from the isles of Elishah, was that which co¬
vered thee.”1 By Elishah it is generally supposed that
Elis, on the west side of the Greek Peloponnesus, was
meant. Elence it would appear that the Tyrians in Eze¬
kiel’s time drew their supply of shell-fish for dyeing pur¬
ple from the coast of Greece.
From Herodotus it appears that purple was worn in
Greece 559 years before the Christian era. It gradually
made its way to Rome, and was purchased with avidity,
notwithstanding its high price. After the establishment
of the emperors upon the ruins of Roman liberty, the use
of the purple was limited to the emperor, people of infe¬
rior rank being prohibited from wearing it, on pain of
death. This of course sadly diminished the extent of the
manufactory. It continued to languish for some centuries,
and then became extinct; and the mode of dyeing the
Tyrian purple was lost for many ages, but was again
revived during the seventeenth century by Mr Cole of
Bristol, and during the eighteenth century by M. Reau¬
mur of France. But by this time finer colours had been
discovered, and cheaper processes brought into use. It
was not therefore thought advisable by the dyers to re¬
sume the methods followed by their Tyrian predecessors.
With the exception of the processes followed in the dye¬
ing of purple, we are ignorant of the practices of the an¬
cient dyers, or of the degree of progress which this art had
made. Pliny, under whose province an account of dyeing
naturally came, has passed it over in silence, and has as¬
signed as a reason for his conduct that it was not reckon¬
ed among the liberal arts. Nec tingendi rationem omisis-
semuSy si unquam ea liberalium artium fuisset.
Dyeing in- The fine colours given in India to cotton cloths are uni-
ro uced yersally known. The methods practised are no modern
inventions, but were in common use when India was visit¬
ed by Alexander the Great, and probably many ages be¬
fore. These colours, which are both beautiful and perma¬
nent, prove that the methods of fixing gaudy colours on
cotton were pretty far advanced. But these methods, as
they have been described by Beaulieu and Bancroft, are
so complicated, tedious, and imperfect, that they could be
followed only where the wages of labour are exceedingly
low, and never would answer in any part of Europe. There
is reason to believe that the processes of dyeing cotton and
linen were introduced into Greece only after the expedi¬
tion of Alexander the Great into India.
The common people in Athens were very idle and very
poor, spending their time in the public places, and receiv¬
ing a daily pension of three oboli, or about fourpence half¬
penny. But this sum would have purchased as much corn
as three times the amount would do in this country; so
that the income of a common Athenian citizen was equi¬
valent to about thirteen pence halfpenny of our money.
They went barefooted, and were dressed in garments
which never had been dyed, but which were occasionally
washed. The rich citizens wore garments which had been
dyed; and the most common colour was scarlet, commu- p
nicated to the cloth by kermes, a dyestuff still in use, and 'w
which we shall describe in a subsequent part of this trea¬
tise. This colour, as Pliny informs us, was scarcely less
esteemed than the Tyrian purple. Cloths of the scarlet
colour were worn by the emperors; and scarlet and pur¬
ple seem to have been often confounded together. ^
The modes of dyeing black, blue, yellow, and green
were brought by Alexander the Great into Greece from
into
Greece.
India, as Pliny informs us
Among the Romans, new-married women wore a yellow
veil, and this colour was reserved for the women. In the
circus the four different factions were distinguished by
four different colours, one belonging to each faction. These
were the green (prasinus), the orange (rafatm), the blue
(venetus), and the white. These factions, with their colours
were transferred to Constantinople, and long distracted
that city.2 We are ignorant of the dyestuffs by means of
which these colours were given to cloth.3
The want of soap, which was unknown to the Greeks
and only known to the Romans in Pliny’s time as a po¬
matum for the hair, must have greatly cramped the pro¬
cesses of the ancient dyers; nor have we any evidence
that alum was known to them, though they must have
employed some substitute, otherwise the red colour of the
kermes could not have been fixed upon the cloth. Alum
appears to have been well known to Geber, who wrote in
the eighth century. He mentions different manufactories
of it, and talks of it as a substance familiarly known in his
time. Is it not possible that the mode of making it had
been knowm to the Tyrian dyers, but kept by them as a
profound secret? , The purple and scarlet dye was still in
use during Geber’s time, and even continued to be prac¬
tised in the eleventh century. Alum, then, was certainly
used by the -Tyrian dyers before their manufactory was
finally extinguished ; but even if we admit that the an¬
cients were unacquainted with alum, yet it is obvious,
from Pliny’s account of alumen, that it was a substance
found native; that there were different species of it, for
he enumerates tour or five, and one of these may have been
a native combination of sulphuric acid and alumina, which
(if pure) wrould doubtless answer all the purposes of a
mordant.
Ihe ancient dyeing processes, such as they were, con¬
tinued to be practised in Constantinople as long as the
Greek empire lasted. It was during the crusades that the
republics of Venice and Genoa reached the highest sum¬
mit of their powrer. I hey w'ere trading and manufac-
tui ing communities, and made a point of making them¬
selves acquainted with the different arts at that time
piactised in Greece. Dyeing was not neglected by them;
but the art and trade of the dyers of Constantinople were
transferred by them to Italy.
About the year 1300 a merchant of Florence acciden-piscoi
tally discovered the method of making archil. He ob-ofarc
served that a certain species of lichen {lichen roccellus),
when macerated in urine, acquired a fine purple colour.
Phis led him to try various experiments, which terminated
in the discovery of archil, and in the application of it to
the art of dyeing.
In the year 1429 the first collection of processes em-first
ployed in dyeing was published in Venice, under the titletiseon
Mariegola dell arte dei Tentori. A second edition of thisi11?-
book, with many additions, was published in 1510. Gio-
van Ventura Rosetti formed the project of making this
1 Ezekiel, chap, xxvii. ver. 7- 2 <a« 1. , ^ „
DYE
jjjoiy. work more complete and more useful. He travelled into
, 0 those parts of Italy and the neighbouring countries where
attention was paid to the processes of dyeing, in order to
acquire the requisite information. The result of his acqui¬
sitions was published under the name of Plictho dell arte
de tentori, die insegna tenger panni, tele banbasi e sede, si
per I'arte magiore, come per la commune. It was published
at Venice in the year 1548. A French translation of it
appeared in Paris in the year 1716. This book constitut¬
ed the first attempt at a methodical arrangement of the
different processes. It even aimed at something like
theory, though the state of knowledge at the time when
it was written did not permit any successful explanation
of the theory of dyeing.
• jnt,|uc- In the Plictho no notice is taken either of cochineal or
; tioiif indigo. Hence we may conclude that, in 1548, neither of
iml» and t]iese important dyestuffs had made their way into Europe,
i wheal- piiny mentions indigo under the name of indicum; but
it appears to have been used by the Greeks and Romans
only as a paint; yet there can be little doubt that in In¬
dia it had been employed from time immemorial as a dye¬
stuff. Cochineal could not be known till after the disco¬
very of America. It was used by the Mexicans as a dye¬
stuff. In 1523 Cortes received orders from the court of
Spain to multiply this precious insect, to collect it, and
send it to Spain.
I nr; ve-
•net in
Cochineal by itself gives only a crimson colour; it dyes
scarlet when mixed with a solution of tin. This fact was
discovered accidentally by Cornelius Drebbel about the
year 1630. He communicated his observation to his son-
in-law Kuffelar, who was a dyer at Leyden. He soon
brought the process to perfection, kept it a secret, and
brought the scarlet colour into fashion. Soon after, the
same process was discovered by a German chemist called
Keffler, who carried his secret to London in 1643. A
Flemish dyer called John Kloeck got information of the
process in 1647, and it gradually made its way through
every country of Europe.
Indigo, though a much more important dyestuff than
cochineal, did not make its way into general use without
the greatest difficulty. The use of it was prohibited in
England during the reign of Elizabeth ; and the prohibition
was not taken off till the time of Charles II. It was equal¬
ly prohibited in Saxony, where it was styled in the prohi¬
bition a corrosive substance, and called food for the devil.
Restrictions on the use of indigo in dyeing were imposed
also in France, though it was not altogether prohibited, as
it had been in England and Saxony.
Ihe reason of these prohibitions and restrictions was,
that pastel and woad were employed for dyeing blue ; and
fears were entertained that indigo would supersede these
dyestuffs altogether. Now, as they were the product of
the different kingdoms of Europe when they were employ¬
ed, it was erroneously concluded that the introduction of
a better and cheaper dye would injure the country by
throwing these plants out of cultivation.
Ihe improvements in dyeing which took place in France
may be dated from the administration of Colbert, who
paid particular attention to the different branches of ma¬
nufacture which were carried on by the French. In the
year 1672 he caused a book of instructions for dyers to
be published in Paris. This book was republished in 1708
under the following title : Le teincturier parfait, ou instruc¬
tion nouvelle et g&nerale pour la teincture des laines et manu¬
factures de laine de toutes couleurs, et pour la culture des
drogues ou ingredients quon g emploie.
But Colbert’s encouragement of dyeing was clogged with
restrictions and prohibitions, which would have been fatal
to the art, had it not been for the facility with which they
were evaded. The revocation of the edict of Nantes in
VOL. vm.
I N G. 21)7
the year 1685 w^as a fatal blow to the pre-eminence ofSubstances
France in manufactures. The most industrious and skil- to be
ful workmen and artists were driven out of the country', coloured,
and carried their knowledge and dexterity into Great
Britain, Holland, and Prussia. Succeeding administra¬
tions endeavoured as far as possible to correct the fatal
policy of Louis XIV. The art of dyeing in particular
drew their attention, and the most eminent chemists which
the country possessed were placed as a kind of superin¬
tendents of the art of dyeing. Their business was to en¬
deavour to improve the processes, and to bring the art to
a state of perfection. Dufay, Plellot, Macquer, and Ber-
thollet, successively filled this important office ; and each
of these eminent men contributed somewhat to the im¬
provement of the theory of dyeing. Dufay first formed
tolerably accurate notions of the nature of colouring mat¬
ters, and of the forces which made them attach themselves
to cloth. Hellot published a well-arranged treatise on
dyeing woollen cloth, such as it was practised in the best
dyeing establishments in France; and Macquer gave an
equally detailed account of the processes followed by the
silk dyers. Macquer indeed meditated a general treatise
on dyeing, and published a prospectus in the year 1791.
But his great age, and the feeble state of his health for
some years before his death, prevented him from com¬
pleting the undertaking.
Berthollet, who was named his successor as superinten¬
dent of dyeing, published an excellent treatise under the
title of Elements de VArt de la Teincture, a second edition
of which appeared in the year 1804. This work contains
a very full and complete account of the processes of dyeing,
such as they existed when Berthollet wrote; and is still
well entitled to the attention of the practical dyer.
Scarcely any work upon dyeing deserving the name of
a scientific treatise appeared in the English language till
Bancroft published his Experimental Researches concerning
the Philosophy of Permanent Colours, and the best means of
producing them by dyeing, calico printing, &c. in the year
1794. Of this work a second volume afterwards appear¬
ed, not inferior in value to the first. But unfortunately
the projected plan was never completed. Had this been
the case, the work of Bancroft would have been by far
the completest treatise on dyeing in any language.
Great improvements have been made of late years in
calico printing, and several new dyeing materials have
been introduced. Of these the most important is the
bichromate of potash and the sulphate of manganese. The
former communicates an indelible yellow, orange, and red ;
the latter various shades of brown equally indelible, and
at present constituting a very fashionable mode of print¬
ing. The improvements in the dyeing of silk and woollen
cloth are not so easily pointed out, though they are both
numerous and important. One, however, may be men¬
tioned ; the substitution of the lac dye in most ordinary
cases for cochineal. This last dyestuff is still used for
giving a scarlet colour to superfine cloth; but for the
coarser fabrics lac is almost universally substituted. The
calico printers employ only cochineal, and, so far as we
know, never use lac.
CHAPTER II.
OF THE NATURE AND PROPERTIES OF THE SUBSTANCES
TO WHICH COLOURS ARE COMMUNICATED IN THE PRO¬
CESSES OF DYEING.
There has been much speculation among philosophical
dyers respecting the nature of the colouring matters, and
the way in which the different colours are induced by dye-
2 p
298
DYEING.
Substancesing; but these speculations have not led to any informa-
to be tion of much value. It has been demonstrated by Newton
coloured. that Hg}^ js divisible into seven rays, distinguished by the
following colours; red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo,
Nature of violet. The colour of an object is owing to its having the
colour and property of reflecting or transmitting certain rays, while it
dye stuffs, absorbs'the rest. Thus a red body reflects or transmits
the red ray and absorbs the rest, an orange body reflects or
transmits red and yellow, a green body reflects or transmits
the yellow and blue rays, and a white body all the rays.
There is reason for believing that the colouring matters
employed as dyestuffs are all transparent, and that the
colour is produced by their action on the light transmit¬
ted through them from the white fibres of the cloth.
Those colouring matters that transmit all the rays equally
leave the cloth white; if the blue ray be transmitted and
the rest absorbed, the colour of the cloth will be blue, and
so on. This is all that we know about the mechanical
nature of the dyestuffs. On ,what the circumstance de¬
pends that causes a transparent body to absorb one kind
of ray, and transmit another through it, we do not know,
nor is it likely that any knowledge wall ever be acquired
respecting it. The speculations of Delaval, accounting
for the colours given by dyestuffs by the size of the co¬
louring particles, appear to us altogether unfounded, and
quite inapplicable to the subject under discussion.
Silk ami With respect to the aptitude of being dyed, and the
wool dye brilliancy of the colours thus communicated, there is found
thavfcot t0 b0 very great difference in different tissues. Animal
ton'and " suhstances are much more easily dyed than vegetable
linen. substances. Of animal substances, silk receives colour,
and the shades given are brighter and more beautiful than
those which can be imbibed by any other tissue. Wool¬
len cloth is also very fit for being dyed, and receives very
brilliant colours with avidity, though in this respect it is
inferior to silk. Cotton and linen are much mojre difficult
to dye, and cannot be made to imbibe such brilliant co¬
lours as silk or woollen. Thus the rich scarlet given to
cloth by the combined action of cochineal and the oxide
of tin, has never been communicated to cotton cloth or
linen. The Turkey-red dye, which is by far the finest
and most permanent red that has ever been communicated
to cotton cloth, is a crimson, or rather a crimson with a
shade of brown. It has not the least approach to a scarlet.
Upon what this difference between animal and vege¬
table bodies in the capacity of receiving colours depends,
we do not know. Both woollen and silk contain a nota¬
ble quantity of azote among their constituents, while this
principle is altogether wanting in cotton and linen. How
far the property of easy dyeing depends upon the presence
of azote it is impossible to say; but it is the only chemi¬
cal dtfference in their constitution that can in the present
state of our knowledge be pointed out. Both cotton and
flax, so far as their chemical characters have been exa¬
mined, are precisely similar in their properties to lignin or
the woody fibres of trees, supposing them deprived of all
their foreign ingredients. Now the constituents of lignin
are as follows, according to the analysis of Prout.
Carbon 50-00
Hydrogen  5.55
Oxygen 44.45
100-00
This is proportional to
3 atoms carbon 2-25
2 atoms hydrogen  0-25
2 atoms oxygen   2-00
4-5
Hence these substances (cotton and flax) must either be
composed of three atoms carbon, two atoms hydrogen, Subst
and two atoms oxj'gen, or of some multiple of these num- to ^
bers. How many atoms go to the formation of an inte- c°loi
grant particle of cotton or flax cannot be known till some ^
substance be discovered with which they are capable of
entering into definite combinations.
The only attempt to determine the atomic constituents
of silk and wool is that of Dr Ure, according to whom
their composition is as follows.
Silk. Wool.
Azote 11-33 12-3
Carbon 50-69 53-7
Hydrogen  3-94  2-8
Oxygen 34-04....'. 31-2
100-00 100-0
These are equivalent to the following atomic numbers.
Silk. Wool.
Azote 13 atoms 14 atoms.
Carbon  135  143  
Hydrogen  63  45  
Oxygen  68  62  
But a comparison between these two sets of bodies will
be made with more advantage if we represent the num¬
ber of atoms of the other constituents of each upon the
supposition that the atoms of carbon in each is the same,
or 66. On this supposition the composition will stand as
follows.
Lignin. Silk. Wool.
Azote  0 atoms  6-3 atoms  6-5 atoms.
Carbon 66 66-0 66-0  
Hydrogen .44 30-8 20-7  
Oxygen....44 33-2 28-5  
If the analyses of these bodies constituted a near approxi¬
mation to the truth, it would follow from a comparison of
them : 1. That in lignin the hydrogen and oxygen exist
in the proportions which constitute water, while in silk
there exists an excess of oxygen, and in wool this excess
is still greater. 2. In lignin there is no azote, whereas in
silk and wool the atoms of azote amount to about one
tenth of the atoms of carbon. 3. The atoms of hydrogen
in silk are to those in lignin as three to four, and in wool
as two to four; so that lignin contains twice as much hy¬
drogen as wool does. 4. In silk the atoms of oxygen are
to those in lignin very nearly as three to four; but in wool
the number of atoms of oxygen is to that in lignin rather
in a less ratio than that of three to four.
These facts lead us but a very little way in discovering
the difference between the nature of silk and wool, and
that of cotton and flax; but they contain all the informa¬
tion which chemistry at present is able to furnish. We
shall now state, in the following sections, the differences
which have been observed in the mechanical structure of
these different substances.
Sect, I.— Of Wool.
Wool, which is well known as the covering of sheep,Struct:
derives its value from the length and fineness of its fila¬
ments. The filaments of wool are considerably elastic,
for they may be drawn out beyond their usual length, and
when the force is removed, they recover it again. The
surface of the filaments of wool or hair is not perfectly
smooth; for although no roughness or inequality can be
discovered by the microscope, yet they seem to be form¬
ed of small laminae placed over each other in a slanting
direction, from the root of the filament towards its point,
resembling the arrangement of the scales of a fish, which
cover each other from the head of the animal to its tail;
or perhaps they consist of zones placed over each other,
£Ui>!.ncesas is observed in the horns of animals. This peculiarity
t >e of structure of the filaments of hair and wool is proved by
coli 'e(l- a simple experiment. If a hair be laid hold of by the
root in one hand, and drawn between the fingers of the
other hand, from the root towards the point, scarcely any
friction or resistance is perceived, and no noise is heard ;
but if it be grasped by the point, and passed in the same
manner between the fingers from the point towards the
root, a resistance is felt, and a tremulous motion is percep¬
tible to the touch, while the ear is sensible to a slight
noise. Thus it appears, that the texture of the surface of
hair or wool is not the same from the root towards the
point, as it is from the point towards the root. This is
further confirmed by another experiment. If a hair be
held between the thumb and fore finger, and they are
rubbed against each other in the longitudinal direction of
the hair, it acquires a progressive motion towards the
root. This effect depends not on the nature of the skin
of the finger, or on its texture, for if the hair be turned,
and the point placed where the root formerly was, the
motion is reversed, that is, it will still be towards the
root.
Felt r. On this peculiarity of structure, which was observed by
M. Monge, depend the processes of felting and fulling, to
which hair and wool are subjected for different purposes.
In the process of felting, the flocculi of wool are struck
with the string of the bow, by which the filaments are
separately detached, and dispersed in the air. These fila¬
ments fall back on each other in all directions on the
table, and when a layer of a certain thickness is formed,
they are covered with a cloth, on which the workman
presses with his hands in all parts. By this pressure the
filaments of wool are brought nearer to each other; the
points of contact are multiplied; the progressive motion
towards the root is produced by the agitation ; the fila¬
ments entangle each other; and the laminae of each fila¬
ment taking hold of those of the other filaments, which
are in an opposite direction, the whole is retained in the
state of close contexture.
FulH;. Connected with this operation is that of fulling. The
roughness on the surface of the filaments of wool, and
their tendency to acquire a progressive motion towards
the root, produce considerable inconvenience in the ope¬
rations of spinning and weaving. These inconveniences
are obviated by covering the filaments with a coat of oil,
which fills up the cavities, and renders the asperities less
sensible. W hen these operations are finished, the stuff
must be freed from the oil, which would prevent it from
taking the colour with which it is to be dyed. For this
purpose it is taken to the fulling-mill, where it is beaten
with large beetles, in a trough of water, through which
clay has been diffused. The clay unites with the oil,
which being thus rendered soluble in the water, is carried
off by fresh portions of water, conveyed to it by proper
apparatus. In this way the stuff is scoured; but this is
not the sole object of the operation. By the alternate
pressure of the beetles, an effect similar to that of the
hands in the operation of felting is produced. The fila¬
ments composing a thread of warp or woof, acquire a pro-
giessiye motion, are entangled with the filaments of the
adjoining threads, those of the latter into the next, and
so on, till the whole threads are felted together. The stuff
is now contracted in all its dimensions, and, participating
both of the nature of cloth and of felt, may be cut without
being subjected to ravel; and, when employed to make a
gaunent, requires no hemming. In a common woollen
stocking web, after this operation, the stitches, when one
DYEING.
293
happens to slip, are now no longer subject to run, and the Substances
threads of the warp and woof being less distinct from each to be
other, the whole stuff is thickened, and forms a warmer coloured,
clothing.
I he various manufactures of which wool constitutes the Import-
basis are justly regarded as among the most important toance of
man in civilized society. Accordingly, the production ofwo°l-
fine wool, and the causes which retard or improve the
breed of sheep from which it is obtained, have greatly oc¬
cupied the attention of economists and philosophers in our
own, as well as in other countries. The wool of different
breeds of sheep, in different countries, it is well known,
possesses very different qualities, both with regard to the
fineness of the filament, and the colour. Some is of a white
or yellow, and some of a reddish and black colour. Ex¬
cepting the wool of the breed of sheep in Andalusia, the'
Spanish wool was formerly all of a brownish-black colour.
This was preferred by the native Spaniards; and even at
this day, the dress of some religious orders in Roman Ca¬
tholic countries consists of cloth manufactured from this
wool, and retaining its natural colour. But for the pur¬
poses of dyeing, white wool is now always preferred, be¬
cause it is found susceptible of receiving better and more
durable colours.
Wool is naturally covered with a kind of grease or oil, Scouring,
which is found to preserve it from insects or moths, and
on this account this greasy matter is not removed, or the
wool is not scoured, till it is to be dyed or spun.1 The
process for scouring wool is the following: It is put for
about a quarter of an hour into a kettle, with a sufficient
quantity of water, to which a fourth part of putrid urine
has been added. It is then heated to such a degree as
the hand can bear, occasionally stirred, and, after being
taken out, is allowed to drain. It is then put into a bas¬
ket, and exposed to a stream of running water, and moved'
about till the grease is so completely separated that it no
longer renders the water turbid. After being drained, it
is sometimes found to lose by this operation above one
fifth of its weight. It is almost unnecessary to observe,
that the more carefully and completely this process is per¬
formed, the better the wool is fitted to receive the colour¬
ing matter. Our chemical readers will readily perceive
the nature of the changes which are effected in this pro¬
cess of scouring, The ammonia, or volatile alkali, which
exists in the urine, combines with the oil of the wool, and
forms a soap, which being soluble in water, is dissolved
and carried off.
Wool is either dyed in the fleece, or after it is spun Dyeing,
into threads, or when it has been manufactured into cloth.
For the purpose of forming cloths of mixed colours, it is
dyed before it is spun; for the purposes of tapestry, it is
dyed in the state of thread ; but most commonly it is sub¬
jected to this process after it has been manufactured into
cloth. In these different states the quantity of colouring
matter which is taken up is very different. The propoi’-
tion is largest when it is dyed in the fleece, because then
the filaments being more separated, a greater surface is
exposed to the action of the colouring particles. For a
similar i-eason the quantity of colouring matter taken up
is greater when in the state of thread or yarn, than when
it is formed into cloth. But cloths themselves must vary
greatly in this respect, according to their different quali¬
ties. Their different degrees of fineness, or closeness of
texture, will produce considerable variations; and besides,
the difference in the quantity and dimensions of the sub¬
stances to be dyed, the different qualities of the ingre¬
dients employed in the process, and the different circum-
1 According to an observation of Reaumur, rubbing any stuff with greasy wool is sufficient to preserve it from moths.
300
DYEING.
Substances stances in which it is performed, should be a caution
coj° |)e against trusting to precise quantities, regulated by weight
or measure, which are recommended according to general
rules. According to the fineness of the texture of the
wool, and the nature of the colouring matter employed, it
is found to be more or less penetrated with this matter.
The coarse wool from the thighs and tails of some sheep
receives colours with difficulty, and the finest cloth is
never completely penetrated with the scarlet dye. The
interior of the cloth appears always, when cut, of a lighter
shade, and sometimes even white.
Sect. II.— Of Silk.
Origin. Silk, which forms the basis of one of the richest and
most splendid parts of dress among the wealthy and luxu¬
rious in civilized society, is the production of different
species of insects. The phalctma bombyx, or silk-worm,
which is a native of China, attracted the attention of
mankind in that country from the earliest ages. The ho¬
nour of having first collected and prepared silk from the
cocoons or balls in which it is wound up by the insect,
during its metamorphosis, is ascribed by the Chinese his¬
torians to the wife of an emperor. The phaloena atlas,
Lin. which is also a native of China, is said to form larger
cocoons, and to yield a stronger silk. The silk-worm
was first carried from China to Hindustan, and after¬
wards to Persia. Silk seems not to have been known to
the Greeks or Romans till the time of Augustus. Its
nature and origin were little understood ; and for many
ages it was so scarce that it could only be purchased at a
price which wras equal to its weight in gold. The empe¬
ror Aurelian, it is said, from a principle of economy, re¬
sisted the urgent solicitations of his empress, who wished
to have a silken robe, alleging the extravagance of the
expense. About the middle of the sixth century, two
monks returned from India to Constantinople, and brought
with them a considerable number of silk-worms, with in¬
structions for managing and breeding them, as well as for
collecting, preparing, and manufacturing the silk. Esta¬
blishments were thus formed at Corinth, Athens, and
other parts of Greece. The crusades, which greatly con¬
tributed to the diffusion of different kinds of knowledge,
by the intercourse which took place between different
countries, proved useful in disseminating the knowledge
of rearing the silk-worm, and preparing and manufacturing
its valuable productions. Roger, king of Sicily, about the
year 1130, returning from one of these frantic expedi¬
tions, brought with him from Athens and Corinth several
prisoners, who were acquainted with the management of
silk-worms and the manufacturing of silk. Under their
superintendence manufactories were established at Pa¬
lermo and Cagliari in Sicily. This example was soon
adopted and followed in different parts of Italy and Spain.
In the time of James I. an attempt was made to establish
the silk-worm in England. For this purpose the culture
of the mulberry-tree, on which the insects feed, was
strongly recommended by that prince to his subjects; but
the attempts which were made have been hitherto unsuc¬
cessful.
Scouring. -^le fibres of silk are covered witb a coating or natural
varnish of a gummy nature. To this are ascribed its stiff¬
ness and elasticity. Besides this varnish, the silk which
is usually met with in Europe is impregnated with a sub¬
stance of a yellow colour; and for most of the purposes
to which silk is applied, it is necessary that it should be
deprived both of the varnish and of the colouring matter.
On this account it must be subjected to the operation of
scouring; but for silks which are to be dyed this process
should not be carried so far as for those which are merely
to be whitened; and different colours, it is observed, re-Subs
quire different degrees of this operation. The quantity of toCes
soap constitutes the chief difference. A hundred pounds c°k
of silk boiled in a solution of twenty pounds of soap for ^
three or four hours, adding new portions of water during
the evaporation, are sufficiently prepared for receiving
common colours. For blue colours, the proportion of soap
must be increased ; and scarlet, cherry colour, &c. require
a still greater proportion, for the ground must be whiter
for these colours.
Silk which is to be employed white must undergo three Proo
operations. In the first the hanks are immersed in a hotwl>en
but not boiling solution of thirty pounds of soap to a hun-Ploy<]
dred of silk. When the immersed part is freed from its"*1^
gum, which is knowm by its whiteness, the hanks are
shaken over, as the workmen term it, so that the part
which was not previously immersed may undergo the
same operation. They are then wrung out as the process
is completed. In the second operation the silk is put
into bags of coarse cloth, each bag containing twenty or
thirty pounds. These bags are boiled for an hour and a
half in a solution of soap prepared as before, but with a
smaller proportion of soap ; and, that they may not receive
too much heat by touching the bottom of the kettle, they
must be constantly stirred during the operation. The
object of the third operation is to communicate to the
silk different shades, to render the white more agreeable.
These are known by different names, as China-white, sil¬
ver-white, azure-white, or thread-white. For this pur¬
pose a solution of soap is also prepared, of which the pro¬
per degree of strength is ascertained by its manner of
frothing by agitation. For the China-white, which is re¬
quired to have a slight tinge of red, a small quantity of
anotta is added, and the silk is shaken over in it till it has
acquired the shade which is wanted. In other whites a
blue tinge is given by adding a little blue to the solution
of soap. The azure-white is communicated by means of
indigo. To prepare the azure, fine indigo is well washed
two or three times in moderately warm water, ground
fine in a mortar, and boiling water poured upon it. It is
then left to settle, and the liquid part only, which con¬
tains the finer and more soluble parts, is employed.
Some use no soap in the third operation; but when the
second is completed, they wash the silks, fumigate with
sulphur, and azure them with river water, which should
be very pure. But all these operations are not sufficient
to give silk tbat degree of brightness which is necessary,
wdien it is to be employed in the manufacture of white
stuffs. For this purpose it must undergo the process of
sulphuration, in which the silk is exposed to the vapour
of sulphur; for an account of which see Bleaching. But
before the silk which has been treated in this way is fit
for receiving colours, and retaining them in their full
lustre, the sulphur which adheres to it must be separated
by immersion and agitation for some time in warm water,
otherwise the colours are tarnished and greatly injured.
It has long been an object of considerable importance Mode
to deprive silk of its colouring matter, without destroyingextrat ;
the gum, on which its stiffness and elasticity depend. A|tsc0^
process for this purpose was discovered by Beaume, but111
as it w^as not made public, others have been led to it by1
conjecture and experiment. The following account, given
by Berthollet, is all that has transpired concerning this
process. A mixture is made with a small quantity of mu¬
riatic acid and alcohol. The muriatic acid should be in a
state of purity, and particularly should be entirely free
from nitric acid, which would give the silk a yellow co¬
lour. In the mixture, thus prepared, the silk is to be im¬
mersed.
One of the most difficult parts of the process, espe-
DYE
L-.cesdaily when large quantities are operated upon, is to pro-
SU be duce a uniform whiteness. In dyeing the whitened silk,
coired. t]iere is also considerable difficulty to prevent its curling,
s0 that it is recommended to keep it constantly stretched
during the drying. The muriatic acid seems to be useful
in this process, by softening the gum, and assisting the
alcohol to dissolve the colouring particles which are com¬
bined with it. The alcohol which has been impregnated
with the colouring matter may be again separated from it
and purified, that it may serve for future operations, and
thus render the process more economical. This may be
done by means of distillation, with a moderate heat, in
glass or stoneware vessels.
Al ling- The preparation with alum is a very important prelimi¬
nary operation in the dyeing of silk. Without this pro¬
cess few colours would have either beauty or durability.
Forty or fifty pounds of alum, previously dissolved in warm
water, are mixed in a vat with forty or fifty pailfuls of
water; and to prevent the crystallization of the salt, the
solution must be carefully stirred during the mixture.
The silk being previously washed and beetled, to separate
any remains of soap, is immersed in this alum liquor, and
at the end of eight or nine hours is wrung out, and washed
in a stream of water. A hundred and fifty pounds of silk
may be prepared in the above quantity of liquor; but
when it begins to grow weak, which may be known by the
taste, twenty or twenty-five pounds of dissolved alum are
to be added, and the addition repeated till the liquor ac¬
quires a disagreeable smell. It may then be employed in
the preparation of silk intended for darker colours, till its
whole strength is dissipated. This preparation of silk
with alum must be made in the cold; for when the liquor
is employed hot, the lustre is apt to be impaired.
Sect. HI.—Of Cotton.
0; in. Cotton is the down or wool contained in the pods of a
shrubby plant, which is a native of warm climates. Of
this genus of plants ( Gossypium, Lin.) there are four spe¬
cies, one of which only is perennial; the other three are
annual plants ; but of these there are many varieties, oc¬
casioned by the difference of soil or temperature in which
they are produced. The principal differences among cot¬
tons consist in the length and firmness of the filaments,
and in their strength and colour,
it :ture. The peculiar structure of the fibres of cotton is not well
known. According to the microscopic observations of
Leeuwenhoeck, they have two sharp sides, to which are
ascribed the irritation and inflammation of wounds and
ulcers when they are dressed with cotton instead of lint.
This peculiarity of structure, it is also supposed, may oc¬
casion some difference in the conformation and number
of the pores, on which alone the disposition of cotton to
admit and retain colours better than linen seems to de¬
pend. In this respect, however, it is inferior to wool and
silk, because, on account of its vegetable nature, its affi¬
nity for colouring matter is less powerful.
A a less It is well known that silk, cotton, and linen have a
ili wool wea^er affinity f°r colouring matter than wool. Le Pileur
f0| d’Apligny attempts to explain this by supposing that the
in mtter. Pores these substances are smaller than those of wool,
and that the colouring particles enter them less easily and
freely. But according to the observation of Dr Bancroft,
the reverse of this seems to be the fact; for there is little
difficulty in making silk, cotton, and linen imbibe colour¬
ing matter, even when it is applied cold, without any arti¬
ficial dilatation of the pores, which is always necessary in
I N G. 301
the dyeing of wool. The only real difficulty is to make Substances
them retain the colours after the matter has been im- to be
bibed ; because being admitted so readily into their undi- col°uie(l*
lated pores, the particles cannot be afterwards compressed
and retained by the contraction of these pores, as is the
case with wool. It requires double the quantity of cochi¬
neal which is necessary for wool to communicate a crim¬
son colour tc silk; a certain proof that it can take up a
greater quantity, and consequently that the pores are
sufficiently large and accessible. Unbleached cotton is
always preferred for dyeing Turkey red, because in this
state the colour is found to be most permanent; and this
is ascribed to the pores or interstices being less open than
after it has undergone the process of bleaching. The
same thing is observed of raw or unscoured .silk. It is
found to combine more easily with the colouring matter,
and to receive a more permanent colour in this state, than
after it has been scoured and whitened. “ The openness
of cotton and linen,” says Dr Bancroft, “ and their conse¬
quent readiness to imbibe both colouring particles and
the earthy or metallic bases employed to fix most of them,
are circumstances upon which the art of dyeing and cali¬
co-printing is in a great degree founded.”1 But is not
this too mechanical an explanation of the phenomenon ?
Might it not rather be alleged that it is owing to a differ¬
ence of affinities which exists between the particles of
colouring matter and the substance which is separated
from the silk or cotton by the process of bleaching or
scouring? This substance probably acts the part of a
mordant; and having a stronger affinity for the stuff and
for the colouring matter than the stuff" has for the latter,
the colour communicated is more durable when silk or
cotton is dyed in the unbleached or unscoured state.
To prepare cotton stuffs for receiving the dye, several Prepara-
operations are necessary. It must first undergo the pro-tions f°r
cess of scouring. By some it is boiled in sour water, or^einS*
in alkaline ley. It should be kept boiling for two hours,
then wrung out, and rinsed in a stream of water till the
water comes off clear. The stuffs to be prepared should
be soaked for some time in water, mixed with not more
than joth part of sulphuric acid, and then carefully washed
in a stream of wrater, and dried. In this operation the
acid combines with a portion of calcareous earth and iron,
which wrould have interrupted the full effect of the colour¬
ing matter in the process of dyeing.
Aluming is another preliminary process in the dyeing Aluming.
of cotton. The alum is to be dissolved in the manner
already described in preparing silk. Each pound of cot¬
ton stuff requires four ounces of alum. By some a solu¬
tion of soda, about -Jg th part of the alum, and by others a
small quantity of tartar and arsenic, are added. The thread
is to be impregnated by working it in small quantities with
this solution. The whole is then put into a vessel, and
the remaining part of the liquor is poured upon it. In
this state it is left for twenty-four hours, after which it is
removed to a stream of water, and allowed to remain for
an hour and a half, or two hours, to extract part of the
alum. It is then to be washed. By this operation cot¬
ton is found to gain an addition of about ^yth part of its
weight.
The operation of galling is another preparatory process Galling,
in the dyeing of cotton stuffs. The quantity of astringent
matter employed must be proportioned to its quality, and
the amount of the effect required. Powdered galls are
boiled for two hours in a proportion of water, regulated by
the quantity of thread to be galled. This solution being
reduced to such a temperature as the hand can bear, is
1 Philosophy of Permanent Colours, p. 71*
DYEING.
Substances divided into a number of equal parts, that the thread may
to be be wrought pound by pound. The whole stuff is then put
^coloured. jnj.0 a v^ggi^ an(j the remaining liquor poured upon it, as
jn t|ie pormer process. Jt is then left for twenty-four hours
if it is to be dyed black, but for other colours twelve or
fifteen hours are found sufficient. It is then wrung out
and dried.
In the galling of cotton stuffs, which have already re¬
ceived a colour, the precaution should be observed of per¬
forming this operation in the cold, otherwise the colour is
subject to injury.
Berthollet informs us, that cotton which had been alum-
ed acquired more weight in the galling than that which
had not previously undergone that process ; for although
alum adheres but in small quantities to cotton, it commu¬
nicates to it a greater power of combining both with the
astringent principle and with the colouring particles. This,
we may add, may be considered as a good instance of the
action of intermediate affinities, and of the advantage to
be derived to the art of dyeing, from investigating and
observing this action.
for some time to the air and sun. By this means the colour M0
of the lint is improved, and the ligneous part becomes so
brittle that it is easily separated from the fibrous part.
This operation, as is well known, is usually performed by
machinery.
The fibres of lint possess no perceptible degree ofelas-Stru
ticity, and they appear to be perfectly smooth. No rough- '
ness or inequality can be detected by the feel, and no as¬
perities can be perceived, even with the assistance of the
microscope. Experience shows, that it produces no irrita¬
tion on wounds or sores which are dressed with it, as is
known to happen from a similar application of cotton stuffs.
Flax which is intended for dyeing must be subjected to Prep
a similar series of operations with cotton, in the different
processes of scouring, aluming, and galling. A repetition^1
of the mode of performing these operations is therefore
unnecessary.
CHAPTER III.
OF MORDANTS.
1 %
Sect. IV.—OfFhx.
Origin. Flax and hemp nearly resemble each other in their ge¬
neral properties; and, so far as relates to the process of
dyeing, what is said of the one may be applied to the
other. Flax or lint is obtained from the bark of Linum
usitalissimum, and hemp from that of Cannabis sativa.
Watering. Before flax is properly prepared to receive the dye, it
must be subjected to several processes. One of the most
important is that of watering, by which the fibrous parts
of the plant are separated, and brought to that state in
which they can be spun into threads. As the quantity
and quality of the product depend much on this prelimi¬
nary operation, it becomes of the greatest consequence that
it be properly conducted. During this process carbonic
acid and hydrogen gas are given out. The extrication of
these gases is owing to a glutinous juice, which holds the
green colouring part of the plant in solution, and which is
the medium of union between its cortical and ligneous
parts, undergoing a certain degree of putrefaction. This
substance seems to resemble the glutinous part, which is held
dissolved in the juice obtained from plants by pressure ; is
separated from the colouring particles by means of heat;
readily becomes putrid; and by distillation affords ammo-
nia.. But although it is held in solution with the express¬
ed juice, it would appear that it cannot be separated from
the cortical parts completely by means of water; and hence
it happens that hemp or flax watered in too strong a cur¬
rent has not the requisite softness and flexibility. But, on
the other hand, if the water employed in this operation be
stagnant and in a putrid state, the hemp or flax becomes
of a brown colour, and loses its firmness. In the one case
the putreiactive process is interrupted; in the other it is
continued too long and carried too far. This process, there¬
fore, is performed with the greatest advantage in places
near the banks of rivers, where the water may be changed
so frequently as to prevent such a degree of putrefaction
as would be injurious to the flax, as well as prejudicial to
the workmen, from noxious exhalations; and at the same
time not so frequently as to retard or interrupt those
changes which are necessary for rendering the glutinous
substance soluble in water.
By the process of watering flax, and by drying before
and after that process, the green-coloured particles under¬
go a similar change to that which is observed in the green
substance of the plants exposed to the action of air and
light. I he next part of the process, therefore, after water¬
ing, is to spread it out upon the grass, and thus expose it
The term mordant is applied by dyers to certain sub-Meai ,
stances with which the cloth to be dyed must be ira-0^^’
pregnated, otherwise the colouring matters would notterni'
adhere to the cloth, but would be removed by washing.
Thus the red colour given to cotton by madder would not
be fixed, unless the cloth were previously steeped in a so¬
lution of a salt of alumina. It has been ascertained that
the cloth has the property of decomposing the salt of alu¬
mina, and of combining with and retaining a portion of
alumina. The red colouring principle of the madder has
an affinity for this alumina, and combines with it. The
consequence is, that the alumina being firmly retained by
the cloth, and the colouring matter by the- alumina, the
dye becomes fast, or cannot be removed by washing the
cloth with water, even byr the assistance of soap, though
simple water is sufficient to remove the red colouring mat¬
ter from the cloth, unless the alum mordant has been pre¬
viously applied.
I he term mordant (from the Latin word mordere, to
bite) was applied to these substances by the French wri¬
ters on dyeing, from a notion entertained by them that
the action of the mordants was mechanical; that they
were of a corrosive or biting nature, and served merely to
open pores in the fibres of the cloth, into which the co¬
louring matter might insinuate itself. And after the in¬
accuracy of this notion was discovered, and the real use
of mordants ascertained, the term was still continued, as
sufficiently appropriate, or rather as a proper name, with¬
out any allusion to its original signification.
I he term mordant, however, is not limited to those sub-Alter: >■
stances merely which serve, like alumina, to fix the colours.
It is applied also to certain substances, which have the
property of altering the shade of colour, or of brightening
the colour, as it is called. Thus cream of tartar is usually
called a mordant, because when chloride of tin is used, as
is the case in the red dj^e upon silk or woollen, the addi¬
tion of cream of tartar is necessary, not merely to bright¬
en the colour, but to cause its equable application upon
the cloth ; for when the tartar is omitted, we observe
that the shade is very unequal upon different parts of the
surface, some spots being much darker and some much
lighter than others. We believe that tartar acts chiefly,
if not entirely, by forming a double salt with the chloride
of tin, from which the tin is not liable to be partially pre¬
cipitated. I he consequence of this is, the equal distribu¬
tion of the tin through the whole liquid, and the conse¬
quent equality of its application on the cloth. For the
DYEING.
303
H used
♦ nts of the shade depends upon the proportion of tin
} ^ fiXed upon the cloth. Berthollet has proposed to distin-
W fruish those substances which are employed to alter the
shade of colour from the mordants strictly so called, by
giving them the name of alterants.
The mordants employed by dyers are but few in num¬
ber. Alumintf, the oxides of tin, the protoxide of lead,
the black oxide of copper, and the infusion of nutgalls,
constitute almost the whole of them. The peroxide of
iron and the sesquioxide of manganese have also a strong
affinity for cloth, especially for cotton cloth, and are fre¬
quently employed; but they serve at once the purpose of
mordants and colouring matters. We believe also that in
one important process for giving a fine red to cotton, what
is usually called the Turhey-red dye, the margarate of pot¬
ash constitutes an indispensable mordant.
Let us take a view of these different mordants in suc¬
cession.
1. Alumina.—This is a soft, white, tasteless powder,
insoluble in water, but soluble in acids, and constituting
sweet-tasted and astringent salts, which have the property
of reddening vegetable blues. These salts are soluble in
water, but very few of them are capable of crystallizing.
Of all the salts of alumina, the most important is alum,
the nature and properties of which have been described in
another part of this work. See Alum
It is a double salt, composed of three integrant particles
of sulphate of alumina united to one integrant particle of
sulphate of potash or sulphate of ammonia and twenty-five
integrant particles of water. The ammoniacal alum is less
soluble in cold water than the potash alum ; but both kinds
are sufficiently soluble in hot water. Such is the affinity
of alumina for woollen or silk stuffs, that when they are
plunged into a solution of alum, the alumina leaves the
sulphuric acid with which it was united, and combines
with the fibres of the cloth. The affinity of alumina for
cotton or linen, though considerable, is not so great as its
affinity for wool or silk. On that account the cotton dyers
and calico printers find it requisite to combine the alumina,
before using it as a mordant, with a weaker acid than the
sulphuric. The acetic is the one which has been made
choice of, and the acetate of alumina is prepared by the
following process: Three parts of alum and one part of
acetate of lead are dissolved in eight parts of hot water.
There is then added one eighth of a part of potash and as
much chalk. The reason of the addition of the potash and
the chalk is, that one part of acetate of lead is not sufficient
to decompose three parts of alum. These substances pre¬
vent the residual alum from crystallizing, by decomposing
it. The proper quantities of these salts which the dyers
ought to employ are six parts of alum and seven parts of
sugar of lead. These proportions would just convert the
sulphate of alumina of the alum into acetate of alumina,
without altering the sulphate of potash.
The wool or silk is put into a hot solution of alum, and
the cotton into a hot solution of acetate of alumina, and
passed through the liquid till a sufficient quantity of the
alumina has combined with the fibres of the cloth. It is
then wrung out, washed, and dried. The alumina remains
firmly adhering to the cloth, and cannot be removed by
washing, bleaching, or any of the processes to which such
cloths are usually subjected.
In order to form some notion of the quantity of alumina
fixed upon cloth by the aluming process, the writer of this
article made the following experiments: A quantity of
cotton cloth was procured, such as is sometimes used for
making light dresses of Turkey red. Of this, 1000 grains
were burnt, and the ashes being reserved and analyzed,
were found to contain 0*4 grain of alumina. 1000 grains
the same cloth which had been dyed Turkey red, and
Qtatity
d Jmina
"1 h ad.
b Is to
u m.
of course subjected to the aluming process, were burnt, Mordants,
and the ashes subjected to a chemical analysis. The alu- v«^’y-w
mina contained in them weighed eight grains. Hence 7*6
grains of this matter had combined with the cloth in the
process of aluming.
The length of 1000 grains of the undyed cotton cloth was
one yard five and two-third inches, and its breadth thirty-
three inches. The length of 1000 grains of the Turkey
red cloth was one yard and six inches, with a breadth of
thirty-three inches. The two pieces of cloth, therefore,
were very nearly of a size. We see that the dyed cloth
had been stretched a very little during the processes to
which it had been subjected. Thus it appears that a sur¬
face of cloth amounting to 1386 square inches, or rather
2772 square inches (as both sides of the cloth had been
equally subjected to the aluming process), had combined
with 7,6 grains of alumina, or every square inch of the
cloth had combined with 0-0027 grains grain near¬
ly) of alumina. Small as this quantity may appear, it was
sufficient to fix the red colouring principle of madder, and
to constitute a very deep and beautiful dye.
A very pale shade of red is sometimes given to a por¬
tion of the cloth, which has a beautiful effect when con¬
trasted with the deep Turkey-red dye. This is produced
by limiting the quantity of alumina applied to the parts
which are to be light red. In fact, no alum mordant what¬
ever is applied to the parts which are to be light red; but
they get a little during the steps taken to remove the ex¬
cess of aluminous mordant, which has been applied to the
parts that are to get the deep-red colour.
To ascertain the quantity of alumina which was suffi¬
cient to fix the light-red colour, the writer of this article
got a portion of the same cotton cloth formerly operated
on, dj^ed of the light-red colour. 1000 grains of this cloth
being burnt, and the ashes analyzed, were found to contain
0-8 grain of alumina. Subtracting the 0*4 grain of alu¬
mina which 1000 grains of the undyed cloth contained,
there remains 0-4 grain for the quantity communicated
during the aluming process. These 1000 grains of cloth
constituted a length of one yard and ten two-third inches.
The breadth was thirty-two inches. Its surface (reckon¬
ing both sides) constituted 2986-| square inches. So that
every square inch of surface had combined with 0-00012
grains of alumina, or less than ^Wth of a grain. Yet
this quantity of alumina, small as it is, was essential to
the permanence of the dye; for when unalumed cloth
was dyed with madder, the colour was speedily and easily
washed out by water; but the light-red Turkey-red dye
was perfectly fixed.
These facts are sufficient to show us the very small size
of a particle of alumina. Were only 1000 particles of this
substance fixed upon the square inch of surface of cloth,
the weight of a particle of alumina would not exceed the
millionth part of a grain. But that the number far ex¬
ceeds 1000 is evident from this, that when we examine
the surface of the cloth with a microscope, the red colour
does not appear in spots, but is equally spread over the
whole cloth. Many thousand particles of alumina upon
the square inch would be requisite to produce this effect.
The aluming and the dyeing are sometimes given to
the cloth together; but more frequently the aluming pre¬
cedes, and the dyeing follows after the cloth has imbibed
the mordant and been washed and dried.
2. Tin.—Of all the metallic oxides, those of tin are the
most useful as mordants. They form, with acids, salts very
easily decomposed ; and the fibres of cloth have an affinity
so strong for these oxides, that they readily withdraw them
from their saline combinations, and unite with them. Tin
forms two different oxides with oxygen. The protoxide is
black, but the peroxide is yellow, and sometimes also white.
! ^
304
DYEING.
mordant.
Mordants. The tin mordants are formed by dissolving tin in muriatic
acid. There are two chlorides of tin, as the combinations
of that metal with chlorine are called. These are, the pro¬
tochloride and the perchloride. The protochloride, when
anhydrous, is a gray solid, with a pearly lustre; but when
it is formed by dissolving tin in muriatic acid, it crystal¬
lizes in large oblique four-sided prisms, with one edge
usually replaced by a tangent plane. The colour is white,
with somewhat of the diamond lustre. The taste is acid,
acrid, and disagreeable. When recently formed they dis¬
solve in water; but when kept they dissolve imperfectly,
leaving a white matter behind, which is an oxide of tin,
and the quantity of this insoluble oxide increases with the
age of the crystals.
How pre- Calico-printers form their tin mordant by dissolving tin
pared as a directly in muriatic acid; but the silk and woollen cloth
dyers employ aqua regia for the purpose. Indeed tin for
the dyers was originally dissolved in weak nitric acid ; but
when this method is followed, almost the whole tin preci¬
pitates in the state of an oxide in a few days. To prevent
this precipitation, they added a little common salt or sal
ammoniac to the nitric acid in which the tin was to be
dissolved. Hellot informs us that Baron claimed the merit
of having been the first person who employed aqua regia
at Carcassone to dissolve tin. The object in view was to
prevent the precipitation of the oxide, which always hap¬
pens when nitric acid alone is used for that purpose.
The dyer’s ordinary solution of tin is made with the
kind of nitric acid called single aqua fortis. It is capable
of dissolving about the eighth part of its weight of granu¬
lated tin. For each pound of aqua fortis it is usual to add
about two ounces of common salt or sal ammoniac, and a
little water to moderate the action of the acid. Those so¬
lutions which have been made most slowly, and with the
least separation of fumes or vapours, have been found to
succeed best; showing clearly that it is the protochloride
of tin that constitutes the proper mordant. Two ounces
of grain tin are usually allotted to every pound of aqua
fortis. The metal should be added at different times, wait¬
ing till one part is nearly dissolved before another is added,
otherwise too much heat may be evolved, which would
cause the solution to go on too rapidly. The quantity of
water added should be about one half of that of the aqua
fortis used; so that the solution, when completed, should
contain about one thirteenth of its weight of tin. About
20 lbs. of such a solution is required to die 100 lbs. of
woollen cloth a full cochineal scarlet.
The process usually followed is this: Supposing 100
pounds weight of cloths intended to be died; ten pounds
of cream of tartar are put into a suitable dyeing vessel of
pure block tin,1 with a sufficient quantity of clean soft water,
and six or eight ounces of powdered cochineal. Imme¬
diately after this, ten or twelve pounds of the solution of
tin are to be added, and when the mixture is nearly boiling
hot, the cloth, previously completely wet, is put into the dye¬
ing liquor, and turned through it by the winch, at first very
rapidly, and afterwards slowly. This is to be'continued
for an hour and a half, after which the cloth is to be taken
out and rinsed in clean water. By this first process the
cloth has acquired a flesh colour. 'For the second or dye-
ing process the tin vessel is replenished with clean water,
hive or six pounds of cochineal in powder are to be put
into it, and well mixed by stirring it for a few minutes.
Aftei this the remaining part of the solution of tin is to be
added ; and the whole being well stirred, the cloth is to be
put into the liquor, and turned very briskly through it jj
that both ends may receive an equal portion of the dye! 1 ^
After this it is turned more slowly for the space of half an
hour, or until the dyeing liquor becomes exhausted, when
the cloth is to be taken out, aired, and rinsed.
The process followed by the calico-printers for prepar¬
ing the tin mordant is to dissolve tin-in muriatic acid, by
which a protochloride of tin is obtained. But Dr Ban¬
croft found that, when a saturated solution of tin in muri¬
atic acid was employed for dyeing woollen cloth scarlet
it had a corrosive effect on the cloth. He recommends a
mixture of nitric and muriatic acid as a good solvent; and
doubtless such a mixture would be cheaper and better than
a solution of common salt or sal-ammoniac in nitric acid.
Dr Bancroft found that a mixture of sulphuric and muri¬
atic acid made a good solvent for the tin. Some farther
experiments are still wanting to elucidate the best state of
the tin mordant for the scarlet dye. We are of opinion
that it is the protochloride of tin that constitutes the true
mordant ;2 but some addition seems necessary to enable
the fibres of the cloth to separate the oxide of the tin
from the combination in which it exists, or rather to unite
with the muriatic acid, when it is formed and disengaged
by the decomposition of water, which obviously takes
place, otherwise this acid, when evolved, will exert a cor¬
rosive action on the cloth.
The tartar is necessary to produce the scarlet colour.
Without it the colour of the cochineal dye is crimson, or
at most a rose colour. It doubtless acts principally by
forming a double salt with the chloride of tin. But it
must also convert a portion of the cochineal into a yellow
dye; for scarlet is a compound colour, consisting of a
great deal of red, mixed with a small quantity of yellow.
3. Lead.—We are not aware of the protoxide of lead Usee
being employed in any case as a mordant in dyeing silkschr01
or woollen cloth ; but of late years it has been used as aacid
mordant for cotton, to which the beautiful yellow given
by means of chromic acid was to be communicated. For
this purpose the lead is dissolved in nitric acid, or con¬
verted into nitrate of lead. This salt crystallizes in octa¬
hedrons, has a sweet and astringent taste, and dissolves
readily in water. An aqueous solution of it thickened by
gum is applied to those parts of the cloth which are to
receive a yellow colour; or if the cloth has been already
dyed red, a quantity of tartaric acid is mixed with the so¬
lution of nitrate of lead and gum, and after it has been
applied and dried on the cloth, the piece is passed through
water impregnated with a quantity of bleaching powder.
The red colour is discharged ; but the oxide of lead, which
had united with the fibres of the cloth, still continues to ad¬
here without alteration. The cloth is now passed through
a solution of bichromate of potash. Those parts of it which
contained the oxide of lead immediately decompose the
bichromate ; chromate of lead is formed and fixed upon the
cloth, constituting a most beautiful and indelible yellow
colour; or, by particular alterations in the process, this yel¬
low colour may be changed to red, or to a very deep orange
approaching i-ed, and exceedingly beautiful.
4. Copper.—The black oxide of copper is employed as
a mordant in giving a black colour to hats, or at least
acetate of copper is employed in the process; and it is not
easy to conceive any other purpose which such a salt can
serve than contributing a portion of oxide of copper to act
as a mordant.
5. Galls.—Nutgalls are excrescences which grow on
\ Copper vessels are found to injure the colour, and therefore are not used,
lity ofprotochlorideUof tin fits UbSterffif the purpose. ^ ^ Cl°th' U doubtless becomes peroxide. But the superior solubi-
DYEING.
305
jlits* the branches of some species of oak, in consequence of the
puncture of an insect, the cynips quercus folii. The best
Excr- kind come from the Levant. They are nearly spherical
cena bodies, with protuberances on the surface. There is a ca-
oak* vity within where the insect lodged, and a round hole from
that central cavity to the surface, by which the insect,
after it was hatched from the deposited egg, eat its way
out. These nutgalls have a very astringent and austere
taste. When digested in water they give that liquid a
brown colour, and the taste which they themselves have.
When such an infusion is mixed with a solution of sulphate
of iron, it strikes a deep blue or black colour. Nutgalls,
besides a considerable portion of woody fibre, contain a
notable quantity of two peculiar vegetable substances, to
which they owe their value as dyestuffs or mordants.
These are tannin and gallic acid. The latter of these
substances is easily obtained in a state of purity; the for¬
mer with difficulty.
Coni is The infusion of nutgalls contains scarcely any thing else
tann than a solution of tannin and gallic acid. If we evaporate
the solution in a gentle heat to dryness, and digest the
residue in sulphuric ether or absolute alcohol, the gallic
acid will be dissolved, and the tannin will remain in a state
of tolerable purity, only coloured brown by the action of
the air. Tannin, when pure, is white while moist. It be¬
comes yellow when dried even in vacuo, and by subsequent
exposure to the air it becomes darker coloured. Its taste
is excessively astringent and harsh ; and it is distinguish¬
ed by the property of striking a deep blue or black with
the salts of iron. Tannin is easily altered in its nature
by heat. Its constitution, as determined by the experi¬
ments of Berzelius, is as follows:
Carbon 52’69 to 52*49
Hydrogen  3*86 to 3*79
Oxygen 43*45 to 43*72
100*00 100*00
 5*25
  0*375
  4*333
9*958
Hence it is either composed of these atoms or of some
multiple of them, most probably of
21 atoms carbon 15*75
9 atoms hydrogen  1*125
13 atoms oxygen 13*00
This corresponds best with
7 atoms carbon 
3 atoms hydrogen 
4^ atoms oxygen 
and | [lie
acidll
29*875
This would make its atomic weight 29*875.
Tannin exists not merely in nutgalls, but in oak bark,
in the wood of the oak, in the leaves, and in fact in every
part of that tree ; but the quantity of it is much greater
in nutgalls than in any other part.
Tannin possesses the characters of an acid. It reddens
vegetable blues, effervesces with the carbonates, and unites
in definite proportions with the bases.
Gallic acid exists also as a constituent of nutgalls, and
may be extracted from them by means of ether or abso¬
lute alcohol. Its colour is white, though it is apt, like tan¬
nin, to become yellow when exposed to the atmosphere,
and seems indeed capable of being converted into tannin
by exposure to too high a temperature. It is not nearly
so soluble in water as tannin, and is distinguished by an
acid taste instead of an astringent one. Like tannin, it
strikes a black with the salts of iron. But the gallate of
iron is readily distinguished from the tannate. The for¬
mer is an exceedingly fine black powder, which precipi¬
tates very slowly, while the latter is a deep blue, which
VOL. vm.
precipitates rapidly, has a coarse appearance, and becomes Mordants,
black when dry. The constituents of gallic acid, accord- —y-'w'
ing to the analysis of Berzelius, are as follows :
Carbon 56*64
Hydrogen  5*00
Oxygen  38*36
100*00
..5*625
..0*5
..4*0
10*125
Or, if we double the quantities to get rid of the half atom,
15 atoms carbon    11*25
8 atoms hydrogen.....  1*00
8 atoms oxygen    8*00
2025
In gallic acid the hydrogen and oxygen exist in the pro¬
portions which constitute water; but in tannin there is a
surplus of oxygen. In gallic acid there is rather more
hydrogen than in tannin.
The great use to which the infusion of nutgalls is put How used
in dyeing is to give a black colour when mixed with solu-as a mor-
tion of sulphate of iron. When used in this way it per- c^ant’
haps is improperly named a mordant; for the oxide of iron
is known to have a strong affinity for the fibres of cloth,
and the tannin and gallic acid have a strong affinity for the
oxide. Hence probably the way in which the black dye
is fixed on silk and woollen cloth. There can be no doubt
that the tannin, which is by far the most abundant ingre¬
dient, is the principal agent in striking the black with the
sulphate of iron. But the gallic acid probably adds to the
lustre, and improves the beauty of the colour.
In the Turkey-red process for giving a fixed red colour
to cotton cloth by means of madder, steeping the cloth in
infusion of nutgalls is an important part of the process, as
without this the colour would be apt to want equality
of shade in different parts of the cloth. In this process
there can be no doubt that tannin acts the part of a mor¬
dant. The galling, in preparing the cloth for the Turkey-
red dye, always precedes the alumina process. Whether
it has the property of making the alumina more fixed on
the cloth than it otherwise would be, or what other pur¬
pose it may serve, is not very well understood; but it is
certain that the boiling of the cloth in a pretty strong in¬
fusion of galls is important. The infusion of galls is made
by boiling twenty-five pounds of nutgalls in forty gallons
of water, till four or five gallons are boiled or evaporated.
The specific gravity of the infusion is 1*020; or some¬
times the process is twice repeated, employing each time
only twelve and a half pounds of nutgalls in forty gallons
of water. The specific gravity of each infusion in that case
is only 1*010.
Such is an account of the mordants at present employed
in dyeing, and the way of using them. It is not always »
necessary to employ mordants in dyeing; some colouring
matters adhere to the cloth without the presence of any
intermediate substance. This is the case with the oxides
of iron and manganese. It is the case also with indigo,
and it was the case also with the colouring matter from
the buccinum and purpura employed by'the ancient Phoe¬
nician dyers in dyeing the celebrated purple, of which an
account has been given in the first chapter of this treatise.
To those colouring matters which adhere to the cloth of
themselves Bancroft has given the name of substantive co¬
lours, while he distinguishes those that require a mordant
by the name of adjective colours.
This corresponds with
7£ atoms carbon..,
4 atoms hydrogen
4 atoms oxygen...
306
DYEING.
Mordants. Mordants have a very considerable effect on the colour;
and by varying the mordant, very different colours, and a
Effects of great variety of shades, may be obtained from the same
on°thentS col°ur‘ng matter. Some mordants themselves may be
lour. ' considered as communicating a colour, without the addi¬
tion of any colouring substance; and although, when the
latter is added, a new set of affinities is brought into ac¬
tion, yet there is little doubt that the mordant also has a
considerable share in fixing the shades of colour. Let us
take an example in dyeing with cochineal. When the
aluminous mordant is employed, the colour produced is
crimson ; but when the oxide of iron is substituted for the
alumina, the colour obtained is black. The effect is ob¬
viously produced by a change in the action of the affinities
between the colouring matter and the mordant, and the
colouring matter and light. In the use of mordants,
therefore, it is necessary to attend to their combined ef¬
fects with the colouring matter employed, and, to be able
to communicate particular colours to stuffs with any de¬
gree of certainty, to know the amount of that effect.
Even in the mode of applying mordants, the variety of
shades may be greatly multiplied. Different effects, for
instance, are produced by previously impregnating the
stuff with the mordant, or by mixing it with the bath.
Different effects also arise from using heat, or as the stuff
is more or less rapidly dried; and this must appear to be
the case, if we consider the different affinities which are
in action, and the change on the action of these affinities
in these different circumstances, as well as in others which
can scarcely be appreciated. The combination of these
substances which have an affinity for the stuff, and the de¬
compositions which are the result of that combination, are
greatly facilitated by the evaporation of the water or other
liquid which held these substances in solution; because
by its affinity, which is opposed to the action of the affi¬
nity between these substances and the stuff, the affinity of
the latter produces a more limited effect. But in dyeing,
the process should proceed slowly, that the substances
may not be separated before their mutual affinities have
begun to operate.
Considerable differences must be observed in the mode
of employing the mordant, as the force of affinity between
the stuff and the colouring matter is greater or less.
When this affinity is strong, the mordant and the colour¬
ing substance may be mixed together; the compound thus
formed immediately enters into combination with the stuff.
But if the affinity between the stuff and the colouring
particles be weak, the compound formed of the latter and
the mordant may separate, and a precipitation take place,
before it can be attached to the stuff; and hence it is in
these cases that the mordant, which is to serve as the me¬
dium of union between the stuff and the colouring matter,
must be combined with the former, before the application
of the latter. It is from these differences that different
processes must be followed in fixing colouring matters on
animal and vegetable productions; as, for instance, in dye¬
ing wool or silk black, or with cochineal.
« In estimating the effects of mordants, and in judging of
the most advantageous manner of applying them, it is ne¬
cessary to attend to the combinations which may be form¬
ed, either by the action of the ingredients of which they
are composed, or by that of the colouring matter and the
stuff. It is necessary also to take into consideration the
circumstances which may tend to bring about these com¬
binations with more or less rapidity, or that may render
them more or less perfect. The action which the liquor
in which the stuff'is immersed may have, either on its co¬
lour or texture, must also be considered; and, to be able
accurately to judge of the extent of this action, we must
know the proportions of the principles of which the mor¬
dant is composed; which of these principles remains in an
uncombined state in the liquor; and the proportion or
quantity which is thus separated.
u( in.
CHAPTER IV.
OF THE MODE OF DYEING SIMPLE COLOURS.
Dyers have divided colours into two classes, namely,
simple and compound colours. The simple are produced
by a single dyeing process, and cannot be obtained by
mixing together different colours. The compound co¬
lours are obtained by mixing together any two of the dye¬
stuffs which produce the simple colours. By this means
two colours are given to the cloth at once ; and the shade
depends upon the proportions of each dyestuff employed.
The simple colours are five in number; namely, red,
yellow, blue, black, and brotvn. The last of these may be
considered also as a compound colour, as it may be formed
by mixing the dyestuffs for two simple colours together.
The compound colours are orange, green, purple, and gray.
We shall in this chapter confine ourselves to the mode of
dyeing the simple colours, dividing it into five sections, in
each of which we shall treat of a simple colour.
Sect. I.—Of Red.
In treating of the red dye, the simplest method seems
to be to give an account, in the first place, of the dye¬
stuffs employed for dyeing red; and in the second place,
to describe the methods followed by the dyer to give a
red colour to silk, wool, cotton, and flax.
I.—Description of the Dyestuffs.
The principal colouring matters used in dyeing red are
madder, cochineal, kermes, lac, archil, carthamus, Brazil
wood, and logwood.
1. Madder is the root of a plant, the rubia tinctorum,Conti
which is cultivated in the south of Europe. There are^i
two varieties, the rubia cordifolia and the rubiaperegrinaf^A
It is this last which is cultivated in the south of Europe,
and comes to us from the Levant. The roots are wiery,
and very much branched. They have a red colour exter¬
nally, but are yellow within. This plant was cultivated
by the Greeks and Romans, and was employed in medi¬
cine, and also in dyeing, as Dioscorides and Pliny in¬
form us. It was called erythrodamus and vcerantia by the
Greeks, and rubia by the Romans. From the last Greek
name is derived the French word garance, by which mad¬
der is distinguished in that language.
It is the woody portion of madder that is useful in dye¬
ing : the bark and pith are comparatively of little value.
Madder has been examined by many chemists; but Ro-
biquet and Colin alone have succeeded in separating the
red colouring matter, and in determining its properties.
They have distinguished it by the name of alizarin, an
appellation derived from alizari, by which madder is dis¬
tinguished in the Levant.
Madder contains two colouring matters ; one, which is
yellow, is soluble in cold water; the other, the alizarin, is
soluble only in boiling water. To the yellow colouring
matter Kuhlmann has given the name of xanthin. This
matter considerably injures the colour of the alizarin;
hence the reason why cloth dyed with madder has at first
a dull brownish-red colour, which it loses in proportion as
the xanthin is removed.
s
ur-
ws,
1 o obtain alizarin, Robiquet and Colin recommend the All; n
following process. Mix pounded madder with two thirds M'
or with its own weight of concentrated sulphuric acid, and
DYE
L get the mixture aside for two or three days, taking care
Co) rs- that heat is not evolved. All the other constituents of
the madder, except the alizarin, are converted into char¬
coal ; and should heat have been evolved, even the aliza¬
rin itself will be charred. Wash the black matter thus
formed, to extract from it all the acid. What remains is
a mixture of charcoal and alizarin Let it be dried and
digested with a portion of cold alcohol, which will dissolve
a fatty matter which it contains. Let it now be digested
in boiling alcohol till all the alizarin is dissolved. Mix:
the alcoholic solutions with water, distil off the alcohol,
and filter the residual liquor. The alizarin remains upon
the filter in a state of purity. Various other processes for
extracting alizarin have been given by Kobiquet and Co¬
lin, and by Kuhlmann and Zenneck.1 But for these we
refer to the respective publications of these chemists. The
process which we have given we consider as of easiest exe¬
cution.
ps iper- Alizarin is insipid, and destitute of smell. According to
ties. Zenneck, it possesses weakly acid properties; but Colin
and Robiquet consider it as perfectly neutral. It sublimes
easily in long flexible capillary needles, having an orange
colour; but unless the subliming vessels be very low and
flat, much of the alizarin is decomposed during the pro¬
cess. Two watch-glasses applied to each other, for exam¬
ple, answer very well as a subliming vessel. During the
process the alizarin gives out an aromatic odour like that
of benzoin. It is almost insoluble in cold water; but it
is moderately soluble in boiling water, to which it com¬
municates a rose-red colour. At the temperature of 54>0,
212 parts of alcohol,' of the specific gravity 0-83, dissolve
one part of alizarin. At the same temperature sulphuric
ether, of specific gravity 0*73, dissolves y^th part of its
weight of it. The alcoholic solution is red, that of ether
yellow or orange. It is slightly soluble in bisulphide of
carbon, oil of turpentine, naphtha, and the fat oils, com¬
municating to these bodies a reddish-yellow colour.
Chlorine has little action on it, yet it injures the colour
a little, and makes it incline to yellow. Sulphuric acid
dissolves it, and acquires at the same time a blood-red
colour. Nitric and muriatic acid dissolve it, and slightly
alter the shade of its colour. These acids, when dilute,
do not dissolve it. With alkalies it forms soluble com¬
binations, having a violet-red colour, which do not afford
crystals. The alkaline carbonates dissolve it, assuming
a violet colour. With the alkaline earths it forms pre¬
cipitates, having a violet or lilac colour; with alumina a
precipitate which is red or reddish-brown. With the me¬
tallic oxides it forms insoluble combinations, having a vio¬
let or reddish-brown colour.
It has a marked affinity for various animal matters. It
dissolves in the white of an egg diluted with water; and
if we coagulate the albumen by heat, the alizarin com¬
bines with it, leaving the liquid portion tinged yellow.
Albumen, containing a portion of alizarin in solution, is
precipitated by a solution of chloride of calcium; yet this
salt does not precipitate uncombined albumen diluted with
the same quantity of water. Phosphate of lime appears
also to have a marked affinity for the colouring matter of
madder. Indeed this is obvious, from the well-known
fact, that the bones of animals which have taken for some
time a quantity of madder mixed with their food, are
tinged red.
I N G. 307
Urine, when left in contact writh madder, extracts from Simple
it the alizarin, and acquires a red colour, even when quite Colours,
recent and acid. Milk is coloured yellow by madder, and
red coagulated curd is deposited upon the madder. The
solution of animal gelatin does not precipitate the red co¬
louring matter of madder.
We are not aware that madder is employed in dyeing
silk or wool, but it constitutes one of the most beautiful
and fixed red dyes for cotton and linen, and for dyeing
these substances it has been in use probably at least two
thousand years. As the yellow colouring matter or xan-
thin is not used in dyeing, it seems unnecessary to give any
account of it in this place.2 3 It gives, a very beautiful
yellow colour, and might be employed in calico-printing,
were it not that the extraction of it would cost too much
money.
2. Cochineal is the name given to a small insect that in-Nature of
habits the cactus coccinilifera, and three or four other spe-cochineal,
cies of cactus, upon which it remains immoveable, draw¬
ing its nourishment from the juices of the plant. The in¬
sect is called by entomologists coccus cacti. It is the fe¬
male insect (which is without wings) that constitutes
the dyestuff. The insect is small, having a kind of hemi¬
spherical back, crossed by numerous wrinkles, and of a
dark reddish-brown colour.
This insect is a native of Mexico, and had been em¬
ployed by the natives as a red tinging matter. When the
Spaniards entered that country in 15l8 it drew their at¬
tention ; and in 1523 Cortes received orders from the
court of Spain to procure it in as great quantity as possi¬
ble. He left the cultivation of the insect to the natives,
who prosecuted it so successfully that great quantities of
it were imported into Europe. The earlier Spanish wri¬
ters described it as an insect, but at a later period it
came to be considered as the seed of a plant; and this
opinion continued the prevalent one, till the contrary was
proved by Melchior de Ruuscher, about the beginning of
the eighteenth century. This man, who was a native of
Holland, affirmed in a society, from oral information which
he had obtained in Spain, that cochineal was a small ani¬
mal. Another person, whose name has not been made
known, maintained the contrary with so much heat and
violence, that the dispute at length ended in a bet.
Ruuscher charged a Spaniard, one of his friends, who was
going to Mexico, to procure for him in that country au¬
thentic proofs of what he had asserted. These proofs,
legally confirmed in October 1725, by the court of justice
in the city of Antiguera, in the valley of Oaxaca, arrived
at Amsterdam in the autumn of the year 1726. Ruuscher
caused this evidence to be published under the following
title : The History of Cochineal proved by authentic docu¬
ments?
The fact that cochineal is an insect had been suspected
before. In a very crude and unsatisfactory paper on cochi¬
neal, published in the Philosophical Transactions for 1668,4
this is distinctly stated as an undoubted fact. In 1672 Dr
Lister, in a paper inserted also in the Transactions, throws
out a conjecture that the cochineal insect may be a sort
of kermes; which conjecture is now known to be well
founded. Leeuwenhoeck is said to have examined cochi¬
neal microscopically in 1703, and to have ascertained it to
be an insect. About the beginning of the year 1757 Mr
Ellis obtained some of the joints of the plant on which the
1 See Kuhlmann, Ann. de Chim. et de Phys. xxiv. 225; Zenneck Poggendorf’s Annalen. xiii. 261 ; Robiquet et Colin. Jour, de
Pharmacie, xii. 407 ; and Ann. de Chim. et de Phys. xxxiv. 225.
3 For an account of it we refer the reader to the Jour, de Pharmacie, xiv. 354.
3 Natucrlykc Historic van de Couchenille, beu>eezen mil authentique documenten. Amsterdam, 1729, 8vo, 175 pages.
4 No. xl. p. 796.
308
DYEING.
Simple insects breed, from South Carolina, and presented them
Colours, the same year to the Royal Society. These specimens,
Mr Ellis observes, were full of the nests of this insect, in
which it appeared in its various states, in the most minute,
when it walks about, to the state when it becomes fixed,
and wrapt up in a fine web which it spins about itself.
With the assistance of the microscope, Mr Ellis discover¬
ed the true male insect in the parcels which had been sent
to him from America ; and in August 1756, in consequence
of Mr Ellis’s discovery, Dr Garden caught a male cochi¬
neal fly, which, he observes, is rarely to be met with. He
supposes that there may be 150 or 200 females for one
male. These discoveries proved indisputably that the
cochineal is an animal production.
Cochineal has been subjected to a chemical examination
by various individuals ; but the most successful analysis of
it is by Pelletier and Caventou in 1818, which was pub¬
lished in the eighth volume of the Annales de Chimieet de
Contains Physique, p. 250. They found it to contain about half its
cochinea- weight of the peculiar colouring matter to which they ap¬
plied the name carmine; but we prefer the name cochi-
nealin, already given to this substance by John, who was
the person that first obtained it and described its proper¬
ties. Cochinealin may be obtained by the following pro¬
cess :—
Digest cochineal in alcohol, as long as it communicates
a red colour to that liquid. The alcoholic solution being
left to spontaneous evaporation, lets fall a crystalline mat¬
ter of a fine red colour. Dissolve these crystals in strong
alcohol, and mix the solution with its own bulk of sulphu¬
ric ether. The liquid becomes muddy, and gradually de-
posites the cochinealin, which constitutes a purple crust on
the bottom of the vessel.
Properties Cochinealin has a fine purple-red colour, is granular,
nealin ^ .cons’s^s sm^ll crystals. When left exposed to the
air, it undergoes no sensible alteration. At 122 degrees it
melts; and if the heat be increased, it swells up and is
decomposed, yielding carburetted hydrogen gas, a great
deal of oil, and a little water having a slightly acid taste.
It furnishes no traces of ammonia.
It is very soluble in water. The aqueous solution has a
fine carmine colour, and, how much soever concentrated,
does not deposite crystals. It dissolves also in alcohol;
but the solubility diminishes in proportion to the strength
of the alcohol. In sulphuric ether it does not dissolve.
Ihe weak acids dissolve it, probably in consequence of
the water which they contain. When the cochinealin is
pure, no acid throws it down from its aqueous solution;
but they precipitate it when in combination with the pe¬
culiar animal matter of cochineal. They produce a sensi¬
ble^ change upon its colour, causing it gradually to assume
a tint of yellow. 1 his is the reason why cochineal will
not dye scarlet, unless when mixed with bitartrate of pot¬
ash. The concentrated acids decompose it altogether.
Alkalies also alter the colour of solutions of cochinealin.
It fiist becomes violet, and at last yellow ; and the original
colour cannot be again restored. Lime-water occasions a
precipitate when poured into an aqueous solution of this
substance; but barytes and strontian water occasion no
precipitate, though they change the colour to yellow.
Alumina has a strong affinity for cochinealin. When
newly precipitated alumina is agitated in an aqueous solu¬
tion of it, the liquid is rendered colourless, and the alu¬
mina converted into a beautiful lake. The pigment called
carmine, accidentally discovered by a Franciscan monk
about the middle of the sixteenth century, and the pro¬
cess for obtaining which was published by Homberg in
1656, consists essentially of a combination of cochinealin e
and alumina. qT
Most of the saline solutions alter the colour of the aque- ^
ous solution of this substance ; but few of them are cam-
ble of producing a precipitate in it. Acetate oflead, how¬
ever, throws down a copious violet sediment from the de¬
coction or infusion of cochineal; and by decomposing this
sediment by means of sulphuretted hydrogen, the cochi-
nealin may be obtained in a state of purity. The chlo¬
ride of tin throws down a violet precipitate, and the per-
chloride strikes a fine scarlet colour, but precipitates no¬
thing. When gelatinous alumina is added to this mixture
we obtain a fine red precipitate, which is not altered by
boiling.
Cochineal was at one time used in great quantity in Eu¬
rope, chiefly for dyeing fine scarlet cloth. When Bancroft
published his work on colours in 1794, he informs us that
the annual European consumption was about 3000 bags
or 600,000 lbs., of which about 240,000 lbs. were con¬
sumed in Great Britain. The demand has since that time
very much diminished; and the price has in consequence
sunk from about thirty shillings to about nine shillings
and sixpence per pound. This diminution is chiefly ow¬
ing to the substitution of the lac dye for cochineal. Cochi¬
neal, however, is still used’ for the dyeing of fine scarlet
cloth.
3. Kermes.—This is also the female of an insect which
inhabits a species of oak. The tree, which is a native of
the countries bordering on the Mediterranean and Asia, is
called by Linnaeus quercus ilicis, and the insect coccus Hi-
cis. This substance was known to the ancients, though Simil; 0
they were ignorant of its nature. Dioscorides calls itcochH
xoxxoj, and Pliny coccum and granum. It was used in me¬
dicine ; and there can be no doubt that it was employed
in Asia at a very early period as a dyestuff. There is rea¬
son to suspect that the scarlet cloth mentioned by Moses
to adorn the tabernacle was dyed by means of kermes. If
'this conjecture has any foundation, the kermes dye must
have been known in Egypt before the time of Moses.
The word kermes or alkermes is at present in the East
the common name for the animal which produces the dye,
as well as for the dye itself. Probably it comes from the
Arabic. If the kermes dye was known in Egypt and Phoe¬
nicia in the time of Moses, there is some difficulty in ex¬
plaining how it was altogether unknown to the Greeks and
Romans till the time of the Emperor Aurelian, who began
his short reign in the year 270 of the Christian era. Vo-
piscus informs us that the king of Persia sent to that em¬
peror, besides other articles of great value, some woollen
cloth, which was of a much costlier and brighter purple
than any that had been ever seen in the Roman empire,
and in comparison of which all the other purple worn by
the emperor and the ladies of the court appeared dull
and faded. Vopiscus goes on to say that this cloth had
been dyed in India, and that the assertion of the king of
Persia, sumepurpuram quails apud nos est, was false; for
Aurelian, Probus, and Diocletian, had sent dyers into the
East on purpose to get information respecting this pre¬
cious dye; but that their attempts utterly failed of suc¬
cess.1
From this passage it would appear that the use of
kermes in dyeing had been known at a very early period
in India, from which it gradually made its way into Per¬
sia, and afterwards into Europe. And as the colour which
it yielded was more beautiful than the celebrated Phoe¬
nician dye, it may have contributed to put an end to the
monopoly of the Phoenician dyers. The term scarlet, the
1 Vopiscus in Vita Aureliani, cap. 29.
I
I 1
Sit'le
Colors.
DYEING.
309
Akiimi-
lar tico-
ml !•
Hil pre.
I)a •
orio-in of which is unknown, but which was certainly em¬
ployed early in the twelfth century, was applied to the
colour given to cloth by the kermes dye.
Kermes is gathered chiefly in Languedoc, Spain, and
Portugal. The insects are collected in the months of
j\Iay and June, wdien the female, which alone is useful, is
distended with eggs. To destroy the young insects, the
kermes is exposed to the steam of vinegar for about half
an hour, and afterwards dried* It is in the form of small
grains of a reddish-brown colour. Kermes, as appears
from the experiments of Lassaigne,1 contains the very
same colouring matter as cochineal; but its quantity is
not so great, and of course it is mixed with a greater pro¬
portion of animal matter. The introduction of cochineal
greatly diminished the consumption of kermes. It is sel¬
dom used in this country, yet it gives a very fixed and
beautiful colour to woollen cloth.
4. Lac.—This is an animal production which has been
long known in India, and used for dyeing silk and other
purposes. It is the nidus of the coccus lacca, Linnaeus, and
is generally produced on the small branches of the croton
lacciferum. Three kinds of lac are well known in com-
merce:—1. Stick lac is the substance or comb, in its na¬
tural state, forming a crust on the small branches or twigs.
2. Seed lac is said to be only the above separated from the
twigs and reduced into small fragments. Mr Hatchett,
who has examined this substance with his usual skill and
precision, found the best specimens considerably deprived
of their colouring matter.2 According to the information
which he received from Mr Wilkins, the silk dyers in
Bengal produce the seed lac by pounding crude lac into
small fragments, and extracting part of the colouring mat¬
ter by boiling. 3. Shell lac is prepared from the cells, li¬
quefied, strained, and formed into thin transparent laminae.
There is also a fourth kind, called lump lac, which is ob¬
tained from the seed lac' by liquefaction, and afterwards
formed into cakes. The best lac is of a deep red colour:
when it is pale and pierced at the top, the value is greatly
diminished; for then the insects have left their cells, and
it can no longer be of use as a dyestuff.
Unverdorben has likewise examined lac, but his expe¬
riments throw no light upon the nature of the colouring
matter. Being derived from a coccus, as well as the co¬
louring matter of cochineal and kermes, the probability is
that it is of the same nature. In the state in which it
comes to this country (that of a purple powder), it dis¬
solves readily in boiling hot water. In this way it is em¬
ployed by the dyers. Being much cheaper than either
cochineal or kermes, it has in some measure superseded
these dyestuffs, except when a very fine scarlet is wanted,
in which case cochineal is still employed.
5. Archil.—This substance, called orseille by the French,
is a violet-red paste, of which there are two varieties, one,
which is the best, made in the Canary Islands, the other
manufactured in the south of France. It is made from
two species of lichens, the roccella and the parellus. Ber-
thollet, who has copied Hellot, who again copied Micheli,
has given the following description of the mode, of pre¬
paring it. The plant is reduced to a fine powder, which
is afterwards passed through a sieve, and slightly moisten¬
ed with stale urine. The mixture is daily stirred, each
time adding a certain proportion of soda in powder, till it
acquire a clove colour. It is then put into a wooden cask,
and urine, lime-water, or a solution of sulphate of lime
{gypsum), is added in sufficient quantity to cover the mix¬
ture. In this state it is kept; but to preserve it any length
of time, it is necessary to moisten it occasionally with Simple
urine. We suspect that soda is not employed in the pre- Colours,
paration of this dyestuff; at least it is not employed in the
manufacture of cudbear, the preparation of which, being
a manufacture of this country, we have often witnessed.
If we adopt the opinion of Tournefort, the preparation
of archil was known to the ancient Greeks. He thinks
that the purple of Amorgos, one of the Cyclades, the co¬
lour given to the famous tunics of that country, was form¬
ed by a dyestuff made from the lichen roccella.3
What is called in this country cudbear, and in Germany Cudbear
persio, is prepared from the lichen tartareus, and ompha- how pre-
lodes, by a process quite similar to that employed for making Paretf
archil. The lichen is steeped and left for some time in
flat vessels moistened with ammonia distilled from putrid
urine. When the purple colour is sufficiently developed,
the whole is dried in the open air, and reduced to a fine
powder. The manufacture of this dyestuff was begun
about the year 1777, at Leith, by Mr Mackintosh and Dr
Cuthbert Gordon, from which last the British name of
cudbear (originally Cuthbert) is derived. Leith was found
an improper place for the manufacture; but Mr Mackin¬
tosh transferred it to Glasgow, and manufactured cudbear
during the rest of his life with success. He left it to his
son Charles Mackintosh, Esq. who still carries it on. The
lichens used were at first collected in the Highlands of
Scotland; but the rocks of that country being stript of
their covering, the manufacturers had recourse to Sweden
and Norway, and likewise to Sardinia, from which coun¬
tries prodigious quantities of the lichens were brought.
There is said also to be a manufactory of cudbear in
Liverpool.
Neither archil nor cudbear are capable of giving fast
colours to cloth ; but they are considered as indispensable
by the dyers, because they greatly improve the brilliancy
of some of the colours.
The nature of the substance in the lichen roccella, Contains
which furnishes the colouring matter of archil, has been erythrin.
investigated by Heeren, who has distinguished it by the
name of erythrin. It may be obtained from the lichen by
the following process : Digest the lichen for some time in
alcohol, taking care not to raise the heat to the boiling
point, because at that temperature a portion of the ery¬
thrin is decomposed. The alcoholic solution has a green
colour. Filter it while hot, and mix it with twice its bulk
of water, which will render it muddy. Raise the liquid
to the boiling temperature, and introduce into it chalk in
powder, until the precipitate, which was at first dispersed
through the liquor, collects in flocks. This precipitate
consists chiefly of roccellate of lime.* The liquid must be
filtered while boiling hot. During the cooling it deposites
erythrin in the state of a fine powder, of a brown colour.
Dissolve it in hot alcohol, digest the solution with ivory
black, filter, and mix it with one and a half times its bulk
of boiling water. The liquor remains at first clear, but
during the cooling the erythrin precipitates nearly white.
The following process for extracting erythrin from the
lichen roccella is easier than the preceding. Pour on the
lichen a small quantity of concentrated ammonia, and digest
for some time, stirring well, but without the application of
heat. Dilute the muddy and reddish solution thus obtained
with water; and then add to it some dilute solution of chlo¬
ride of calcium. Roccellate of lime precipitates, and the
filtered liquid has a reddish colour. Add to it a slight excess
of muriatic acid. The erythrin precipkates instantly, and
gives the liquid the aspect of a yellowish jelly. When we
1 Ann. dc Chim. ct dc Phys. xii. 102. 2 Phil. Trans. 1804. 3 Tournefort’s Voyage, i. 248, English translation.
4 lioccellic acid is an acid discovered by Heeren in the lichen roccella.
310
DYEING.
Simple heat to the boiling temperature, the erythrin is again dis¬
colours. solved, and it is precipitated in powder during the cooling
of the liquid. It may be deprived of its brown colour by
ivory black.
Its proper- Erythrin is a soft powder, having usually a slight shade
ties‘ of red, and a slightly crystalline aspect, when obtained from
a weakly acid liquid. When pure it is perfectly white. It
has neither taste nor smell. At a temperature a little
above 212°, it melts into a transparent liquid, which be¬
comes hard and brittle during the cooling. If the heat
be raised still higher, it froths, is partly volatilized, and
partly charred ; but not the least trace of ammonia can
be observed to be formed. Hence we may conclude that
erytnrin contains no azote. When held to the flame of a
candle it burns like a resin. It is scarcely soluble in cold
water, and requires 170 times its weight of boiling water
to dissolve it. At the temperature of 53° it dissolves
in twenty-two and a half times its weight of alcohol, of
specific gravity 0,825. It is soluble in 2-29 times its
weight of the same alcohol at the point of ebullition.
When this last solution cools, the whole is converted into
a mass of the consistence of mortar. It is insoluble in
ether, and little soluble in oil of turpentine. Muriatic
acid has no action on it, but acetic acid dissolves it
with facility when boiling hot, but lets it fall again on
cooling. Both nitric acid and concentrated sulphuric acid
dissolve it, but they alter its nature. The aqueous solu¬
tions of the alkalies, or their carbonates, dissolve it with
facility, and the solutions are colourless. By the conti¬
nued action of the alkalies, the erythrin is decomposed.
When this action takes place in close vessels, an extrac¬
tive substance is formed, which is soluble in water, having
a bitter taste, and which Heeren on that account has called
bitter of erythrin. When the action is continued in vessels
to which the air has access, the red or rather violet sub¬
stance is formed which constitutes the colouring matter of
archil.
During the conversion of erythrin into the red matter
three different substances are obtained, namely, the red
colouring matter, a yellow substance, and a wine-red sub¬
stance. They are first mixed or combined; but the red
colouring matter may be separated by dissolving the com¬
pound substance in alcohol, evaporating the solution to
dryness, and digesting the residue in ammonia. The red
colouring matter remains when this solution is evaporated.
It is little soluble in water. Alcohol dissolves it, and
the solution has a crimson-red colour. It is quite insolu¬
ble in ether. The alkalies and their carbonates dissolve
it, and the solution has a fine deep colour. The acids
throw it down from these solutions under the form of car¬
mine red powder, but they do not precipitate it from its
solution in alcohol. Heeren has shown that alcohol has
the property of altering erythrin, and of converting it into
a snow-white substance, to which he has given the name
of pseudo-erythrin, because it does not yield the red co¬
louring matter, but only the wine red. It has been ana¬
lyzed by Liebig, who found its constituents,
Carbon 60-810
Hydrogen  6-334
Oxygen 32-856
These correspond with
8 atoms carbon 6
5 atoms hydrogen 0-675
3£ atoms oxygen 3-25
9-925
Hence these atoms, or some multiple of them, must re¬
present the composition of pseudo-erythrin.
Colouring The colouring matter of cudbear is obviously very near¬
matter of ly the same as that of archil. It has been slightly exa-
cudbear. J
mined also by Heeren, who has pointed out some distinc- Sin
tive characters which it possesses. p0j(
In France, besides the lichen parellus, the lichen deal- ^
batus is employed, and the archil is obtained by treating
the lichens with putrid urine and lime. Robiquet has
subjected the lichen dealbatus to a chemical analysis, and
has extracted from it the matter which yields the red dye,
and which he has distinguished by the name of orcin. It
constitutes white crystals, having a sweetish and nauseous
taste, melts when heated, and may be distilled over with¬
out decomposition. It dissolves both in water and alco¬
hol. It is obvious that its properties are quite different
from those of erythrin; yet the process for converting it
into the red dyestuff is nearly the same as for archil and
cudbear.
6. Carthamus, or Safflower.—This is the petals of the
blossoms of the carthamus tinctorius, a plant formerly cul¬
tivated in Germany and France; but now the dyestuff
comes usually from Egypt and the countries round the
eastern part of the Mediterranean, and from India.
The method of preparing the flowers of carthamus in
Egypt, as it is described by Hasselquist, is the following.
After being pressed between two stones, to squeeze out
the juice, they are washed several times with salt water,
pressed between the hands, and spread out on mats in the
open air to dry. In the day time they are covered, that
they may not dry too fast with the heat of the sun, but
they are left exposed to the dew of the night. When
they are sufficiently dry, they are put up, and kept for
sale under the name of saffranon. Care should be taken
afterwards not to keep it in too dry a place; for unless it
is a little moist, its properties are considerably impaired.
Carthamus contains two colouring substances, a yellow Its c
substance, which is soluble in water; and as it is of no^g11
use, it is extracted by the process mentioned above, by
squeezing the flowers between stones till no more colour
can be pressed out. The flowers become reddish in this
operation, and lose nearly one half of their weight. The
other colouring matter, which is red, is soluble in alkaline
carbonates, and it is precipitated by means of an acid. A
vegetable acid, as lemon juice, has been found to produce
the finest colour. Next to this, sulphuric acid produces
the best effect, provided too great a quantity, which would
alter and destroy the colour, be not employed. The juice
of the berries of the mountain-ash, or rowan-tree (sorbus
aucuparia, Lin.), is recommended by Scheffer as a substi¬
tute for lemon juice, and it is thus prepared. The ber¬
ries are bruised in a mortar with a wooden pestle, and the
expressed juice, after it has been allowed to ferment, is
bottled up. The clear part, which is most acid, becomes
fitter for use the longer it is kept; but this operation re¬
quires a period of some months, and can only be conduct¬
ed in summer.
From the colouring matter extracted by means of anRouf
alkali, and precipitated with an acid, is procured the sub¬
stance called rouge, which is employed as a paint for the
skin. The solution of carthamus is prepared with crys¬
tals of soda, and precipitated with lemon juice which has
stood some days to settle. After being dried on delft
plates with a gentle heat, the precipitate is separated, and
ground accurately with talc which has been previously re¬
duced to a very subtile powder; and on the fineness of
the talc depends the difference between the cheaper and
dearer kinds of rouge.
Carthamus furnishes about five per cent, of this matter
(abstracting the talc), which is the true red colouring
matter. It reddens vegetable blues while moist, whether
from the acid employed in throwing it down, or from its
own acid properties, has not been determined. It is in¬
soluble in water and dilute acids, but slightly soluble in
i
*
ir-
ers.
DYE
s 'ile alcohol. The solution has a rose-red colour, but when
Co boiled becomes yellow. Ether is still a worse solvent of
rWge than alcohol. It is insoluble in oils, both volatile
and fixed; but it dissolves readily, and with a yellow co¬
lour, in alkaline leys, or alkaline carbonates. According
to Dobereiner (who considers it as an acid, which he calls
carthamic), soda saturated with it crystallizes in fine co¬
lourless needles, having a silky lustre, which become in¬
stantly red when an acid is added to them.
As a dyestuff, safflower affords only a fugitive colour, de¬
stroyed by exposure to the sun, and removed by washing.
It is used, however, occasionally to give a red colour to
silk.
7. Brazil Wood.—This wood comes from Brazil, and
from Pernambuco; and in the former case is said to be
the wood of the ccesalpina sapan, ccBsalpina crista, and
casalpina vesica; in the latter, of the ccesalpina echinata.
These trees are large, and rich in colouring matter. The
wood is very hard, and is said to sink in water. When
fresh cut it is pale, but becomes reddish by exposure to
the air. Its taste is sweetish. The red colouring matter
of Brazil wood is very easily acted on by chemical agents,
acids rendering it yellow, and alkalies violet. Chevreul
has given us the following process for extracting this co-
Colring louring matter in a state of purity. Digest the raspings
majr 0f the wood in water till that liquid has dissolved all the
colouring matter, and evaporate the infusion to dryness,
tan l' to get rid of a little acetic acid which it contains. Dis¬
solve the residue in wmter, and agitate the solution with
litharge, to get rid of a little fixed acid which it contains.
Evaporate again to dryness. Digest the residue in alco¬
hol : filter and evaporate to drive off the alcohol. Dilute
the residuum with water, and add to the liquid solution of
gelatine, till all the tannin which it contains is precipi¬
tated. Filter again, evaporate to dryness, and digest the
dry mass in alcohol, which, will leave undissolved the ex¬
cess of gelatine that may have been added. This last al¬
coholic solution being evaporated, the pure colouring mat¬
ter of Brazil wood remains behind.
Its roper- It is soluble in water and in alcohol, but its fine red
colour does not appear till all the acid which it naturally
contains is saturated. Acids give it a yellow colour. The
sulphuric, nitric, and muriatic acids, give it a pale dirty
yellow. Fluoric acid gives it at first a yellow colour,
which is gradually altered to grayish green; while the
phosphoric and citric give it a fine permanent yellow co¬
lour, which might be employed for dyeing silk and wool.
For these facts we are indebted to Bonsdorf. A very mi¬
nute quantity of alkali gives the infusion of Brazil wood a
violet colour; it is therefore a delicate re-agent for alkalies.
When neutral salts, with an alkaline base, are dissolved
in the infusion of Brazil wood, it assumes a rose-red co¬
lour. Acetates act most decidedly in producing this ef¬
fect. When newly precipitated alumina is agitated in
this infusion, it assumes a carmine-red colour.
When Brazil wood is boiled in water, we obtain a rose-
coloured solution, and the undissolved wood becomes
black, but still yields to alcohol a dark-red colour. When
an acid is poured into the decoction, a red precipitate falls,
and the filtered liquid is yellow. Ammonia gives the de¬
coction a purple colour, and throws down a purple preci¬
pitate. The carbonates of potash and soda render it car¬
mine red, and throw down a precipitate of the same co¬
lour. Alum throws down an abundant carmine precipi¬
tate, but the liquid retains the same colour. The proto¬
chloride of tin gives a rose-red precipitate, and renders
the decoction colourless.
1 is red Brazil wood is the substance from which red ink is pre¬
pared. The colour which it communicates to cloth has
very little permanence; yet it is occasionally employed
311
in dyeing cotton what are technically called chemical co- Simple
lours, by which is understood colours that will not resist Colours,
washing. The decoction of Brazil wood, which is called v'—-V'w<
juice of Brazil, is found to answer better for the process
of dyeing when it has been kept some time, and has even
undergone some degree of fermentation, than when it has
been fresh prepared. The colour by keeping becomes of
a yellowish red.
Within the last five or six years, Brazil wood has been
nearly superseded by a wood imported from Africa, to
which our dyers give the name of camwood. It is richer,
and gives a finer colour, than any of the varieties of Bra¬
zil wood. It is not so much affected by alkalies, nor so
liable to assume a violet shade; and the yellow colouring
matter with which it is mixed gives the red a more lively
appearance. We have not learned the botanical name of
the tree which yields this wood.
8. Logwood.—This wood is usually, on the Continent,
called Campeachy wood. It is the wood of the hematoxy-
lon Campeachianum, a tree which grows to a considerable
size in Jamaica, and on the eastern shore of the Bay of
Campeachy. Its specific gravity is greater than that of
water; it has a fine grain, and is susceptible of a fine po¬
lish. Besides the colouring matter to which it owes its Yields he-
value, logwood contains resin and oil, which are soluble inmat'11-
water; acetic acid and salts, consisting of potash and lime,
combined with a vegetable acid, which are soluble in wa¬
ter saturated with chloride of potassium. It contains also
sulphate of lime, oxalate of lime, a little alumina, and
some peroxide of iron and oxide of manganese. Chev¬
reul, to whom we are indebted for a chemical examina¬
tion of logwood, has given the following process for ex¬
tracting its colouring matter, which he has distinguished
by the name of hematin.
The raspings of the wood are digested in water of a How ob-
temperature from 122° to 131°, till every thing soluble istained.
taken up. Evaporate the aqueous solution to dryness by
a gentle heat, and treat the residue with alcohol of the
specific gravity O’STS, which dissolves the colouring mat¬
ter, leaving a brown residue still containing colouring mat¬
ter in chemical combination. Filter the alcoholic solution,
and distil it till what remains becomes of the consistence
of a syrup. This syrup being mixed with some water,
crystals begin immediately to be deposited. Leave it for
twenty-four hours to evaporate spontaneously, then de¬
cant the liquid portion from off the crystals, and wash
them with a little alcohol. The decanted liquid being
left to spontaneous evaporation, will yield more crystals,
and finally remains a thick uncrystallizable liquid. If it
be evaporated to dryness, macerate the dry mass in cold
water, and evaporate afresh : more crystals are obtained,
which may be purified, like the other, by washing them in
alcohol. These crystals thus obtained constitute hema¬
tin, or the pure colouring matter of logwood.
They have considerable lustre, and a scarlet colour. its pr0per_
Under the microscope they appear to constitute needles ties,
arranged in sphericles. When rubbed on a glass it ap¬
pears orange by transmitted light, and white by reflected
light. But if we let fall on it a drop of alcohol, it appears
carmine red by transmitted, and yellow by reflected light.
When put into the mouth it is at first tasteless; but after
some time a sensation of astringency, acridity, and bitter¬
ness, is perceived. When heated in a retort to decompo¬
sition, it gives out among other products ammonia, from
which we may conclude that it contains azote. After
every thing volatile is driven off, there remains fifty-four
per cent, of charry matter half fused ; which, when burned
in the open air, leaves a quantity of lime and peroxide of
iron, amounting to rather less than one per cent, of the
hematin employed.
I N G.
312 DYE
Simple Hematm requires for solution 1000 times its weight of
Colours, water. By evaporation it does not yield crystals, but
when very much concentrated it is converted into a con¬
fused crystalline mass. It dissolves in alcohol and ether,
and the solutions have a reddish-yellow colour. It com¬
bines with the acids, which render it yellow when added
in small quantity; but when in a larger proportion they
give it a red colour. Sulphurous acid and carbonic acid
give the solution of hematin a pale-yellow colour. Bora-
cic acid gives it a pale-red, and phosphoric and phospho¬
rous acid a pale-orange colour. Arsenious acid has no
sensible action on it. Sulphuretted hydrogen gas renders
it yellow; and if we keep a solution of hematin charged
with this gas for some time in a corked phial, it loses its
colour altogether; but the colour appears if we remove
the gas by means of a little oxide of lead. The salifiable
bases give solution of hematin a violet, purple, or blue co¬
lour. With the fixed alkalies it forms compounds per¬
fectly saturated and soluble. The alkaline earths fall
down in combination, and have a purple colour when they
fall from neutral salts, and a blue colour when from sub¬
salts. An excess of alkali destroys the colour altogether.
With the hydrated oxides of antimony, zinc, bismuth,
nickel, iron, and copper, it forms blue or purple coloured
compounds. The compound which hematin forms with
alumina and oxide of copper at once may be fixed upon
linen or cotton, and gives a blue colour like that of indigo,
only it is rendered yellow by the concentrated acids,
while indigo remains unchanged, unless the acid be the
nitric. The protoxide of tin, when united with hematin,
forms a blue-coloured compound, while its combination
with the peroxide of tin is red. We see from this that
the protoxide of tin possesses the characters of an alkali, •
while the peroxide is an acid. A solution of gelatine
throws down a concentrated solution of hematin purple.
Hematin is easily altered. When a mixture of alkali
and hematin is kept in vacuo, or in a well-corked phial,
quite full, no action takes place ; but when air has access,
oxygen is absorbed, and the hematin quite destroyed in a
few hours. During this action, the blue colour of the li¬
quid changes first into red, and then into brown. The
alkali becomes saturated with carbonic acid.
II.—Method of dyeing Wool Red.
All the colouring matters employed for dyeing wool red
by modern dyers require a mordant to fix them. The
shade of colour depends partly upon the kind of colouring
matter used, partly on the mordant, and partly on the
quantity of colour which the cloth is made to imbibe by
the length of time that it remains exposed to the action
of the dyeing liquor. The purple of the ancients, the co¬
louring matter of which was obtained from different spe¬
cies of shell-fish, required no mordant; but it has already
been observed that this mode of dyeing has been forages
out of use.
Madder Madder Red.—Madder is only employed for dyeing
red. coarse woollen stuffs; and the following is the process.
The stuffs are first boiled for two or three hours with alum
and tartar; they are then left to drain, slightly wrung out,
put into a linen bag, and carried into a cool place, where
they are to remain for some days. The quantities and
proportions of the alum and tartar are varied according to
the views of the dyer, and the shade of colour which is
wanted. Some recommend five ounces of alum and one
ounce of tartar to each pound of wool. By increasing the
proportion of tartar to a certain degree, a deep and°per-
manent cinnamon colour, instead of a red, is produced.
This arises from the yellow tinge which is induced by
means of the acid on the colouring particles of the mad¬
der. Others propose to diminish the proportion of tartar,
I N G.
and to employ only a seventh part. In conducting the Sin
process of dyeing with madder, the bath should not be Colt |
brought to the boiling point; because at that temperature ^ J
the fawn-coloured particles would be dissolved, and a dif-*>rocf
ferent shade obtained from that which is desired. When
the water is at that degree of temperature which the hand
can bear, Hellot recommends the addition of half a pound
of grape madder for every pound of wool to be dyed. It
is then to be well stirred before the wool is introduced,
which must remain for an hour without boiling, excepting
for a few minutes towards the end of the process, that the
combination of the colouring particles with the stuff may
be more certain.
Madder reds are sometimes rosed, as it is called, withp •
archil and Brazil wood. In this way they become more k°5lr
beautiful and velvety; but this brightness is not perma¬
nent. But madder reds, even when they are most perfect,
are far inferior to those obtained from lac and cochineal,
and even to that produced by kermes; but as the expense
of the materials is comparatively small, they are employed,
as we have already observed, for coarse stuffs.
Different authors recommend different proportions ofp 
madder. Poerner proposes to employ one third of theofma
weight of the wool, while Scheffer limits the quantity to
one fourth. In one process, Poerner added to the alum
and tartar a quantity of solution of tin equal in weight to
the tartar, and after two hours boiling allowed the cloth
to remain in the bath, which had been left to cool for three
or four days. He then dyed it in the usual way, and thus
obtained a fine red. According to another process, he
prepared the cloth by the common boiling, and dyed it in
a bath slightly heated, with a larger proportion of madder,
tartar, and solution of tin. The cloth remained twenty-
four hours in the bath ; and when it had become cold he
put it into another bath, made with madder only, where it
remained for twenty-four hours. By this process he got
a fine red, somewhat brighter than the common, but in¬
clining a little to yellow. Scheffer informs us that he ob¬
tained an orange-red by boiling wool with a solution of tin
and one fourth of alum, and then by dyeing with one fourth
of madder. A cherry colour is obtained, according to Berg¬
man, by dyeing with one part of a solution of tin and two
of madder, without previously boiling the wool. By ex¬
posure to the air this colour becomes deeper. By boiling
the wool for two hours with one fourth of sulphate of iron,
then washing it, and afterwards immersing it in cold wa¬
ter with one fourth of madder, and then boiling for an
hour, the result is a coffee colour. But if the wool has
not been soaked, and if it be dyed with one part of sul¬
phate of iron and two of madder, the colour is a brown
approaching to red.
When sulphate of copper is employed as the mordant,
the madder dye yields a clear brown, inclining somewhatmord
to yellow; and a similar colour may be produced by dye¬
ing the wool, simply soaked in hot water, with one part of
sulphate of copper and two of madder. But when this mor¬
dant and dyestuff are used in equal proportions, the yel¬
low is somewhat more obscure, approaching to green;
and in both these instances exposure to the air does not
produce a darker colour. Berthollet informs us that he
employed a solution of tin in various ways, both in the
preparation and the application of the madder; and by
the use of different solutions of tin, he found, that although
the tint was somewhat brighter than what is obtained by
the common process, it was always more inclined to yel¬
low or fawn colour.
Scarlet.—The finest and most splendid of all colours is gear]
scarlet. This, like other colours, is of various shades, ac¬
cording to the quality and proportion of the colouring mat¬
ter employed. The scarlet dye is communicated to wool-
DYE
Siiile len stuffs by means of cochineal, the history and properties
Cun-9- of which we have already detailed. The Mexicans, as
appears from their history, employed alumina as the basis
or mordant to fix the colour of cochineal; and previous to
the discovery of the solution of tin, the use of the same
substance seems to have prevailed in Europe. The fine
colour obtained from the latter received, as we have al¬
ready mentioned, different names in different places; as
that of bow dye in England, scarlet of the Gobelins in France,
and in Holland Dutch scarlet.
j,r() IS In the process for dyeing scarlet two operations are ne¬
cessary. The first is denominated the boiling, and the se¬
cond is distinguished by the name of finishing or redden-
Uoi g- ing* The operation of boiling, which is the first part of
the process, is conducted in the following manner:—For
one hundred pounds of cloth, six pounds of pure tartar are
added to the water, which is made pretty warm. The
bath is then to be briskly stirred; and when the heat has
increased a little more, half a pound of powdered cochineal
is to be added, and the whole is then to be well mixed. The
next moment five pounds of a very clear solution of tin are
to be poured in and carefully mixed. When the bath be¬
gins to boil, the cloth is introduced, and briskly moved for
two or three turns: after which it is moved more slowly.
The boiling having continued for two hours, the cloth is
taken out, exposed to the air, and carried to the river to
be well washed.
Re :ning. In the preparation of the second bath, which is for the
reddening, the boiler is to be emptied, and when the bath
has just reached the boiling point, five pounds and three
quarters of cochineal, previously powdered and sifted, are
to be added. These are to be carefully mixed; and after
having ceased stirring, when a crust has formed on the
surface, and opened of itself in several places, thirteen or
fourteen pounds of solution of tin are poured in. Should
the bath during the boiling rise above the edge of the
boiler, it may be cooled with a little cold water. This so¬
lution being well mixed, the cloth is put in, and two or
three times quickly turned. It is then boiled in the bath
for an hour, taking care to keep it under the surface. It
is afterwards taken out, exposed to the air, and, when it
has cooled, washed in the river and dried.
Prprtion There are no determinate proportions of cochineal and
(l1 pe- solution of tin in either of these operations. Hellot in-
U'Ha. forms us that some dyers employ two. thirds of solution of
tin and one fourth of cochineal in the boiling or first ope¬
ration, and the other one third of the solution of tin with
the remaining three fourths of the cochineal in the second
operation, or the reddening. He adds farther, that the
use of tartar gives a greater degree of permanency to the
colour, provided the proportion do not exceed one half the
weight of the cochineal employed. According to Berthol-
let, several dyers at present adopt this practice. Tartar,
he observes, promotes the solution of the colouring mat¬
ter; and this effect is greater when it is ground with the
cochineal, after which it is found that the residuum is more
completely exhausted. But this consideration is of infe¬
rior consequence when the operations are successively
performed, because any colouring matter that may remain
m the residuum is employed in the next operation. It
ought not, however, to be overlooked, that the tartar com-
niunicates to the colour a rosy hue.
pr ss ^ *s ^le Prac^ce °f some dyers not to remove the cloth
out of the boiling. They merely refresh it, and perform
the operation of reddening in the same bath. When this
is done, the infusion of cochineal, made in a separate ves¬
sel, and mixed with the proper proportion of solution of
hn, is added. By conducting the process in this way the
scarlet is supposed to be equally fine, and there is a con¬
siderable saving of time and fuel.
VOL. vm.
ING. 313
To give scarlet the bright lively red, which, as it ap- Simple
proaches to the colour of fire, has been distinguished by Colours,
the name ol fiery scarlet, a yellow tinge is communicated
by boiling fustic in the first bath, or by adding a little tur- brighter
meric to the cochineal. A larger proportion of the solu-re
tion of tin also produces this yellow shade, but it renders
the cloth harsh, and limits the action of the colouring
matter. The use of fustic or turmeric, therefore, although
the colour obtained from them is not permanent, is prefer¬
able to an excess of the solution of tin. When these sub¬
stances are used, the inside of the cloth, when it is cut,
appears yellow; but in the ordinary processes, the cochi¬
neal, it is found, does not penetrate the cloth, for when no
other substance is employed the cloth is internally white.
The use of tin boilers is recommended in dyeing scar- Tin and
let. When copper boilers are employed, the acid acts on copper
the metal, and thus forming a solution, injures the beauty k011-618,
of the colour. Tin boilers, however, are attended with
several inconveniences. It is difficult to procure them of
sufficient size, and they are apt to be melted by the incau¬
tious continuance of the fire after they have been emptied.
In the use of copper boilers there are several necessary
precautions. They must be kept very clean, the acid
liquor should not be allowed to remain in them for any
length of time, and some contrivance should be adopted to
prevent the cloth from touching the metal, either by using
a net or a wicker basket.
Different proportions of materials, we have observed, are Different
recommended by different authors. For the boiling, Scheffer proportions
directs an ounce and a half of solution of tin, with an equal ingrc-
quantity of starch, and as much tartar, to every pound of1!!611!8-
cloth. The effect of the starch is to give more uniformity
to the colour. When the water boils, a dram of cochineal
is to be added; it is then to be well stirred, and after the
wool is introduced, to be boiled for an hour, taken out, and
washed. The proportions for the reddening bath, in which
the wool is to be boiled half an hour, are half an ounce of
starch, three fourths of an ounce of solution of tin, half an
ounce of tartar, and seven drachms of cochineal. In Schef¬
fer’s process, it may be observed, the proportion of solution
of tin is smaller than in that of Hellot, but the quantity of
tin in the solution of the former is greater than in that of
the latter.
Poerner has described three principal processes, accord- Poerner’s
ing to the variety of the shade of the scarlet. He uses noPr°ces3.
cochineal in the boiling; the materials of which are one
ounce and six drachms of tartar, and an equal weight of
solution of tin, the latter being added after the tartar is dis¬
solved, for every pound of cloth. As soon as the boiling
has commenced, the cloth is introduced, and it is boiled
for two hours. For the reddening of the first process he
employs two drachms of tartar and one ounce of cochineal,
adding gradually afterwards two ounces of solution of tin.
For the reddening of the second process the same quan¬
tity of cochineal and solution of tin, without any tartar, is
employed. In the reddening of the third process, two
drachms of tartar with one ounce of solution of tin, one
ounce of cochineal, and two ounces of common salt, are
directed to be used. The colour produced in the first pro¬
cess has the deepest shade, that of the second is more live¬
ly, while that of the third is paler and brighter.
By the use of tartar in the reddening in different pro-Different
portions, various shades of scarlet may be obtained. When shades,
it is employed, the shade is deeper and fuller; but when
it is entirely omitted, the scarlet approaches to an orange
colour. The shade of colour also is subject to considerable
variety, from the different degrees of strength of the solu¬
tion of tin. To ascertain this effect, Berthollet made a
number of experiments. He found that a solution of tin,
composed of sixteen parts of nitric acid, two of muriate of
314
DYEING.
Simple
Colours
Use of
common
salt.
lac dye.
ammonia, and three of tin, produced a deeper shade than
when the proportions of the acid and muriate of ammonia
were equal, with only two parts of tin. The last propor¬
tions, he observes, succeeded best. Four parts of water
were mixed with the solution. When the proportion of
muriate of ammonia amounted only to half a part, the co¬
lour was brighter, and inclining to orange.
Common salt has the effect of increasing the brightness
of scarlet, while it is also attended with the advantage of
causing the colour to penetrate deeper into the cloth. It
seems difficult to explain why common salt, which gives
a deeper shade to the colour of the infusion of cochineal,
and indeed produces a similar effect on colours in general,
should diminish the intensity of the colour of scarlet. The
proportion of common salt mentioned above is, according
to Poerner, the greatest that can be employed. When less
is used, the shade, though lighter, is more agreeable. By
adding five ounces of white sugar to the ingredients of the
second process, a fine colour, which is always lighter than
that of the first process, will be obtained. The colour, it
is said, is more permanent, and the shade more agreeable,
when the cloth is left twenty-four hours in the boiler after
it has cooled.
Method of fo,. dyeing fine woollen cloth the lac dye is commonly
using t le usecj. it comes to the dyer in the state of a fine powder,
having a brownish-red colour, inclining to violet. It con¬
tains much less colouring matter than cochineal, but is in¬
comparably cheaper. To dye forty-three pounds of fine
woollen cloth, six pounds of lac, three pounds of cream of
tartar, and five pounds of tin mordant are put into a dye¬
ing vessel, either of tin, or at least lined with tin, with a
sufficient quantity of water. The whole is brought to the
boiling temperature, and after it has boiled briskly a suf¬
ficient time to dissolve the colouring matter, the cloth
is passed through it for about an hour, or till it has acquir¬
ed the requisite depth of colour.
The tin mordant used is made by dissolving two ounces
of tin in thirty pounds of aquafortis mixed with one pound
of muriatic acid. The solution is transparent, and it is kept
in well-corked bottles for use. The tin is doubtless in the
state of protochloride, though it sometimes also gets into
the state of perchloride. Either state will answer, but in
the second case the dyeing process is much slower, the
cloth not seeming to imbibe the perchloride of tin so ra¬
pidly as the protochloride. From the above proportions, it
is obvious that to dye forty-three pounds of woollen cloth
scarlet, one third of an ounce of tin converted into proto¬
chloride is sufficient. This is rather less than 146 grains
of tin; so that each pound of the woollen cloth combines
with not more than 3-4 grains of tin. It is obvious from
this that the particles of tin must be exceedingly minute
indeed, otherwise 3-4 grains of tin could not be so minute¬
ly divided as to cover the surface of a pound weight of
woollen cloth.
W hen the dyer wishes the scarlet to assume a brighter
shade, he sometimes adds a little quercitron bark, which,
by the yellow colour which it induces, adds materially to
the brightness of the colour. This plan was first suggest¬
ed by Dr Bancroft, and it has been since pretty generally
acted on.
Dr Bancroft recommended the tin mordant to be pre¬
pared by dissolving tin in muriatic acid mixed with one
fourth of its weight of sulphuric acid. This solution, he
says, answers very well, and is much cheaper. We cannot
find, however, that any of the dyers in this country follow
that process. We can hardly think that the present me¬
thod of using so much nitric and so little muriatic acid is
Tin mor¬
dant, how
made.
a good one. The object being to obtain a protochloride of sii
tin, one would think that muriatic acid would be a better CoL
vehicle. Tin dissolves in this acid very well, and the pro- ~
tochloride of tin formed in this way is easily obtained in
crystals. But the tin mordant, as prepared by the dyers,
contains a great excess of nitric acid; and we cannot avoid
suspecting that this excess is connected with the shade of
scarlet produced. The nitric acid doubtless renders a part
of the colouring matter of the lac yellow, and thus changes
the dark crimson colour natural to this dyestuff into
scarlet.
Cochineal is still employed to a considerable extent in
dyeing the finest kinds of woollen cloth scarlet. The pro¬
cess is precisely the same as when lac is employed, re¬
membering only that cochineal is much richer in colour¬
ing matter than lac, and that therefore a smaller quantity
will serve. Dr Bancroft introduced the method of put¬
ting the cochineal, the tin mordant, and the tartar into
the dyeing vessel at once, and dissolving them all together
in water before the cloth is passed through the liquid ; and
this method is pretty generally though not universally fol¬
lowed.
Dr Bancroft’s method of using quercitron bark to sup¬
ply the place of a portion of the cochineal, is likewise
pretty generally followed. The price of cochineal, in con¬
sequence of the introduction of the lac dye, has sunk from
thirty shillings the pound to about nine shillings and six¬
pence. This makes the saving not so considerable in point
of expense as it was when Bancroft wrote, though even at
present it is an important saving.
To produce different shades of scarlet, and the otherDiffe
colours which are derived from it, all that is necessary is shads f
to vary the proportions of cochineal, tartar, and solution ofscarlt
tin; and for the shades which incline most to yellow, the
addition of quercitron bark or fustic is requisite. The use
of the tartar is to deepen the colour, and the solution of
tin produces a shade of orange. When the shade of colour
required to be communicated to the stuff is light, the time
of continuing the process must be shortened.1
Crimson.—The processes which are employed to dyeCrini;
wool a crimson colour are two. The stuff is either dyed
crimson at once, or the crimson shade is communicated to
it after being previously dyed of a scarlet colour. To dye
crimson by a single process, a solution of two ounces and^
a half of alum and an ounce and a half of tartar for every0116?1
pound of stuff, is employed for the boiling, and the stuff iscesi’
afterwards to be dyed with an ounce of cochineal. It is
usual also to employ solution of tin, but in smaller propor¬
tion than for dyeing scarlet. The processes employed, it
is scarcely necessary to observe, must vary according as
the shade wanted is deeper or lighter, or more or less dis¬
tant from scarlet. Common salt is also employed by some
in the boiling. To render the crimson deeper, and to give
it more bloom, archil and potash are frequently used; but
this bloom, it ought to be observed, is extremely fugaci¬
ous. By adding tartar and alum, the boiling for crimson
is sometimes prepared after a scarlet reddening; and it is
said that the colour possesses more bloom when both the
boiling and reddening are made after scarlet, than when
the crimson is dyed in a fresh bath prepared on purpose.
In dyeing these colours the wild cochineal may be em¬
ployed ; but as it contains a smaller proportion of colouring
matter, the quantity must be greater.
Different substances, as the alkalies, alum, and earthy01''3)1
salts in general, convert the colour of scarlet to crimson,00^
which is the natural colour of cochineal. To effect this,
the stuff’ previously dyed scarlet is boiled for an hour in a
1 Eerthollet, ii. IQ4-
.
1
DYE
le solution of alum, the strength of which is to be regulated
d urs. by the depth of shade required. In conducting this pro-
cess, it is necessary to observe, that water impregnated
with earthy salts has a considerable effect in varying the
shade, so that the quantity of alum employed must be
proportioned to the purity of the water. Hellot tried soap,
soda, potash, and some other substances, and although they
produced the crimson, yet it was of a deeper shade, and
had less lustre, than what was produced by means of alum.
Ammonia produced a good effect, but, from its great
volatility, a considerable proportion must be put into the
bath, moderately heated, with a little sal ammoniac, and
an equal quantity of potash. By this process the stuff be¬
came of a bright rosy colour, and thus rendered a smaller
quantity of cochineal necessary. Poerner directs the stuff,
previously dyed scarlet, to remain twenty-four hours in a
cold solution of sal ammoniac and potash.
Hi train To produce crimsons, as well as scarlets, in half grain,
crirtn, madder is to be substituted for half the quantity of the
&c.j cochineal; or in other proportions, according to the shade
desired. The same boiling is given as for scarlet in grain,
and the other parts of the process are to be conducted as
for reddening the scarlet or crimson. Even the common
madder red assumes a greater degree of lustre when the
boiling is made after the reddening for scarlet.
At present we are not aware that kermes is ever em¬
ployed by the dyers in this country. The use of this
dye-stuff seems to have been completely superseded by
cochineal and lac dyes. Certainly the colour given by
kermes is not so fine as that given by these substances,
but it has the advantage of being exceedingly durable.
III.—Method of dyeing Silk Red.
Difrent
praises
wit; nad-
dei
Pro s
vitlMra.
bd.
Madder Red.—The colour which is obtained from mad¬
der does not possess sufficient brightness for dyeing silk.
We shall here, however, describe some of the processes
which are employed for this purpose. That of De la
Folie is the following: Haifa pound of alum is to be dis¬
solved in each quart of hot water, and two ounces of pot¬
ash are afterwards to be added. When the effervescence
has ceased, and the liquor has become clear, the silk must
be kept in it for two hours, after which it is to be washed
and put into the madder-bath. The silk which is dyed in
this way becomes more beautiful by means of the soap
proof. The process of Scheffer is somewhat different.
For each pound of scoured silk he directs a solution of
four ounces of alum and six drachms of chalk to be pre¬
pared. When the sediment has formed, the solution is to
be decanted, and having become quite cold, the silk is
immersed in it, and left for eighteen hours. It is then
taken out and dried, and afterwards dyed with an equal
weight of madder. The colour thus obtained is of a dark
shade. Mr Guhliche describes another process. For every
pound of silk he proposes a bath of four ounces of alum
and one ounce of solution of tin. When the liquor has
become clear it is decanted, and the silk carefully soaked
m it for twelve hours, after which it is to be immersed in
a bath with half a pound of madder softened by boiling
with an infusion of galls in white wine. The bath is to be
kept moderately hot for an hour, and then made to boil
for two minutes. The silk, being taken from the bath, is
to be washed in a stream of water, and dried in the sun.
The colour thus obtained is very permanent. By leaving
out the galls it is clearer. The brightness of the first
colour may be considerably increased by passing the stuff
through a bath of Brazil wood, to which one ounce of so¬
lution of tin is added. In this way the colour becomes
extremely beautiful and durable. »
bilk is sometimes dyed with Brazil wood, and the co¬
lour thus obtained has been distinguished by the name of
I N G.
false crimson, to distinguish it from the more durable co¬
lour which is produced by cochineal. The silk, after being
boiled with soap, is to be alumed. It is then to be re¬
freshed at the river, and dipped in a bath more or less
charged with Brazil juice, according to the depth of shade
required. If pure water be employed, the colour will be
too red for crimson ; but to remedy this, the stuff may be
passed through a weak alkaline solution, or a little alkali
may be added to the bath, or the stuff may be washed in
hard water till it has acquired the proper shade. To
deepen the shade of false crimsons or dark reds, the solu¬
tion of logwood is added to the Brazil bath, the silk being
previously impregnated with the latter; or a little alkali
may be added, according to the shade required.
The crimson produced by cochineal is called grain crim- With co-
son, to distinguish it from false crimson. The silk, being cluneal,
well cleansed from the soap at the river, is to be immersed
in alum liquor of the full strength, and to remain for a
night. It is then to be wmshed and twice beetled at the
river. The bath is prepared by filling a long boiler two
thirds with water, to which are added, when it boils, from
half an ounce to two ounces of pow'dered white galls for
every pound of silk. When it has boiled for a few mo¬
ments, from two to three ounces of cochineal, also pow¬
dered and sifted, for every pound of silk, are put in, and
afterwards one ounce of tartar to every pound of cochineal.
When the tartar is dissolved, one ounce of solution of tin
is added for every ounce of tartar. In the preparation of
this solution of tin, the following proportions are recom¬
mended by Macquer. For every pound of nitric acid two
ounces of sal ammoniac, six ounces of fine grain tin, and
twelve ounces of water, are employed. When these ingre¬
dients are mixed together, the boiler is to be filled up
with cold water ; and the proportion of the bath for every
pound of silk is about eight or ten quarts of water. In
this the silk is immediately immersed and turned on the
winch till it appear to be of a uniform colour. The fire
is then increased, and the bath is kept boiling for two
hours, taking care to turn the silk occasionally. The fire
is afterwards put out, and the silk put into the bath, where
it is allowed to remain for a few hours longer. It is then
taken out, washed at the river, twice beetled, wrung, and
dried. Two processes are recommended by Scheffer and
Macquer. In that of the former, a greater proportion of
cochineal is employed in the dye-bath ; but in that of the
latter, a yellow ground is previously communicated to the
silk. The colour which is thus obtained resists the action
of soap, and is more durable than that which is produced
by means of carthamus.
To obtain other shades of red, the above processes must
be varied. If, after the silk has been wrung out of the so¬
lution of tin, it is steeped for a night in a cold solution of
alum, in the proportion of one ounce to a quart of water,
wrung, and dried, then washed and boiled with cochineal,
it will only appear of a pale poppy colour; but a fine poppy Poppy red.
red may be produced by steeping it twelve hours in the
solution of tin, diluted with eight parts of water, then left all
night in the solution of alum, washed, dried, and passed
through the two baths of cochineal, taking care to add to
the second bath a small quantity of sulphuric acid. The
same colour may be produced by dyeing the silk previously
with anotta, and then passing it successively through a
number of baths prepared with an alkaline solution of car¬
thamus, to which lemon juice has been added, till it acquire
a fine cherry-colour. To brighten the colour, the silk, after
being dyed, may be immersed in hot wTater acidulated with
lemon juice.
Other shades of red, as a cherry red, and flesh red, areCherrv
also produced by carthamus. For a cherry red it is notred, &c.
necessary that the stuff be previously dyed with anotta,
315
Simple
Colours.
316
DYEING.
Simple and the proportion of colouring matter is smaller. A
Colours, flesh-red colour is obtained by adding a little soap to the
bath, which has the effect of softening the colour, and of
retarding the action of the colouring matter on the stuff.
To produce dark shades, it is sometimes usual to mix
archil, and by this means the expense is diminished.
Scarlet. Those who have produced a colour on silk which comes
nearest to scarlet, Berthollet observes, begin with dyeing
the silk crimson. It is then dyed with carthamus, and
lastly it is dyed yellow without heat. By this process a
fine colour is obtained; but the dye of the carthamus is
not permanent, as it is destroyed by the action of the air,
and the colour becomes deeper. The following is Dr
Bancroft’s process. In a solution of murio-sulphate of tin,
diluted with five times its weight of water, the silk is to
be soaked for two hours; and after being taken out, it is
to be wrung and partially dried. It is then to be dyed in
a bath prepared with four parts of cochineal and three of
quercitron bark. In this way a colour approaching to
scarlet is obtained. To give the colour more body, the
immersion may be repeated both in the solution of tin and
in the dyeing bath ; and the brightness of the scarlet is in¬
creased by means of the addition of carthamus. A lively
Rose co- rose colour is produced by omitting the quercitron bark,
lour. and dyeing the silk with cochineal only; and by adding a
large proportion of water to the cochineal, a yellow shade
is obtained, which changes the cochineal to the compound
scarlet colour.1
IV.—Method of dyeing Cotton and Linen Red.
The dyestuff usually employed to give a red colour to
cotton and linen is madder. It is easier to dye cotton than
linen; but as the processes are the same for each, one
general description will apply to both. There are two
kinds of madder red ; the one is called simple madder red,
and the other, which was originally invented in the Levant,
is distinguished in this country by the name of Turkey
red. This last constitutes by far the brightest and most
beautiful and permanent red which is communicated to
cotton; we shall therefore proceed to give a somewhat
particular account of the process.
The method was first put in practice in Glasgow about
forty years ago, by M. Papillon, a French gentleman, who
established a Turkey-red dye-work along with Mr Mack¬
intosh. He made an agreement with the commissioners and
trustees for manufactures in Scotland, that the process was
to be by them published for the benefit of the public at the
end of a certain term of years. The period agreed upon hav¬
ing expired in 1803, the trustees laid a minute account of
the different processes before the public. Since that period
Turkey-red dyeing has been conducted in Glasgow upon a
very extensive scale. Different individuals, possessed of
both chemical skill and considerable sagacity, have stu¬
died the different parts of this very complicated method
of dyeing. The effects of each individual operation have
been carefully investigated, and the whole has been some¬
what shortened and simplified, though it still constitutes the
most complicated process in the whole art of dyeing. The
Turkey-red dye is practised by a considerable number of
persons in Glasgow; but the oldest, and perhaps the most
extensive establishment, is that of Henry Monteath and
Company at Rutherglen Bridge. The character of that
house has been long established, and the beauty of their
Turkey-red dye is known and appreciated in every part
of the globe where British manufactures are known. From
Sir s
c0r
Glasgow the Turkey-red dye has gradually made its way
into Lancashire.
Cotton cloth which is to receive the Turkey-red dye is
never bleached beforehand; because it has been found
that the first parts of the processes succeed better with
unbleached than with bleached cloth.
1. The first step of the dyer is to remove the weaver’s The
dressing. This is done by steeping the cloth in a weak steep
alkaline ley. To this the technical name of \X\q rot steep
is given. From four to five pounds of caustic potash are
generally employed for every 100 lbs. of cotton cloth.
The temperature of the solution is from 100° to 120°, and
the cloth is kept in the steep for twenty-four hours, and
then well washed.2
2. From seven to ten pounds of carbonate of soda are
dissolved in a sufficient quantity of water to keep the cloth
(supposed always to weigh 100 lbs.) wet. In this ley the
cloth, previously deprived of the weaver’s dressing, is
boiled for some time.
3. The process which we are now going to describe is The
the one upon which the goodness of the Turkey-red dye steep
depends more than upon any of the others. Without it
the dye cannot be produced upon new cloth; but when
cloth which has been frequently washed with soap is to
be dyed (an old cotton shirt, for example), this process
may be omitted altogether. It is evident from this that
soap communicates to cotton cloth the same properties as
the process which we are now going to describe.
A liquor is composed of the following ingredients:
1 gallon of gallipoli oil,
I^- gallon of soft sheep dung,
4 gallons of solution of carbonate of soda, of the spe¬
cific gravity 1*06,
1 gallon of solution of pearl ash, of the specific gravity
1-04,
mixed with a sufficient quantity of cold water to make up
twenty-two gallons. The specific gravity of this liquor
should be from L020 to 1*025.
This liquor has a milk-white appearance, and is in fact
a kind of incipient soap. It is put into a large wooden
open cylindrical vessel, called the liquor tub (see Plate
CCVI. fig. 1 and 2), and is kept continually in a state of
agitation by a kind of wooden levers, driven round in it
by machinery put in motion by the steam-engine. This
liquor is conveyed by a tin pipe to the padding machine,
which is situated in an apartment below. Several sec¬
tions of this machine are given in the same plate, fig. 3, 4,
and 5. A kind of trough in this machine is kept always
full of the milky liquor, and the pieces of cloth to be dyed
are made to pass through this liquid, and are thoroughly
soaked with it.
By this process the cloth is impregnated with the soapy
matter, and the longer this matter is left undisturbed on
the cloth, the better does it take the dye. Fourteen days
is the least period that this impregnation is allowed to re¬
main.
The sheep dung gives the cloth a dark-green colour,
and is found materially to assist the bleaching which the
cloth afterwards undergoes. This bleaching goes on much
more rapidly with than without the sheep dung, especi¬
ally when the cloth is exposed on the grass between the
different operations. In what way the sheep dung con¬
tributes to this acceleration has not been determined, but
the fact is certain.3
4. When the weather is favourable, the cloth, after be-
1 Philosophy of Permanent Colours, 312.
- In general the alkaline ley of No. 9 is worked up in this process,-and when this is done less potash is required.
3 No advantage has been found to result from using the alkalies caustic in this process ; and a mixture of potash and soda an¬
swers much better than soda alone.
DYE
< iple \x\v impregnated with the oleaginous liquor, is spread up-
C wrs. on the grass to dry. But should the weather be rainy,
wp-' as it would not do to allow the oleaginous liquid to be
washed out by the rain, the goods are dried in the stove.
5. After the cloth has been dried in the stove, it is a
second time impregnated with the oleaginous liquid de¬
scribed in No. 3, by means of the padding machine. It is
then spread on the grass for some hours if the weather be
favourable, and ultimately dried in the stove.
The impregnation with the oleaginous liquor, the ex¬
posure on the grass, and the stove drying, are repeated a
third time. When the weather is rainy, which prevents
exposure on the grass, and obliges the workmen to dry
the cloth at once in the stove, the impregnation with the
oleaginous liquor is sometimes repeated a fourth time.
Upon the sides of the tubs in which the oleaginous
liquor is kept, a white solid crust gradually accumulates.
This matter being examined, was found to consist almost
entirely of phosphate of lime. It was doubtless derived
from the sheep dung with which the saponaceous liquid
was mixed.
6. The next process is to steep the cloth in a weak so¬
lution of pearl ash, of the specific gravity 1-0075 to 1-01,
heated to the temperature of 120°. From this liquor it
is wrung out and again dried.
7. A mixture is now made of the following substances:
1 gallon gallipoli oil,
3 gallons soda ley of specific gravity 1-06,
1 gallon caustic potash ley of specific gravity l-04<,
diluted with as much water as will make up the whole
to twenty-two gallons. In this liquid, which is milky,
like the preceding, and which contains an imperfect soap,
the cloth used formerly to be tramped with the hand, and
then wrung out. It is now soaked with the liquid by
means of the padding machine, in the manner described
under No. 3.
If the weather be fine, the cloth thus impregnated with
the soap is exposed on thb grass. It is then dried in the
stove.
8. The above process (No. 7) is repeated thrice-, and
after each soaking in the saponaceous liquor, the cloth is
exposed on the grass for some hours, and then dried in
the stove.
9. The cloth, thus so many times soaked in the sapona¬
ceous liquor, is now steeped in a mixed ley of pearl ash
and soda of the specific gravity from 1-01 to 1-0125, heat¬
ed to the temperature of 120°. After being taken out of
the steep, and allowed to drain for a few hours (taking
care to preserve the liquor), the cloth is well washed.
The object of this process is to remove any superfluous
oil with which the cloth may be impregnated, the object
being that all the oil adhering to the cloth should be in
combination with an alkali. About half the alkali used in
this process disappears during the steeping. The remain¬
ing liquor, which is about half as strong as at first, is re¬
served for future use. The cloth thus washed clean is
dried in the stove.
T gall- 10. The preceding washing is necessary for the suc¬
cess of the next operation, called the galling; for the
nutgall liquor will not be imbibed by the cloth unless it
be thoroughly freed from all uncombined oil, which would
give it a greasy feel. If the first steeping in alkali and
washing has not fully accomplished this necessary object,
they ought to be repeated.
For the galling, eighteen pounds of Aleppo gajls are to
be boiled for four or five hours in twenty-five gallons of
vyater till it is reduced to about twenty gallons; and the
liquid being now passed through a sieve, is sufficient for
impregnating 100 lbs. of cloth with the requisite quantity
of nutgalls. Of late years, sumach from Sicily has been
I N G. ■ 317
substituted for nutgalls, thirty-three lbs. of sumach being Simple
considered as equivalent to eighteen lbs. of nutgalls. Colours.
Sometimes a mixture of nine lbs. nutgalls and sixteen and
a half lbs. of sumach is employed.
Through this decoction the cloth is either tramped by
the hand, or it is passed and soaked in it by means of the
padding machine. The temperature of the decoction
should be from 80° to 100°. It is unnecessary to steep
the cloth in the gall liquor; a complete soaking is all
that is necessary. The cloth, thus soaked in a decoction
of fustic, comes out dyed yellow, a colour which serves to
improve the madder red by rendering it more lively.
11. The next process is to fix the alumina mordant The alum-
upon the cloth. This step is essential, because withouting-
it the madder dye would not remain fixed in the cloth,
but would be easily washed out. Accordingly the depth
of the shade of red depends entirely upon the quantity of
alumina fixed on the cotton. In a preceding part of this
article we have stated the quantity of alumina fixed by
this process upon the surface of a square yard of cloth.
In this country common alum is usually employed; but
in many parts of the Continent they use acetate of alumina.
The high price of that article prevents its employment in
Britain. Acetate of alumina, however, is made in this coun¬
try by the chemical manufacturers, and largely used by
the calico-printers. It is made by mixing acetate of lime
(obtained by saturating the acetic acid formed when wood
is distilled with lime) with a solution of alum, and after¬
wards drawing off the clear liquor; or by mixing acetate
of lead with solution of alum, though that process is more
expensive.
Alum (as has been explained under the article Alum)
is a double salt, composed of
3 atoms sulphate of alumina,
1 atom sulphate of potash,
25 atoms water.
To form the alum liquor used by the Turkey-red dyers:
To a solution of alum in water of the specific gravity 1-04
as much pearl ash, soda, or chalk is added as is sufficient to
precipitate the alumina contained in the alum. Through
this muddy liquor, which should have a temperature of
from 100° to 120°, the cloth is passed and steeped for
twelve hours. The alumina, in the state of extreme divi¬
sion which it has when thus newly precipitated, is readily
imbibed by the cloth, and unites with the fibres of the
cotton.
12. The cloth thus united to alumina is stove dried,
and then washed out of the alum liquor.
13. These essential preliminary steps having been taken,
the cloth is ready for being dyed.
From one to three lbs. of madder reduced to the state The dye-
of powder for every pound of cloth is employed, the quan-ing*
tity depending upon the shade of colour wanted. The
cloth is entered into the boiler w-hen the water is cold.
It is brought to boil in one hour, and the boiling is con¬
tinued for two hours. During the whole of this time the
cloth is passed through the dyeing liquor by means of the
winch.
For every twenty-five lbs. of cloth dyed, one gallon of
bullock’s blood is added. This is the quantity of cloth
dyed at once in a boiler. This addition of blood is indis¬
pensable for obtaining a fine red colour. Various attempts
have been made to dispense with the use of blood in Tur¬
key-red dyeing, but hitherto they have been unsuccess¬
ful. No satisfactory explanation of the way in which the
blood acts has been given. For our own parts, we are dis¬
posed to consider the colouring matter of the blood as the
useful ingredient. It is probably fixed upon the cloth to
a certain extent, and by its fine scarlet tint it is obvious
that it must improve the colour of madder red.
318
Simple 14. After the cloth has been thus dyed, it was formerly
Colours, customary to steep it in a solution the same as that de-
scribed in No. 7. This was called the cuing process. It
is now generally dispensed with, and is unnecessary if the
cloth has been well cleaned before the galling process.
The object of it is merely to dissolve any greasj' matter
which may continue attached to the cloth, and to form a
soap with it, which assists in the subsequent process.
The clear- 15. Madder contains two colouring matters, a brown
mn- and a red. Both are fixed upon the cloth by the dyeing
process. The consequence is, that the cloth has a dirty
brownish-red colour, which is any thing but agreeable.
Fortunately the brown colouring matter is not nearly so
fixed upon the cloth as the red colouring matter. The
next process, called the clearing process, is to get rid of
the brown colouring matter. For this purpose the cloth
is boiled from twelve to fourteen hours, in a mixture of
five pounds of soda, eight pounds of soap, and sixteen to
eighteen gallons of the residual liquor of No. 9, with a
sufficient quantity of water. These quantities are sup¬
posed to be employed to clear a hundred pounds of cloth.
By this process the brown colouring matter is almost
wholly removed, and the cloth begins to assume the fine
tint which distinguishes Turkey-red dyed cloth.
16. The next process serves not merely to remove the
brown colouring matter more completely, but also to im¬
prove the shade of red. Five or six pounds of soap, and
from sixteen to eighteen ounces of protochloride of tin, in
crystals, are dissolved in w'ater, in a globular boiler, into
which the cloth is put. The boiler is then covered with
a lid which fits close* and the boiling is conducted under
the pressure of two atmospheres, or at the temperature of
250^°. djj'ie boiler is furnished with a safety valve and a
small conical pipe, the extremity of which has an aper¬
ture about fgths of an inch in diameter, from which there
issues a constant stream of steam during the operation.
We have given a section and elevation of this boiler in
Plate CCVII. fig. 8 and 9, and in fig. 10 a plan of its top,
and in fig. 11 of its lid. The use of the salt of tin is to
give a shade of scarlet to the cloth. The oxide of tin
seems to combine with the oleaginous acid of the soap,
and this insoluble soap unites with the red colouring mat¬
ter of the madder fixed upon the cloth, and improves the
shade of colour.
17. After these processes, the cloth is spread out on the
grass and exposed to the sun for a few days, which finishes
the clearing. It is seldom that recourse is had to a bleach¬
ing liquor, consisting of a solution of chloride of lime in
water, especially when a salt of lime is used in the clean¬
ing process. When this method is employed, however,
one gallon of the solution of chloride of lime, of the specific
gravity 1-015, is mixed with twenty gallons of pure water.
The cloth is immersed in this dilute solution from five to
ten minutes, which is sufficient for completing the clearing.
Remarks Such are the different steps in fixing this beautiful and
on the permanent colour, as practised in the principal works in
processes. Glasgow. Many attempts have been made to shorten
these tedious processes, but hitherto these attempts have
been unsuccessful. The impregnation with oil, or rather
with soap, is essential, as is evident from this, that if one,
two, or three of these operations be omitted, the red is
inferior in proportion to the number of omissions.
Cloth bleached by chloride of lime does not produce a
good red. Probably the fibres of the cotton wool are com¬
bined with lime, or rather sulphate of lime, which, by de¬
composing the oleaginous soap, prevents it from being de¬
posited upon and combining with the cloth. But cloth
bleached by the old process, namely, boiling in ley or soap,
and exposing to the action of the sun, answers perfectly,
and will produce as good a red as when unbleached cloth
I N G.
is used; but there would result no saving from bleaching Sim
the cloth in this way before commencing the impregnation Coloi
with the oleaginous soap, because the bleaching is ef-
fected betwixt the oil operations by exposing the cloth on
the grass.
The colour would be as good without the galls or su¬
mach as with them. But there would be considerable
difficulty in sufficiently impregnating the cloth with the
solution of alum without its being previously passed
through the gall decoction, and more particularly if the
cloth be in the least degree greasy. The use of the galls,
then, is to facilitate the fixation of the alumina upon the
cloth.
Alumina is essential to the fixation of the colour; for
without it the madder dye would be fugitive, and would
disappear whenever the cloth was washed. The subse¬
quent clearing operations would completely remove both
the colouring matters of the madder, unless it were clear¬
ed along with a quantity of cloth that had received alu¬
mina, and been dyed a deep red. In that case the un-
alumed cloth w ill receive a little alumina from the alumed
portion. This will serve to fix the colour; but as the
quantity of alumina which in such a case is imbibed is
very small, the red colour will be very pale. It is in this
way that the two shades of red, the deep and the pale,
which are often seen upon garments and furniture dyed
Turkey red, are given. These two shades, by their con¬
trast, frequently add considerably to the beauty of the
pattern. The fustic, as well as the tin, probably serves to
render the red colour more lively by the shade of yellow
which they superinduce.
The three essential processes in the Turkey-red dyeing
are, the impregnation with oleaginous soap, the impregna¬
tion with alumina, and the dyeing with madder. The
last communicates the colour, the second fixes the colour,
and the first gives beauty to the colour.
For the better understanding of the Turkey-red pro¬
cesses, we have got drawings made of the principal ma¬
chinery used.
Fig. 1 and 2, Plate CCVI., exhibit a section and plan
of the liquor tub, in which the mixture of oil and alkali is
put, with its agitators to prevent the oil from separating
and swimming on the surface. From the liquor tub (which
is placed in an upper room) the liquor passes by a tin
pipe to the padding machine, represented in various ways
in figs. 3, 4, and 5.
It consists essentially of a box for holding the liquor,
through which the cloth passes; and afterwards it goes
between two rollers, the distance between which regulates
the quantity of liquor which the cloth retains.
a, is the lapper for folding the cloth.
b, a compound lever for regulating the pressure.
c, the box for containing the liquor.
d, a frame or scrae for laying the cloth on before it
passes through the liquor.
e, pulleys for moving the lapper ; and
f, the cylinders between w hich the cloth passes. They
regulate, by their distance from each other, the quantity
of liquor allowed to remain in the cloth.
Figs. 6 and 7 represent the elevation and plan of a
dyeing box on the latest and most improved construction.
a, the winch for moving the cloth through the liquor
while dyeing.
b, steam pipe for supplying the vessel with steam.
c, c, c, the dotted part, represents the valves through
which the steam enters into the vessel.
d, d, d, d, divisions of the vessel for different pieces of
cloth.
e, catch for stopping or setting on the winch at pleasure.
f, valve for regulating the quantity of steam admitted.
DYE
DYEING.
Sbpk
Copra-
Sca>t
Hitachi
seal
Figs. 8 and 9 represent a section and elevation of the
clearing boiler. Fig. 10 represents exactly the mouth of
this boiler, and fig. 11 the lid or cover. On the upper
edge of this cover there is fixed all round a layer of hemp
(a piece of flat rope). The lid is slipt into the inside of
the boiler, and by the piece of rope it attaches itself ex¬
actly to the inside. The elasticity of the steam within
presses it firmly against the inside rim of the mouth, and
renders it quite steam-tight.
The scarlet colour communicated to cotton by means
•of cochineal is far from being permanent ; but if this co¬
lour is wished to be communicated to cotton, Dr Bancroft
recommends to steep the cotton, previously moistened,
for half an hour, in a diluted solution of murio-sulphate
of tin, and then having wrung the cotton, to plunge it into
water in which as much potash has been dissolved as
will neutralize the acid adhering to the cotton, so that the
oxide of tin may be more copiously fixed on the fibres of
the cotton. The stuff being afterwards rinsed in water,
may be dyed with cochineal and quercitron bark, in the
proportion of four pounds of the former to two and a half
or three pounds of the latter. A full bright colour is thus
given to the cotton, which will bear slight washings with
soap, and exposure to the air. Indeed the yellow part of
the colour derived from quercitron bark will bear long
boiling with soap, and will resist the action of acids.
With the aluminous mordant, as it is usually applied by
calico-printers for madder reds, cotton dyed with cochi¬
neal receives a beautiful crimson colour, which will bear
several washings, and resist the weather for some time.
It is not, however, to be considered as a fixed colour. Dr
Bancroft is of opinion that the addition of a small portion
of cochineal in dyeing madder reds upon the finer cottons,
would be highly advantageous to the calico-printers. By
this addition the madder reds are rendered more beauti¬
ful, and the fawn colour, or brownish-yellow hue, which
injures these colours, wrould be thus overcome.1
Sect. II.— Of Yellow.
All the yellow dyes, as well as the red, require a mor¬
dant to fix them on the cloth ; and the usual mordant
employed is alumina. As in the last section, we shall in
the first place give an account of the dyestuffs usually
employed for giving a yellow colour to cloth, and then give
a sketch of the methods employed for giving a yellow co¬
lour to wool, silk, cotton, and linen.
I.—Description of the Dyestuffs.
The principal colouring matters used in dyeing yellow
are weld, fustic, catechu, anotta, and quercitron. We shall
give a short account of these dyestuffs in succession.
Sub#ces 1. Weld, in French gaud or vaud, is the dried leaves
Crit-On.
enpled
m d
yclli
IVel
nS
and stems of the reseda luteola, a plant which grows wild
in Britain, and in different European countries. Its leaves
are long, narrow, and of a bright green, but the whole
plant is made use of in the dyeing of yellow. There are
two kinds of weld, cultivated and wild, the former of which
is deemed more valuable than the latter, as it yields a
much greater proportion of colouring matter. When
this plant is fully ripe, it is pulled, dried, and bound up
in bundles for the use of the dyer. The wild species
grows higher and has a stronger stalk than that which is
319
Simple
Colours.
cultivated, by which the one may be readily distinguish¬
ed from the other.
A decoction of this plant, if strong, has a brownish-yel-
low colour, and when diluted with water, it acquires a
shade of green. The acids render this colour more pale,
while alkalies, common salt, and sal ammoniac, render it
deeper; and when sufficient quantities of these substan¬
ces are dissolved in the decoction, a deep-yellow precipi¬
tate falls. A solution of alum or of protochloride of tin
throws down a fine yellow lake ; sulphate of iron occa¬
sions a black precipitate, and sulphate of copper a brown¬
ish-green precipitate.
Chevreul has discovered in weld a yellow colouring Luteolin.
matter, to which he has given the name of luteolin. It
may be sublimed, and in that case it crystallizes in needles,
which are transparent, and have a pale-yellow colour.
Luteolin dissolves in water, but the solution has little co¬
lour ; yet silk or woollen previously impregnated with
alumina, if passed through it, acquires a fine yellow co¬
lour. It is soluble in alcohol and ether. It combines
with acids, but still more readily with bases. The com¬
pound which it forms with potash has a golden-yellow
colour; but when exposed to the air it assumes first a
shade of green, and then passes into brown. The com¬
pounds of luteolin with the other bases are easily obtain¬
ed by double decomposition.
The yellow colour communicated by weld is more per¬
manent than that communicated by quercitron or by old
fustic.
2. Fustic2 is the name given by the dyers in Great Bri-Fustic,
tain to the wood of the morus tinctoria, a tree which grows
in the West Indies, and probably also in South America.
In France it is distinguished by the name of boisjaune.
The wood is yellow, as its name imports, with orange
veins. Ever since the discovery of America it has been
used in dyeing, as appears from a paper in the Transac¬
tions of the Royal Society, of which Sir William Petty
was the author. Its price is moderate, the colour it im¬
parts is permanent, and it readily combines with indigo,
which properties give it a claim to attention as a valuable
ingredient in dyeing. Before it can be employed as a
dyestuff, it must be cut into chips and put into a bag, that
it may not fix in, and tear the stuff, to which it is to im¬
part its colouring matter.
When a decoction of yellow wood or fustic is made Properties,
very strong, the colour is of a reddish yellow, and when
diluted it is of an orange yellow, which it readily yields
to water. It becomes turbid by means of acids, its
colour is of a pale yellow, and the greenish precipitate
may be re-dissolved by alkalies. The sulphates of zinc,
iron, and copper, as well as alum, throw down precipitates
composed of the colouring matter and the different bases
of the salts employed.
Chevreul discovered in fustic a yellow uncrystallizable Morin,
colouring matter, to which he has given the name of mo-
rin. It restores the colour of turmeric paper reddened
by lime. It is but little soluble in water, even when boil¬
ing hot. Alcohol is a better solvent of it than water, and
ether still better than alcohol. When the alcoholic or
ether solutions are evaporated, they deposite yellow crys¬
tals. The aqueous solution is rendered muddy by gela¬
tine. The solutions of the fixed alkalies and alkaline
earths give the aqueous solution a fine yellow colour,
1 Philosophy of Permanent Colours, 317.
’ The origin of the word fustic is not very well understood. The French applied the term Fiistet to the rltus cotinus or Venice
sumach, which yields fugitive and bad yellow. Bancroft supposes that fustic is merely a corruption of the word fustet. When the
morus tinctoria was introduced, about a couple of centuries ago, being the wood of a large tree, it was called old fustic, while the rhus
cotinus, being only a shrub, was called young fustic, iihus cotinus being now hardly used by dyers, the term fustic has been as¬
signed to the wood of the morus tinctoria.
320
DYEING.
Simple
Colours.
without occasioning any precipitate. Alum causes it to
assume a greenish-yellow colour. The sulphated peroxide
of iron renders it green, and then throws down a precipi¬
tate. Concentrated sulphuric acid increases the intensity
of the yellow colour, while nitric acid gives it a reddish
shade, and renders it muddy. Boiling nitric acid converts
it into oxalic acid. By combining with oxygen it seems
to assume a red colour. Morin, when distilled, yields a
liquid, which crystallizes as it cools, and furnishes a num¬
ber of yellowish-brown needles. According to the expe¬
riments of George, boiling water extracts from fustic 0T5,
and alcohol 0*09 of matter ; and the wood is composed of
Lignin 74)
Morin 9*1
Tannin 4
Gum 2
Resin 9
98-1
3. Catechu, or terra japonica, comes from the East In¬
dies, and is the inspissated decoction of certain plants
containing tannin, but principally of the areka nut, the
wood of mimosa catechu, the leaves of the nauclea catechu.
Areka nuts, cut into small pieces, are sprinkled in an earth¬
en vessel with water holding saltpetre in solution. A
portion of the bark of kantai-babela (a species of mimosa)
is added. The vessel is closed by a lid luted down with
clay, that the temperature may be the higher. After an
ebullition of two hours, the fire is gradually diminished
during five or six hours. When the vessel is cold the
areka nuts are taken out, and the decoction is evaporated
down to the consistency of a syrup. It is then kneaded
into small balls, and left to dry in the shade.
Constitu- The principal constituents of catechu are tannin and
ents. extractive. The former may be thrown down by gela¬
tine, the latter remains in solution. It has a reddish-brown
colour and a sweetish taste. In India catechu is employed
in dyeing and calico-printing. The colours which it gives
are very various, depending upon the nature of the mor¬
dants employed along with it; but they are all very fixed.
With verdigris and sal ammoniac the colour is brown;
with protochloride of tin yellow'; with perchloride of tin
a brown, or, if nitrate of copper be added, a deep bronze ;
with nitrate of alumina a copper red; with nitrate of iron
a deep brownish gray.
We are not aware that catechu is employed in this
country, either by the dyers or calico-printers; but it is
entitled to their attention, both on account of its cheap¬
ness, and the permanency and variety of the colours which
it gives.
i"' 4. Anotta, in French rocou, is a species of paste of a
red colour, obtained from the berries of the hixa orellana,
Lin. which is a native of America. The anotta of com¬
merce is imported from America to Europe in cakes of
two or three pounds weight, where it is prepared from the
seeds of the tree mentioned above; but the Americans
are said to be in possession of a species of anotta superior
to that which they export, both for the brilliancy and
permanency of the colour it imparts. They bruise the
seeds with their hands moistened with oil, separating
with a knife the paste as it is formed, and drying it in the
sun ; but the seeds are pounded with water when design¬
ed for sale, and allowed to undergo the process of fer¬
mentation.
According to John, the cakes of anotta are composed
of twenty-eight parts of resin mixed with colouring mat¬
ter, twenty parts of coloured extractive, twenty-six of
gum, and twenty of lignin, mixed with an acid and an
aromatic substance.
The colouring matter of anotta is but little soluble in
water, though it communicates a yellow colour to that Sir
liquid. It is more soluble in alcohol, and tinges it orange. Co
Ether dissolves it still better, and assumes also an orange '
colour. We obtain tbe colouring matter in a sufficiently ?tsc
pure state by evaporating the alcoholic solution to dry.in8B «.
ness, treating the residue with ether, and finally distilling
off' the ether. It is a reddish-brown substance, heavier
than water, soft and adhesive. Even when exposed to a
very low temperature, it does not become brittle. When
heated it melts, and when sufficiently heated in an open
vessel it takes fire and burns like a resin.
We may likewise obtain the .colouring matter of anotta
by digesting it in a caustic alkaline solution, and then sa¬
turating the alkali by an acid. The colouring matter pre¬
cipitates in orange flocks. Concentrated sulphuric acid
gives anotta an indigo-blue colour ; but in contact with air
this colour soon passes into green, and then into violet
brown. Cold nitric acid does not alter the colour of
anotta but if the quantity of acid be small, the mixture
assumes the consistence of a syrup, and detonates when
slightly heated, leaving charcoal. Anotta gives an orange-
red colour to oils, both fixed and volatile.
According to Chevreul, anotta contains two different
colouring matters, the one yellow and the other red. The
yellow colouring matter is soluble in water and alcohol,
and slightly in ether; the red colouring matter is scarce¬
ly soluble in water, but it dissolves in alcohol and ether,
communicating to these liquids an orange-red colour.
Anotta yields an orange precipitate with a solution of
alum, and the sulphates of copper and iron produce effects
of nearly a similar nature. With a solution of tin the pre¬
cipitate is of a lemon colour, and slowly deposited.
It is employed both for dyeing silk and cotton, but the
colours which it yields have little permanency.
5. Quercitron bark.—Quercitron, as it is denominatedQuei
by Dr Bancroft, is the quercus nigra of Linnaeus, and is En¬
large tree which grows spontaneously in North America.
The bark of it yields a considerable quantity of colouring
matter, which wTas first discovered by Dr Bancroft in the
year 1784, in whom tbe use and application of it in dye¬
ing were exclusively vested for a certain term of years
by virtue of an act of parliament. To prepare it for use,
the epidermis is taken off and pounded in a mill, the re¬
sult of which process is a number of filaments and a fine
light powder; but as these do not contain equal quanti¬
ties of colouring matter, it will be proper to employ them
in their natural proportions.
Quercitron bark contains a good deal of tannin, and a
yellow colouring matter capable of being extracted by
water. The aqueous solution, when evaporated to dryness,
leaves a quantity of extract, amounting to eight per cent,
of the weight of the bark employed. The tannin is that
variety which forms a green precipitate with oxide of iron.
Its presence is injurious to the beauty of the yellow co¬
lour, because it is precipitated by the same re-agents as
the colouring matter itself, and of course communicates
to it a shade of brown. To free the colouring matter
from tannin, ox bladder steeped in water, and deprived of
every thing soluble in cold water, is introduced into the
quercitron infusion. With this substance the tannin gra¬
dually unites, and thus is removed from the solution. It
may be thrown down also by a solution of gelatine.
When the infusion of quercitron is gently concentrated,
the colouring matter is deposited in crystals, which have
a pearly lustre as long as they continue suspended in the
liquid. To this colouring matter Chevreul has given the
name of quercitrin. It restores the yellow colour of tur¬
meric paper reddened by an alkali. It is but little solu¬
ble in ether, more soluble in alcohol, and still more soluble
in water. The aqueous solution is tinged orange by al-
4
r 1
Sii’ie
Co^rs.
DYEING.
321
Otte sub-
»tan>
kalies. The acetates of lead and copper, and the proto¬
chloride of tin, throw it down in yellow flocks. The sul-
phated peroxide of iron gives it an olive-green colour, and
then precipitates it. Sulphuric acid dissolves quercitrin,
the solution is orange with a shade of green, and is ren¬
dered muddy when mixed with water. When quercitrin
is subjected to distillation, it yields, among other products,
a liquid which speedily deposites yellow crystals possess¬
ing the characters of quercitrin.
Besides the substances already mentioned as employed
in the dyeing of yellow, we may add saw-wort to the num¬
ber (serratula tinctoria, Lin.), a plant which yields a co¬
louring matter nearly similar to that of weld, and may of
consequence be used as a proper substitute. Dyers’ broom
(genista tinctoria) produces a yellow of very indifferent
nature, and is therefore only employed in dyeing stuffs of
the coarsest kind. Tumeric (curcuma longa) is a native
production both of the East and West Indies, and yields
a more copious quantity of colouring matter than any
other yellow dyestuff; but it will probably never be
of any essential -service in dyeing yellow, as no mordant
has yet been discovered capable of giving permanency to
its colour.
Chamomile (anthemis tinctoria) yields a faint yellow
colour, the hue of which is not unpleasant, but is far
from being durable, and even mordants are not capable of
fixing it. Sulphate of lime, tartar, and alum, bid fairest
for success.
Fenugreek (trigonella fcenugroccuni) yields seeds which,
when ground, communicate to stuffs a pale yellow of to¬
lerable durability ; and the best mordants are found to be
alum and muriate of soda, or common salt. American hic-
cory (juglans alba) is a tree, the bark of which yields a
colouring matter in every respect resembling that of the
quercus nigra, but in quantity greatly inferior. French
berries (rhamnus infectorius) produce a tolerable yellow
colour, but it is by no means permanent. When used in
the process of dyeing, they are to be employed in the
same manner as weld. According to Scheffer, a fine yel¬
low colour may be imparted to silk, thread, and wool, by
means of the leaves of the willow ; but Bergman informs
us that only the leaves of the sweet willow (salix pentan-
dra) are proper for producing a permanent colour, as a
few weeks’ exposure to the sun extracts that which is pro¬
duced by the colouring matter from the leaves of the com¬
mon willow.
In Switzerland and in England the seeds of purple tre¬
foil are sometimes employed in the art of dyeing, on which
Vogler made a number of experiments, in order to ascer¬
tain what colours they would produce ; and he found that
a fine deep yellow was afforded by a bath made of a solu¬
tion of these seeds with potash ; that sulphuric acid yield¬
ed a light yellow, and sulphate of copper or blue vitriol
a yellow inclining to green. M. Dize informs us that the
seeds of trefoil impart to wool a beautiful orange, and to
silk a greenish yellow ; and that while aluming is neces¬
sary in the process of dyeing with the seeds of trefoil, a
solution of tin cannot be employed.
Many other vegetable substances are occasionally em¬
ployed in dyeing yellow, but it seems useless to enu¬
merate them. Saffron and turmeric yield exceedingly
beautiful but fugitive yellows. The colouring matter of
saffron (crocus sativus) is extremely rich ; it has been sub¬
jected to a chemical examination, and distinguished by
the name of polychroite by Bouillon La Grange and Vog¬
ler, to whom we are indebted for the first examination
of it.
The finest and most fixed of all the yellows on cotton
is chromate of lead. It is employed abundantly by the
calico-printers, but scarcely by the dyers in general. On
VOL VIII.
that account we think it better to reserve it till we come Simple
to that part of this article in which we propose to describe Colours,
the processes followed by the calico-printers.
II.— Of the Processes for dyeing Wool Yellow.
In dyeing woollen stuffs with weld, the mordants em-With weld,
ployed are alum and tartar, and by their means a pure,
permanent yellow is obtained. The boiling is to be con¬
ducted in the usual way; and, according to Hellot, four
ounces of alum to one ounce of tartar are to be employed.
Other dyers, however, employ half as much tartar as alum.
The colour is rendered paler, but more lively, by means
of the tartar.
The bath is prepared by boiling the plant inclosed in a Prepara-
thin linen bag, and keeping it from rising by means of afion of the
wooden cross. Some boil it till it sinks to the bottom of^at^*
the vessel; while others, after it is boiled, take it out and
throw it away. From three to four pounds of weld, and
sometimes less, are allowed for every pound of stuff; but
the quantity must be regulated by the intensity of the
shade desired. Some dyers add a small quantity of quick¬
lime and ashes, which are found to promote the extrac¬
tion of the colouring matter. These substances at the
same time heighten the colour, but render it less suscep¬
tible of resisting the action of acids.
With other additions, and different management, differ-For differ¬
ent shades may be obtained. Thus lighter shades areent shades-
produced by dyeing after deeper ones, adding water at
each dipping, and keeping the bath at the boiling temper¬
ature. These shades, however, are less lively than when
fresh baths are employed, with a suitable proportion of
weld. The addition of common salt or sulphate of lime
to the weld bath communicates a richer and deeper co¬
lour. W’ith alum it is paler and more lively, with tartar
still paler, and with sulphate of iron the shade inclines to
brown. According to Scheffer, by boiling the stuff two
hours, with one fourth of its weight of a solution of tin,
and the same proportion of tartar, and then washing and
boiling it with an equal weight of weld, a fine yellow is
produced; but if the stuff be in the state of cloth, its in¬
ternal texture is not penetrated. Poerner recommends a
similar preparation as for dyeing scarlet, and by these
means the colour is brighter, more permanent, and lighter.
Dr Bancroft recommends the quercitron bark as one ofWithquer-
the cheapest and best substances for dyeing wool yellow, citronbai-k.
The following is the simple process which he has propos¬
ed for its application. The bark is to be boiled up with
about its weight, or one third more, of alum, in a suitable
proportion of water, for about ten minutes. The stuff pre¬
viously scoured is then to be immersed in the bath, tak¬
ing care to give the higher colours first, and afterwards
the paler straw colours. By this cheap and expeditious
process, colours which are not wanted to be of a full or
bright yellow may be obtained. The colour may be con¬
siderably heightened by passing the unrinsed stuff a few
times through hot water, to which a little clean powdered
chalk, in the proportion of about a pound and a half for
each 100 lbs. of stuff, has been previously added. The
bark, when used in dyeing, being first reduced to powder,
should be tied up in a thin linen bag, and suspended in
the liquor, so that it may be occasionally moved through
it, to diffuse the colouring matter more equally.
But although the above method possesses the advan-pr0cess for
tages of cheapness and expedition, and is fully sufficient permanent
for communicating pale yellows; to obtain fuller and more colours,
permanent colours, the common mode of preparation, by
previously applying the aluminous mordant, ought to be
preferred. The stuff, therefore, should be boiled for about
one hour or one hour and a quarter, with one sixth or
one eighth of its weight of alum dissolved in a proper pro-
2 s
322
DYEING.
Simple portion of water. The stuff is then to be immersed, with-
Colours. out being rinsed, into the dyeing bath, with clean hot wa-
ter, and about the same quantity of powdered bark tied
up in a bag as that of the alum employed in the prepara¬
tion. The stuff is then to be turned as usual through the
boiling liquor, until the colour appears to have acquired
sufficient intensity. One pound of clean powdered chalk
for every 100 lbs. of stuff is then to be mixed with the
dyeing bath, and the operation continued for eight or ten
minutes longer. This addition of the chalk raises and
brightens the colour.
For differ- Orange Yellow.—To communicate a beautiful orange
ent shades, yellow to woollen stuffs, ten lbs. of quercitron bark, tied
up in a bag, for every 100 lbs. of stuff, are to be put into
the bath with hot water. At the end of six or eight
minutes, an equal weight of murio-sulphate of tin is to
be added, and the mixture well stirred for two or three
minutes. The cloth, previously scoured, and completely
wetted, is then immersed in the dyeing liquor, and brisk¬
ly turned for a few minutes. By this process the colour¬
ing matter fixes on the cloth so quickly and equally, that
after the liquor begins to boil, the highest yellow may be
produced in less than fifteen minutes.
High shades of yellow, somewhat similar to those ob¬
tained from quercitron bark by the above process, are fre¬
quently given with young fustic (rhus cotinus, Lin.), and
dyers’ spirit, or nitro-muriate of tin ; but this colour is
much less beautiful and permanent, while it is more ex¬
pensive, than what is obtained from the bark.
Bright Golden Yellow.—This colour is produced by
employing ten pounds of bark for every 100 pounds of
cloth, the bark being first boiled a few minutes, and then
adding seven or eight pounds of murio-sulphate of tin,
with about five pounds of alum. The cloth is to be dyed
in the same manner as in the process for the orange
yellow.
Bright yellows of less body are produced by employing
a smaller proportion of bark, as well as by diminishing the
quantity of murio-sulphate of tin and alum. And indeed
every variety of shade of pure bright yellow may be given
by varying the proportions of the ingredients.
For green- To produce the lively delicate green shade, which, for
ish yellow, certain purposes, is greatly admired, the addition of tartar,
with the other ingredients, only is necessary, and the tar¬
tar must be added in different proportions, according to
the shade which is wanted. For a full bright yellow, de¬
licately inclining to the greenish tinge, it will be proper
to employ eight pounds of bark, six of murio-sulphate of
tin, with six of alum, and four of tartar. An additional
proportion of alum and tartar renders the yellow more de¬
licate, and inclines it more to the green shade ; but when
this lively green shade is wanted in the greatest perfec¬
tion, the ingredients must be used in equal proportions.
I he delicate green lemon yellows are seldom required to
have much fulness or body. Ten pounds of bark, there¬
fore, with an equal quantity of the other ingredients, are
sufficient to dye three or four hundred pounds of stuffs.1
For pale To produce the exquisitely delicate and beautiful pale
green yel- green shades, the surest method, Dr Bancroft observes, is
lt)W- to boil the bark with a small proportion of water, in a se¬
parate tin vessel, for six or eight minutes, and then to add
the murio-sulphate of tin, alum, and tartar, and to boil
them together for about fifteen minutes. A small quan¬
tity of this yellow liquor is then to be put into a dyeing
vessel which has been previously supplied with water
sufficiently heated. The mixture being properly stirred,
the dyeing process is to be conducted in the usual way,
and the yellow liquor, as it is wanted, gradually added Sin
from the first vessel. In this way the most delicate Cor
shades of lively green lemon yellows are dyed with ease ^
and certainty. Weld is the only dyestuff from which
similar shades of colour can be obtained; but it is four
times more expensive. The yellows dyed from quercitron
bark, Dr Bancroft adds, with murio-sulphate of tin and
alum as mordants, do not exceed the expense of one
penny for each pound of stuff, besides a considerable
saving of time, labour, and fuel.2
A greenish shade may also be produced without tartar, Veni
by substituting verdigris dissolved in vinegar, along with used *
the bark; but it is neither so permanent, nor so brighttartai
and delicate, as that produced by means of tartar. Sul¬
phate of indigo also, in very small proportion, communi¬
cates a similar shade when it is employed with the bark,
murio-sulphate of tin, and alum; but it is apt to take
unequally on the stuff, and besides, in the language of
the dyers, the colour has a tendency to cast or fly in the
finishing.
Small proportions of cochineal, employed along with Cochi ii
the bark and other ingredients, raise the colour to a beau-andm er
tiful orange, and even to an aurora. Madder may be alsoeir,P1( f
employed with the same view, for it heightens the yellow
obtained from quercitron bark, although the colour thus
obtained is inferior in beauty to that from cochineal. The
madder may also be employed with weld for the same
purpose.3
The colours obtained from quercitron bark, by the pro-Colou
cesses which we have now described, are very durable, from >r.
They resist the action of the air, of soap, and of acids. Itc>tron rk
is by the effects of alum, but especially of tartar, that thesej?1^1 f1'
colours become so fixed as to remain permanent by expo¬
sure to the air. It is observed of the highest yellows,
even when they approach to the orange, and which are
best dyed either with muriate or murio-sulphate of tin
and bark, that although they resist the action of soap and
acids, they are apt to lose their lustre and become brown
by the eftect of the sun and air; but this also happens to
yellows dyed with nitro-muriate of tin, both with the bark
and with weld, but in a still greater degree with other
yellow vegetable colouring matters. In some of these this
defect is less easily obviated by alum and tartar, than it is
in the yellow obtained from weld and quercitron bark.4
III.— Of the Processes for dyeing Silk Yellow.
To dye silk a plain yellow colour, the only ingredient with i J.
which was formerly employed was weld. The following is
the process. The silk being previously scoured in the
proportion of twenty pounds of soap to the hundred of
stuff, and then alumed, and washed after the aluming, or,
as it is called, refreshed, the bath is prepared with two
pounds of weld for every pound of silk; and having boil¬
ed for fifteen minutes, it is to be passed into a vat through
a sieve or cloth. W hen the teipperature is such as the
hand can bear, the silk is introduced and turned until it
has acquired a uniform colour. While this operation is
going on, the weld is to be boiled a second time in fresh
water; one half of the first bath is taken out, and its place
supplied with a fresh decoction. The temperature of the
fresh bath may be a little higher than the former; but it
is necessary to guard against too great a degree of heat,
that the colouring matter already fixed may not be dis¬
solved. The stuff is to be turned as before, and afterwards
taken out of the bath. A quantity of soda is to be dis¬
solved in a part of the second decoction, and a larger or
smaller proportion of this solution is to be added to the
1 Bancroft, 330.
2 lUd. 333.
3 Ibid. 355.
4 Ibid. 334.
1
f
iiple bath, according to the intensity of the shade required.
C Durs. When the silk has been turned a few times, a skain is
wrung out, that it may be examined whether the colour
be sufficiently full, and have the proper golden shade. To
Fo'deep-render the colour deeper, and to give it the gold cast, an
er our. addition of the alkaline solution is to be made to the bath,
and to be repeated till the shade has acquired sufficient in¬
tensity. The alkaline solution may also be added along
with the second decoction of the weld, observing the pre¬
caution that the temperature of the bath be never too
great.
Fo'ither To produce other shades of yellow, having more of a
sfes- gold or jonquille colour, a quantity of anotta, proportion¬
ed to the shade required, is to be added to the bath along
with the alkali. Lighter shades of yellow, such as pale
lemon or Canary bird colour, are obtained by previously
whitening the silk, and regulating the proportion of ingre¬
dients in the bath by the shade required. To communi¬
cate a yellow having a tinge of green, a little indigo is
added to the bath, if the silk has not been previously
azured. To prevent the intensity of the shade from being
too great, the silk may be more slightly alumed than usual.
Anaper But, according to Dr Bancroft, the different shades of
press, yellow obtained from weld may be given to silk with
equal facility and beauty, and at a cheaper rate, by em¬
ploying quercitron bark as a substitute. A quantity of
bark powdered and enclosed in a bag, in proportion to the
shade of colour wanted, as from one to two pounds for
every twelve pounds of silk, is put into the dyeing vat
while the water is cold. Heat is then applied; and when
it has become rather more than blood warm, or of the tem¬
perature of 100°, the silk, having previously undergone the
aluming process, is to be immersed and dyed in the usual
way. If a deep shade is wanted, a small quantity of chalk
or pearl-ashes may be added towards the end of the ope¬
ration. To produce a more lively yellow, a small propor¬
tion of murio-sulphate of tin may be employed; but it
should be cautiously used, as it is apt to diminish the
lustre of the silk. To produce such a shade, the propor¬
tions of the ingredients may be four pounds of bark, three
of alum, and two of murio-sulphate of tin. These are to
be boiled with a proper quantity of water for ten or fif¬
teen minutes; and the temperature of the liquid being
so much reduced as the hand can bear it, the silk is im¬
mersed and dyed as usual, till it has acquired the proper
colour. Care should be taken to keep the liquor constant¬
ly agitated, that the colouring matter may be equally dif-
! fused.1
f([n To dye silk of an aurora or orange colour, after being
“A600* properly scoured, it may be immersed in an alkaline solu¬
tion of anotta, the strength of which is to be regulated by
the shade required; and the temperature of the bath
should be between tepid and boiling water. When the
desired shade has been obtained, the silks are to be wash¬
ed and twice beetled, to»free them from the superfluous
colouring matter, which would injure the beauty of the
colour. When raw silk is to be dyed, that which is na¬
turally white should be selected, and the bath should be
nearly cold; for otherwise the alkali, by dissolving-the
gum of the silk, destroys its elasticity. Silk is dyed of an
orange shade with anotta ; but the stuffs must be redden¬
ed with vinegar, alum, or lemon juice. The acid, by sa¬
turating the alkali employed to dissolve the anotta, de¬
stroys the yellow shade produced by the alkali, and re¬
stores its natural colour, which inclines to a red. But al¬
though beautiful colours are obtained by this process, they
do not possess any great degree of permanency.
323
Several kinds of mushrooms afford lively and durable Simple
yellow dyes. A bright shining dye of this description has Colours,
been extracted from the boletus hirsutus, which commonly
grows on walnut and apple trees. The colouring matter ^ fe
is contained both in the tubular part, and also in the pa- niush-°m
renchyma of the body of the mushroom. To extract the rooms,
colouring matter, it is pounded in a mortar, and the liquor
which is thus obtained is boiled for a quarter of an hour
in water. An ounce of liquor is sufficient to communicate
colouring matter to six pounds of water. After the liquor
has been strained, the stuff to be dyed is immersed in it,
and boiled for fifteen minutes. When silk is subjected to
this process, after being dyed, it is made to pass through
a bath of soft soap, by which it acquires a shining golden
yellow colour, which has a near resemblance to the yellow
of the silk employed to imitate embroidery in gold. This
has been hitherto brought from China, and bears a very
high price, the method of dyeing it being unknown in Eu¬
rope. All kinds of stuff receive this colour; but it is less
bright on linen and cotton, and seems to have the strong¬
est affinity for silk. The use of mordants, it is supposed,
would modify and improve it greatly.2
IV.— Of the Processes for dyeing Cotton and Linen Yellow.
The process which has been usually followed in dyeing Processes
cotton and linen yellow, is by scouring it in a bath pre-with weld,
pared in a ley with the ashes of green wood. It is after¬
wards washed, dried, and alumed, with one fourth of its
weight of alum. After twenty-four hours it is taken out
of the aluming and dried, but without being washed. The
cotton is then dyed in a weld bath, in the proportion of
one pound and a quarter of weld for each pound of cot¬
ton, and turned in the bath till it has acquired the proper
colour. After being taken out of the bath, it is soaked for
an hour and a half in a solution of blue vitriol (sulphate
of copper), in the proportion of one fourth of the weight
of the cotton, and then immersed, without washing, for
nearly an hour in a boiling solution of white soap, after
which it is well washed and dried.
A deeper yellow is communicated to cotton by omit-For a deep-
ting the process of aluming, and employing two pounds er yellow,
and a half of weld for each pound of cotton. To this is
added a dram of verdigris, mixed with part of the bath.
The cotton is then to be dipped and worked till the colour
become uniform It is then taken out of the bath, that a
little solution of soda may be added, after which it is re¬
turned and kept for fifteen minutes. It is then wrung out
and dried.
Other shades of yellow may be obtained by varying the and other
proportion of ingredients. Thus a lemon colour is dyed shades,
by using only one pound of weld for every pound of cot¬
ton, and by diminishing the proportion of verdigris, or
using alum as a substitute.3
But a better method, as it affords more permanent and Cheaper
more beautiful colours, and at a smaller expense, is recom-an(l more
mended by Dr Bancroft. This is by the use of quercitron Permanent
bark, and the calico-printers’ aluminous mordant, or thecoours'
sugar of lead. The following is the process which he pro¬
poses to employ for producing bright and durable yellow
colours. One pound of sugar of lead and three pounds of
alum are to be dissolved in a sufficient quantity of warm
water. The cotton or linen, after being properly rinsed,
is to be soaked in this mixture, heated to the temperature
of 100°, for two hours. It is then taken out, moderately
pressed over a vessel, to prevent the waste of the alumi¬
nous liquor. It is then dried in a stove heat, and after
being again soaked in the aluminous solution, it is wrung
DYEING.
1 Bancroft, 345.
2 Philosophical Magazine, vol. 100.
Berthollet, ii. 267.
324
DYEING.
Dyeing
bath.
Simple out and dried a second time. Without being rinsed, it is
Colours. t0 be barely wetted with lime water, and afterwards dried ;
and if a fuj^ bright, and durable yellow is wanted, it may
be necessary to soak the stuff in the diluted aluminous
mordant, and, after drying, to wet it a second time with
lime water. After it has been soaked for the last time, it
should be well rinsed in clean water, to separate the loose
particles of the mordant, which might injure the applica¬
tion of the colouring matter. By the use of the lime-wa¬
ter, a greater proportion of alumina combines with the stuff,
besides the addition of a certain proportion of lime. v
In the preparation of the dyeing bath, from twelve to
eighteen pounds of powdered quercitron bark are inclosed
in a bag for every hundred pounds of the stuff, varying
the proportion according to the intensity of the shade de¬
sired. The bark is put into the water while it is cold;
and immediately after, the stuff is immersed and agitated
or turned for an hour or an hour and a half, during which
the water should be gradually heated, and the temperature
raised to about 120°. At the end of this time the heat is
increased, and the dyeing liquor brought to a boiling tem¬
perature ; but at this temperature the stuff must remain in
it only for a few minutes, because otherwise the yellow as¬
sumes a brownish shade. The stuff having thus acquired
a sufficient colour, is taken out, rinsed, and dried.
Advantage Dr Bancroft observes, that when the aluminous mor-
of a diluted dant is employed without the addition of water, one soak-
mordant. jng only, and an immersion in lime water, may be sufficient;
but he thinks that greater advantage is derived from the
application of a more diluted mordant at two different
times, or even by the immersion of the stuff a greater num¬
ber of times, alternately in the diluted aluminous mordant,
and lime water, and drying it after each immersion. By
this treatment he found that the colour always acquired
more body and durability.
Chaptal has proposed a process for communicating to
cotton a nankeen yellow, which, at the same time that it
affords a durable colour, has the advantage of being cheap
and simple. When cotton is immersed in a solution of
any salt of iron, it has so strong an affinity for the oxide,
that it decomposes the salt, combines with the iron, and
assumes a yellow colour. The process recommended by
Chaptal is the following: The cotton to be dyed is put
into a cold solution of copperas (sulphate of iron), of the
specific gravity 1‘02. It is afterwards wrung out, and im¬
mediately immersed in a ley of potash of the specific gra¬
vity T01. This ley must have been previously saturated
with a solution of alum. When the stuff has been kept
for four or five hours in this bath, it may be taken out,
washed, and dried. By varying the proportion of sulphate
of iron, every variety of shade of nankeen yellow may be
obtained.
Byanother We shall lay before our readers another process for dye-
process. nankeen colour, which is proposed and followed by
Mr Brewer, a practical dyer. It is as follows:—
“ Mix as much sheep’s dung in clear water as will make
it appear of the colour of grass ; and dissolve in clear wa¬
ter one pound of best white soap for every ten pounds of
cotton yarn, or in that proportion for a greater or lesser
quantity.
“ Observe:—The tubs, boards, and poles, that are used
in the following preparations must be made of deal; the
boiling pan of either iron or copper.
JFirst operation.—“ Pour the soap liquor prepared as
above into the boiling pan ; strain the dung liquor through
a sieve ; add as much thereof to the soap liquor in the pan
as will be sufficient to boil the yarn intended to be dyed,
Nankeen
yellow.
for five hours. When the liquors are well mixed in the
pan, enter the yarn, light the fire under the pan, and
bring the liquor to boil in about two hours, observing to
increase the heat regularly during that period. Continue
it boiling for three hours; then take the yarn out of the
pan, wash it, wring it, and hang it in a shed on poles
to dry. When dry, take it into a stove or other room
where there is a fire; let it hang there until it be tho¬
roughly dry.
N. B.—“ The cotton yarn, when in the shed, should not
be exposed either to the rain or sun. If it is, it will be
unequally coloured when dyed.
Second operation.—“ In this operation use only one half
of the soap that was used in the last, and as much dung
liquor (strained as before directed) as will be sufficient to
cover the cotton yarn, when in the pan, about two inches.
When these liquors are well mixed in the pan, enter the
yarn, light the fire, and bring the liquor to boil in about
one hour; then take the yarn out, wring it out without
washing, and hang it to dry, as in the former operation.
Third operation.—“ This operation the same as the se¬
cond in every respect.
Fourth operation.—“ For every ten pounds of yarn make
a clear ley from half a pound of pot or pearl ashes. Pour
the ley into the boiling pan, and add as much clearwater
as will be sufficient to boil the yarn for two hours; then
enter the yarn, light the fire, and bring it to boil in about
an hour. Continue it boiling about an hour, then take the
yarn out, wash it very well in clear water, wring it, and
hang it to dry, as in former operations.
N. B.—“ This operation is to cleanse the yarn from any
oleaginous matter that may remain in it after boiling in the
soap and dung liquors.
. Fifth operation.—“ To every gallon of iron liquor1 add
half a pound of ruddle or red chalk (the last the best) well
pulverized.
“ Mix them well together, and let the liquor stand four
hours, in order that the heavy particles may subside; then
pour the clear liquor into the boiling-pan, and bring it to
such a degree of heat as a person can well bear his hand
in ; divide the yarn into small parcels, about five hanks in
each; soak each parcel or handful very well in the above
liquor, wring it, and lay it down on a clean deal board.
When all the 3'arn is handed through the liquor, the last
handful must be taken up and soaked in the liquor a se¬
cond time, and every other handful in succession, till the
whole is gone through ; then lay the yarn down in a tub,
wherein there must be put a sufficient quantity of ley,
made from pot or pearl ashes, as will cover it about six
inches. Let it lie in this state about two hours, then hand
it over in the ley, wring it, and lay it down on a clean
board. If it does not appear sufficiently deep in colour,
this operation must be repeated till it has acquired a suf¬
ficient degree of darkness of colour. This done, it must
be hung to dry, as in former operations.
N. B.—Any degree of red or yellow hue maybe given
to the yarn, by increasing or diminishing the quantity of
ruddle or red chalk.
Sixth operation.—“ For every ten pounds of yarn make
a ley from half a pound of pot or pearl ashes; pour the
clear ley into the boiling pan; add a sufficient quantity of
water thereto, that will cover the yarn about four inches;
light the fire, and enter the yarn when the liquor is a little
warm; observe to keep it constantly under the liquor for
two hours; increase the heat regularly till it come to a
scald ; then take the yarn out, wash it, and hang it to dry,
as in former operations.
Sin 1
Col,,
1 Iron liquor is what the linen-printers use.
DYEING.
325
le Seventh operation.—“ Make a sour liquor of oil of vi-
Ars. trj0] and water. The degree of acidity may be a little less
than the juice of lemons; lay the yarn in it for about an
hour, then take it out, wash it very well, and wring it;
give it a second washing and wringing, and lay it upon a
board.
jj.B.—“ This operation is to dissolve the metallic par¬
ticles, and remove the ferruginous matter that remains on
the surface of the thread after the fifth operation.
Eighth operation.—“ For every ten pounds of yarn dis¬
solve one pound of best white soap in clearwater, and add
as much water to this liquor in your boiling-pan as will be
sufficient to boil the yarn for two hours. When these li¬
quors are well mixed, light the fire, enter the yarn, and
bring the liquor to boil in about an hour. Continue it
boiling slowly an hour; take it out, wash it in clear water
very well, and hang it to dry, as in former operations.
When dry, it is ready for the weaver.
N. B.—“ It appears to me, from experiments that I have
made, that less than four operations in the preparation of
the yarn will not be sufficient to cleanse the pores of the
fibres of the cotton, and render the colour permanent.”1
pr(,( 3 A method of giving a very fixed yellow to cotton and
folk'd in linen is practised in the East. It is precisely similar to
the st. the plan followed in dyeing Turkey red. The cloth is
first impregnated with the oleaginous soap. It is then
passed through a decoction of nutgalls, or of some sub¬
stance containing tannin. The aluminous mordant is
then applied. After all these preliminary steps have been
accomplished, the cloth is dyed in the usual way with quer¬
citron bark. These complicated processes being precise¬
ly similar to those followed by the Turkey-red dyers, we
refer the reader for particulars to the fourth division of
the first section of the present chapter.
Such processes, however, are unnecessary in this coun¬
try, because as permanent and beautiful a colour can be
given at once to cotton by impregnating it with acetate
or nitrate of lead, and then passing the cloth through a
solution of bichromate of potash.
Sect. llh—Of Blue.
We shall follow the same method in giving an account
of the blue dye, as we did when giving an account of the
red and yellow dyes; that is to say, we shall first notice
the dyestuffs, and then describe the processes followed
by the dyers.
I 1 .]*«;•!.• .'Mu
I.—Description of the Dyestuffs.
The only dyestuff used for giving a blue colour to
cloth is indigo, a blue pigment obtained from various spe¬
cies of plants. The most common plant yielding indigo
is the Indigofera, of which there are three species, the
tinctoria, the disperma, and the argentea. The nerium
tinctorium, or rose bay, a tree which is a native of India,
also yields it. The method of procuring indigo from these
plants, the nature and properties of indigo, and its com¬
position, have been detailed in the article Chemistry in
this Encyclopaedia, to which therefore we refer the reader.
Cojitu- Mr Crum has shown that the atomic constituents of
rot* fin. indigo are,
16 atoms carbon 12
4 atoms hydrogen  0*5
1 atom azote    1’75
2 atoms oxygen  2
16-25
Indigo in its perfect state is insoluble in water and al- Simple
cohol, and has not the property of combining with bases. Colours.
But when deprived of one atom of oxygen, it assumes a
yellow colour, and in that state is capable of combining
with lime or potash, and doubtless with other bases, and
of forming with them compounds which dissolve in water.
When cloth to be dyed is dipt into the indigo vat, ren¬
dered soluble by being deprived of an atom of oxygen,
and united to a base, it comes out stained yellow. But
the basis of the indigo begins immediately to attract
oxygen from the atmosphere, and to resume its blue co¬
lour. This causes the cloth speedily to become green
by the mixture of yellow and blue, and finally to assume
a deep-blue colour. No mordant is necessary, as there
is a strong affinity between indigo and the fibres of the
cloth.
When indigo is digested in concentrated sulphuric acidCerulin.
it undergoes a remarkable change, being converted into a
peculiar blue substance, with which the Saxon blue is
dyed. To this substance Mr Crum, to whom we are in¬
debted for the first accurate examination of it, has given
the name of cerulin. Mr Crum has shown that it is a
compound of one integrant particle of indigo, and four in¬
tegrant particles of water.
The mixture of cerulin with sulphuric acid is semifluid,
which requires a considerable quantity of water to dis¬
solve it. When potash is added to this solution, a deep-
blue precipitate falls, which is a compound of sulphate of
potash and cerulin. To this compound Mr Crum has
given the name of cerulio-sulphate of potash. All the
neutral salts have the property of combining with cerulin,
and of precipitating it from its aqueous solution.
Mr Crum discovered that if the action of sulphuric Phenicin.
acid on indigo be stopped at a certain point, a new sub¬
stance is formed, different from cerulin. To this new sub¬
stance he gave the name otphenicin. It may be obtained
by the following process : Digest indigo in sulphuric acid
diluted with thrice its weight of water. By this process
the indigo is deprived of the greater part of its impuri¬
ties. Mix one part of this purified indigo with seven or
eight parts of concentrated sulphuric acid in a stoppered
phial, and agitate the mixture occasionally till it becomes
of a bottle-green colour. Then mix it with a large quan¬
tity of distilled water, and throw it upon a filter. By
continuing to wash the filter, the liquid, which at first
passes through colourless, becomes more and more blue,
and after some time all the indigo which has been chang¬
ed passes through. The colourless washings must be
thrown away. The blue liquid contains the phenicin in
solution, which on the addition of chloride of potassium
precipitates of a most beautiful reddish-purple colour,
exactly similar to the colour of the vapour of indigo. Its
solution is of a fine blue colour like cerulin, but when a
neutral salt is added it is precipitated of a fine purple co¬
lour. Hence the origin of the term phenicin? Mr Crum
has shown that it is a compound of one integrant particle
of indigo and two integrant particles of water.
Indigo is not confined to plants growing within the
torrid zone. The isatis tinctoria and isatis lusitanica, plants
which are cultivated in England and France, yield, when
treated in the same way with the leaves of the indigofera,
a little indigo; but the quantity is too small to make it
worth while to employ these plants for the preparation
of this valuable dyestuff. But those plants under the
names of pastel or woad were formerly employed for dye¬
ing blue in all parts of Europe ; and it was to prevent any
supposed injury to the cultivators of woad that the em-
1 Edinburgh Magazine, xxii.
“ From Qoml, purple.
326
DYEING.
Simple ployment of indigo in dyeing was prohibited in Queen
Colours. Elizabeth’s time in England. The limitations of the use
of indigo in France and Saxony were owing to the same
cause. So little at that time were the first principles of
political economy understood by the rulers of the dif¬
ferent kingdoms of Europe.
Woad is still used by the dyers in some of their pro¬
cesses, but merely for the purpose of de-oxidyzing indigo,
and thus rendering it soluble in water.
II.—Methods of dyeing Wool Blue.
Prepara- The preparation for dyeing blue is made in a large
txon of the wooden vessel or vat, which should be so constructed as
to retain the heat, which is a matter of considerable im¬
portance in the process. The vat is therefore set up in a
separate place from the coppers, and is sunk so far in the
gi’ound as to be only breast-high above it. Before the
introduction of indigo, blue was dyed with woad, which
furnished a permanent but not a deep colour; but a very
rich blue is obtained by mixing indigo with the wroad,
and these are almost the only substances which are now
employed for dyeing woollen stuffs. The proportions of
these substances are varied by different dyers, and accord¬
ing to the shade which is required. The following is the
account of the preparation of a vat, as it is given by Qua-
tremere. Into a vat of about seven and a half feet deep,
and five and a half in diameter, are thrown two balls of
pastel or woad, which are previously broken, and together
amount to about 400 pounds weight; thirty pounds of weld
are boiled in a copper for three hours in a sufficient quan¬
tity of water to fill the vat. To this decoction are added
twenty pounds of madder and a basket full of bran. The
boiling is then continued half an hour longer. This bath
is cooled with twenty buckets of water, and after it is set¬
tled, and the weld taken out, it is poured into the vat,
which must be stirred with a rake all the time that it is
running in, and for fifteen minutes longer. The vat is
then covered up very hot, and allowed to stand for six
hours, when it is uncovered, and raked again for thirty
minutes. The same operation must be repeated every
three hours. When the appearance of blue streaks is per¬
ceived on the surface of the vat, eight or nine pounds of
quicklime are added; the colour then becomes of a deep¬
er blue, and the vat exhales more pungent vapours. Im¬
mediately after the lime, or along with it, the indigo, which
has been previously ground in a mill, with the smallest
possible quantity of water, is put into the vat. The quan¬
tity is to be regulated by the intensity of the shade re¬
quired. From ten to thirty pounds may be put into a vat
such as we have now described. If on striking the vat
with a rake a fine blue scum arises, no other previous pre¬
paration is required than to stir it with the rake twice in
the space of six hours, to mix the ingredients completely.
Great care should be taken not to expose the vat to the air,
except during the time of stirring it. When that opera¬
tion is finished, it is covered with a wooden lid, on which
are spread thick cloths, to retain the heat as much as pos¬
sible ; but after all these precautions, at the end of eight
or ten days it is greatly diminished, and is at last entirely
dissipated, so that the liquor must be again heated, by
pouring the greater part of the liquor of the vat into a
copper under which a large fire is made. When the liquor
has acquired a sufficient temperature, it is returned into
the vat, and carefully covered up.
Accidents Vats of this description are sometimes liable to accidents.
to which A vat is said to be repelled when, having previously afford-
fiable^ 13 ed fine sliades of blue> ifc appears black, without any blue
streaks; and if it be stirred, the black colour becomes
deeper; the vat at the same time exhales, instead of a
sweetish smell, a pungent odour; and the stuff dyed in a
vat in this state comes out of a dirty gray colour. These Sin
effects are ascribed to an excess of lime. Col.!
Different means are employed to recover a repelled vat. !/
Some are satisfied with merely reheating it, while othersJleai f
add tartar, bran, urine, or madder. Hellot recommendstVia I
bran and madder as the best remedy. If the excess 0f m
lime be not very great, it is sufficient to leave it at rest
five or six hours, putting in a quantity of bran and three
or four pounds of madder, which are to be sprinkled on the
surface, and then it is to be covered up, and after a cer¬
tain interval to be tried again. But if the vat has been so
far repelled as to afford a blue only when it is cold, it must
be left at rest to recover, and sometimes must remain whole
days without being stirred with the rake. When it begins
to afford a tolerable pattern, the bath must be reheated.
In general this revives the fermentation. The addition of
bran or madder, or a basket or two of fresh woad, pro¬
duces the same effect.
This vat sometimes runs into the putrefactive process.andr i.
When this happens, the colour of the vat becomes reddish, dy>n? ■'
the paste rises from the bottom, and a fetid smell is ex-trefac|1'
haled. This accident is owing to a deficiency of lime, and
it must be corrected by adding a fresh quantity. The vat
is then to be raked ; after two hours more lime is added,
and the process of raking again performed. These opera¬
tions are to be repeated till the vat is recovered.
Nothing requires more attention in treating a vat of thisPreca
kind than the distribution of the lime, the principal use ofdons be
which is to moderate the tendency to putrefaction, and touseo1 Ie'
limit the fermentation to that degree which is necessary
to deprive the indigo of its oxygen. If too much lime be
added, the necessary fermentation is retarded ; and if there
be too little, the putrefactive process commences.
Two hours previous to the dyeing operation, the vatDyeii
should be raked; and to prevent the stuff coming in con- proce
tact with the sediment, which would produce inequalities
in the colour, a cross of wood is introduced, The stuff is
then to be completely wetted with pure water a little
heated, and being wrung out, it is dipped into the vat,
where it is moved about for a longer or a shorter time,
according to the depth of shade required. During this
operation, it is taken out occasionally to be exposed to
the air, the action of which is necessary to change the
green colour of the bath into a blue. Stuffs dyed blue in
this manner must be carefully washed, to carry oft’ the
loose particles of colouring matter; and when the shade
of blue is deep, they ought even to be cleansed by fulling
with soap. This operation does not alter the colour.
What happens in vats of this kind is the separation of
an atom of oxygen from the indigo by the action of the
fermenting woad. The base of the indigo thus evolved
unites to the quicklime, and this compound dissolving in
the water, forms the dyestuff. The reason why the air
must be so cautiously excluded is, that, by reviving the
indigo, it precipitates it from the liquid, and thus deprives
the vat of its colouring matter.
Instead of woad, and the other ingredients just men¬
tioned, indigo is deprived of an atom of oxygen, and the
base of it dissolved in water by a mixture of bran and pot¬
ash. Orpiment is also occasionally employed, which has
the property of absorbing an atom of oxygen from indigo,
and rendering it capable of combining with a base, and of
dissolving in water.
The indigo vat employed by the calico-printers is formed
by mixing the indigo with the requisite quantity of sul¬
phate of iron to reduce it to its base, and of quicklime to
combine with the base evolved, and to cause it to dissolve
in water. Such vats are made very deep. The surface,
in consequence of exposure to the air, has a blue colour,
the indigo being revived. But the liquor, at a little dis-
1
t
DYE
Sin-e tance from the surface, has a yellow colour. This indeed
Colors- is the case with all indigo vats. The green colour which
they exhibit near the surface is merely the consequence
of the mixture of revived indigo with the yellow coloured
liquid.
Disccry The colour which is obtained by dyeing with a solution
ofSa-n 0f indigo in sulphuric acid is known under the name of
blue- Saxon blue, because the process was first carried on at
Grossenhayn, in Saxony, by Counsellor Barth, who made
the discovery about the year 1740. This discovery was
for some time kept secret, and the method seems to have
been originally very complicated. Alumina, antimony,
and some other substances, were previously added to the
sulphuric acid. These, however, are now omitted, and
the indigo alone is dissolved in the acid.
poM,ol. To produce a Saxon blue colour on woollen stuffs, they
leiisls. are prepared with alum and tartar; and in proportion to
the shade required, the quantity of solution of indigo put
into the bath must be regulated. When a deep shade of
Saxon blue is wanted, the stuff must be passed different
times through vessels containing such a quantity of colour¬
ing matter as is sufficient to give light colours. In this
way, by repeated applications, the colours become more
uniform.
We are not aware that Prussian blue is employed as a
dyeing material for wool; but it is used to a considerable
extent in calico-printing, and has an exceedingly good
effect when skilfully used. We shall notice its employ¬
ment in a subsequent part of this article.
Witfndi-
go.
Prerifi-
tion
pbeii
For
ko7
p.
lie.
III.—Processes for dyeing Silk Blue.
Silk is dyed blue with indigo alone, without any propor¬
tion of woad. The proportion of indigo mentioned in the
preparation of the indigo vat, and sometimes a larger pro¬
portion, is employed, with six pounds of bran and about
twelve ounces of madder. According to Macquer, half a
pound of madder for each pound of potash renders the
vat greener, and produces a more fixed colour in the
silk. When the vat is come to, it should be refreshed
with two pounds of potash and three or four ounces of
madder, and, after being raked, in the course of four
hours it is fit for dyeing. The temperature should be so
moderated that the hand may be held in it without un¬
easiness.
The silk, after being boiled with soap, in the proportion
of thirty pounds of soap to a hundred of silk, and well
cleaned by repeated beetlings in a stream of water, must
be dyed in small portions, because it is apt to take on an
uneven.colour. When it has been turned once or oftener
in the bath, it is wrung out and exposed to the air, that
the green colour may change to a blue. When the change
is complete, it is thrown into clear water, and afterwards
wrung out. Silk dyed blue should be speedily dried. In
damp weather and in winter it is necessary to conduct the
drying in a chamber heated byr a stove. The silk should
be hung on a frame kept constantly in motion. To dye
light shades, some dyers employ vats that are somewhat
exhausted; but it ought to be observed that the colour
thus obtained is less beautiful and less permanent than
when fresh vats, containing a smaller quantity of indigo,
are employed.
Some addition is required to be made to the indigo, to
give silk a deep blue. A previous preparation is neces-
sary, by giving it another colour or ground. For the Tur¬
key blue, which is the deepest, a strong bath of archil is
first prepared. Cochineal is also sometimes used instead
of archil, for the ground, to render the colour more per¬
manent. A blue is given to silk by means of verdigris
and logwood, but it possesses little durability. It might be
rendered more permanent by giving it a lighter shade in
i N G. 327
this bath, then dipping it in a bath of archil, and finally in Simple
the indigo vat. Colours.
When raw silk is to be dyed blue, such as is naturally
white should be selected. Being previously soaked in
water, it is put into the bath in separate hanks, as already raw 81
directed for scoured silks ; and as raw silk is found to com¬
bine more readily with the colouring matter, the scoured
silk, when it can be conveniently done, should be first put
into the bath. If archil, or any of the other ingredients
which have been already mentioned, are required to give
more intensity to the colour, the mode of application is
the same as that directed for scoured silk.
IV.—Processes for dyeing Cotton and Linen Blue.
For dyeing cotton and linen blue, Pileur d’Apligny re-Prepara-
commends a vat containing about 120 gallons. From six tion of tha
to eight pounds of indigo, reduced to powder, are boiledvati
in a ley drawn off from a quantity of lime equal in weight
to the indigo, and a quantity of potash double its weight.
During the boiling, which is to be continued till the indigo
is completely penetrated with the ley, the solution must
be constantly stirred, to prevent the indigo from being in¬
jured by adhering to the bottom of the vessel.
During this process another quantity of quicklime, equal
in weight to the indigo, is to be slaked. Twenty quarts
of warm water are added, in which is to be dissolved a
quantity of sulphate of iron equal to twice the weight of
the lime. The solution being completed, it is poured into
the vat, which is previously half filled with water. To
this the solution of indigo is added, with that part of the
ley which was not employed in the boiling. The vat
must now be filled up to within two or three inches of the
top. It must be raked twice or thrice a day till it is com¬
pletely prepared, which is generally the case in forty-eight
hours, and sometimes sooner, as it depends on the tempe¬
rature of the atmosphere. A small proportion of bran,
madder, and woad, is recommended by some to be added
to such a vat as we have now described.
The process which is followed at Rouen, and described A simpler
by Quatremere, is simpler. The vats, which are con-Process*
structed of a kind of flint, are coated within and without
with fine cement, and are arranged in one or more paral¬
lel lines. Each vat contains four hogsheads of water.
The indigo, to the amount of eighteen or twenty pounds,
being macerated for a week in a caustic ley strong enough
to bear an egg, is ground in a mill; three hogsheads and
a half of water are put into the vat, and afterwards twenty
pounds of lime. The lime being thoroughly slaked, the
vat is raked, and thirty-six pounds of copperas are added ;
and when the solution is complete, the ground indigo is
poured in through a sieve. It is raked seven or eight
times the same day, and after being left at rest for thirty-
six hours, it is in a state fit for dyeing.
In extensive manufactories it is necessarjr to have vats Process on
set at different times. In conducting the process of dye-a larger
ing, the stuffs are first dipped in the most exhausted vat, scale-
and then regularly proceeding from the weakest to the
strongest, if they have not previously attained the desired
shade. The stuffs should remain in the bath only about
five or six minutes, for in that time they combine with all
the colouring matter they can take up. After the stuff’s
have been dipped in a vat, it should not be used again
till it has been raked, and has stood at least twenty-four
hours, unless it has been lately set, when a shorter period
is sufficient.
After the stuffs have been dipped three or four times
in a vat, it begins to change. It becomes black, and no
blue or copper-coloured streaks are seen on the surface
after raking it. It must then be renewed by adding four
pounds of copperas with two of quicklime, after which it
328
DYEING.
Simple
Colours.
Process of
Bergman.
Hauss-
mann’s.
English
blue.
must be raked twice. In this way a vat may be renewed
three or four times; but the additional quantity of ingre¬
dients must be diminished as the strength of the vat is
exhausted.1
A vat which is still more simple and more easily pre¬
pared has been recommended by Bergman. The propor¬
tion of the ingredients which he has directed to be em¬
ployed is the following. To three drachms of indigo re¬
duced to powder, three drachms of copperas, and three of
lime, add two pints of water. Let it be well raked, and
in the course of a few hours it will be in a proper state
for dyeing.
Haussmann employs a still smaller proportion of indigo.
For 3000 lbs. of water he takes thirty-six lbs. of quicklime
slaked in 200 lbs. of water, with which the indigo in the
proportion of from ten to twenty lbs. well ground is to be
mixed. He then dissolves thirty lbs. of copperas in 120 lbs.
of hotwater. The whole beingleftat rest for fifteen minutes,
the vat is filled, and gently and constantly stirred. When a
deeper shade is wanted, and particularly when linen is to
be dyed, the proportion of indigo should be greater; but
the shade depends very much on the time the stuffs re¬
main in the vat, and the times it has been used. When
the vat becomes turbid, the process of dyeing must be
interrupted till it has been again raked, and the superna¬
tant liquor become transparent. If the effects of the lime
fail, a new quantity, fresh slaked, must be added ; and if
the iron cease to produce the effect on the indigo, a new
portion must be also added, observing the precaution to
have a greater quantity of lime than what is necessary to
saturate the sulphuric acid. When the indigo seems to
be exhausted, fresh portions ground in water are also to
be added ; the vat is to be raked several times, and al¬
lowed to settle, after which it is again fit for use. In this
way Mr Haussmann informs us he preserved a vat for the
space of two years ; and had it not been for the accumu¬
lation of sediment, which prevented the stuffs from being
immersed to a sufficient depth, it might have been conti¬
nued in use for a much longer time. It is worth while to
add, that Mr Haussmann found that a pattern of cloth
dipped in water acidulated with sulphuric acid, imme¬
diately after it was taken out of the bath, became of a much
deeper blue than a similar pattern exposed to the air, or
another dipped in river water.
Another convenient and expeditious vat is mentioned
by Bergman and described by Scheffer. Indigo reduced
to fine powder, in the proportion of three drachms to a
quart, is added to the strong ley of the soapboiler. After
a few minutes, when the colouring matter is well pene¬
trated by the ley, six drachms of coloured orpiment are to
be added. In a few minutes after the bath has been well
raked it becomes green, and the blue streaks appear on
the surface. Heat is to be applied, when the operation
of dyeing may commence.
The preparation employed for printing cottons is simi¬
lar to the above bath, excepting in the proportions of orpi¬
ment and indigo, which are greater in the former; but
these proportions are very different in different manufac¬
tories.
The colour denominated English Hue is produced by
the solution of indigo in sulphuric acid, to which Bancroft
gave the improper name of sulphate of indigo. To give
silk this colour, it is first to be dyed a light blue; and S
when taken out of this bath, it is dipped in hot water' Cd
washed in a stream, and left in a bath composed of the
sulphate of indigo, to which a little of the solution of tin
has been added, until the proper shade is obtained, or the
bath is exhausted. Previous to its being put into this bath
it may be dipped in a solution of alum, in which it should
remain only a very short time. Silk which has been dyed
according to thir process is free from the reddish shade
which it derives from the blue vat, as well as from the
greenish cast of the Saxon blue.2 ,
The sulphate of indigo has been hitherto only applied
for the purpose of dyeing wool and silk. The affinity of
indigo for vegetable substances is not sufficiently strong
to effect the decomposition of the sulphate. It cannot,
therefore, be employed with advantage in dyeing cotton
and linen.
Sect. IV.— Of Black.
Though black, considered optically, is not a colour, but Jui^f
the absence of the power of reflecting light, it constitutespk]
a very important colour in the estimation of the dyer.
I.—Description of the Dyestuffs.
There are few substances which have the property of
producing a permanent black colour without any addition.
The juice of some plants produces this effect on cotton
and linen. A black colour is obtained from the juice of
the cashew nut, which wall not wash out, and even resists
the process of boiling with soap or alkalies. The cashew
nut of India is employed for marking linen. That of the
West Indies {anacardium occidentale, Lin.) also yields a
permanent dye, but the colour has a brownish shade. The
juice of some other plants, as that of the toxicodendron,
or sloes, affords a durable bluish black colour; but these
substances cannot be obtained in sufficient quantity, even
if they afforded colours equal to those produced by the
common processes.
The principal substances which are employed to give a Tar.
black colour are gallnuts, which contain the astringent
principle or tan, and the red oxide of iron.3 These have
been described either in a preceding part of this article, or
under the article Chemistry, to which therefore we refer
the reader. The black colour is produced by the combina¬
tion of the astringent principle with the oxide of iron, held
in solution by an acid, and fixed on the stuff. When the
particles are precipitated from the mixture of tan and a
solution of iron, they have only a blue colour; but after
they are exposed for some time to the air, and moistened
with water, the colour becomes deeper, although the blue „
shade is still perceptible. After the particles are fixed on
the stuff, the shade becomes much deeper.
Logwood is not to be considered as affording a blackMo| ii
dye, but is much employed to give a lustre to black colours.neci
We have already described its nature and properties^01
among the substances from which red colouring matters
are obtained.
Black colours are rarely produced by a simple combina¬
tion between the colouring matter and the stuff, but are
usually^ fixed by means of mordants, as in the case of the
black particles which are the result of a combination of
1 Berthollet, ii. 90. 2 IUd. ii. 319.
3 Oak bark has been recommended as a substitute for gallnuts in dyeing black, and particularly in dyeing hats; and it is said that
the colour thus obtained is fuller, more beautiful and durable, while the operation is easier, and less liable to accident. It was first
proposed in the year 1782, by Stephanopoli, a Corsican, and a surgeon in the French army. The examination of the process was re¬
ferred by the French government to Macquer,who gave a favourable report of it; and afterwards to Berthollet, who gave a different
opinion. The process has since been examined, and promises to be more economical and advantageous, especially for dyeing hats.
(Phil. Mag. vi. 176.)
DYEING.
329
llujtbe
firstpyed
blui.
licit’s
PrT
r ic the astringent principle and the oxide of iron, held in so-
C rs. lution by an acid. But when the particles are precipitat-
e(} from the mixture of an astringent and a solution of
iron, they have only a blue colour. By being exposed to
the air, and moistened with water, the colour becomes
deeper, although the blue shade is still perceptible. No
fine black colour is ever obtained, unless the stuffs are
freely exposed to the air. In dyeing black, therefore, the
operations must be conducted at different intervals. Ber-
thollet has observed that black stuffs, when brought in
contact with oxygen gas, diminish its volume, so that some
portion of it is absorbed.
II.— Of the Processes for dyeing Woollen Black.
In dyeing woollen stuffs black, if a full and fine deep
colour is wanted, it is necessary that they be previously
dyed of a deep blue colour. To remove all the particles
of colouring matter which happen to be loosely attached
to the stuff, it should be washed in a river as soon as it is
taken out of the vat, and afterwards cleansed at the full¬
ing mill. After these preliminary processes, the stuffs are
ready to receive the black colouring matter. The pro¬
cess of Hellot is the following.
For every hundred pounds of stuff, ten pounds of log¬
wood, and ten pounds of galls reduced to powder, are put
into a bag, and boiled in a middle-sized copper, with a
sufficient quantity of water, for twelve hours. A third of
this bath is put into another copper, along with two pounds
of verdigris. The stuff is immersed in this bath, and
continually stirred for two hours. The bath should be
kept hot, but it ought not to boil. At the end of two
hours the stuff is taken out, and a similar portion of the
bath is put into the copper, with eight pounds of copperas
(sulphate of iron). During the solution of the copperas
the fire is diminished, and the bath is allowed to cool for
half an hour, stirring it well the whole time. The re¬
mainder of the bath is then to be added, and after making
this addition, the bag containing the astringent matters
should be strongly pressed, to separate the whole. A
quantity of sumach, from fifteen to twenty pounds, is now
to be added, and the bath is just raised to the boiling
temperature; and when it has given one boil it is to be
immediately stopped with a little cold water. A fresh
quantity of sulphate of iron, to the amount of two pounds,
is then added, and the stuff is kept in it for another hour,
after which it is taken out, washed, and aired; it is again
put into the copper, and constantly stirred for an hour.
It is then carried to the river, well washed, and fulled.
To soften the black colour, and make it more firm, ano¬
ther bath is prepared with weld. This is made to boil for
a moment, and when it has cooled, the stuff is passed
through it. By this process, which is indeed somewhat
complicated, a beautiful black colour is produced.
But the processes usually followed for dyeing black are
more simple. Cloth which has been previously dyed blue
is merely boiled in a vat of galls for two hours. It is then
kept two hours, but without boiling, in the bath of log¬
wood and sulphate of iron, and afterwards washed and
fulled. According to Hellot’s process, a bath is to be
prepared of a pound and a half of yellow wood, five pounds
of logwood, and ten pounds of sumach, which is the pro¬
portion of the ingredients for every fifteen yards of deep
blue cloth; and the cloth having boiled in this bath for
three hours, ten pounds of sulphate of iron are added ; the
cloth is allowed to remain for two hours longer, when it is
taken out to be aired, after which it is again returned to
the bath for an hour, and then washed and fulled.
When stuffs are to be dyed at a less expense, instead
of the blue ground, a brown or root-coloured ground may
. Co ion
;■ prc is.
A
aper
prcfe.
be substituted. This brown or fawn colour is communi- Simple
cated by means of the root of the walnut tree, or green Colours,
walnut peels. The stuffs are then to be dyed black, ac-
cording to some of the processes already described.
The proportions of the ingredients employed by the Process of
English dyers are, for every hundred pounds of cloth pre-Fng-
viously dyed a deep blue, about five pounds of sulphate “S1 dyers,
of iron, five pounds of galls, and thirty of logwood. The
first step in the process is to gall the cloth, after which it
is passed through the decoction of logwood, to which the
sulphate of iron has been added.
The leaves of the arbutus uva ursi have been recom-Arbutus
mended and employed as a substitute for galls. The used for
leaves must be carefully dried, so that the green colour
may be preserved. A hundred pounds of wool are boiled
with sixteen pounds of sulphate of iron and eight of tar¬
tar for two hours. The day following the cloth is to be
rinsed, as after aluming. A hundred and fifty pounds of
the leaves of uva ursi are then to be boiled for two hours
in water, and after being taken out, a small quantity of
madder is to be added to the liquor, putting in the cloth
at the same time, which is to remain about an hour and a
half. It is then taken out and rinsed in water.1 By this
process, it is said, blue cloth receives a pretty good black,
but white cloth becomes only of a deep brown. It is said,
too, that the madder and tartar are useless ingredients.
After the different operations for dyeing the cloth have Last ope-
been finished, it is washed in a river, and fulled, till the ration,
water comes off clear and colourless. Soap suds are re¬
commended by some in fulling fine cloths, but it is found
difficult to free the cloth entirely from the soap. After
the cloth has come from the fulling-mill, some propose to
give it a dip in a bath of weld, by which it is said to be
softened, and the colour better fixed; but, according to
Lewis, this operation, which in other cases is of some ad¬
vantage, is useless after the cloth has been treated with
the soap suds.
III.— Of the Processes for dyeing Silk Black.
In communicating a black colour to silk, different ope¬
rations are necessary, such as boiling, galling, repairing
the bath, dyeing, and softening.
To give a deeper shade to silk, it is necessary to de¬
prive it of the gummy substance to which its stiffness and
elasticity are owing. This is done by boiling the silk four
or five hours with one fifth its weight of white soap, and
afterwards beetling and carefully washing it.
In conducting the process of galling silk, three fourths Galling,
of its weight of galls are to be boiled for three or four
hours; but the proportion of galls must depend on their
quality. After the boiling, the liquor is allowed to remain
at rest for two hours; the silk is then put into the bath,
and left there from twelve to thirty-six hours, when it is
to be taken out, and washed in the river. But as silk is
capable of combining with a great proportion of the astrin¬
gent principle, or tan, from which it receives a consider¬
able increase of weight, it is allowed to remain for a longer
or shorter time, as the silk is required to have more or
less additional weight. To communicate, therefore, to
silk, what is called a heavy black, it is allowed to remain
longer in the gall liquor: the process is repeated oftener,
and the silk is also dipped in the dye a greater number of
times.
While silk is preparing for the process of dyeing, the Dyeing,
bath is to be heated, and should be occasionally stirred,
that the grounds which fall to the bottom may not acquire
too much heat. It should always be kept under the boil¬
ing temperature. Gum and solution of iron are added in
different proportions, according to the different processes.
VOL. vm.
Stockholm Trans. 1753.
2 T
330 DYE
Simple When the gum is dissolved, and the bath near the boiling
Colours, temperature, it is left to settle for about an hour. The
silk, which in general is previously divided into three
parts, that each may be successively put into the bath, is
immersed in it. Each part is then to be three times
wrung, and after each wringing hung up to air. The silk
being thus exposed to the action of the air, acquires a
deeper shade. This operation being finished, the bath is
again heated, with the addition of gum and sulphate of
iron ; and this is repeated two or three times, according
as the black required is light or heavy. When the process
of dyeing is finished, the silk is rinsed in a vessel with
some cold water, by turning or shaking it over.
Softening. Silk, after it has been taken out of the dye, is extreme¬
ly harsh, to remove which it is subjected to the operation
of softening. A solution of four or five pounds of soap for
every hundred pounds of silk is poured through a cloth
into a vessel of water. The solution being completed,
the silk is immersed, and allowed to remain in it for about
fifteen minutes ; it is then to be wrung out and dried.
Dyeing When raw silk is to be dyed, that which has a natural
raw silk. yell0w colour is preferred. The galling operation must be
performed in the cold, if it be proposed to preserve the
whole of the gum, and the elasticity which it gives to the
silk ; but if part only of the gum is wished to be preserv¬
ed, the galling is to be performed in the warm bath.
The dyeing operation is also performed in the cold.
All that is necessary is to add the sulphate of iron to the
water in which the stuff is rinsed. By this simple process
the black dye is communicated. It is then washed, once
or twice beetled, and dried without wringing, that its
elasticity may not be destroyed. Raw silk may be dyed
A speedier by a more speedy process. After galling, it may be turn-
process. e(i or shaken over in the cold bath ; and thus, by alter¬
nately dipping and airing the stuff, the operation may be
completed. It is then to be washed and dried, as in the
former process.
Improved The method of dyeing velvet at Genoa, which has been
process for sjmpiifiecl and improved in France, is thus described by
velvet. Macquer. For every hundred pounds of silk, twenty pounds
of Aleppo galls, reduced to powder, are boiled in a suffi¬
cient quantity of water for an hour. The bath is allowed
to settle till the galls have fallen to the bottom ; they are
then taken out, and two pounds and a half of sulphuric
acid, twelve pounds of iron filings, and twenty pounds of
gum, are put into a copper vessel, or cullender, furnished
with two handles. This vessel is immersed in the bath,
and supported that it may not touch the bottom. The
gum, which is allowed to dissolve for an hour, is to be oc¬
casionally stirred; and if it appear that the whole of the
gum is dissolved, three or four pounds more are to be
added. Excepting during the operation of dyeing, the
cullender is to remain in the copper, which must be kept
hot the whole time, but at a temperature below the boil¬
ing point. In galling the silk, one third of Aleppo galls
is employed, and the stuff should remain six hours in the
liquor the first time, and twelve hours the second. By
frequent additions of sulphate of iron, and repeated im¬
mersions of the stuff, a fine black, according to Lewis, has
been obtained. In the above process, the proportion of
sulphate of iron is too small; and the gum, according to
some, being carried off in the washing, may be considered
as useless. Berthollet thinks, that although the quantity
be excessive, it has some effect in keeping up the bath ;
and he adds, if it is to be diminished, it wmuld be useful
to add the sulphate of iron in separate portions during
each interval.
I N G.
To diminish the quantity of galls, which are an expen- Siim
sive ingredient in dyeing silk black, other substances have Colo*
been proposed as substitutes. With this view the follow-"Y
ing process is recommended. SnbstiJ
The silk being boiled and washed, is immersed in afor^
strong decoction of green wralnut peels, and allowed to re¬
main till the colouring matter of both is exhausted. It is
then to be slightly wrung out, dried, and washed.1 To
give the silk a blue ground, logwood and verdigris are
employed, in the proportion of one ounce of the latter for
every pound of silk. The verdigris is dissolved in cold
water, and the silk is allowed to remain two hours in this
solution. It is then immersed in a strong decoction of
logwood, slightly wwung out, dried, and afterwards washed
at the river. The bath is prepared by macerating two
pounds of galls and three of sumach in twenty-five gallons
of water, over a slow fire, for twelve hours. The liquid
being strained, three pounds of sulphate of iron and the
same quantity of gum-arabic are to be dissolved in it.
The silk is dipped in this solution at two different times;
it is to remain in the bath two hours each time, and it
must be aired and dried between each dip. After being
twice beetled at the river, it is dipped a third time, and
left in the bath four or five hours, after which it is to be
dried, washed, and beetled, as before. The temperature of
the bath should not exceed 120°. After the first dipping,
it may be necessary to add half a pound of sulphate of
iron, and an equal quantity of gum-arabic.
Silk which has been previously dyed blue with indigo,
it is said, takes only a mealy black ; but when it has been
prepared with logwood and verdigris, it acquires a vel¬
vety lustre. A fine black may be obtained from green
walnut peel; but the addition of logwood and verdigris
renders a smaller quantity of sulphate of iron necessary,
and this is of importance, because it is apt to weaken the
silk. The only use of galls, according to some, is to in¬
crease the weight of the silk ; for the purposes of dyeing,
sumach is considered sufficient.2
IV.— Of the Processes for dyeing Cotton and Linen Black.
It is more difficult to communicate a fine black to linen Must
or cotton than to silk or woollen stuffs. To succeed
producing a black colour of that degree of intensity which
will resist soap, it is necessary to adopt particular pro¬
cesses. In dyeing animal matters black, as silk and wool,
the best colours are obtained on those which have been
previously dyed blue. This also is an essential preliminary
process in dyeing linen and cotton black; for it is found
that the process which succeeds best is first to give a deep
blue grain to the cotton or linen.
The first part of the process is the operation of galling. Gallir
The stuffs, which have been previously dyed blue, wrung
out, and dried, are kept twenty-four hours in the gall
liquor, composed of four ounces of galls to every pound of
thread. A bath is then prepared of a solution of iron in
acetic acid. This solution is obtained by saturating the
acid with oxide of iron. In France, vinegar, small beer,
or small wine, is employed for this purpose. To promote
the acid fermentation, rye meal, or some other substance,
is added, and pieces of old iron are thrown into the liquid,
which are allowed to remain for six weeks or two months,
that the acid may be saturated with the iron. This solu¬
tion, called iron liquor in this country, is prepared from
fermented worts, to which old iron is added, as is describ¬
ed above. Five quarts of the iron liquor for every pound |
of stuffs are put into a vessel. In this the stuffs areDyai
wrought with the hand, pound by pound, for fifteen mi-
1 The decoction of walnut peels is prepared by boiling for fifteen minutes, after which it is taken from the fire. After it has sub¬
sided, the silk, which has been previously immersed in warm water, is dipped in it. * Berthollet, ii. 20.
i DYE
Sinle nutes; they are then wrung out and aired. This opera-
Co irs. tion is to be again repeated, taking care to add a fresh
^ ^ quantity of the iron liquor, which should be carefully
scummed, after which the stuffs are to be wrung out, air¬
ed, and washed at the river. In the next operation, a
pound of alder bark for every pound of stuff is boiled in a
sufficient quantity of water for an hour. One half of the
bath which was employed in the galling, and about one
half the quantity of sumach as of alder bark, are then
added. The whole is boiled together for two hours, and
strained through a sieve. When this liquid is cold, the
stuffs are immersed, wrought pound by pound, and occa¬
sionally aired. They are afterwards put into the bath,
and, after remaining for twenty-four hours, are wrung out
and dried. The above is the process which, according to
D’Apligny, is followed at Rouen for dyeing cotton and
linen.
^nf er The process followed at Manchester, which is describ-
proc s- ed by Mr Wilson, is the following. For the operation of
galling, galls or sumach are employed. The stuff is after¬
wards dyed in a bath consisting of a solution of iron in
acetic acid. This bath is also frequently composed of al¬
der bark and iron. After having passed through this bath,
the stuff is dipped in a decoction of logwood, to which a
small quantity of verdigris has been added. This process
is to be repeated till a black of sufficient intensity is ob¬
tained, observing to wash and dry after each operation.
prf.;ra. According to Guhliche, a solution of iron may be pre-
tionfso- pared by the following process. A pound of rice is to be
lutL of boiled in twelve or fifteen quarts of water, till the whole
‘ro1 is dissolved. A sufficient quantity of old iron made red
hot, to reach half way to the surface of the liquor, is
thrown into the solution. The vessel in which the solu¬
tion is kept must be under cover, but exposed to the, air
and light, at least for a week. In another vessel, contain¬
ing a quantity of warm vinegar equal to the solution of
rice, an equal quantity of red-hot iron is to be put. This
vessel must also be exposed in the same way to the air
and light. After several days, the contents of both ves¬
sels are mixed together, and the mixture is to be exposed
for a week to the open air, after which it is to be decant¬
ed and kept for use in a close vessel. To give a sufficient
Itsupli- black to linen and cotton, it is only necessary, it is said,
cattl> to steep them twenty-nine hours in this solution; and if
it should appear that the liquor is exhausted of colouring
matter, a fresh portion is to be employed. In this way a
fine permanent black is obtained. According to the same
author, this solution may be advantageously employed as
a substitute for sulphate of iron, in dyeing silk and wool.
But to give them a fine black, silk and woollen stuffs must
be dipped in a decoction of logwood after they are taken
from the bath.
Sect. V.— Of Brown.
The last of the simple colours is browm. This is also
known under the name of fawn colour (fauve, Fr.). It is
that brown colour which has a shade of yellow, and might
perhaps be considered as a compound colour, although it
is communicated to stuffs by one process.
I.—Of the Substances employed in Dyeing Brown.
" ut The vegetable substances which are capable of indu-
lie' cing a fawn or brown colour on different stuffs are very
numerous, but those chiefly employed for this purpose
are walnut peels and sumach. The peels constitute the
green covering of the nut; they are internally of a white
colour, which is converted into brown or black by expo¬
sure to the air. The skin, when impregnated with the
juice of walnut peels, becomes of a brown or almost black
I N G. 331
colour. When the inner part of the peel, taken fresh, is Simple
put into weak oxymuriatic acid, it assumes a brown colour. Colours.
If the decoction of walnut peels be filtered and exposed
to the air, its colour becomes of a deep brown ; the pelli¬
cles on evaporation are almost black ; the liquor detached
from these yields a brown extract, completely soluble in
water. The colouring particles are precipitated from a
decoction of walnut peels by means of alcohol, and they
are soluble in water. No apparent change is at first pro¬
duced by a solution of potash ; but it gradually becomes
turbid, and the colour is deepened. A copious precipitate,
of a fawn colour, approaching to an ash colour, is produ¬
ced in a decoction of walnut peels, by means of a solution
of tin, and the remaining liquor has a slightly yellow tinge,
i A decoction of walnut peels yields a small quantity of Properties,
fawn-coloured precipitate by means of a solution of alum,
and the liquor remains of the same colour. Sulphate of
copper renders it slowly turbid, and throws down a small
quantity of precipitate of a brownish-green colour, leaving
the supernatant liquor of the same colour. Sulphate of
iron deepens the colour; when diluted, the colour be¬
comes brownish green, without the deposition of any se¬
diment. Sulphate of zinc also deepens the colour, and
produces no precipitate. The same properties are ex¬
hibited by a decoction of the walnut-tree wood, but the
colouring matter is not obtained from it in such abundance
as from the peels; and the bark may also be used with
advantage in dyeing.
The affinity of the colouring matter of walnut peels for Advan-
wool is very strong ; and it readily imparts to it a durable tages.
colour, which even mordants do not seem capable of in¬
creasing, but they are generally understood to give it ad¬
ditional brightness. A lively and very rich colour is ob¬
tained with the assistance of alum. Walnut peels afford
a great variety of pleasing shades; and as they require
not the intervention of mordants, the softness of the wool
is preserved, and the process of dyeing becomes both
cheap and simple.
Walnut peels are not gathered till the nuts are com- Prepara-
pletely ripe, when they are put into large casks, along tion.
with as much water as is sufficient to cover them. When
used in dyeing at the Gobelins in Paris, Berthollet in¬
forms us, they are kept for upwards of a year, and very
extensively used; but if not made use of till the end of
two years, they yield a greater quantity of colouring mat¬
ter, at which time their odour has become peculiarly dis¬
agreeable and fetid. The peels separated from the nuts
before they arrive at maturity, may likewise be used in
dyeing, but in this state they do not keep so long.
Sumach {rkus coriaria, Lin.) is a shrub produced na- Sumach,
turally in Palestine, Syria, Portugal, and Spain, being care¬
fully cultivated in the last two of these countries. Its
shoots are annually cut down, dried, and reduced to
powder in a mill, by which process they are prepared for
the purposes of dyeing.
The infusion of sumach, which is of a fawn colour with Properties,
a greenish tinge, is changed into a brown by exposure to
the air. A solution of potash has little action on the re¬
cent infusion of sumach ; its colour is changed to yellow
by the action of acids; the liquor becomes turbid by
means of alum, a small quantity of precipitate being at the
same time formed, and the supernatant liquor remaining
yellow. A copious precipitate of a yellowish-green colour
is thrown down by sulphate of copper, and the liquor re¬
mains clear. No change is speedily produced by muriate
of soda (common salt), but it becomes rather turbid at the
end of some hours, and its colour is rather clearer. Sul¬
phate of copper produces a copious precipitate of a yellow¬
ish green, which after standing some hours changes to a
brownish green ; the supernatant liquor, which is slightly
DYEING.
332
Simple yellow, remains clear. Sulphate of zinc renders the liquor
Colours, turbid, darkens its colour, and produces a deep blue pre-
cipitate; but when the sulphate of zinc is pure, the pre¬
cipitate, which is of a brownish fawn colour, is in very
small quantity. Acetate of lead gives a copious precipi¬
tate of a yellowish colour; the supernatant liquor is of a
clear yellow colour. No astringent has so strong a re¬
semblance to galls as sumach ; but the precipitate thrown
down from an infusion of it by a solution of iron, is not so
copious as that which is yielded by an equal quantity of
galls, on which account sumach may be generally em¬
ployed as a substitute for galls, only its quantity will re¬
quire to be increased.
Bark of The bark of the birch tree (betula alba, Lin.) yields a
birch. decoction of a clear fawn colour, but it soon becomes tur¬
bid and brown. The addition of a solution of alum, in
the open air, produces a copious yellow precipitate; a so¬
lution of tin gives also a copious precipitate of a clear yel¬
low colour. With solutions of iron the decoction of the
birch tree strikes a black colour, and it dissolves in con¬
siderable quantity the oxide of iron, but in smaller pro¬
portion than the "decoction of walnut peels. On account
of this property, it is employed in the preparation of black
vats for dyeing thread.
Sandal Sanders or sandal wood (Petrocarpus sachtalinus) is also
wood. employed for the purpose of giving a fawn colour. There
are three kinds of sandal wood, the white, the yellow, and
the red. The last only, which is a compact heavy wood,
brought from the Coromandel coast, is used in dyeing.
By exposure to the air it becomes of a brown colour;
when employed in dyeing, it is reduced to fine powder,
and it yields a fawn colour with a brownish shade, inclin¬
ing to red. But the colouring matter which it yields of
itself is in small quantity, and it is said that it gives harsh¬
ness to woollen stuffs. When it is mixed with other sub¬
stances, as sumach, walnut peels, or galls, the quantity of
colouring matter is increased ; it gives a more durable co¬
lour, and produces considerable modifications in the colour¬
ing matter with which it is mixed. Sandal wood yields
its colouring matter to brandy, or diluted alcohol, more
readily than to water.
Soot. Soot communicates to woollen stuffs a fawn or brown
colour, of a lighter or deeper shade, in proportion to the
quantity employed; but the colour is fading, and its affi¬
nity for wool is not great; and besides leaving a disagree¬
able smell, it renders the fibres harsh. In some manufac¬
tories it is employed for browning certain colours, and it
produces shades which could not otherwise be easily ob¬
tained.
II.— Of the Processes for dyeing Woollen, fyc. a Fawn
or Brown Colour.
With wal- In dyeing with walnut peels, a quantity proportioned to
nut peels, the quantity of stuff, and the intensity of shade wanted, is
boiled for fifteen minutes in a copper. All that is neces¬
sary in dyeing with this substance is, to moisten the cloth
or yarn with warm water previous to its immersion in the
copper, in which it is to be carefully stirred till it has
acquired the proper shade. This is the process if the alu¬
minous mordant is not employed. In dyeing cloth, it is
usual to give the deepest shades first, and the lighter ones
afterwards; but in dyeing woollen yarn, the light shades
are given first, and the deeper ones afterwards. An ad¬
ditional quantity of peels is joined to each parcel.
Berthol- Berthollet made a number of experiments to ascertain
let’s expe- the difference of colour obtained from the simple decoc-
riments.
tion of walnut peels, and the addition of metallic oxides Compc i
as mordants. The oxide of tin, he found, yielded a clearer Colou 1
and brighter fawn colour than that of the simple decoc- I
tion. The oxide of zinc produced a still clearer colour,
inclining to ash or gray. The colour from oxide of lead
had an orange cast, while that from oxide of iron was of
a greenish brown.1
A fawn colour, which has a shade of green, is obtainedDyein<
from sumach alone ; but to cotton stuffs which have beensi i
impregnated with printers’ mordant, or acetate of alumina,mac^
sumach communicates a good and durable yellow. Here,
however, some precaution is necessary in the use of this
substance for this purpose ; for as the colouring matter is
of so fixed a nature, the ground of the stuff' cannot be
bleached by exposure on the grass. This inconvenience
is avoided by impregnating the whole of the stuff with
different mordants, producing in this way a variety of co¬
lours, and leaving no part white.
Vogler employed the tincture of sanders wood for dye-With Jl
ing patterns of wool, silk, cotton, and linen, having previ-dalwoj
ously impregnated them with a solution of tin, and after¬
wards washing and drying them. Sometimes he used the
solution unmixed, and at other times added six or ten
parts of water, and in whatever way he employed it he
obtained a poppy colour. When the mordant employed
was the solution of alum, the colour was a rich scarlet;
with sulphate of copper it was a clear crimson, and with
sulphate of iron a beautiful deep violet.2
CHAPTER V.
OF COMPOUND COLOUH^.
A mixture of two colouring substances, it is well known,Naturr
produces a very different shade from that of either of thecorop01
uncombined colouring matters; hence compound coloursco^uri
are obtained, which are merely mixtures of simple colours.
It would undoubtedly be a desirable thing to ascertain with
accuracy the peculiar shade produced by the combination
of two colouring matters ; but these results can only be
certainly known by experiment, because by the action of
different substances in the bath they are subject to great
variations in their effects, according to the affinities which
are brought into action, and the new combinations which
are formed. What is natural to colouring particles is not
to be considered as a constituent part of compound colours,
but only the difference of shade which they ought to as¬
sume with a particular mordant, or in a particular bath.
The effects, therefore, of the chemical agents employed in
these processes, and the result of different combinations,
ought to be particularly attended to. It is in dyeing com¬
pound colours that skill and ingenuity are most conspicu¬
ous, and their application of greatest utility, to enable the
dyer to vary his processes according to the shade desired,
and at the same time to accomplish his operations by the
shortest and cheapest means.
As compound colours are obtained by the mixture offf1®3* '
simple colours, very different shades will be obtained from ^
different proportions of the simple colours; hence com¬
pound colours exhibit an indefinite variety of shade, and
the processes by which they are produced are very nu¬
merous. It would extend this treatise to an unusual length
were we to attempt to describe every variety of shade which
is obtained from the mixture of simple colours. We shall
therefore limit our observations to some of the principal
1 Elements of Dyeing, ii. 29 G.
2 Crell. Ann. 1790
DYEING.
333
Undcompound colours, and an account of the processes by
Co irs. which they are obtained, leaving it to our readers, who
have made themselves familiar with the principles already
detailed, to vary these colours by employing different pro¬
portions and different combinations of simple colouring
matters.
Compound colours have been usually divided into four
classes, namely, green, purple, orange, and gray or drab
colour. These are obtained from mixtures of the follow¬
ing simple colours:
1. Blue and yellow produce a green.
2. Red and blue produce a purple, &c.
3. Red and yellow produce orange.
4. Black and other colours produce gray, &c.
The following sections will be occupied in a short detail
of the methods which are usually employed in producing
these different compound colours.
Sect. I.—Of the Mixture of Blue and Yellow, or Green.
Vai is Green colours, from the great variety of shades which
shac of they exhibit, have been long known by different names,
grei by which the intensity of shade is characterized, such as
sea-green, apple-green, meadow or grass-green, pea-green,
parrot-green, &c. Many plants afford a green colour, such
as brome grass (bromus secalinus, Lin.) green berries of
rhamnus frangula, wild chervil (ehcerophyllum sylvestre,
Lin.), purple clover (trifolium pratense), common reed
(arundophragmites). These colours, however, do not pos¬
sess sufficient permanency. According to D’Ambourney,
indeed, a permanent green may be obtained from the fer¬
mented juice of the berries of the berry-bearing alder
(rhamnus frangula). Having previously prepared the cloth
with tartar, solution of nitrate of bismuth, and common
salt, he added to the fermented juice of the berries, after
it was warmed, a small proportion of acetate of lead ; and
in this bath he communicated to the cloth an intermediate
shade between parrot and grass green. But it is usually
from the mixture of blue and yellow that green is obtain¬
ed; and it may be observed, that it requires much skill
and experience, especially in giving light shades, to pro¬
duce a colour which is uniform and entirely without spots.
I.—Of the Processes for dyeing Woollen Stuff's Green.
Cajnon To dye woollen green, either the yellow or the blue dye
may be given to it first. But when the stuff is first dyed
yellow, and in this state is introduced into the blue vat,
part of the yellow colouring matter being dissolved in the
vat, communicates to it a green colour, which renders it
unfit for dyeing any other colour than green. To avoid
this inconvenience, therefore, the blue colour is first given,
and afterwards the yellow. It would be quite unnecessary
to resume the account of any part of the processes for dye¬
ing blue, which have been already detailed. It is proper,
however, to add, that the intensity of the blue shade must
be proportioned to the green, or to the depth of the green
colour which is wished to be obtained. Thus, for instance,
to produce a parrot green, a ground of sky blue is given,
and for the green like that of a drake’s neck, a deep blue
is required. When the blue dye has been communicated,
the yellow is afterwards given, according to some of the
processes which have been already described for dyeing
yellow. The proper ground being communicated to the
cloths, they are washed in the fulling mill, and boiled as
for the common process of welding; but when the shade
is light, the proportion of salts should be less. Cloths
which are to receive light shades are first boiled, and when
these are taken out, tartar and alum are added in fresh
portions till the cloths which are intended for the darkest
shades are boiled. The process of welding is conducted
in the same way as for dyeing yellow, with this difference, Compound
that a larger proportion of weld is employed, excepting for Colours,
lighter shades, when the proportion must be smaller. In
dyeing green, it is usual to have a succession of shades at
the same time ; the process is begun with the deepest and
ends with the lightest. Between each dip there should be
an interval of one half or three quarters of an hour, and at
each interval water is added to the bath. It is the prac¬
tice of some dyers to give each parcel two dips, beginning
the first time with the deep shades, and the second with
the lighter ones ; but when this practice is followed, the
time of immersion should be shortened. In dyeing very
light shades, the bath should never be permitted to reach
the boiling temperature. For deep greens, a browning is
given with logwood and a small proportion of sulphate of
iron.
For some kinds of green, sulphate of indigo is employed; Saxon
and in this case either the blue and yellow are dyed se-green*
parately, or the whole of the ingredients are mixed toge¬
ther in the bath, and the whole process is finished at a
single operation. The colour thus obtained has been dis¬
tinguished by the name of Saxon green. The following is
the process recommended by Dr Bancroft.
“ The most beautiful Saxon green,” says he, “ may be
produced very cheaply and expeditiously, by combining
the lively yellow which results from quercitron bark, murio-
sulphate of tin, and alum, with the blue afforded by in¬
digo when dissolved in sulphuric acid, as for dyeing the
Saxon blue.
“ To produce this combination most advantageously,
the dyer, for a full-bodied green, should put into the dye¬
ing vessel after the rate of six or eight pounds of powder¬
ed bark in a bag for every 100 pounds weight of cloth, with
only a small proportion of water as soon as it begins to
grow warm; and when it begins to boil, he should add
about six pounds of murio-sulphate of tin (with the usual
precautions), and a few minutes after, about four pounds of
alum. These having boiled together five or six minutes,
cold water should be added, and the fire diminished so as
to bring the heat of the liquor nearly down to what the
hand is able to bear; and immediately after this, as much
sulphate of indigo is to be added as will suffice to produce
the shade of green intended to be dyed, taking care to
mix it thoroughly with the first solution by stirring, &c.;
and this being done, the cloth, previously scoured and
moistened, should be expeditiously put into the liquor, and
turned very briskly through it for a quarter of an hour, in
order that the colour may apply itself equally to every part,
which it will certainly do in this way with proper care.
By these means, very full, even, and beautiful greens may
generally be dyed in half an hour ; and during this space it
is best to keep the liquor at rather less than a boiling heat.
Murio-sulphate of tin is infinitely preferable for this use
to the dyer’s spirit, because the latter consists chiefly of
nitric acid, which, by its highly injurious action upon in¬
digo, would render that part of the green colour very fu¬
gitive, as I have found by repeated trials. But no such
effect can result from the murio-sulphate of tin, since the
muriatic acid has no action upon indigo; and the sulphu¬
ric is that very acid which alone is proper to dissolve it for
this use.
“ Respecting the beauty of the colour thus produced,
those who are acquainted with the unequalled lustre and
brightness of the quercitron yellows, dyed with the tin
basis, must necessarily conclude that the greens composed
therewith will prove infinitely superior to any which can
result from the dull muddy yellow of old fustic; and in
point of expense it is certain that the bark, murio-sulphate
of tin, and alum, necessary to dye a given quantity of cloth
in this way will cost less than the much greater quantity
t
334
DYEING.
Compound (six or eight times more) of fustic, with the alum neces-
Colours. sary for dyeing it in the common way, the sulphate of in-
digo being the same in both cases. But in dyeing with
the bark, the vessel is only to be filled and heated once,
and the cloth, without any previous preparation, may be
completely dyed in half an hour : whilst in the common
way of producing Saxon greens, the copper is to be twice
filled ; and to this must be joined the fuel and labour of
an hour and a half’s boiling and turning the cloth in the
course of preparation, besides nearly as much boiling in
another vessel to extract the fustic ; and after all, the dye¬
ing process remains to be performed, which will be equal
in time and trouble to the whole of the process for pro¬
ducing a Saxon green with the bark; so that this colour
obtained from bark will not only prove superior in beauty,
but in cheapness, to that dyed as usual with old fustic.”1
II.— Of the Processes for dyeing Silk Green.
Prepara- In giving silk a green colour, greater precaution is neces-
tmn. sary, to preserve uniformity of colour, and to prevent spots
and stripes. Silk which is intended to receive a green
colour is scoured in the same way as for other colours;
but for light shades the scouring must be as complete as
for blue. Silk which is to be dyed green is first dyed
yellow, and being well alumed, it is slightly washed at the
river, and divided into small parcels, that it may receive
the colouring matter uniformly, and then carefully turned
in the weld bath. When the ground is supposed to have
acquired a sufficient degree of intensity, a pattern is put
into the blue vat to ascertain the proper shade. When
this is the case, the silk is taken out of the bath, washed,
and immersed in the blue vat. To produce a deeper co¬
lour, and at the same time to give variety of shade, a de¬
coction of logwood, fustic, or anotta is added to the yel¬
low bath, after the weld has been taken out. For very
light shades, such as apple and sea green, it is scarcely ne¬
cessary to add, that a weaker ground is to be given. For
all light shades, except sea-green, the process is found to
succeed better when the yellow is communicated by baths
which have been already used; but these baths should not
contain any logwood or fustic.
Saxon Saxon green is produced by means of sulphate of indi¬
green. go. This is a brighter but less durable colour than the
former. This process is conducted by boiling as for weld¬
ing, after which the cloth is washed. Fustic in chips is
enclosed in a bag, put into the same bath, and boiled for
an hour and a half, when it is taken out, and the bath
allowed to cool till the hand can bear it. A pound and a
quarter of sulphate of indigo for each piece of cloth of
eighteen yards is added. The cloth is at first to be turned
quickly, and afterwards more slowly, and it should be
taken out before the bath boils. Some dyers put in only
two thirds of the solution at first, and after two or three
turns take out the cloth and add the other one third. By
this means the colour is more uniform.
By one To produce Saxon green at one operation, the follow-
operation. ing process is recommended by Dr Bancroft. A bath is
prepared of four pounds of quercitron bark, three pounds
of alum, and two pounds of murio-sulphate of tin, with a
sufficient quantity of water. The bath is boiled ten or fif¬
teen minutes, and when the liquor is so far reduced in
temperature as the hand can bear it, it is fit for dyeing.
By adding different proportions of sulphate of indigo, va¬
rious and beautiful shades of green may be obtained, and
the colour thus produced is both cheap and uniform. Care
should be taken to keep the bath constantly stirred, to pre¬
vent the colouring matter from subsiding. Those shades
which are intended to incline most to the yellow should Comp, j
be dyed first; and by adding sulphate of indigo, the green Cob1
having a shade of blue may be obtained. This process, 1
Dr Bancroft observes, is tbe most commodious and cer¬
tain for dyeing most beautiful Saxon greens upon silk.2
To produce English green, which is more beautiful thanEnpli*
common green, and is said to be more durable than the green.
Saxon green, Guhliche gives the following process. He
first dyes the silk of a light blue in the cold vat already
described, then soaks it in warm water, washes it in a
stream, and dips it in a weak solution of alum. He then
prepares a bath of sulphate of indigo, one ounce of solu¬
tion of tin, with the tincture of French berries made with
aceto-citric acid. The silk is kept in this bath till it has
obtained the desired colour. It is then washed and dried
in a shady place. Lighter shades may be dyed afterwards.3
III.— Of the Processes for dyeing Cotton and Linen Green.
Cotton and linen, after being scoured in the usual way,Biuej
are first dyed blue, and after being cleansed, they aregiven.
dipped in the weld bath, to produce a green colour. The
strength of the blue and yellow is proportioned to the
shade of green which is wanted. But as it is difficult to
give to cotton velvet a uniform colour in the blue vat, it
is first dyed yellow with turmeric, and the process is com¬
pleted by giving it a green with sulphate of indigo. The
same result, however, will be obtained by commencing the
process either with the yellow or the blue.
The process which D’Apligny describes for dyeing cot-Procelir
ton velvet, or cotton thread, a sea or apple green, in onecottoa •
bath, is the following. A quantity of verdigris is dis-vet-
solved in vinegar, and the mixture is kept excluded from
the air in the heat of a stove for fifteen days. A quan¬
tity of potash equal in weight to the verdigris employed
is dissolved in water, and, four hours before dyeing, it is
added to the solution of verdigris. The mixture is to be
kept hot. One ounce of alum in five quarts of water for
each pound of stuff being prepared, the cotton thread or
velvet is soaked in this solution. It is then taken out,
and the verdigris being added to the solution of alum,
it is again introduced to be dyed.
The different shades of olive green, and drake’s neck Olive
green, are given to thread after it has received a blue green,
ground, by galling it, and dipping it in a weaker or strong¬
er bath of iron liquor, then in the weld bath, to which
verdigris has been added, and afterwards in the bath with
sulphate of copper. The colour is lastly to be brightened
with soap.
Cotton dyed with Prussian blue may be dyed green byGreeii
previously aluming while it is still wet with the blue, andfrom
then dipping in a weld bath, the strength of which is pro-8121111
portioned to the shade required. The colour from weld
is more lively than that obtained from fustic. But fustic,
which gives a deeper shade than weld, and diminishes the
brightness of the blue, is to be preferred when a green
with an olive shade is wanted.
The shade of green given to any stuff, it is obvious,Gene
must vary according to the intensity of the blue shade,reman
the strength of the yellow bath, and the nature of the
yellow colouring matter employed. Yellow colours are
rendered more intense by means of alkalies, sulphate of
lime, and ammoniacal salts; but become fainter by means
of acids, alum, and solutions of tin. In dyeing Saxon
green the result will be different according to the process
which is followed. The effects will be different by add¬
ing a yellow to a Saxon blue, from the process in which
the sulphate of indigo is mixed with the yellow ingre*
1 Phil, of Perm. Col. 336.
Ibid. 346.
3 Berthollet, ii. 319.
I
1
D Y E
I N G.
335
r jn und clients; because in the latter case the sulphuric acid has
Col rs. a considerable action on the colouring matter, and thus
diminishes the intensity of the yellow. As the particles
of indigo have a stronger affinity for the stuff than the
yellow colouring matter, in dyeing a succession of shades
in a bath in which both are mixed, the bath being first
exhausted of the indigo, the last shades incline more to
the yellow, on account of the predominance of the yellow
colouring matter.
Lil. &c.
Sect. II.— Of the Mixture of Red and Blue, or
Purple, fyc.
By the mixture of red and blue, violet, purple, dove-
colour, lilac, and a great variety of other shades, accord¬
ing to the proportion of the substances employed, or the
predominance of the blue or the red, are produced. In
stuffs which are to be dyed violet, a deeper blue must be
given ; for purple colours, the ground requires to be of a
lighter blue ; but in lilac and other light colours, it is neces¬
sary that both the blue and the red have a light shade.
I.— Of dyeing Wool Violet, Purple, &;c.
In the attempts which have been made to communicate
a violet or purple colour to a scarlet ground, according to
the observations of Hellot, the colour is very unequal. It
becomes therefore necessary to give the blue colour first;
and for violets or purples, the shade of blue ought not to be
deeper than that of sky blue. The stuff being dyed blue,
is boiled with alum, and two fifths of tartar, and is after¬
wards dipped in a bath composed of nearly two thirds
the quantity of cochineal required for scarlet, with the
addition of tartar. The same process, indeed, as for dyre-
ing scarlet, is followed. It is a common practice to dyp
these colours after the reddening for scarlet, making such
additions of cochineal and tartar as the intensity of the
shade may require.
For lighter shades, as lilacs, dove-colours, &c. the stuff
may be dipped in the bath which has served for violet
and purple, and is now somewhat exhausted, taking care
to add a quantity of alum and tartar. For reddish shades,
such as a peach-blossom, a small proportion of solution
of tin is added. It may be observed in general, that
although the proportion of cochineal is less in dyeing
lighter shades, the quantity of tartar must not be dimi¬
nished.
To obtain the same colours, a shorter and less expen-
m lortersive process is recommended by Poerner. In this process
^ he employs sulphate of indigo. He boils the stuff in a so¬
lution of alum, in the proportion of three ounces of the
latter to one pound of the former, for an hour and a half,
and afterwards allows it to remain in the liquid for a night
after it has cooled. The dyeing bath is prepared with an
ounce and a half of cochineal, and two ounces of tartar,
which are boiled for three quarters of an hour: two ounces
and a half of sulphate of indigo are then added, the whole
is stirred, and boiled gently for fifteen minutes. The dye¬
ing operation is conducted in the usual way', and a beau¬
tiful violet is thus obtained. To have all the variety of
shades which are produced by the mixture of red and
blue, the proportion of the sulphate of indigo is increased
or diminished. It is sometimes increased to five ounces,
and diminished to five drachms, for each pound of stuff.
The quantity of cochineal is also varied, but when it is
less than an ounce the colour is dull. Different proportions
of tartar are also employed. To produce variety of shades,
the stuff is also prepared with different proportions of so¬
lution of tin.
To communicate a purple colour to wool, as well as
some other shades, logwood, with the addition of galls,
Cto ier
P1fe
f'rc loti'.
has been employed. The stuff is previously dyed blue, Compound
and, to give a brown shade, sulphate of iron is used; but Colours,
the colours thus obtained are not permanent. By the fol-
lowing process, described by Decroizille, a durable dye is
produced by means of this wood. He dissolved tin in
sulphuric acid, to which were added common salt, red aci¬
dulous tartrite of potash, and sulphate of copper; or it
may be more conveniently done by making a solution of
tin in a mixture of sulphuric acid, common salt, and wa¬
ter, to which are to be added the tartrite and sulphate
in the state of powder. Of this mordant not less than
1500 quarts were made in twenty-four hours, in a leaden
vessel to which a moderate heat was applied. A very lu¬
crative trade was carried on for three years by Decroizille,
who sold it at the rate of Is. 3d. sterling per pound.
If wool in the fleece is to be dyed, it will require a third Process,
of its weight of this mordant, while a fifth is a proportion
sufficient for stuffs. A bath is prepared of such a degree
of temperature as the hand can bear, with which the mor¬
dant is properly mixed, and the wool or stuff dipped in it
and stirred; the same degree of temperature being kept
up for two hours, and increased a little towards the end ;
after which it is taken out, aired, and well washed. A
fresh bath of pure water is prepared at the same tempe¬
rature, to which is added a sufficient quantity of the de¬
coction of logwood; the stuff is then immersed, stirred,
and the heat increased to the boiling temperature, which
is to be continued for fifteen minutes, after which, the
stuff being taken out, aired, and carefully rinsed, the pro¬
cess of dyeing is completed. If for every three pounds ot
wool one pound of decoction of logwood has been used,
and a proportionate quantity for stuffs which require less,
a fine violet colour is produced, to which a sufficient quan¬
tity of Brazil wood imparts the shade known in France by
the name of prune de Monsieur.
Logwood and Brazil, fustic and yellow wood, are co- Different
louring substances which may be fixed with advantage shades
upon wool by means of this mordant. The colour cam-from other
municated by the two first of these is liable to be changed811 8 ances‘
in the fulling by the action of the soap or urine employed
for that purpose; but this change, which is always pro¬
duced by alkaline substances, is remedied by a slightly
acid bath a little hot, called brightening, for which the
sulphuric acid has the preference. 'I he colour becomes
as deep, and frequently much brighter than before the
change. Wools which have been dyed by means of this
mordant are said to admit of being spun into a finer and
more beautiful thread than by the use of alum. Ir the
use of sulphate of copper is omitted, more beautiful co¬
lours are produced by fustic and yellow wood, as well as
by weld. An orange-red colour is communicated by mad¬
der, but not so deep as with a similar quantity of alum.
When sulphate of copper is omitted, the wool is said to
become much harsher, and the mordant thus prepared
yields but indifferent colours with logwood, and in parti¬
cular with Brazil wood. The use and carriage of this mor¬
dant are inconvenient, on account of the heavy sediment
by which the vessel is half filled under a corrosive liquor,
capable only of being kept in stone ware. T hese incon¬
veniences may be remedied by the omission of the water
in the receipt, which leaves only a paste more conve¬
niently used, and the carriage of it two fifths cheaper.
The above process is thus explained by Berthollet. The Nature of
decomposition of the muriate of soda is effected by the the process,
action of the sulphuric acid; and the muriatic acid being
thus disengaged, dissolves the tin, part of which is preci¬
pitated by means of the tartaric acid, producing the sedi¬
ment already mentioned. The oxide of copper produces
the blue with the colouring particles of the logwood; the
violet is formed by the oxide of tin with the same wood.
336
Compound and the red with the colouring matter of the Brazil wood.
Colours. The same ingenious chemist farther observes, that as an
excess of acid is retained in the liquor, it might probably
be of advantage to employ acetate as a substitute for sul¬
phate of copper, in which case the action of the free acid
would be moderated. He thinks it would still be more
advisable to make use of verdigris; because the uncom¬
bined part of the oxide of copper would in that case unite
with the excess of acid, on which account a smaller quan¬
tity of acid would remain in the liquor; and probably the
quantity of tartar might be diminished, as a smaller quan¬
tity of tin would thus be precipitated.1
II.— Of dyeing Silk Violet or Purple.
Two kinds Silk is capable of receiving two kinds of violet colours,
of violet, denominated the fine and the false, the latter of which is
produced by means of archil or Brazil wood. When the
fine violet colour is required, the silk must first be passed
through cochineal, and dipped afterwards in the vat.
The preparation and dyeing of the silk with cochineal
are the same as for crimson, with the omission of tartar
and solution of tin, by means of which the colour is height¬
ened. The quantity of cochineal made use of is always
proportioned to the required shade, whether it is more or
less intense ; but the usual proportion for a fine violet co¬
lour is two ounces of cochineal for each pound of silk.
When the silk is dyed it is washed at the river, twice
beetled, dipped in a vat more or less strong in proportion
to the depth of the violet shade, and then washed and
dried with precautions similar to those which all colours
require that are dyed in the vat. If the violet is to have
greater strength and beauty, it is usual to pass it through
the archil bath; a practice which, though frequently abused,
is not to be dispensed with for light shades, which would
otherwise be too dull.
Purple. When silk has been dyed with cochineal according to
the above directions, only a very light shade is requisite
for purple; the shades which are deepest are dipped in a
weak vat, while dipping them in cold water is sufficient
for such as are lighter, the water having been incorporated
with a small quantity of the liquor of the vat, because in
the vat itself, however weak it might be, they would ac¬
quire too deep a tinge of blue. In this manner are the
light shades of this colour, such as gilly-flower, peach-
blossom, &c. produced by diminishing the quantity of co-
chineal.
False vio- There are various ways of imparting to silk what are
lets. denominated the false violets; but those which are most
frequently used, and possessed of greatest beauty, are
prepared with archil, the bath of which is, in point of
strength, to be suited to the colour required. Having
been beetled at the river after scouring, the silk is turned
in the bath on the skein sticks; and when the colour is
deemed sufficiently deep, a pattern is tried in the vat, to
ascertain whether it takes the violet colour intended to
be produced. , If the shade is found to have acquired the
proper depth, the silk is beetled at the river and dipped
in the vat, in the same way as for the fine violet colours;
and less either of the blue or of the archil colour is given,
according as it is meant that the red or blue shade of the
violet colour should predominate.
Process of The process recommended by Guhliche for communi-
Guhliche. eating a violet colour to silk is the following. A pound
of silk is to be soaked in a bath of two ounces of alum
and a like quantity of solution of tin, after having care¬
fully poured off the sediment formed in the mixture. The
dye-bath is prepared with two ounces of cochineal re-
I N G.
duced to powder, with a drachm of tartar, and the remain-Compc
ing part of the bath, which has answered the purpose of a Coloi
mordant, with the addition of a sufficient quantity of wa- ^Y
ter. When slightly boiled, such a quantity of solution of
indigo is added as may communicate to the bath a proper
shade of violet; after which the silk is immersed, and
boiled till it has acquired the intended shade. It is then
wrung, washed in a stream, and, like every other delicate
colour, must be dried in the shade. The light shades ex¬
haust the bath. But it ought to be observed that this co¬
lour, which is said to be a beautiful violet, possesses but
little durability, and is apt to assume a reddish tinge,
owing to the colour of the indigo fading first.
A violet colour may be imparted to silks by immersing Anoth
them in water impregnated with verdigris, as a substi¬
tute for aluming, and next giving them a bath of log¬
wood, in which they assume a blue colour, which is con¬
verted to a violet, either by the addition of alum to the
bath, or by dipping them in a weaker or stronger solution
of that substance, which communicates a red colour to
the particles of logwood. This violet possesses but a
small degree of beauty, and little durability; but if alumed
silk be immersed in a bath of Brazil wood, and next in a
bath of archil, after washing it at the river, a colour is ob¬
tained possessing a much higher degree of beauty and in¬
tensity. The process described above for dyeing wool
succeeds equally well, according to M. Decroizille, in
communicating to silk a violet colour.
III.— Of dyeing Cotton and Linen Violet.
The most ordinary mode by which a violet colour is Comm
communicated to cotton and linen stuffs, is first to giveProces
them a blue ground in the vat, proportioned to the re¬
quired shade, and to dry them. They are afterwards
galled, in the proportion of three ounces of galls to a
pound of stuff, and being left in this bath for twelve or
fifteen hours, are wrung out and dried again. They are
next passed through a decoction of logwood, and when
thoroughly soaked and taken out, the bath receives an
addition of two drachms of alum and one of dissolved ver¬
digris for each pound of cotton or thread. The skeins
are then dipped again on the skein sticks, and turned for
about fifteen minutes, when they are taken out and aired.
They are next immersed in the bath for fifteen minutes,
taken out, and wrung. To complete the process, the vat
employed is emptied; half of the decoction of logwood
not formerly made use of is now poured in, with the addi¬
tion of two drachms of alum, and the thread is again dipped
in it till it has acquired the shade proposed, which must
always regulate the strength or weakness of the decoction
of logwood. This colour resists in a considerable degree
the action of the air, but in point of permanency is much
inferior to that which is obtained from the use of madder.
Sect. III.— Of the Mixtures of Yellow and Red, or Orange.
Orange is the usual result of a composition of yellow
and red colours; but an almost endless variety of shades
may be produced, according as we vary the proportion ol
the ingredients, and the particular nature of the yellow
made use of. It is sometimes the practice of dyers to
combine blue with yellow and red, the result of which is
the colour denominated olive. Many varieties may be
obtained from the use of weld, saw-wort, dyers-weed, and
other yellows, and by employing tartar, alum, sulphate ol
zinc, or sulphate of copper, in the bath, or in the prepara¬
tion of the cloth.
DYE
1 Berthollet, ii. 340.
Com und
. Coi rs-
yr-^
Oran? by
the Sji'let
pr'j'.1 "
DYEING.
337
I.— Of dyeing Wool Orange.
kc-!
01i\
Cimjaon
colo
OliVji
By a process exactly the same as that which is followed
in communicating to stuffs a scarlet colour, an orange may
be given to wool; but the quantity of red must be dimi¬
nished, and that of the yellow increased. If wool is dyed
a red colour by means of madder, and afterwards yellow
with weld, the resulting compound is a cinnamon colour,
and the most proper mordant in this case is a mixture of
alum and tartar. The shades may be varied at pleasure
by substituting other yellow dyestuffs instead of weld, and
by varying the proportions as circumstances may require.
Wool may receive a reddish yellow colour by passing it
through a madder bath, after it has undergone the usual
process for yellow, which has already been described. The
strength of the madder bath is always to be proportioned
to the shade required. Brazil wood is sometimes em¬
ployed with yellow substances, or mixed with cochineal
and madder. Snuff, chestnut, musk, and other shades are
produced by substituting walnut-tree root, walnut peels,
or sumach, for weld.
II.— Of Dyeing Silk Orange, 8$c.
Logwood, Brazil wood, and fustic, communicate to silk
a marone and cinnamon colour, together with all the in¬
termediate shades. The silk is scoured in the usual man¬
ner, alumed, and a bath is prepared by mixing together
decoctions of the three different woods mentioned above,
made separately, varying the quantity of each according
to the shade intended to be given; but the proportion of
fustic should be greatest. The silk is turned in the bath
on the skein sticks, and when it is taken out, if the colour
be uniform, it is wrung and again dipped in a second bath
of these three ingredients, according to the effect pro¬
duced by the first, in order to obtain the shade required.
The blue vat is not made use of when an olive colour
is to be communicated to silk. After being alumed, it is
dipped in a bath of weld, which is made very strong. To
this is afterwards added the juice of logwood, with a small
quantity of solution of alkali when the silk is dipped.
This converts it into green, and gives the olive colour.
It is dipped again in this bath till it has acquired the
shade wanted.
To communicate to it the colour known by the name of
rotten olive, fustic and logwood are added to the bath after
welding, without any alkali. If the colour wanted is to
incline more to a red, the addition of logwood alone is
sufficient. A sort of reddish olive may likewise be ob¬
tained by dyeing the silk in a fustic bath, to which a
greater or less quantity has been added of sulphate of
iron and logwood.
Ill—Of dyeing Cotton and Linen Orange, fc.
A cinnamon colour is communicated to thread and cot¬
ton by commencing the process for dyeing them with ver¬
digris and weld; they are afterwards to be dipped in a
solution of sulphate of iron, denominated by the French
bain dassurage, and then wrung out and dried. As soon as
they are dried, they are galled in the proportion of three
ounces to the pound of stuff; then dried again, alumed as
for red colours, and maddered. After being washed and
dried, they are put into hot soap suds, and turned till they
have acquired a sufficient degree of brightness. It is the
practice of some dyers to add to the aluming a decoction
of fustic.
By boiling four parts of weld and one of potash in a suf¬
ficient quantity of water, M. d’Apligny informs us, a fine
olive colour is communicated to cotton and thread. Brazil
wood which has been steeped for a night is boiled sepa¬
rately with a small quantity of verdigris, and these solu-
VOL. VIII.
tions are mixed together in various proportions, according Compound
to the particular shade required. The thread or cotton is Colours,
dipped in the compound solution in the usual way. ^
Sect. IV.— Of the mixture of Black with other Colours.
The compound colours which are obtained from the Brown,
mixture of black and other colours, are brown, gray, drab,
&c. according to the nature and proportions of the simple
colours employed.
I-—Qf dyeing Woollen Stuffs Brown, Gray, 8fc.
To give a browning to cloth, as soon as it has been dyed,
it is dipped in a solution of sulphate of iron, with the ad¬
dition of an astringent, which makes a black bath. It is
more common to mix a small quantity of solution of iron
with a bath of water, adding more till the dyed stuff dip¬
ped in it has received the intended shade. Sulphate of
iron is sometimes added to the dye bath; but by dipping
the dyed stuff in a solution of this salt, the end is more
easily attained. It is the usual practice of M. Poerner to
soak the stuff in a solution of sulphate of iron, to which
other ingredients are sometimes added; and after having
taken it out of the mordant, it is dipped in the dye bath.
In order to obtain coffee and damascene colours, with Coffee
other shades of browns of the common dye, the first me-c°l°ur.
thod is adopted; a colour more or less deep is communi¬
cated to them, according to the shade intended to be ob¬
tained by the browning; and a bath is made of galls, su¬
mach, and alder bark, with the addition of sulphate of
iron. Those stuffs are first dipped to which the lightest
shades are to be communicated, and when these are finish¬
ed, the browner ones are dipped, a quantity of sulphate of
iron being added for each operation, proportioned to the
effect intended to be produced.
Bluish grays are communicated to stuffs, according to Gray.
Poerner, by the solution of indigo in sulphuric acid, com¬
bined with a mixture of decoction of galls and sulphate of
iron, varying the shades according to the different quan¬
tities of these ingredients made use of. If to a bath com¬
posed of cochineal, fustic, and galls, sulphate of iron be
added, other shades are obtained.
For marone, and such other colours as bear a strong re¬
semblance to it, sanders and galls are employed, and some¬
times a browning with the addition of logwood. If dyed
in the remains of a cochineal bath, these colours may be
made to incline to a crimson or purple; and the same ef¬
fect is produced by adding a small quantity of madder or
cochineal to the bath. A little tartar gives a greater de¬
gree of brightness to the colour. With a mixture of galls,
fustic, and logwood, and a greater or smaller quantity of
madder, with the addition of a little alum; those colours
may be communicated to stuffs which are known by the
name of hazel. Hazel.
M. Guhliche produces what is called a puce colour, by pUce co.
boiling for fifteen minutes a pound of woollen stuff with lour,
two ounces of alum, a certain proportion of vinegar and
solution of iron, after which he leaves it in the mordant for
twelve hours. He then makes a bath with the decoction
of two ounces of white galls carefully poured off from the
sediment, and mixed with four ounces of madder, in which,
when it grows hot, the stuff is immersed, after being taken
out of the mordant, allowing it to remain there, while the
temperature is gradually increased, till the colour intend¬
ed has been imparted to it; after which it is boiled for two
minutes, washed, and dried in the sun. The colour thus
obtained possesses a great degree of durability. It is of
a deeper brown by the omission of the alum and vinegar
in the mordant; and after these colours the lighter shades
are dyed. Sumach may be employed as a substitute for
2 u
338 DYE
Compound half of the madder. Different brown colours, possessing
^Colours, considerable permanency, may likewise be produced by
the use of Brazil and logwood, if more or less of a solution
of iron be mixed with a decoction of these substances.
The wool being previously alumed and galled, is dyed in it.
II.— Of dyeing Silk with Mixtures of Black, 8$c.
Purple M. Guhliche imparts to silk a purple violet without a
violet. b]ue groun(]} w;th a mixture of one part of galls dissolved
in white wine, with three parts of water, in which a pound
of silk is macerated for twelve hours, soaked in a mordant
made up of two ounces of alum, one ounce of solution of
tin, and half an ounce of muriatic acid. After wringing
the stuff, it is dyed in a bath composed of two ounces of
cochineal and a small quantity of solution of iron, till the
intended shade has been communicated; and for shades
which are lighter, the residua of these baths are sufficient,
either separately or mixed together. Madder may be used
in the same way, macerating a pound of silk in a solution
of alum mixed with an ounce of muriatic acid and a
quantity of solution of iron. When the stuff is wrung out,
it is dyed in a bath made of eight ounces of madder.
When deeper colours are wanted, some of the solution of
galls in white wine is mixed with the madder and cochi¬
neal baths.
Silk may be dyed in a bath made of equal parts of Bra¬
zil and logwood juice, adding a certain quantity of solu¬
tion of iron after the stuff has been soaked in a solution of
two ounces of alum and an ounce of muriatic acid. If so¬
lution of galls be added, the colour becomes deeper.
Brick Colours resembling that of brick may be produced by
colour. immersing silk in an anotta bath, after preparing it with
a solution of galls mixed with a certain quantity of solu¬
tion of iron. By the mixture of Brazil, logwood, archil,
and galls, and by a browning with sulphate of iron, a num¬
ber of different shades are produced; but the whole of
them have more or less a tendency to fade, although their
brightness is very pleasing to the eye.
III.— Of dyeing Cotton and Linen with Mixtures of Black,
fyc.
With black A permanent violet colour may be given to thread and
cask. cotton, when scoured in the ordinary way, by preparing a
mordant with two quarts of the bath of what is called tbe
black cask, and four quarts of water, for each pound of stuff,
which is made to boil, and the scum is removed which
forms on the surface, till it wholly disappears. The liquor
is poured into a vat, and, when warm, four ounces of sul¬
phate of copper and one ounce of nitre are dissolved in it.
The skeins are left to soak in it for ten or twelve hours,
wrung out, and dried. If it is required to produce a deep
violet colour, two ounces of verdigris must be added to
the bath; and if the nitre be omitted, the colour becomes
still deeper by galling the thread more or less prior to its
being put into the mordant. If the nitre be increased, and
the sulphate of copper be diminished, the violet colour
becomes more inclined to lilac. A number of various
shades may be produced by different modifications of the
mordants employed.
Marone Cotton is galled, dipped, and wrought in the common
colour. way, when different shades of marone colour are wanted.
To the bath employed must be added more or less of the
liquor of the black cask. The cotton is then washed in a
bath mixed with verdigris, next welded, and dyed to a
fustic bath, to which a solution of soda and alum is some¬
times added. When the cotton prepared in this manner
has been thoroughly washed, it is next well maddered,
I N G.
dipped in a weak solution of sulphate of copper, and last Cali
of all in soap suds. Print -
For some hazel and snuff colours, a browning is com- ''“’y <
municated to stuffs by means of soot, after the welding113281
and madder bath, to which galls and fustic have been
added; sometimes soot is mixed with this bath, and a
browning is likewise imparted by means of a solution of
sulphate of iron; and for browning colours, walnut peels
are sometimes employed as a substitute for solutions of
iron. For such wools as are designed for the manufacture
of tapestry they are very advantageous, because the co¬
lour is not changed into yellow by exposure to the air, as
is the case in browning, which is imparted by means of
iron, but remains a considerable time without any sensi¬
ble change. The hue is indeed rather dull, but its good¬
ness and very moderate price are sufficient to recommend
a more extensive use of it for grave colours, which in com¬
mon stuffs are sometimes fashionable.
CHAPTER VI.
OF CALICO-PRINTING.
Calico-printing is the art of communicating different
colours to particular parts of the surface of cotton or
linen cloth, while the rest of the cloth retains its white
^colour; or the whole of the cloth may be dyed one colour,
as red or blue, except particular parts, to which some other
colours, as yellow, orange, green, &c. are given. The
process is not confined to linen and cotton cloth ; it may
be applied also to silk and woollen cloth; but as the na¬
ture of the processes is in all cases the same, it will an¬
swer our purpose sufficiently if we give a sketch of the
methods followed by the calico-printers.
There is a curious passage in Pliny’s Natural History,
from which it is evident that calico-printing in his time
(the first century) was understood and practised in Egypt.
The following is a translation of this passage.
“ There exists in Egypt a wonderful method of dyeing.Pract 1
The white cloth is stained in various places, not with dye-^ ^ n-
stuffs, but with substances which have the property ofcient:
absorbing (fixing) colours. These applications are not
visible upon the cloth; but when the pieces are dipt into
a hot caldron containing the dye, they are drawn out an
instant after dyed. The remarkable circumstance is, that
though there be only one dye in the vat, yet different co¬
lours appear on the cloth ; nor can the colours be after¬
wards removed.”1 It is evident enough that the substances
employed to stain the cloth, as Pliny expresses it, were
different mordants, which served to fix the dye upon the
cloth. Thus if we suppose certain parts of a piece of
cotton cloth to be impregnated with alumina, and the cloth
afterwards dyed with madder, after the clearing, those
parts only impregnated with the mordant would retain their
red colour, while the remaining parts will continue white.
The general opinion is, that this ingenious art originat¬
ed in India, and from that country made its way into
Egypt. Whether this notion be well or ill founded, it is
certain that calico-printing was known and executed by
the Indians at a very early period. Their colours were
beautiful and fast, and the varieties of pattern and the
number of colours which they understood to fix on differ¬
ent parts of the cloth gave to their printed calicoes a
beauty and a value of no ordinary kind; but their processes
are so tedious and so clumsy that they could be put in
practice only where labour was exceedingly cheap.
1 Plinii Hist Nat. xxxv. 11.
-
«
DYEING.
339
It is not more than a century and a half since calico-
Pr ini- printing was transferred from India to Europe, and little
J ^ more than a century since it became common in Great
jnt)u- Britain. The nations with whom it has made the greatest
fed to progress are Switzerland; France, especially in Alsace;
luvs>e. *ome parts 0f Germany ; and Great Britain. In Europe
the art has been in a great measure created anew. By
the application of machinery, and by the light thrown on
the processes by the improvements in chemistry, the tedi¬
ous methods of the Indians have been wonderfully sim¬
plified ; and the processes are remarkable for the rapidity
with which they are executed, and for the beauty and
fastness and variety of the colours which are applied on
the surface of cotton and linen cloth.
We shall endeavour in this chapter to give a sketch of
the different processes of calico-printing, such as they are
at present practised by the most scientific printers in Lan¬
cashire, and in the neighbourhood of Glasgow.
The different processes to which the cotton cloth des¬
tined to be printed is subjected, are the following: singe¬
ing, bleaching, callendering, printing, stoving, dunging,
dyeing, brightening. , ,
1. The singeing is intended to remove the fibres ot cot¬
ton which protrude on the surface of the cloth. This is
done by passing the cloth rapidly over the surface of a
red-hot iron plate, which burns off all the hairs or pro¬
truding fibres of cotton without injuring the cloth. Of
late years singeing has been effected by a very ingenious
coal gas apparatus. But we need not dwell upon this pre¬
liminary process, because the singeing has been described
already in this Encyclopaedia under the article Bleach¬
ing, to which we refer the reader.
2. The methods of bleaching and callendering cotton have
been already given at sufficient length under the article
Bleaching.
Minds 3. There are two modes of printing; namely, block-
of printing and cylinder-printing. The former has been prac¬
tised from time immemorial; the latter is a modern in¬
vention, and originated probably after the introduction of
the art of printing into Great Britain. The figure intend¬
ed to be communicated to the cloth is cut out upon a
block of sycamore, the parts which are to make the im¬
pression being left prominent, and the rest of the block
cut away, just as practised for wooden engravings. When
the figure is too complicated, and the lines too fine, to ad¬
mit of being cut in wood, it is made by means of small
pieces of copper, which are very ingeniously driven into
the block, and the intervals are filled up with felt. Great
patience and ingenuity are displayed in making these
blocks for use, and calico-printers are under the necessity
of keeping a number of workmen at high wages for that
express purpose.
The cylinder is a large circular copper plate, being a
circular ruler, .several feet long, and several inches in dia¬
meter, upon which the different figures to be given to the
cloth are engraved; and by its circular motion the whole
of these figures are impressed upon the cloth as it moves
through under the cylinder. But the usual method of
cylinder-printing is to have the intended figures engraven
upon a flat copper plate about a square yard (or more) in
size. Upon this plate the colour to be applied is spread.
It is then pulled. As it passes along, an elastic steel plate
called a doctor takes off all the colour except that which
fills the engraving. It is then pressed against the white
cloth, on which it thus leaves exactly the impression of
the engraving. This is a very common method of print¬
ing pocket handkerchiefs.
Whether the printing is applied by the block, the cy¬
linder, or by flat copper plates, the treatment of the goods
is nearly the same.
Most commonly the printing process is applied to fixing .Calico-
mordants on the cloth, which is afterwards dyed in the Printing,
common way, those parts only retaining the colour which
have imbibed the mordant, while the other parts of the
cloth remain white. Sometimes it is applied to cloth al¬
ready dyed, in order to remove the colour from certain
portions of it which are either intended to remain white,
or to receive some other colour afterwards.
Sometimes it is applied to cloth before it is dyed blue,
in order to prevent the indigo from being fixed on those
parts to which it is applied, that they may remain white,
or be afterwards made to receive other colours. Substances
possessed of this property are called resist pastes.
Finally', it is frequently employed to communicate mor¬
dants and colouring matter at once to the cloth. Let us
take a view of all these different uses.
I.—Mordants.
The principal mordants employed by the calico-printers
are the following:
1. Alumina.—The usual aluminous mordant of the ca- How
lico-printers is alum, partly decomposed by acetate of made,
lime. The liquid is made by dissolving alum in water,
and adding acetate of lime to the solution. The liquid
has a specific gravity of 1-08, and contains about as much
alum undecomposed as the liquid can hold in solution.
For particular purposes calico-printers make a mordant
by mixing three parts of acetate of lead with four of alum.
This mordant consists of a mixture of acetate of alumina
and alum, for about a third part of the alum remains un¬
decomposed.
When cloth to be dyed red is impregnated with this
mordant, it is not thickened. When applied only to par¬
ticular parts of the cloth by the block or the cylinder, it
is thickened with flour or calcined starch, or gum Senegal,
according to the nature of the style of work.
2. Oxide of tin.—Perchloride of tin is very much used Chemical
as a mordant. The colouring matter is previously mixed colours
with it, and both are applied at once. Such applicationswhat-
are called chemical colours. The mixture is allowed to
dry on the cloth, which is then merely washed with water.
Colours so applied are easily altered by light, soap, &c.
Hence, in common language, a chemical colour means a
fugitive colour. The colours produced in this way are,
pink, from Brazil wood, peach wood, and cochineal; pur-
plC) from logwood; and yellow, with Persian berries.
Perchloride of tin is much used in another and pretty Steam co¬
common process of the calico-printers, known technically lours,
by the appellation of steam colours. It is decomposed and
converted into stannate of potash. The whole piece of
cloth is immersed in the liquid containing the stannate of
potash, and dried. The peroxide of tin is then precipi¬
tated upon the cloth, by immersing it into a solution of
sal ammoniac or sulphate of magnesia, but most common¬
ly into a very weak solution of free sulphuric acid. The
different colouring matters previously thickened with
starch are then printed on the cloth, and the whole sub¬
jected to the action of steam. The consequence is, that
by the joint action of moisture and heat, a combination
takes place between the colouring matter and the oxide,
which is thus rendered insoluble; and no considerable
quantity of water is ever present to carry off the colour¬
ing matter before it has combined with the mordant.
In this way pink, purple, and yellow are obtained of
every variety of shade that can be produced by mixture
of these colours with each other, or with Prussian blue.
3. Peroxide of iron.—This metallic oxide is much used How used,
as a mordant. It is employed in the state of acetated prot¬
oxide of iron, by dissolving metallic iron in pyrolignic
n
340
DYEING.
Calico- acid.1 In a few days after being applied to the cloth,
Printing, especially if exposed to a moist atmosphere, it loses its
acid, and the iron becomes peroxidized.
Acetate of iron, of specific gravity 1'05, gives a black
with madder. Various shades of purple are obtained by
adding different proportions of the mordant and dyestuff.
Various shades of red, from brown red to pink, are obtain¬
ed in the same way, substituting the aluminous mordant
of various strengths for the iron. Chocolates are got by
mixing the aluminous and iron mordants, and then dyeing
with madder.
These are the principal mordants employed by the ca¬
lico-printers. Several substances have so strong an affi¬
nity for the cloth that they require no mordant. This is
the case with indigo, sesquioxide of manganese, peroxide of
iron, and chromate and dichromate of lead.
II.—Substances used for discharging Colours.
Most colours are fixed in the cloth, either by means of
mordants or by being in a particular state of oxidizement.
Thus madder is fixed by means of alumina, and cochineal
by means of oxide of tin. Sesquioxide of manganese loses
its fixity and is washed away by water the moment that
it is converted into protoxide. Hence, when the printers
wish to discharge a colour from cloth, they employ some¬
thing that will dissolve the mordant, or, if no mordant
be present, will de-oxidize the colouring matter, which in
that case is a metallic oxide. The dischargers, then, are
either acids, or substances having a strong affinity for
oxygen. We shall point out the chief of these, and the
way of applying them.
Method of 1. Citric acid is much used by printers to dissolve alu-
using. mina and peroxide of iron, and thus to prevent the co¬
lours which these mordants would fix from remaining on
the cloth. It is obtained by evaporating lemon juice, and
thickening it with gum-senegal for the cylinder, or with
gum and pipe-clay for the block. It is occasionally assist¬
ed by bisulphate of potash or sulphuric acid.
Sometimes the citric acid is printed on white cloth, and
the aluminous or iron mordant slightly thickened and dried
immediately, to prevent the swelling of the acid figures.
At other times the mordants are first applied, and the
acids printed over them.
In both cases the goods are afterwards passed through
hot water containing cow’s dung, and well washed before
drying. By this means all the mordant is removed from
those parts on which the acid was applied, which of course
remains white when the cloth is dyed.
2. Tartaric acid thickened with gum is applied by the
block or cylinder to cloth previously dyed Turkey red. It
is then passed through an aqueous solution of bleaching
powder. The acid disengaging the chlorine, the red co¬
lour is discharged from those places to which it had been
applied, while all the other parts of the cloth retain their
red colour.
When oxide of lead is deposited on the cloth along with
the acid, and the cloth, after passing through the aqueous
solution of bleaching powder, is made to pass through
water impregnated with bichromate of potash, the parts
which would otherwise have become white are changed
into a fine yellow. This beautiful process is not confined
to Turkey red.
To dis- 3. Protochloride of iron is used to discharge the man-
charge ganese brown and substitute a buff. This it does by de¬
manga- priving the manganese of its oxygen, and thus rendering
it soluble; while the protochloride of iron converted into
perchloride deposites peroxide of iron on the cloth, which
combines and produces the characteristic buff or orange
colour of that oxide.
Sulphate of iron is used in a variety of ways. It de¬
oxidizes indigo in the indigo vat, and renders it soluble
in lime water. It produces gold, buff, &c. colours, and
makes a good chemical black with logwood.
4. Protochloride of tin, when applied to cloth dyed
brown by sesquioxide of manganese, immediately reduces
it to the state of protoxide, and thus discharges the colour
and leaves the parts white. If it be mixed with Brazil
wood or cochineal, it discharges the manganese as before,
but leaves a pink. When mixed with logwood it leaves a
purple, and when with Prussian blue, a blue.
Calk
Print
To produce a yellow upon manganese, ground chloride To for
of tin is mixed with sulphate of lead. The mixture thick-yellow,
ened with calcined starch is printed on the manganese
brown. As soon as it is dry, the manganese being re¬
duced to the state of protoxide, may be washed off; but
the sulphate of lead adheres to the cloth, from an affinity
which exists between them. The cloth being now passed
through a solution of bichromate of potash, those parts
containing the sulphate of lead are dyed a beautiful yel¬
low by the formation of chromate of lead.
Chloride ot tin is capable also of removing peroxide ofToren
iron from cloth, by reducing it to protoxide, as it doestheiron.
sesquioxide of manganese. For this purpose it is printed
on a deep colour, composed of peroxide of iron and quer¬
citron yellow. The protochloride of iron is formed and
washed away, while the oxide of tin remaining, consti¬
tutes a mordant for the quercitron. And thus the parts
to which the protochloride of tin was applied become
yellow.
The protochloride of tin is also employed occasionally
to discharge the orange, consisting of dichromate of lead
fixed upon cloth. This it does by reducing the chromic
acid to protoxide. As the green oxide of chrome still
continues attached to the cloth,-the discharged parts do
not assume a good white colour. But this does not much
affect the blue and purple colours substituted for the orange,
by mixing the protochloride of tin with Prussian blue or
with logwood.
When protocbloride of tin is decomposed by carbonate
of soda, protoxide of tin is obtained. This protoxide is
used along with potash to render indigo soluble. The
protoxide de-oxidizes the indigo, and the potash dissolves
the yellow base. It is then applied to the cloth in the
way that will be explained afterwards.
III.—Resist Pastes.
These pastes are substances which have the property
of restoring the blue colour to dissolved indigo, and thus
of preventing it from being fixed to those parts of the
cloth on which the resist pastes have been applied. Any
substance which has the property of parting with oxygen
readily answers this purpose. Thus sulphate of copper,
or any salt containing black oxide of copper, when put
into the indigo vat, instantly revives the indigo, by com¬
municating oxygen to it. The hydrated black oxide has
the same effect, and so have the sesquioxide and the deut-
oxide of manganese.
The calico-printer’s indigo vat is a very deep large ves-Nature
sel filled with water, into which indigo, sulphate of iron, resist
and an excess of lime are put. The lime decomposes the pastes,
sulphate ot iron, and the protoxide of iron thus disengaged
coming in contact with the indigo at the bottom of the
1 An impure acetic acid, obtained by distilling wood.
-
t
DYEING.
341
Enu :ra'
tion.
0. vat, deprives it of an atom of oxygen, and thus renders
pri-ng. it capable of combining with the lime, and of forming a
compound which dissolves in water and forms a yellow¬
ish-coloured solution. Where this solution is in contact
with the atmosphere the indigo is revived, assumes its
blue colour, and loses its solubility. Hence the blue scum
which always covers the surface; but this scum in some
measure protects the rest of the vat. When cloth is dipt
into this vat it comes out yellow; but the indigo, from
its exposure to the air, gradually absorbs oxygen, so that
the cloth becomes at first green, and finally blue. But
if to any parts of the cloth before dipping something
has been applied which has the property of giving out
oxygen to the indigo, all the indigo which w ould have
been imbibed by these parts has been revived before it
has had time to come in contact with the cloth ; and in
the blue state it has not the property of uniting with
the cloth, but may be easily washed off. Hence the
parts to which the resist pastes, as they are called, have
been applied, remain white. The principal resist pastes
are the following:
1. Blue paste, or vitriol paste, consists of a mixture of
sulphate and acetate of copper, and the solution is thick¬
ened with gum-senegal and pipe-clay for the block, and
with flour for the cylinder. When the cloth on which this
paste has been printed is dipt into the indigo vat, the in¬
digo is oxidized before it reaches the surface of the cloth.
After dyeing, the piece is passed through weak sulphuric
acid, to remove the oxide of copper which has been pre¬
cipitated.
2. Mild paste consists of sulphate of zinc, gum, and
pipe-clay. It is used along with other colours which
copper would injure, or which would be destroyed by im¬
mersion in sulphuric acid. It resists a pale blue, and
the removal of the oxide of zinc afterwards by an acid is
not necessary, as when copper is employed.
Sulphate of zinc, as well as all the other metallic salts,
and all the acids, precipitate indigo from its solution in
lime. It does not revive indigo like the salts of copper ;
but when the base of indigo is precipitated, it is not so
readily fixed as when in a state of solution. The oxide
of zinc, w ith the gum and pipe-clay, act mechanically^ in
keeping it at a distance.
3. Red paste consists of the aluminous mordant already-
described, mixed with acetate of copper, gum, and pipe¬
clay. It resists pale blues; and the alumina remains upon
the portions which are white, to be afterwards dyed with
madder and produce a red, or with quercitron for a yel¬
low.
4. Neutral paste is the name given by calico-printers to
a compound of lime juice, sulphate of copper, gum, and
pipe-clay. It resists during a short dip in the blue vat;
and the lime juice gives it the property^ of remaining white
when the piece is dyed in madder, even where the pre¬
ceding aluminous paste goes over it. This acid also pre¬
vents the lime of the blue vat from precipitating copper
upon the cloth, which would give the cloth a deep-brown
tinge in the madder vessel.
5. Chrome yellow resist paste consists of a mixture of
a salt of copper to resist the blue vat, with a salt of lead
to produce a yellow with bichromate of potash after hav¬
ing been dyed blue in the blue vat.
These five constitute the principal resist pastes. There
are indeed a few others, but they are oflittle importance,
and they will easily suggest themselves to those who un¬
derstand the principles of chemistry.
Instead of describing the mode of printing mordants
the |i0 - t11^ co^our*ng matters at once, or of applying chemical co-
co4,IUU3fo«™> as they are called, we think it will be better to make
a few observations on each particular colour in succession,
Meld:
It'
n,r
without minding whether it be applied by dyeing or print- Calico-
ing. Printing.
1. Red.
The usual dyestuff for red among the calico-printers is
madder. Goods which have received the aluminous mor¬
dant applied in figures either by the cylinder or the block,
are first passed through hot water containing cow-dung,
and well washed. They are then put into a dye vessel
along with madder and cold water, to which heat is gra¬
dually applied either by means of steam or fire. The
pieces are kept constantly moving in the vessel till .they
have gained the requisite depth of shade, when they are
taken out and washed again. The colour given by the
madder to those parts of the cloth which have received no
mordant, is removed by boiling the cloth in water con¬
taining either bran or soap, both of which substances have
the property of removing it without injury to the red
figure. Afterwards the white portion of the cloth is far¬
ther improved by rinsing it in a weak warm solution of
bleaching powder.
When Brazil wood or peach wood is used instead of
madder, the mordant and method of dyeing are the same.
The cloth, however, does not bear the same treatment
after dyeing, and does not require it, because these co¬
lours are much more easily removed from the parts of the
cloth destitute of mordant.
2. Pink.
The most beautiful pink to be seen on calico is given
by means of cochineal. The mordant is alumina, and the
method of proceeding similar to that already described.
Madder, when mixed with bran to remove the brown
colouring matter, gives what is called a brown pinh.
Safflower cannot be applied to cloth in figures, but it is
frequently employed for giving a uniform pink dye to
pieces of cloth. It is first steeped in water containing a
carbonated alkali, which dissolves its colouring matter.
The solution freed from the fibrous part of the dyestuff is
then saturated by an acid, which is commonly lime juice.
A piece of cloth immersed in this saturated solution ex¬
tracts the pink colouring matter from it, which is after¬
wards heightened by immersion in weak cream of tartar.
By this means a very beautiful but fugitive colour is com¬
municated.
3. Yellow.
The most usual substance now employed by the calico-
printers for communicating this colour is chromate of lead.
The use of this very beautiful and fixed colour does not
go farther back than ten or twelve years. The writer of
this article endeavoured about fourteen years ago to pre¬
vail upon some of the calico-printers in the neighbourhood
of Glasgow to try it, but unsuccessfully. At last, after
much entreaty, Mr Ramsay, at that time an extensive
marfufacturer of colours for calico-printers, was induced
to make a small quantity of bichromate of potash, so as
to put it in the power of those who chose it to trjr how it
would answer. Soon afterwards the use of it was introduced
into some of the printing works of France. From that
country it soon made its way to Lancashire, and thence
to Glasgow. The bichromate of potash, when first pre¬
pared, sold as high as a guinea per pound. Of late years
it has been as low as tenpence. The method of using this
beautiful dyestuff is this :
Acetate or nitrate of lead is applied to the cloth, either
by means of the block or cylinder. The cloth is either
immediately passed through a solution of bichromate of
potash, or the oxide of lead is in the first place set free
from its acid by immersing the cloth in lime water, or
342
DYEING.
Calico-
Printing.
in some cases into an aqueous solution of bleaching pow¬
der. Indeed the processes for applying chromic acid are
varied in a great many ways, to suit the different colours
which are applied along with the yellow; as in the yel¬
low discharge for bronze, and the yellow resist on blue
already described, the yellow discharge on Turkey red,
&c. &c.
Quercitron bark is also often employed to communicate
a yellow by the calico-printers. The alumina mordant
is first applied, and the cloth is cleaned in the dung
vessel in the way described when giving an account of
madder dyeing. Quercitron bark gives out its colouring
matter at a lower heat than madder; and the parts of
the cloth to which no mordant has been applied remain
tolerably white after the cloth has been washed in cold
water.
A decoction of Persian berries constitutes likewise a
common yellow dyestuff for calico-printers. The decoc¬
tion is mixed with the requisite portion of alum to act as
a mordant; but a combination between the alumina and
the yellow colouring matter takes place without the inter¬
vention of a third agent. It is effected either by exposing
the cloth to the action of steam, or by putting the piece
into water containing an alkali or its carbonate.
4. Blue.
The usual dyestuffs for giving a blue colour to calicoes
are indigo and Prussian blue.
The method of forming the indigo vat has been already
mentioned. The cloth is dipped in the clear solution.
When taken out it is yellow, and gradually becomes blue
by absorbing oxj'gen from the atmosphere. If a deep shade
is wanted, the cloth is immersed again, when it receives an
additional quantity of indigo, which must be oxidized, as
the former was, by exposure to the air. These alternate
dips and airings are repeated till the requisite shade is
attained.
What is called 'pencil blue, is a solution of indigo in
caustic potash or soda, the indigo being de-oxidized by
means of orpiment. The solution is thickened by means
of British gum, or gum-senegal, and printed upon the
cloth either by the block or cylinder. When upon the
cloth, the indigo attracts oxygen from the air, and thus
becomes blue and fixed. The gum, alkali, loose indigo,
&c. are washed away in water.
Prussian blue may be applied to cloth in various ways.
We shall mention some of the principal of these.
1. An iron mordant is first applied to the cloth, and al¬
lowed to remain untouched till the iron has had time to be
peroxidized, and in that way become fixed. The piece is
then cleaned as for dyeing, and dipt into a solution of
prussiate of potash mixed with sulphuric acid, to disengage
the acid or cyanogen which it contains.
2. Prussian blue is dissolved in muriatic acid, oxalic
acid, perchloride of tin, or nitrate of iron, and the solution
applied immediately to the cloth in the usual way.
3. Ferrocyanic acid is printed upon the cloth, and de¬
composed by means of a steam heat, hydrocyanic acid
escapes, and cyanodide of iron remains in the cloth. It
becomes blue by exposure to the air, or by being put into
. a weak solution of bleaching powder, or of bichromate of
potash.
Logwood forms a bluish compound with the salts of
copper; but this colour is exceedingly fugitive, and the
use of it has been long laid aside.
5. Black.
Various methods are employed by the calico-printers to
produce a black upon cotton. An iron mordant of the
specific gravity 1-05 gives a black with madder. The
common aluminous mordant gives a black when cloth im- Cali i.
pregnated with it is dyed in logwood. A chemical black Print |
is made from a decoction of nutgalls mixed with nitrated '>-~Y 1
peroxide of iron. Another chemical black is formed by
mixing a decoction of logwood with a solution of sulphate
of iron.
If cloth be dyed successively blue, red, and yellow, it
becomes black.
6. Buff.
To produce this colour, the cloth is printed with a mix¬
ture of sulphate and acetate of iron. After having had
time to be partly peroxidized and partially decomposed,
it is washed in water; or if a stronger buff is wanted, it is
rinsed in cream of lime till the protoxide is converted into
the red. No mordant is required, as the peroxide of iron
has a strong affinity for cotton cloth.
7. Gold.
For this colour the process is the same as for buff. The
only difference is, that the solution is stronger.
8. Orange.
The most beautiful orange is given by means of dichro¬
mate of lead. It is obtained by saturating bichromate of
potash with potash or lime, and immersing in it while hot,
cloth printed with a salt of lead. Nitric acid changes
this orange into yellow, by uniting with half the oxide of
lead.
9. Green.
The fast green, discovered by Mr James Thomson of
Primrosehill, near Clitheroe, and commonly known by the
name of Warwick's green, is a mixture of the pencil blue
already described, and aluminated potash. The mixture
is thickened and applied as the blue is. The alumina
is then precipitated from its alkaline solution by being
passed through a weak solution of sal ammoniac or sul¬
phate of magnesia. The cloth is then dyed yellow in
quercitron bark. It is sufficiently known that the two co¬
lours blue and yellow form a green.
Carbonate of copper makes a poor faint green upon cloth,
while the hydrated black oxide forms a bright blue. It is
obtained bjr printing on a strong solution of copper, and
dipping the cloth, when dry, into strong caustic potash or
soda.
The colour called Scheele's green is a mixture of arsenite
of copper and the hydrated black oxide. It is obtained
by printing on the cloth a strong solution of copper thick¬
ened with gum, and then dipping it into a mixture of ar¬
senite of potash and caustic potash. Hot water destroys
this colour, by depriving the oxide of copper of its water.
A green is obtained from Prussian blue and yellow ber¬
ries, by mixing together ferrocyanic acid, yellow berries,
and an aluminous mordant, and subjecting them to the
action of steam.
Various other greens are attained by printing yellows
over blues previously produced.
Saxon green is produced by printing a solution of ceru-
lin over a yellow formed by dyeing the aluminous mor¬
dant with quercitron bark or weld. The cerulin adheres
to those parts of the cloth which have been dyed yellow,
but very slightly to the white cloth, from which it is easi¬
ly washed away.
10. Lilac.
This colour is communicated to cloth by printing on a
much diluted mixture of the iron and aluminous mordants
thickened with gum-senegal. The cloth is then dyed in
madder exactly as described for producing a red.
DYE
DYE
343
Dyer.
*
m- 11. Chocolate.
0 The same mordants, but much stronger, and dyeing in
madder in the same way, produces this colour.
12. Purple.
The iron mordant, diluted to the shade required, is
printed on the cloth, which is then dyed in madder in the
usual way. ... . ,
When the cloth, after a weak aluminous mordant has
been printed on it, is dyed in logwood, a purple colour is
obtained.
13. Brown.
By far the finest and most fixed brown is communicat¬
ed to cotton by means of the sesquioxide of manganese.
The process is rather a recent one, but of late years it
has become very general. A neutral solution of sulphate
of manganese is thickened with gum, and printed on the
cloth. It is then dipped into rather strong caustic potash
ley, which precipitates the protoxide of manganese. By
exposure to the air, or by immersion in bleaching powder
solution, or in bichromate of potash, this protoxide ab¬
sorbs more oxygen, and becomes fixed on the cloth.
Though the state of oxidizement has not been determin¬
ed by experiment, yet it is probable that the manganese
is in the state of red oxide, which is a compound of two
atoms sesquioxide and one atom protoxide.
DYER, Sir James, an eminent English lawyer, chief
judge of the court of common pleas in the reign of Queen
Elizabeth. He died in 1581; and about twenty years
afterwards was published his large collection of Reports,
which have been highly esteemed for their succinctness
and solidity. He also left other writings behind him re¬
lative to his profession.
Dyer, John, the son of Robert Dyer, a Welsh solicitor
of great capacity, was born in 1700. Fie passed through
Westminster school under the care of Dr Freind, and was
then called home to be instructed in his father’s profession.
His genius, however, led him a different way; for besides
his early taste for poetry, he had a passion no less strong
for the arts of design, and determined to make painting
his profession. With this view, having studied some time
under a master, he became, as he tells his friend, an iti¬
nerant painter, and wandered about South Wales and the
parts adjacent. About 1727 he printed Grongar Hill.
Being probably dissatisfied with his own proficiency, he
made the tour of Italy, where, besides the usual study of
the remains of antiquity, and the works of the great mas¬
ters, he frequently spent whole days in the country about
Rome and Florence, sketching those picturesque prospects
with facility and spirit. Images drawn from thence na¬
turally transferred themselves into his poetical composi¬
tions ; the principal beauties of The Ruins of Rome are
perhaps of this kind; and the various landscapes in The
Fleece have been particularly admired. On his return
to England he published The Ruins of Rome, 1740; but
soon found that he could not relish a town life, nor sub¬
mit to the assiduity required in his profession. As his
turn of mind was rather serious, and his conduct and be¬
haviour were always irreproachable, he was advised by
his friends to enter into holy orders; and it is presumed,
though his education had not been regular, that he found
no difficulty in obtaining them. He was ordained by the
This is made by printing on an iron mordant, and then
dyeing in quercitron bark.
15. Olive.
Formed by printing on a mixture of the iron and alu¬
minous mordants, and dyeing in quercitron bark.
16. Dove.
A weak iron mordant dyed in cochineal.
17. Slate.
A weak iron mordant dyed in nutgalls or in sumach.
18. Cinnamon.
The aluminous mordant, with the addition of a little
iron, dyed in a mixture of madder and quercitron bark.
Such are the principal colours given to calicoes, and
such are the methods of applying and fixing them.
We have now finished our account of calico-printing;
for the dunging and brightening processes have been de¬
scribed while treating of the various colours; and the
storing, which consists simply in drying the goods in a
room raised by artificial heat to a temperature higher
than the boiling point of water, requires no description.
(l.)
Bishop of Lincoln, and had a law degree conferred on
him.
■ About the same time he married a lady of Coleshill,
named Ensor, “ whose grandmother,” says he, “ was a
Shakspeare, descended from a brother of every body’s
Shakspeare.” His ecclesiastical provision was a long time
but slender. His first patron, Mr Harper, gave him, in
1741, Calthorpe, in Leicestershire, of L.80 a year, on which
he lived ten years; and in April 1751 he exchanged it for
Belehford, in Lincolnshire, of LAS, which was given him
by Lord Chancellor Hardwicke, on the recommendation
of a friend to virtue and the muses. His condition now
began to mend. In 1752 Sir John Heathcoate gave him
Coningsby, of L.140 a year, and, in 1756, when he was
created LL.B. without any solicitation of his own, obtain¬
ed for him from the chancellor, Kirby-on-Bane, of L.110.
In 1757 he published The Fleece, his greatest poetical
work, of which Dr Johnson relates this ludicrous story.
Dodsley the bookseller was one day mentioning it to a
critical visitor, with more expectation of success than the
other could easily admit. In the conversation the author’s
age was asked ; and being represented as advanced in life,
“ He will,” said the critic, “ be buried in woollen.” He
did not indeed long outlive that publication, nor enjoy the
increase of his preferments; for a consumptive disorder,
with which he had long struggled, carried him off at
length in 1758.
Mr Dyer’s character as a writer has been fixed by three
poems, Grongar Hill, The Ruins of Rome, and The Fleece ;
in which a poetical imagination perfectly original, a natural
simplicity connected with, and often productive of the
true sublime, and the warmest sentiments of benevolence
and virtue, have been universally observed and admired.
These pieces were published separately in his lifetime ;
but after his death were collected and published in one
volume 8vo, 1761, with a short account of himself prefixed.
344
DYNAMICS.
Dynamics. 1. This name marks that department of physico-ma-
thematical science which contains the abstract doctrine
Definition. 0f moving forces ; that is, whatever necessarily results from
the relations of our ideas of motion, and of the immediate
causes of its production and changes.
Object of 2. All changes of motion are considered by us as the
dynamics indications, the characteristics, and the measures of chan-
ging causes. This is a physical law of human thought, and
dition of”" t*le.re^ore a principle to which we may refer, and from
a thing which we must derive all our knowledge of those causes,
which we When we appeal to our own thoughts or feelings, we do
call its mo- not find in ourselves any disposition to refer mere exist-
tion. ence to any cause, although the beginning of existence
certainly produces this reference in an instant. Had we
always observed the universe in motion, it does not ap¬
pear that we should have ascribed it to a cause, till the
observation of relative rest, or something leading to it,
had enabled us to separate, by abstraction, the notion of
matter from that of motion. We might then perceive that
rest is not incompatible with matter; and we might even
observe, by means of relative, motions, that absolute rest
might be produced by the concourse of equal and op¬
posite motions. But all this requires reflection and rea¬
soning, whereas we are now speaking of the first sug¬
gestions of our minds.
3. We cannot have any notion of motion in abstracto,
without considering it as a state or condition of existence
which would remain if not changed by some cause. It
is from changes alone, therefore, that we infer any agency
in nature; and it is in these that we are to find all that
wre know of their causes.
Median!- 4. When we look around us, we cannot but observe
calrela- that the motions of bodies have in most cases, if not al-
tion, what. wayS> some relation to the situation, the distance, and the
discriminating qualities of other bodies. The motions of
the moon have a palpable relation to the earth ; the mo¬
tions of the tides have as evident a relation to the moon;
the motions of a piece of iron have a palpable dependence
on a magnet. Ihe vicinity of the one seems to be the
occasion at least of the motions of the other. The causes
of these motions have an evident connection with or de¬
pendence on the other body. We are even disposed to
imagine that they are inherent in that body, and that it pos¬
sesses certain qualities which are the causes of those mo¬
difications of motion in other bodies. These serve to dis¬
tinguish some bodies from others, and may therefore be
called properties; and since the condition of other bo¬
dies so evidently depends on them, these properties ex¬
press very interesting relations of bodies, and are chiefly
attended to in the enumeration of the circumstances which
ascertain what we call the nature of any thing. We do not
mean to say that these inferences are always just; nay, we
know that many of them are ill founded ; but they are real,
and they serve abundantly for informing us what we may
expect from any proposed situation of things. It is enough
for us to know, that when a piece of iron is so and so situa¬
ted in relation to a magnet, it will move in a certain manner.
This mutual relation of bodies is differently considered,
according to the interest that we chance to take in the
phenomenon. The cause of the approach of the iron to a
magnet is generally ascribed to the magnet, which is said
to attract the iron, because we commonly employ the
magnet in order that these motions may take place. The
similar approach of a stone to the earth is ascribed to the
stone, and we say that it tends to the earth. In all pro¬
bability the procedure of nature is the same in both; forD-
they are observed in every instance to be mutual between Wy
the related bodies. As iron approaches a magnet, so the '
magnet approaches the iron. The same thing is observed
in the motions of electrified bodies; also in the case of
the stone and the earth. Therefore the cause of the mo¬
tions may be conceived as inherent in either, or in both.
The qualities thus inherent in bodies constituting their^,
mechanical relations, have been called the mechanical at-Action
fections of matter. But they are more commonly named%urat
powers or forces ; and the event which indicates their pre-teriM' i
sence is considered as the effect and mark of their agency.used.1,1
The magnet is said to act on the iron, the earth is said tochanisi
act on the stone; and the iron and the stone are said to
act on the magnet and on the earth.
All this is figurative or metaphorical language. All
languages have begun with social union, and have improved
along with it. The first collections of words expressed
the most familiar and the most interesting notions. In
the process of social improvement, the number of words
did not increase in the same proportion with the notions
that became interesting and familiar in their turn: for it
often happened that relations of certain ideas so much re¬
sembled the relations of certain other ideas, that the word
expressing one of them served very well for expressing
the other; because the dissimilar circumstances of the
two cases prevented all chance of mistake. Thus we are
said to surmount a difficulty, without attaching to the word
the notion of getting over a steep hill. Languages are thus
filled with figurative expressions.
5. Power, Force, and Action, are words which must haveButtl
appeared in the language of the most simple people; be-analog
cause the notions of personal ability, strength, and exertion,not in
are at once the most familiar and the most interesting that!orcf’
can have a place in the human mind. These terms, whenj^j 6
used in their pure, primitive sense, express the notions of
the power, force, and action of a sentient, active being.
Such a being only is an agent. The exertion of his power
or force is (exclusively) action; but the relation of cause
and effect so much resembles in its results the relation
between this force and the work performed, that the same
term may be very intelligibly employed for both. Per¬
haps the only case of pure unfigurative action is that of
the mind on the body. But as this is always with the
design of producing some change on external bodies, we
think only of them ; the instrument or tool is overlooked,
and we say that we act on the external body. Our real
action therefore is but the first movement in a long train
of successive events, and is but the remote cause of the
interesting event. The resemblance to such actions is
very strong indeed in many cases of mechanical pheno¬
mena. A man throws a ball by the motion of his arm.
A spring impels a ball in the same manner by unbending.
These two events resemble each other in every circum¬
stance but the action of the mind on the corporeal organ;
the rest of it is a train of pure mechanism. In general,
because the ultimate results of the mutual influence of
bodies on each other greatly resemble the ultimate results
of our actions on bodies, we have not invented appropriated
terms, but have contented ourselves with those already
employed for expressing our own actions, the exertions of
our own powers or forces. The relation of physical cause
and effect is expressed metaphorically in the words which
belong properly to the relation of agent and action. This
has been attended by the usual consequences of poverty
DYNAMICS.
345
lies, of language, namely, ambiguity, and sometimes mistake,
r' , i Ic / wnmn art* rmnorcillxr r*nrri^rt nn Ixxr
Diruons
thisjia-
both in our reflections (which are generally carried on by
mental discourse), our reasonings, and our conclusions.
It is necessary to be on our guard against such mistakes;
for they frequently amount to the confounding of things
totally different. Many philosophers of great reputation,
on no better foundation than this metaphorical language,
have confounded the relations of activity and of causation,
and even denied that there is any difference; and they
have affirmed that there is the same invariable relation
between the determinations of the will and the induce¬
ments that prompt them, as there is between any physi¬
cal power and its effect. Others have maintained that
the first mover in the mechanical operations, and indeed
through the whole train of any complicated event, is a
percipient and intending principle, in the same manner as
in our actions. According to these philosophers, a par¬
ticle of gravitating matter perceives its relation to every
other particle in the universe, and determines its own mo¬
tion according to fixed laws, in exact conformity to its si¬
tuation. But the language, and even the actions of all
men, show that they have a notion of the relation of an
agent to the action, easily distinguishable (because all dis¬
tinguish it) from the relation between the physical cause
and its effect. This metaphorical language has affected
the doctrines of mechanical philosophy, and has produced
a dispute about some of its first principles; the only way
to decide this dispute is to avoid most scrupulously all
metaphorical language, though at the expense of much
circumlocution.
6. When we speak of powers or forces as residing in a
fort) safe body, and the effect as produced by their exertion, the
tmpr- body, considered as possessing the power, is said to act
on the other. A magnet is said to act on a piece of iron ;
a billiard ball in motion is said to act on one that is hit by
it; but if we attempt to fix our attention on this action,
as distinct both from the agent and the thing acted on,
we find no object of contemplation ; the exertion or pro¬
cedure of nature in producing the effect does not come
under our view. When we speak of the action as distinct
from the agent, we find that it is not the action, properly
speaking, but the act, that we speak of. In like manner
the action of a mechanical power can be conceived only
in the effect produced.
7. A man is not said to act unless he produces some
effect. Thought is the act of the thinking principle; mo¬
tion of the limb is the act of the mind on it. In mecha¬
nics also, there is action only in so far as there is mecha¬
nical effect produced. I must act violently in order to
begin motion on a slide. I must exert force, and this
force exerted produces motion. I conceive the produc¬
tion of motion in all cases as the exertion of force; but it
requires no exertion to continue the motion along the
slide; I am conscious of none ; therefore I ought to infer
that no force is necessary for the continuation of any mo¬
tion. The continuation of motion is not the production
of any new effect, but the permanency of an effect already
produced. We indeed consider motion as the effect of an
action; but there would be no effect if the body were not
moving. Motion is not the action, but the effect of the
action.
8. Mechanical actions have been usually classed under
lnililon* fwo heads. They are either pressures or impulsions.
They are generally considered as of different kinds—the
exertions of different powers. Pressure is supposed to
differ essentially from impulse.
Instead of attempting to define, or describe, these two
kinds of forces and actions, we shall just mention some
instances. This will give us all the knowledge of their
distinctions that we can acquire.
VOL. VIII.
Actn
iinj s
cha*;
an (Here
- mot ji is
not .ion.
Prep
,on,
When a ball lies on a table, and I press it gently on one Dynamics,
side, it moves toward the other side of the table. Ifl follow
it with my finger, continuing my pressure, it accelerates Examples
continually in its motion. In like manner, when I press °f Pressi°n>
on the handle of a common kitchen jack, the fly begins to
move. If I continue to urge or press round the handle,
the fly accelerates continually, and may be brought into a
state of very rapid motion. These motions are the effects
of genuine pressure. The ball would be urged along the
table in the same manner, and with a motion continually
accelerated, by the unbending of a spring. Also, a spring
coiled up round the axis of the handle of the jack would,
by uncoiling itself, urge round the fly with a motion ac¬
celerating in the same way. The more I reflect on the
pressure of my finger on the ball, and compare it with the
effect of the spring on it, the more clearly do I see the
perfect similarity; and I call these influences, exertions,
or actions, by one name, pressure^ taken from the most
familiar instance of them.
Again, the very same motion may be produced in the
ball or fly, by pulling the ball or the machine by means of
a thread, to which a weight is suspended. As both are
motions accelerated in the same manner, I call the in¬
fluence or action of the thread on the ball or machine by
the same name, pressure, and weight is considered as a
pressing power. Indeed I feel the same compression from
the real pressure of a man on my shoulders that I would
feel from a load laid on them. But the weight in our ex¬
ample is acting by the intervention of the thread. By its
pressure it is pulling at that part of the thread to which
it is fastened; this part is pulling at the next by means of
the force of cohesion; and this pulls at a third, and so on,
till the most remote pulls at the ball or the machine. Thus
may elasticity, weight, cohesion, and other forces, per¬
form the office of a genuine power; and since their result is
always a motion beginning from nothing, and accelerating
by perceptible degrees to any velocity, this resemblance
makes us call them by one familiar name.
But further, I see that if the thread be cut, the weight
•will fall with an accelerated motion, which will increase to
any degree, if the fall be great enough. I ascribe this
also to a pressing power acting on the weight. Nay, after
a very little refinement, I consider this power as the cause
of the body’s weight; which word is but a distinguishing
name for this particular instance of pressing power. Gra¬
vitation is therefore added to the list of pressures; and
for similar reasons the attractions and repulsions of mag¬
nets or electric bodies may be added to the list; for they
produce actual compressions of bodies placed between
them, and they produce motions gradually accelerated,
precisely as gravitation does. Therefore all these powers
may be distinguished by this descriptive name, pressures,
which, in strict language, belongs to one of them only.
Several writers, however, subdivide this great class into Gravity,
pressions and solicitations. Gravity is a solicitation aiattractions,
extra, by which a body is urged downward. In like man- anc* iePu|'
ner the forces of magnetism and electricity, and a vast va‘ considered
riety of other attractions and repulsions, are called solid- as pres_
tations. We see little use for this distinction, and thesi0ns.
term is too like an affection of mind.
9. Impulsion is exhibited when a ball in motion puts Examples
another ball into motion by hitting, or (to speak metapho-0) imJJul-
rically) by striking it. The appearances here are veryMon'
different. The body that is struck acquires, in the in¬
stant of impulse, a sensible quantity of motion, and some¬
times a very rapid motion. This motion is neither acce¬
lerated nor retarded after the stroke, unless it be affected
by some other force. It is also remarked that the rapi¬
dity of the motion depends, inter alia, on the previous ve¬
locity of the striking body. For instance, if a clay ball,
2 x
346
DYNAMICS.
Dynamics, moving with any velocity, strike another equal ball which
is at rest, the struck ball moves with half the velocity of
the other. And it is farther remarkable that the striking
body always loses as much motion as the struck body
gains. This universal and remarkable fact seems to have
given rise to a confused or indistinct notion of a sort of
transference of motion from one body to another. The
phraseology in general use on this subject expresses this
in the most precise terms. The one ball is not said to
cause or produce motion in the other, but to communicate
motion to it; and the whole phenomenon is called the
Communi- communication of motion. We call this an indistinct no¬
cation of tion ; for surely no one will say that he has any clear con-
a^ood1 n°tcePt*on We can form the most distinct notion of
pression. " ^ie communication of heat, or of the cause of heat; of the
communication of saltness, sweetness, and a thousand
other things; but we cannot conceive how part of that
identical motion which was formerly in A, is now infused
into B, being given up by A. It is in our attempt to
form this notion that we find that motion is not a thing,
not a substance which can exist independently, and is
susceptible of actual transference. It appears in this
case to be a state, or condition, or mode of existence, of
which bodies are susceptible, which is producible, or (to
speak without metaphor) causable, in bodies, and which
is the effect and characteristic of certain natural qualities,
properties, or powers. We are anxious to have our read¬
ers impressed with clear and precise notions on this sub¬
ject, being confident that such, and only such, will carry
them through some intricate paths of mechanical and phi¬
losophical research.
Inherent 10. The remarkable circumstance in this phenomenon is,
force is the that a rapid motion, which requires for the effecting it
distinctive the action of a pressing power, continued for a sensible,
c aracterofan(j freqUent]y a long time, seems to be affected in an in-
^ ’ stant by impulsion. This has tended much to support
the notion of the actual transference of something former¬
ly possessed exclusively by the striking body, inhering in
it, but separable, and now transfused into the body stricken.
And now room is found for the employment of metaphor,
both in thought and language. The striking body affects
the body which it thus impels: it therefore possesses the
•power of impulsion, that is, of communicating motion. It
possesses it only while it is in motion. This power, there¬
fore, is the efficient distinguishing cause of its motion,
and its only office must be the continuation of this mo¬
tion. It is therefore called the inherent force, the force
inherent in a moving body, vis insita corpori moto.
This force is transfused into the body impelled ; and
therefore the transference is instantaneous, and the impell¬
ed body continues its motion till it is changed by some
other action. All this is at first sight very plausible ; but
a scrupulous attention to those feelings which have given
rise to this metaphorical conception should have produced
very different notions. I am conscious of exertion in or¬
der to begin motion on a slide; but if the ice be very
smooth, I am conscious of no exertion in order to slide
along. My power is felt only while I am conscious of ex¬
erting it; therefore I have no primitive feeling or notion
of power wdiile I am sliding along. I am certain that no
exertion of power is necessary here. Nay, I find that I
cannot think of my moving forward without effort other¬
wise than as a certain mode of my existence. Yet we
imagine that the partizans of this opinion did really de¬
duce it in some shape from their feelings. We must con¬
tinue the exertion of walking in order to walk on; our
power of walking must be continually exerted, otherwise
we shall stop. But this is a very imperfect, incomplete,
and careless observation. Walking is much more than
mere continuance in progressive motion. It is a continu¬
ally repeated lifting our body up a small height, and al-Byn
lowing it to come down again. This renewed ascent re-
quires repeated exertion.
11. We have other observations of importance yet toand
make on this force of moving bodies, but this is not the be hi
most proper occasion. Meanwhile we must remark, thatVgr
the instantaneous production of rapid motion by impulset!lan
has induced the first mechanicians of Europe to maintainsion'
that the power or force of impulse is unsusceptible of any
comparison with a pressing power. They have asserted
that impulse is infinitely great when compared with pres¬
sure ; not recollecting that they held them to be things
totally disparate, that have no proportion more than weight
and sweetness. But these gentlemen are perpetually en¬
ticed away from their creed by the similarity of the ultimate
results of pressure and impulse. No person can find any
difference between the motion of two balls moving equally
swift, in the same direction, one of which is descending
by gravity, and the other has derived its motion from a
blow. This struggle of the mind to maintain its faith,
and yet accommodate its doctrines to what we see, has
occasioned some other curious forms of expression. Pres¬
sure is considered as an effort to produce motion. When
a ball lies on a table, its weight, which they call a power,
continually and repeatedly endeavours (mark the meta¬
phorical word and thought) to move the ball downward.
But these efforts are ineffectual. They say that this in¬
effectual power is dead, and call it a vis mortua : but the
force of impulsion is called a vis viva, a living force.
But this is very whimsical and very inaccurate. If the
impelling ball falls perpendicularly on the other lying on
the table, it will produce no motion, any more than gra¬
vity wfill; and if the table be annihilated, gravity becomes
a vis viva.
We must now add, that in order to prove that impulse ArguU
is infinitely greater than pressure, these mechanicians turnindis t
our attention to many familiar facts which plead stronglyan(lj “•
in their favour. A carpenter will drive a nail into a boardclu5i’
with a very moderate blow of his hammer. This will re¬
quire a pressure which seems many hundred times greater
than the impelling effort of the carpenter. A very mode¬
rate blow will shiver into pieces a diamond which would
carry the weight of a mountain. Seeing this prodigious
superiority in the impulse, how shall they account for the
production of motion by means of pressure; for this mo¬
tion of the hammer might have been acquired by its fall¬
ing from a height; nay, it is actually acquired by means
of the continued pressure of the carpenter’s arm. They
consider it as the aggregate of an infinity of succeeding
pressures in every instant of its continuance; so that the
insignificant smallness of each effort is compensated by
their inconceivable number.
On the whole, we do not think that there is clear evi-Nod
dence that there are two kinds of mechanical force essen-ence
tially different in their nature. It is virtually given up bytwee 'es‘
those who say that impulse is infinitely greater than pres-?^"
sure. Nor is there any considerable advantage to be ob¬
tained by arranging the phenomenon under those two
heads. We may perhaps find some method of explaining
satisfactorily the remarkable difference that is really ob¬
served in the two modes of producing motion; namely,
the gradual production of motion by acknowledged pres¬
sure, and the instantaneous production of it by impulse.
Indeed we should not have taken up so much of our read¬
ers’ attention with this subject, had it not been for some
inferences that have been made from these premises, which
meet us in our very entry on the consideration of first prin¬
ciples, and that are of extensive influence on the whole
science of mechanical philosophy, and, indeed, on the
whole study of nature.
-
1
DYNAMICS.
347
vrY
cs. 12. Mechanicians are greatly divided in their opinion
,.j about the nature of the sole moving force in nature. Those
whotn we are now speaking of seem to think that all mo-
lion t tion is produced by pressure; for when they consider im-
polecfse pU]se as equivalent to the aggregate of an infinity of re-
jfmo4n?peate[j pressures, they undoubtedly suppose any pressure,
however insignificant, as a moving force. But there is a
party, both numerous and respectable, who maintain that
impulsion is the sole cause of motion. We see bodies in
motion, say they, and we see them impel others; and we
see that this production of motion is regulated by such
laws, that there is but one absolute quantity of motion in
the universe which remains unalterably the same. It must
therefore be transfused in the acts of collision. We also
see, with clear evidence, in some cases, that motion can
produce pressure. Euler adduces some very whimsical
and complicated cases, in which an action precisely simi¬
lar to pressure may be produced by motion. Thus, two
balls connected by a thread may be so struck that they
shall move forward, and at the same time wheel round. In
this case the connecting thread will be stretched between
them. Now, say the philosophers, since we see motion,
and see that pressure may be produced by motion, it is
preposterous to imagine that it is any thing else than a
result of certain motions; and it is the business of a phi¬
losopher to inquire and discover what motions produce the
pressures that we observe.
They then proceed to account for those pressing powers,
or solicitations to motion, which we observe in the acce¬
leration of falling bodies, the attractions of magnetism and
electricity, and many other phenomena of this kind, where
bodies are put in motion by the vicinity of other bodies,
or, in the popular language, by the action of other bodies
at a distance. To say that a magnet can act on a piece of
remote iron, is to say that it can act where it is not, which
is as absurd as to say that it can act when it is not. Nihil
movetur, says Euler, nisi a contiguo et moto.
Rories The bulk of these philosophers are not very anxious
it pr ice about the way in which these motions are produced, nor
presi e? do they fall upon such ingenious methods of producing
pressure as the one already mentioned, which was adduced
by Euler. The piece of iron, say they, is put in motion
when brought into the neighbourhood of a magnet, be¬
cause there is a stream of fluid issuing from one pole of the
magnet, which circles round the magnet, and enters at
the other pole. This stream impels the iron, and arranges
it in certain determined positions, just as a stream of wa¬
ter would arrange the flote grass. In the same manner,
there is a stream of fluid continually moving towards the
centre of the earth, which impels all bodies in lines per¬
pendicular to the surface ; and so on with regard to other
like phenomena. These motions are thus reduced to very
simple cases by impulsion.
It is unnecessary to refute this doctrine at present: it
ln«j
tibh
the: is of
’tk is enough that it is contrary to all the dictates of common
phil
phis,.];,
sense.
Oth
tnab in
that es-
«urc the
sole by.
»ng ce.
To suppose an agent that we do not see, and for
whose existence we have not the smallest argument; with
equal propriety we might suppose ministering spirits, or
any thing that we please.
13. Other philosophers are so dissatisfied with this notion
of the production of pressure, that they, on the other hand,
affirm that pressure is the only moving force in nature;
not according to the popular notion of pressure, by the
mutual contact of solid bodies, but that kind of pressure
which has been called solicitation, such as the power of
gravity. They affirm that there is no such thing as contact
on instantaneous communication of motion by real collision,
ihey say, and they prove it by very convincing facts, that
the particles of solid bodies exert very strong repulsions
to a small distance; and therefore, when they are brought
by motion sufficiently near to another body, they repel it, Dynamics,
and are equally repelled by it. Thus is motion produced
in the other body, and their own motion is diminished.
And they then show, by a scrupulous consideration of the
state of the bodies while the one is advancing and the
other retiring, in what manner the two bodies attain a
common velocity, so that the quantity of motion before
collision remains unchanged, the one body gaining as much
as the other loses. They also showr cases of such mutual ac¬
tion between bodies, where it is evident that they have never
come into contact; and yet the result has been precisely
similar to those cases where the motion appeared to be
changed in an instant. Therefore they conclude that
there is no such thing as instantaneous communication, or
transfusion of motion, by contact in collision or impulse.
The reason why previous motion of the impelling body is
necessary, is not that it may have a vis insita corpori moto,
a force inherent in it by its being in motion, but that it may
continue to follow the impelled and retiring body, and ex¬
ert on it a force inherent in itself, whether in motion or at
rest. According to these philosophers, therefore, all mov¬
ing forces are of that kind which has been named solicita¬
tion, such as gravity. We shall know it afterwards by the
more familiar and descriptive name of acceleratmg or re¬
tarding force.
14. The exertions of mechanical forces are differently Action, re¬
termed, according to the reference that we make to thesistance,
result. If in boxing or wrestling I strike, or endeavour tore*acti°n*
throw my antagonist, I am said to act; but if I only parry
his blows, or prevent him from throwing me, I am said to
resist. This distinction is applied to the exertions of me¬
chanical powers. When one body, A, changes the motion
of another, B, we may consider the change in the motion
of B either as the indication and measure of A’s power of
producing motion, or as the indication and measure of A’s
resistance to the being brought to rest, or having its motion
any how changed. The distinction is not in the thing it¬
self, but only in the reference that we are disposed, by other
considerations, to make of its effect. They may be distin¬
guished in the following manner: If a change of motion
follow when one of the powers ceases to be exerted, that
power is conceived as having resisted. The whole lan¬
guage on this subject is metaphorical. Resistance, effort,
endeavour, &c. are words which cannot be employed in
mechanical discussions without figure, because they all
express notions which relate to sentient beings; and the
unguarded indulgence of this figurative language has so
much affected the imagination of philosophers, that many
have almost animated all matter. Perhaps the word re¬
action, introduced by Newton, is the best term for ex¬
pressing that mutual force which is perceived in all the
operations of nature that we have investigated with suc¬
cess. As the magnet attracts iron, and in so doing is said
to act on it; so the iron attracts the magnet, and may be
said to re-act on it.
15. With respect to the difficulty that has been object-We need
ed to the opinion of those who maintain that all the me-not sup-
chanical phenomena are produced by the agency of at'p?s^iCstl0n
tracting or repelling forces; namely, that this supposesaaHaels‘
the bodies to act on each other at a distance, however
small those distances may be, which is thought to be ab¬
surd, we may observe, that we may ascribe the mutual
approaches or recesses to tendencies to or from each other.
What we call the attraction of the magnet may be consider¬
ed as a tendency of the iron to the magnet, somewhat si¬
milar to the gravitation of a stone toward the earth. We
surely (at least the unlearned) can and do conceive the
iron to be affected by the magnet, without thinking of any
intermedium. The thing is not therefore inconceivable,
which is all that we know about absurdity; and we do not
348 DYNAMICS.
Dynamics, know any thing about the nature or essence of matter
which renders this tendency to the magnet impossible.
That we do not see intuitively any reason why the iron
should approach the magnet, must be granted; but this is
not enough to entitle us to say that such a thing is impos¬
sible, or inconsistent with the nature of matter. It appears,
therefore, to be very hasty and unwarrantable to suppose
the impulse of an invisible fluid, of which we know no¬
thing, and of the existence of which we have no proof.
Nay, if it be true that bodies do not come into contact,
even when one ball hits another, and drives it before it,
this invisible fluid will not solve the difficulty, because the
same difficulty occurs in the action of any particle of the
fluid on the body. We are obliged to say that the pro¬
duction of motion without any observed contact, is a much
more familiar phenomenon than the production of motion
by impulsion. More motion has been produced in this way
by the gravitation of a small stream of water, running ever
since the creation, than by all the impulses in the world
twice told. We do not mean by this to say, that the giv¬
ing to this observed mutual relation between''iron and a
loadstone the name tendency makes it less absurd than
when we say that the loadstone attracts the iron; it only
makes it more conceivable. It suggests a very familiar
analogy; but both are equally figurative expressions, at
least as the word tendency is used at present. In the lan¬
guage of ancient Rome, there was no metaphor when Vir¬
gil’s hero said, Tendimus in Latium. Tendere versus solem
means, in plain Latin, to approach the sun. The safe way
of conceiving the whole is to say that the condition of the
iron depends on the vicinity of the magnet.
Attraction, 16. When the exertions of a mechanical power are ob-
repulsion, served to be always directed toward a body, that body is
are igura- saj(j t0 ajtract. when the other body always moves
‘ off from it, it is said to repel. These also are metaphori¬
cal expressions. I attract a boat when I pull it toward
me by a rope ; this is purely Attraction: and it is pure,
unfigurative Repulsion, when I push any body from me.
The same words are applied to the mechanical pheno¬
mena, merely because they resemble the results of real
attraction or repulsion. We must be much on our guard
to avoid metaphor in our conceptions, and never allow
those words to suggest to our mind any opinion about the
manner in which the mechanical forces produce their ef¬
fects. It is plain, that if the opinion of those who main¬
tain the existence and action of the above-mentioned in¬
visible fluid be just, there is nothing like attraction or re¬
pulsion in the universe. We must always recur to the
^mple phenomenon, the motion to or from the attracting
or repelling body; for this is all we see, and generally all
that we know.
Forces are 17. We conceive one man to have twice the strength of
conceived another man, when we see that he can withstand the
as measur. unjte(j effort of two others. Thus animal force is conceived
titles1111™" as a made up of and measured by its own parts.
But we doubt exceedingly whether this be an accurate
conception. We have not a distinct notion of one strain
added to another, though we have of their being joined
or combined. We want words to express the difference
of these two notions in our own minds, but we imagine
that others perceive the same difference. We conceive
clearly the addition of two lines or of two minutes; we
can conceive them apart, and perceive their boundaries,
common to both, where one ends and the other begins.
We cannot conceive thus of two forces combined ; yet we
cannot say that two equal forces are not double of one of
them. We measure them by the effects which they are
known to produce. Yet there are not wanting many cases
where the action of two men, equally strong, does not pro¬
duce a double motion.
In like manner, we conceive all mechanical forces aspVnai
measurable by their effects; and thus they are made the v—^ )
subjects of mathematical discussion. We talk of the pro-How
portions of gravity, magnetism, electricity, &c.; nay, wesured. '
talk of the proportion of gravity to magnetism: yet these,
considered in themselves, are disparate, and do not admit
of any proportion ; but they produce effects, some of
which are measurable, and whose assumed measures are
susceptible of comparison, being quantities of the same
kind. ‘ Thus, one of the effects of gravity is the accelera¬
tion of motion in a falling body: magnetism will also ac¬
celerate the motion of a piece of iron; these two acce¬
lerations are comparable. But we cannot compare mag¬
netism with heat, because we do not know any measur¬
able effects of magnetism that are of the same kind with
any effects of heat.
When we say that the gravitation of the moon is theBvth
3600th part of the gravitation at the sea-shore, we mean effect:
that the fall of a stone in a second is 3600 times greater
than the fall of the moon in the same time. But we also
mean (and this expresses the proportion of the tendency
of gravitation more purely), that if a stone, when hung
on a spring steelyard, draw out the rod of the steelyard
to the mark 3600, the same stone, taken up to the dis¬
tance of the moon, will draw it out no farther than the
mark 1. We also mean, that if the stone at the sea-shore
draw out the rod to any mark, it will require 3600 such
stones to draw' it out to that mark when the trial is made
at the distance of the moon. It is not, therefore, in con¬
sequence of any immediate perception of the proportion
of the gravitation at the moon to that at the surface of the
earth that we make such an assertion ; but these motions,
which we consider as its effects in these situations, being
magnitudes of the same kind, are susceptible of compari¬
son, and have a proportion wdiich can be ascertained by
observation. It is these proportions that we contemplate;
although we speak of the proportions of the unseen causes,
the forces, or endeavours to descend. It will be of mate¬
rial service to the reader to peruse the judicious and acute
dissertation on quantity in the works of Dr Reid (vol. ii.),
where he will see clearly how force, velocity, density, and
many other magnitudes of very frequent occurrence in
mechanical philosophy, may be made the subjects of ma¬
thematical discussion, by means of some of those proper
quantities, measurable by their own parts, which are to be
assumed as their measures. Pressures are measurable
only by pressures. When w^e consider them as moving
powers, we should be able to measure them by any mov¬
ing powers, otherwise we cannot compare them; there¬
fore it is not as pressures that we then measure them.
This observation is momentous.
One circumstance must be carefully attended to. That
those assumed measures may be accurate, they must be
invariably connected with the magnitudes which they are
employed to measure, and so connected that the degrees
of the one must change in the same manner with the de¬
grees of the other. This is evident, and is granted by all.
But we must also k7iow this of the measure we employ;
we must see this constant and precise relation. How can
we know this ? We do not perceive force as a separate
existence, so as to see its proportions, and to see that
these are the same with the proportions of the measures,
in the same manner that Euclid sees the proportions ol
triangles and those of their bases, and that these propor¬
tions are the same when the triangles are of equal alti¬
tudes. How do we discover that to every magnitude
which we call force is invariably attached a corresponding
magnitude of acceleration or deflection ? Clearly. In fact,
the very existence of the force is an inference that we
make from the observed acceleration; and the degree ot
¥
I i
K 1
'cs. the force is, in like manner, an inference from the observ-
ed magnitude of the acceleration. Our measures are
therefore necessarily connected with the magnitudes which
they measure, and their proportions are the same; because
the one is always an inference from the other, both in
species and in degree.
-eg 18. It is now evident that these disquisitions are sus-
isTmon-ceptible of mathematical accuracy. Having selected our
strafe measures, and observed certain mathematical relations of
sciee. ^gge measures, every inference that we can draw from
the mathematical relations of the proportions of those re¬
presentations is true of the proportions of the motions,
and therefore of the proportions of the forces. And thus
dynamics becomes a demonstrative science, one of the
discipline accurate.
19. But moving forces are considered as differing and
in kind; that is, in direction. We assign to the force the
direction of the observed change of motion, which is not
only the indication, but also the characteristic, of the
changing force. We call it an accelerating, retarding, de¬
flecting force, according as we observe the motion to be
accelerated, retarded, or deflected.
These denominations show us incontestably that we
have no knowledge of the forces different from our know¬
ledge of the effects. The denominations are all either
descriptive of the effects, as when we call them accelerat¬
ing, penetrating, protrusive, attractive, or repulsive forces;
or they are names of reference to the substances in which
the accelerating, protrusive, &c. forces are supposed to
he inherent, as when we call them magnetism, electricity,
corpuscular, &c.
Fo'-s are 20. When I struggle with another, and feel, that in or-
disrered der to prevent being thrown, I must exert force, I learn
eif that my antagonist is exerting force. This motion is trans-
to1 icrUU ferred to matter; and when a moving power which is
for . known to operate produces no motion, we conceive it to
be opposed by another equal force, the existence, agency,
and intensity of which is detected and measured by these
means. The quiescent state of the body is considered as
a change on the state of things that would have been ex¬
hibited in consequence of the known action of one power,
had this other power not acted ; and this change is con¬
sidered as the indication, characteristic, and measure, of
another power, detected in this way. Thus forces are re¬
cognised not only by the changes of motion which they
produce, but also by the changes of motion which they
prevent. The cohesion of matter in a string is inferred
not only by its giving motion to a ball which I pull toward
me by its intervention, but also by its suspending that ball,
and hindering it from falling. I know that gravity is act¬
ing on the ball, which, however, does not fall. The soli¬
dity of a board is equally inferred from its stopping the
ball which strikes it, and from the motion of the ball which
it drives before it. In this way we learn that the particles
of tangible matter cohere by means of moving forces, and
that they resist compression with force; and in making this
inference, we find that this corpuscular force exerted be¬
tween the particles is mutual, opposite, and equal; for we
must apply force equally to a or to b, in order to produce
a separation or a compression. We learn their equality,
by observing that no motion ensues while these mutual
forces are known to act on the particles; that is, each is
opposed by another force, which is neither inferior nor
superior to it.
OF THE LAWS OF MOTION.
Such, then, being our notions of mechanical forces, the
causes of the sensible changes of motion, there will result
certain consequences from them, which may be called
349
axioms or laws of motion. Some of these may be intuitive* First Law
offering themselves to the mind as soon as the notions °f Motion*
which they involve are presented to it. Others may be as
necessary results from the relations of these notions, but
may not readily offer themselves without the mediation of
axioms of the first class. We shall select those which are
intuitive, and may be taken for the first principles of all
discussions in mechanical philosophy.
FIRST LAW OF MOTION.
Every body continues in a state of rest, or of uniform recti¬
lineal motion, unless affected by some mechanical force.
21. This is a proposition, on the truth of which the
whole science of mechanical philosophy ultimately de¬
pends. It is therefore to be established on the firmest
foundation ; and a solicitude on this head is the more jus¬
tifiable, because the opinions of philosophers have been
extremely different, both with respect to the truth of this
law, and with respect to the foundation on which it is
built. Tftese opinions are, in general, very obscure and
unsatisfactory; and, as is natural, they influence the dis¬
cussions of those by whom they are held through the whole
science. Although of contradictory opinions one only
can be just, and it may appear sufficient that this one be
established and uniformly applied; yet a short exposition,
at least, of the rest is necessary, that the greatest part of
the writings of the philosophers may be intelligible, and
that we may avail ourselves of much valuable information
contained in them, by being able to perceive the truth
in the midst of their imperfect or erroneous conceptions
of it.
22. It is not only the popular opinion that rest is the Does con¬
natural state of body, and that motion is something foreign tinned mo-
to it, but it has been seriously maintained by the great-
est part of those who are esteemed philosophers. They tinue(i a^._
readily grant that matter will continue at rest unless some tion ?
moving force act upon it. Nothing seems necessary for
matter’s remaining where it is, but its continuing to exist.
But it is far otherwise, say they, with respect to matter in
motion. Here the body is continually changing its relations
to other things; therefore the continual agency of a chan¬
ging cause is necessary (by the fundamental principle of
all philosophical discussion), for there is here the continual
production of an effect. They say that this metaphysical
argument receives complete confirmation (if confirmation
of an intuitive truth be necessary) from the most familiar
observation. We see that all motions, however violent,
terminate in rest,- and that the continual exertion of some
force is necessary for their continuance.
23. These philosophers therefore assert, that the conti- Whimsical
nual action of the moving cause is essentially necessary for notlon
the continuance of the motion; but they differ among a
themselves in their notions and opinions about this cause.
Some maintain that all the motions in the universe are
produced and continued by the immediate agency of
Deity ; others affirm, that in every particle of matter there
is inherent a sort of mind, the puov; and of Aris¬
totle, which they call an Elemental Mind, which is the
cause of all its motions and changes. An overweening
reverence for Greek learning has had a great influence in
reviving this doctrine of Aristotle. The Greek and Ro¬
man languages are affirmed to be more accurate expres¬
sions of human thought than the modern languages are.
In those ancient languages, the verbs which express mo¬
tion are employed both in the active and passive voice;
whereas we have only the active verb to move, for express¬
ing both the state of motion and the act of putting in
motion. “ The stone moves down the slope, and moves all
the pebbles which lie in its waybut in the ancient lan-
D YN AMI C S.
350
DYNAMICS.
FfTir Law Suages> mere state of motion is always expressed by
o^Motion. the passive or middle voice. The accurate conception of
the speakers is therefore extolled. The state of motion is
expressed as it ought to be, as the result of a continual
action. Kmirat, movetur, is equivalent to “ it is moved.”
According to these philosophers, every thing which moves
is mind, and every thing that is moved is body.
The argument is futile, and it is false; for the modern
languages are, in general, equally accurate in this instance:
“ se mouvoir” in French; “ jich bewegen” in German;
“ dvigatsu” in Slavonic; are all passive or reflected. And
the ancients said that “ rain falls, water runs, smoke rises,”
just as we do. The ingenious author of Ancient Meta¬
physics has taken much pains to give us, at length, the
procedures of those elementary minds in producing the
ostensible phenomena of local motion; but it seems to be
merely an abuse of language, and a very frivolous abuse.
This elemental mind is known and characterised only by
the effect which we ascribe to its action; that is, by the
motions or changes of motions. Uniform and unexcept¬
ed experience shows us that these are regulated by laws
as precise as those of mathematical truth. We consider
nothing as more fixed and determined than the common
laws of mechanism. There is nothing here that indicates
any thing like spontaneity, intention, purpose; none of
those marks by which mind was first brought into view;
but they are very like the effects which we produce by
the exertions of our corporeal forces; and we have ac¬
cordingly given the name force to the causes of motion.
It is surely much more apposite than the name mind, and
conveys with much more readiness and perspicuity the
very notions that we wish to convey.
Action not 24. We now wish to know what reason we have to think
for the ^ that the continual action of some cause is necessary for
continu- continuing matter in motion, or for thinking that rest is
ance of natural state. If we pretend to draw any argument
motion. from the nature of matter, that matter must be known, as
far as is necessary for being the foundation of argument.
Its very existence is known only from observation ; all our
knowledge of it must therefore be derived from the same
source.
. If we take this way to come at the origin of this opi¬
nion, we shall find that experience gives us no authority
for saying that rest is the natural condition of matter. We
cannot say that we have ever seen a body at rest; this is
evident to every person who allows the validity of the
Newtonian philosophy, and the truth of the Copernican
system of the sun and planets ; all the parts of this system
are in motion. Nay, it appears from many observations,
that the sun, with his attending planets, is carried in a
certain direction, with a velocity which is very great. We
have no unquestionable authority for saying that any one
of the stars is absolutely fixed ; but we are certain that
many of them are in motion. Rest is therefore so rare a
condition of body, that we cannot say, from any experience
that it is its natural state.
25. It is easy, however, to see that it is from observa¬
tion that this opinion has been derived; but the observa¬
tion has been limited and careless. Our experiments in
this sublunary world do indeed always require continued
action of some moving force to continue the motion; and
if this be not employed, we see the motions slacken every
minute, and terminate in rest after no long period. Our
first notions of sublunary bodies are indicated by their
operation in cases where we have some interest. Perpe¬
tually seeing our own exertions necessary, we are led to
consider matter as something not only naturally quiescent
and inert, but sluggish, averse from motion, and prone to
rest (we must be pardoned this metaphorical language,
because we can find no other term). What is expressed
by it, on this occasion, is precisely one of the erroneous Pird
or inadequate conceptions that are suggested to curof! ?*
thoughts by reason of the poverty of language. We ani- ‘ °4
mate matter in order to give it motion, and then we endow
it with a sort of moral character in order to explain the
appearance of those motions.
26. But more extended observation has made men gra¬
dually desert their first opinions, and at last allow that
matter has no peculiar aptitude to rest. All the retarda¬
tions that we observe have been discovered, one after an¬
other, to have a distinct reference to some external cir¬
cumstances. The diminution of motion is always observ¬
ed to be accompanied by the removal of obstacles, as when
a ball moves through sand, or water, or air ; or it is owing
to opposite motions which are destroyed; to roughness
of the path, or to friction, &c. We find that the more we
can keep these things out of the way, the less are the
motions diminished. A pendulum will vibrate but a short
while in water; much longer in air; and in the exhaust¬
ed receiver it will vibrate a whole day. We know that we
cannot remove all obstacles ; but we are led by such ob¬
servations to conclude that, if they could be completely
removed, our motions would continue for ever. And this
conclusion is almost demonstrated by the motions of the
heavenly bodies, to which we know of no obstacles, and
which we really observe to retain their motions for many
thousand years, without the smallest sensible diminution.
27. Another set of philosophers maintain an opinioninact v
directly opposite to that of the inactivity of matter, andofma ?
assert, that it is essentially active, and continually chan-denie y
ging its state. Faint traces of this are to be found in theLeibl
writings of Plato, Aristotle, and their commentators. Mr
Leibnitz is the person who has treated this question most
systematically and fully. He supposes every particle ofMona
matter to have a principle of individuality, which he there-what,
fore calls & Monad. This monad has a sort perception
of its situation in the universe, and of its relation to every
other part of this universe. Lastly, he says that the mo¬
nad acts on the material particle much in the same way
that the soul of man acts on his body. It modifies the
motion of the material atom (in conformity, however, to
unalterable laws), producing all those modifications of
motion that we observe. Matter, therefore, or at least
particles of matter, are continually active, and continual¬
ly changing their situation.
It is quite unnecessary to enter on a formal confutation This o
of Mr Leibnitz s system of monads, which differs verynioni
little from the system of elemental minds, and is equally found*
whimsical and frivolous; because it only makes the un¬
learned reader stare, without giving him any information.
Should it even be granted, it would not, any more than
the action of animals, invalidate the general proposition
which we are endeavouring to establish as the funda¬
mental law of motion. I hose powers of the monads, or of
the elemental minds, are the causes of all the changes of
motion ; but the mere material particle is subject to the
law, and requires the exertion of the monad in order to
exhibit a change of motion.
28. A third sect of philosophers, at the head of which
we may place Sir Isaac Newton, maintain the doctrine
enounced in the proposition. But they differ much in re¬
spect of the foundation on which it is built.
Some assert that this truth flows from the nature of the Some]
thing. If a body be at rest, and you assert that it will notl080?*11
rpmni’n at raet it w-.nct   J- . • Ti>deduct
remain at rest, it must move in some one direction, n u,. .
’ • • ■ - - law oi
Ifitf
be in motion in any direction, and with any velocity, and^g,,
do not continue its equable, rectilineal motion, it mustthewa
either be accelerated or retarded ; it must turn either toofa^i
one side or to some other side. The event, whatever it wining
be, is individual and determinate; but no cause which cause.
i
DYNAMICS.
fr ex-
jx :nce
jt Law can determine it is supposed; therefore the determina-
oilotion.tion cannot take place, and no change will happen in the
vy'-' condition of the body with respect to motion. It will con¬
tinue at rest, or persevere in its rectilineal and equable
motion.
But considerable objections may be made to this argu¬
ment of sufficient reason, as it is called. In the immen¬
sity and perfect uniformity of space and time, there is no
determining cause why the visible universe should exist in
the place in which we see it rather than in another, or at
this time rather than at another. Nay, the argument seems
to beg the question. A cause of determination is requir¬
ed as essentially necessary—a determination may be with¬
out a cause, as well as a motion without a cause.
0 ;rs de- 29. Other philosophers, who maintain this doctrine, con-
iLfit sider it merely as an experimental truth ; and proofs of its
universality are innumerable.
When a stone is thrown from the hand, we press it for¬
ward while in the hand, and let it go when the hand has
acquired the greatest rapidity of motion that we can give
it. Thg stone continues in that state of motion which it
acquired gradually along with the hand. We can throw
a stone much farther by means of a sling, because, by a
very moderate motion of the hand, we can whirl the stone
round till it acquire a very great velocity, and then we let
go one of the strings, and the stone escapes, by continuing
its rapid motion. We see it still more distinctly in shoot¬
ing an arrow from a bow. The string presses hard on the
notch of the arrow, and it yields to this pressure and goes
forward. The string alone would go faster forward. It
therefore continues to press the arrow forward, and accele¬
rates its motion. This goes on till the bow is as much
unbent as the string will allow. But the string is now a
straight line-It came into this position with an accele¬
rated motion, and it therefore goes a little beyond this po¬
sition, but with a retarded motion, being checked by the
bow. But there is nothing to check the arrow, therefore
the arrow quits the string and flies away.
These are simple cases of perseverance in a state of
motion, where the procedure of nature is so easily traced
that we perceive it almost intuitively. It is no less clear
in other phenomena which are more complicated ; but it
requires a little reflection to trace the process. We have
often seen an equestrian showman ride a horse at a gallop,
standing on the saddle, and stepping from it to the back
of another horse that gallops alongside at the same rate ;
and he does this seemingly with as much ease as if the
horses were standing still. The man has the same velo¬
city with the horse that gallops under him, and keeps this
velocity while he steps to the back of the other. If that
other were standing still, the man would fly over his head.
And if a man should step from the back of a horse that is
standing still, to the back of another that gallops past him,
he would be left behind. In the same manner, a slack-
wire dancer tosses oranges from hand to hand while the
wire is in full swing. The orange, swinging along with
the hand, retains the velocity; and when in the air, follows
the hand, and falls into it when it is in the opposite ex¬
tremity of its swing. A ball dropped from the mast-head
of a ship that is sailing briskly forward, falls at the foot of
the mast. It retains the motion which it had while in the
hand of the person who dropped it, and follows the mast
during the whole of its fall.
a^S° ^lave familiar instances of the perseverance of
a ody in a state of rest. When a vessel filled with water
is rawn suddenly along the floor, the water dashes over
the posterior side of the vessel. It is left behind. In the
same manner, when a coach or boat is dragged forward,
e persons in it find themselves strike against the hinder
part of the carriage or boat. Properly speaking, it is the
351
carriage that strikes on them. In like manner, if we lay First Law
a card on the tip of the finger, and a piece of money on °f Motion,
the card, we may nick away the card, by hitting it neatly
on its edge; but the piece of money will be left behind,
lying on the tip of the finger. A ball will go through a
wall and fly onward; but the wall is left behind. Buildings
are thrown down by earthquakes; sometimes by being
tossed from their foundations, but more generally by the
ground on which they stand being hastily drawn sidewise
from under them, &c.
30. But common experience seems insufficient for esta-Common
Wishing this fundamental proposition of mechanical philo-experience
sophy. We must, on the faith of the Copernican system,irlsuffi-
grant that we never saw a body at rest, or in uniform rec-cient‘
tilineal motion; yet this seems absolutely necessary before
we can say that we have established this proposition ex¬
perimentally.
What we imagine, in our experiments, to be putting a
body, formerly at rest, into motion, is, in fact, only chan¬
ging a mo^t rapid motion, not less, and probably much
greater, than 90,000 feet per second. Suppose a cannon
pointed east, and the bullet discharged at noon day with
sixty times greater velocity than we have ever been able
to give it: it would appear to set out with this unmea¬
surable velocity to the eastward, to be gradually retard¬
ed by the resistance of the air, and at last brought to rest
by hitting the ground. But, by reason of the earth’s mo¬
tion round the sun, the fact is quite the reverse. Imme¬
diately before the discharge, the ball was moving to the
westward with the velocity of 90,000 feet per second
nearly. By the explosion of the powder, and its pressure
on the ball, some of this motion is destroyed, and at the
rnuzzle of the gun the ball is moving slower, and the can¬
non is hurried away from it to the westward. The air,
which is also moving to the westward 90,000 feet in a se¬
cond, gradually communicates motion to the ball, in the
same manner as a hurricane would do. At last (the ball
dropping all the while) some part of the ground hits the
ball, and carries it along with it.
Other observations must therefore be resorted to, in
order to obtain an experimental proof of this proposition;
and such are to be found. Although we cannot measure
the absolute motions of bodies, we can observe and mea¬
sure accurately their relative motions, which are the dif¬
ferences of their absolute motions. Now, if we can show
experimentally that bodies show equal tendencies to resist
the augmentation and the diminution of their relative mo¬
tions, they, ipso facto, show equal tendencies to resist the
augmentation or diminution of their absolute motions.
Therefore let two bodies, A and B, be put into such a si¬
tuation that they cannot (by reason of their impenetrabi¬
lity, or the action of their mutual powers) persevere in
their relative motions. The change produced on A is the
effect and the measure of B’s tendency to persevere in its
former state; and therefore the proportion of these changes
will show the proportion of their tendencies to maintain
their former states. Therefore let the following experi¬
ment be made at noon.
Let A, apparently moving westward three feet per se-Experi-
cond, hit the equal body B apparently at rest. Suppose, ments pro-
^st, that A impels B forward without any diminution of Per far fa®
its own velocity. This result would show that B mani-PurPose*
fests no tendency to maintain its motion unchanged, but
that A retains its motion undiminished.
Zdly, Suppose that A stops, and that B remains at rest.
This would show that A does not resist a diminution of
motion, but that B retains its motion unaugmented.
■idly, Suppose that both move westward with the velo¬
city of one foot per second. The change on A is a dimi¬
nution of velocity, amounting to two feet per second.
352
DYNAMICS.
First Law This is the effect and the measure of B’s tendency to
of Motion, maintain its velocity unaugmented. The change on B is
an augmentation of one foot per second made on its velo¬
city ; and this is the measure of A’s tendency to maintain
its velocity undiminished. This tendency is but half of
the former; and this result would show that the resist¬
ance to a diminution of velocity is but half of the resist¬
ance to augmentation. It is perhaps but one quarter, for
the change on B has produced a double change on A.
Stilly, Suppose that both move westward at the rate of
one and a half foot per second. It is evident that their
tendencies to maintain their states unchanged are now
equal.
bihly. Suppose A = 2 B, and that both move, after the
collision, two feet per second; B has received an addition
of two feet per second to its former velocity. This is the
effect and the measure of A’s whole tendency to retain its
motion undiminished. Half of this change on B measures
the persevering tendency of the half of A; but A, which
formerly moved with die apparent or relative velocity
three, now moves (by the supposition) with the velocity
two, having lost a velocity of one foot per second. Each
half of A therefore has lost this velocity, and the whole
loss of motion is two. Now this is the measure of B’s
tendency to maintain its former state unaugmented; and
this is the same with the measure of A’s tendency to
maintain its own former state undiminished. The conclu¬
sion from such a result would therefore be, that bodies
have equal tendencies to maintain their former states of
motion without augmentation and without diminution.
What is supposed in the fourth and fifth cases is really
the result of all the experiments which have been tried;
and this law regulates all the changes of motion which are
produced by the mutual actions of bodies in impulsions.
This assertion is true without exception or qualification.
Therefore it appears that bodies have no preferable ten¬
dency to rest, and that no fact can be adduced which
should make us suppose that a motion once begun should
suffer any diminution without the action of a changing
cause.
But expe- But we must now observe, that this way of establishing
rience is the first law of motion is very imperfect, and altogether
not the unfit for rendering it the fundamental principle of a whole
foundation ant^ extensive science. It is subject to all the inaccuracy
of an J ^iat *s t0 be found in our best experiments; and it cannot
axiom. be applied to cases where scrupulous accuracy is wanted,
and where no experiment can be made.
Let us therefore examine the proposition by means of
principles which contain the foundation of all our know¬
ledge of active nature. These will, we imagine, give a
decision of this question that is speedy and accurate;
showing the proposition to be an axiom or intuitive con¬
sequence of the relations of those ideas which we have of
motion, and of the causes of its production and changes.
Logical 31. It has been fully demonstrated that the powers or
proof! forces of which we speak so much are never the immedi¬
ate objects of our perception. Their very existence, their
kind, and their degree, are instinctive inferences from the
motions which we observe and class. It evidently follows
from this experimental and universal truth, ls£, that where
no change of motion is observed, no such inference is
made, that is, no power is supposed to act. But when¬
ever any change of motion is observed, the inference is
made ; that is, a power or force is supposed to have acted.
In the same form of logical conclusion, we must say
that, 2dly, when no change of motion is supposed or
thought of, no force is supposed; and that whenever we
suppose a change of motion, we in fact, though not in
terms, suppose a changing force. And, on the other hand,
whenever we suppose the action of a changing force, we
suppose the change of motion; for the action of this force, Pir8|
and the change of motion, is one and the same thing. We ot'M
cannot think of the action without thinking of the Tndica- ^
tion of that action ; that is, the change of motion. In the
same manner, when we do not think of a changing force,
or suppose that there is no action of a changing force, we
in fact, though not in terms, suppose that there is no in¬
dication of this changing force; that is, that there is no
change.
Whenever, therefore, we suppose that no mechanical It is
force is acting on a body, we in fact suppose that the of In
body continues in its former condition with respect to1'1011;
motion. If we suppose that nothing accelerates, or retards,
or deflects the motion, we suppose that it is not accele¬
rated, nor retarded, nor deflected. Hence follows the pro¬
position in express terms— We suppose that the body con¬
tinues in its former state of rest or motion, unless we suppose
that it is changed by some mechanical force.
Thus it appears that this proposition is not a matter of
experience or contingency, depending on the properties
which it has pleased the Author of nature to bestow on
body; it is to us a necessary truth. The proposition does
not so much express any thing with regard to body, as it
does the operations of our mind when contemplating body.
It may perhaps be essential to body to move in some par¬
ticular direction. It may be essential to body to stop as
soon as the moving cause has ceased to act; or it may be
essential to body to diminish its motion gradually, and
finally come to rest. But this will not invalidate the truth
of this proposition. These circumstances in the nature of
body, which render those modifications of motion essen¬
tially necessary, are the causes of those modifications;
and in our study of nature they will be considered by us
as changing forces, and will be known and called by that
name. And if we should ever see a particle of matter in
such a situation that it is affected by those essential pro¬
perties alone, we shall, from observation of its motion, dis¬
cover what those essential properties are.
This law turns out at last to be little more than a tail-and;
tological proposition; but mechanical philosophy, as we an id
have defined it, requires no other sense of it; for even il'c.al.P
we should suppose that body, of its own nature, is capa-sltl01^
ble of changing its state, this change must be performed
according to some law which characterizes the nature of
body; and the knowledge of the law can be had in no
other way than by observing the deviations from uniform
rectilineal motion. It is therefore indifferent whether
those changes are derived from the nature of the thing or
from external causes; for, in order to consider the various
motions of bodies, we must first consider this nature of
matter as a mechanical affection of matter, operating in
every instance; and thus we are brought back to the law
enounced in this proposition. This becomes more certain
when we reflect that the external causes (such as gravity
or magnetism), which are acknowledged to operate changes
of motion, are equally unknown to us with this essential
original property of matter, and are, like it, nothing but
inferences from the phenomena.
The above very diffuse discussions may appear super¬
fluous to many readers, and even cumbersome; but we
trust that the philosophical reader will excuse our anxiety
on this head, when he reflects on the complicated, indis¬
tinct, and inaccurate notions commonly had of the sub¬
ject. We may include Sir Isaac Newton in the number
of those who have at least introduced modes of expression
which mislead the minds of incautious persons, and sug¬
gest inadequate notions, incompatible with the pure doc¬
trine of the proposition. Although in words they disclaim
the doctrine that rest is the natural state of body, and
that force is necessary for the continuation of its motion,
aw
on.
aw
n
ost
*
'
DYNAMICS,
j.. Law yet in words they (and most of them in thought) likewise
(1f ation. abet that doctrine: for they say that there resides in a
moving body a power or force, by which it perseveres in
its motion. They call it the vis insita, the inherent force,
oja moving body. This is surely giving up the question :
for if the motion is supposed to be continued in conse¬
quence of a force, that force is supposed to be exerted;
and it is supposed that if it were not exerted, the motion
would cease; and therefore the proposition must be false.
Indeed it is sometimes expressed so as seemingly to ward
off this objection. It is said that the body continues in
uniform rectilineal motion, unless affected by some external
cause. But this way of speaking obliges us, at first setting
out in natural philosophy, to assert that gravity, magnetism,
electricity, and a thousand other mechanical powers, are
external to the matter which they put in motion. This is
quite improper. It is the business of philosophy to dis¬
cover whether they be external or not; and if we assert
that they are, we have no principles of argumentation with
those who deny it. It is this one thing that has filled the
study of nature with all the jargon of ethers, and other in¬
visible, intangible fluids, which has disgraced philosophy,
and greatly retarded its progress.
yXuita, 32. We must observe, that the terms vis insita, inherent
indent force, are very improper. There is no dispute among phi-
foi are losophers in calling every thing a force that produces a
im ’Per change of motion, and in inferring the action of such a
tl' usual ft,rce whenever observe a change of motion. It is
aJta. surely incongruous to give the same name to what has
tic not this quality of producing a change, or to infer (or rather
to suppose) the energy of a force when no change of motion
is observed. This is one among many instances of the
danger of mistake when we indulge in analogical discus¬
sions. All our language, at least, on this subject is ana¬
logous. I feel that in order to oppose animal force I must
exert force. But I must exert force in order to oppose a
body in motion ; therefore I imagine that the moving body
possesses force. A bent spring will drive a body forward
by unbending; therefore I say that the spring exerts
force. A moving body impels the body which it hits;
therefore I say that the impelling body possesses and ex¬
erts force. I imagine farther, that it possesses force only
by being in motion, or because it is in motion; because I
do not find that a quiescent body will put another into
motion by touching it. But we shall soon find this to be
false in many, if not in all cases, and that the communica¬
tion of motion depends on the mere vicinity, and not on
the motion of the impelling body; yet we ascribe the
exertion of the vis insita to the circumstance of the con¬
tinued motion. We therefore conceive the force as aris¬
ing from or as consisting in the impelling body’s being in
motion; and, with a very obscure and indistinct concep¬
tion of the whole matter, we call it the force by which the
body preserves itself in motion. Thus, taking it for grant¬
ed that a force resides in the body, and being obliged
to give it some office, this is the only one that we can
think of.
33. But philosophers imagine that they perceive the
necessity of the exertion of a force in order to the con¬
tinuation of a motion. Motion (say they) is a continued
action ; the body is every instant in a new situation ; there
is the continual production of an effect, therefore the con¬
tinual action of a cause.
^ F's This, however, is a very inaccurate way of thinking.
co°i iual ^ ^aVe a t^st‘nct concePt‘on °f motion ; and we con-
pd jiction ce^ve. t^at there is such a thing as a moving cause, which
d ef. we distinguish from all other causes by the name force. It
fet| produces motion. If it does this, it produces the cha¬
racter of motion, which is a continual change of place.
Motion is not action, but the effect of an action ; and this
VOL. VIII.
353
action is as complete in the instant immediately succeed- First Law
ing the beginning of the motion as it is a minute after. °f Motion.
The subsequent change of place is the continuation of an
effect already produced. The immediate effect of the
moving force is a determination, by which, if not hin¬
dered, the body would go on for ever from place to place.
It is in this determination only that the state or condition
of the body can differ from a state of rest; for in any in¬
stant the body does not describe any space, but has a de¬
termination by which it will describe a certain space uni¬
formly in a certain time. Motion is a condition, a state,
or mode of existence, and no more requires the continued
agency of the moving cause than yellowness or roundness
does. It requires some chemical agency to change the
yellowness to greenness ; and itrequires a mechanical cause
or a force to change this motion into rest. When we see
a moving body stop short in an instant, or be gradually
but quickly brought to rest, we never fail to speculate
about a cause of this cessation or retardation. The case
is no way different in itself although the retardation should
be extremely slow. We should always attribute it to a
cause. It requires a cause to put a body out of motion, as
much as to put it into motion. This cause, if not exter¬
nal, must be found in the body itself; and it must have a
self-determining power, and may as well be able to put
itself into motion as out of it.
If this reasoning be not admitted, we do not see how
any effect can be produced by any cause. Every effect
supposes something done ; and any thing done implies that
the thing done may remain till it be undone by some other
cause. Without this it would have no existence. If a
moving cause did not produce continued motion by its in¬
stantaneous action, it could not produce it by any continu¬
ance of that action ; because in no instant of that action
does it produce continued motion.
We must therefore give up the opinion, that there re¬
sides in a moving body a force by which it is kept in mo¬
tion ; and we must find some other way of explaining that
remarkable difference between a moving body and a body
at rest, by which the first causes other bodies to move by
hitting them, while the other does not do this by merely
touching them. We shall see, with the clearest evidence,
that motion is necessary in the impelling body, in order
that it may permit the forces inherent in one or both
bodies to continue this pressure long enough for produ¬
cing a sensible or considerable motion. But these moving
forces are inherent in bodies, whether they are in motion
or at rest.
34. The foregoing observations show us the impropriety Commum-
of the phrase communication of motion. By thus reflect- cation of
ing on the notions that are involved in the general con-m°tion is
ception of one body being made to move by the impulse an inpro-
of another, we perceive that there is nothing individual^6 ^ ia’e’
transferred from the one body to the other. The deter¬
mination to motion, indeed, existed only in the impelling
body before collision; whereas, afterwards, both bodies
are so conditioned or determined. But we can form no
notion of the thing transferred. With the same meta¬
physical impropriety we speak of the communication of
joy, of fever.
35. Kepler introduced a term inertia, vis inertice, into so is vis
mechanical philosophy; and it is now in constant use.iwcriia?.
But writers are very careless and vague in the notions which
they affix to these terms. Kepler and Newton seem ge¬
nerally to employ it for expressing the fact, the perseverance
of the body in its present state of motion or rest: but they
also frequently express by it something like an indiffer¬
ence to motion or rest, manifested by its requiring the same
quantity of force to make an augmentation of its motion as
to make an equal diminution of it. The popular notion is
354
DYNAMICS.
First Law like that which we have of actual resistance; and it always
of Motion. jmp]jes {fog notion of force exerted hy the resisting body.
We suppose this to be the exertion of the vis insita, or
the inherent force of a body in motion. But we have the
same notion of resistance from a body at rest which we set
in motion. Now surely it is in direct contradiction to the
common use of the word^brce, when we suppose resistance
from a body at rest; yet vis inertice is a very common ex¬
pression. Nor is it more absurd (and it is very absurd)
to say, that a body maintains its state of rest by the ex¬
ertion of a vis inertice, than to say that it maintains its
state of motion by the exertion of an inherent force. We
should avoid all such metaphorical expressions ^resistance,
indifference, sluggishness, or proneness to rest (which some
express by inertia) because they seldom fail to make us
indulge in metaphorical notions, and thus lead us to mis¬
conceive the modus operandi, or procedure of nature.
There is no resistance whatever observed in these pheno¬
mena, for the force employed always produces its com¬
plete effect. When I throw down a man, and find that I
have employed no more force than was sufficient to throw
down a similar and equal mass of dead matter, I know by
this that he has not resisted; but I conclude that he has
resisted if I have been obliged to employ much more
force. There is therefore no resistance, properly so called,
when the exerted force is observed to produce its full
effect. To say that there is resistance, is therefore a real
misconception of the way in which mechanical forces
have operated in the collision of bodies. There is no
more resistance in these cases than in any other natural
changes of condition. We are guilty, however, of the
same impropriety of language in other cases, where the
cause of it is more evident. We say that colours in grain
resist the action of soap and of the sun, but that Prussian
blue does not. We all perceive that in this expression
the word resistance is entirely figurative ; and we should say
that Prussian blue resists soap, if we are right in saying
that a body resists any force employed to change its state
of motion; for soap must be employed to discharge or
change the colour, and it does change it. Force must
be employed to change a motion, and it does change it.
The impropriety, both of thought and language, is plain
in the one case, and it is no less real in the other. Both
of the terms inherent force and inertia may be used with
safety for abbreviating language, if we be careful to em¬
ploy them only for expressing either the simple fact of per¬
severing in the former state, or the necessity of employing a
certain determinate force in order to chajige that state, and
if ive avoid all thought of resistance.
Deviations 36- From the whole of this discussion we learn that the
from uni- deviations from uniform motions are the indications of the
form recti-existence and agency of mechanical forces, and that they
tior^are °" are ^le 0n^ ideations* The indication is very simple—
the only rnere change of place; it can therefore indicate nothing
indications what is very simple, the something competent to the
offeree, production of the very motion that we observe; and when
two changes of motion are precisely similar, they indicate
the same thing. Suppose a mariner’s compass on the
table, and that by a small tap with my finger I cause the
needle to turn off from its quiescent position ten degrees.
I can do the same thing by bringing a magnet near it, or
by bringing an electrified body near it, or by the unbend¬
ing of a fine spring pressing it aside, or by a puff of wind,
or by several other methods. In all these cases the indi¬
cation is the same; therefore the thing indicated is the
same, namely, a certain intensity and direction of a mov¬
ing power. How it operates, or in what manner it exists
and exerts itself in these instances, outwardly so differ¬
ent, is not under consideration at present. Impulsive¬
ness, intensity, and direction, are all the circumstances of
Se( j
resemblance by which the affections of matter are to be n
characterized; and it is to the discovery and determina- La
tion of these alone that our attention is now to be di- Me
rected. We are directed in this research by the
SECOND LAW OF MOTION.
Every change of motion is proportional to the force im¬
pressed, and is made in the direction of that force.
37. This law also may almost be considered as an iden¬
tical proposition ; for it is equivalent to saying that the
changing force is to be measured by the change which it
produces, and that the direction of this force is the direc¬
tion of the change. Of this there can be no doubt, when
we consider the force in no other sense than that of the
cause of motion, paying no attention to the form or man¬
ner of its exertion. Thus, when a pellet of tow is shot
from a pop-gun by the expansion of the air compressed
by the rammer, or where it is shot from a toy pistol by
the unbending of the coiled wire, or when it is nicked
away by the thumb like a marble—if, in all these cases,
it moves off in the same direction, and with the same ve¬
locity, we cannot consider or think of the force, or at least
of its exertion, as any how different. Nay, when it is
driven forward by the instantaneous percussion of a smart
stroke, although the manner of producing this effect (if
possible) is essentially different from what is conceived in
the other cases, we must still think that the propelling
force, considered as a propelling force, is one and the same.
In short, this law of motion, as thus expressed by Sir Isaac
Newton, is equivalent to saying, “ that we take the
changes of motion as the measures of the changing forces,
and the direction of the change for the indication of the
direction of the forces: ’ for no reflecting person can pre¬
tend to say that it is a deduction from the acknowledged
principle, that effects are proportional to their causes. We
do not affirm this law from having observed the proportion
of the forces and the proportion of the changes, and that
these proportions are the same ; and from having observed
that this has obtained through the whole extent of our
study of nature. This would indeed establish it as a phy¬
sical law, an universal fact; and it is, in fact, so established.
But this does not establish it as a law of motion, according
to our definition of that term; as a law of human thought,
the result of the relations of our ideas, as an intuitive
truth. The injudicious attempts of philosophers to prove
it as a matter of observation, have occasioned the only
dispute that has arisen in mechanical philosophy. It is well
known that a bullet moving with double velocity pene¬
trates four times as fai\ Many other similar facts corro¬
borate this: and the philosophers observe, that four times
the force has been expended to generate this double velo¬
city in the bullet; it requires four times as much powder.
In all the examples of this kind it would seem that the
ratio of the forces employed has been very accurately as¬
certained ; yet this is the invariable result. Philosophers,
therefore, have concluded that moving forces are not pro¬
portional to the velocities which they produce, but to the
squares of those velocities. It is a strong confirmation to
see that the bodies in motion seem to possess forces in
this very proportion, and produce effects in this propor¬
tion ; penetrating four times as deep when the velocity
is only twice as great, &c.
But if this be a just estimation, we cannot reconcile it
to the concession of the same philosophers, who grant
that the velocity is proportional to the force impressed, in
the cases where we have no previous observation of the
ratio of the forces, and of its equality to the ratio of the
velocities. This is the case with gravity, which these
I
i
i
DYNAMICS.
355
«ond
IiV of
3 Ition.
Cige of
nijon is
itt'
m:
philosophers always measure by its accelerating power, or
the velocity which it generates in a given time. And
this cannot be refused by them ; for cases occur where
the force can be measured in the most natural manner by
the actual pressure which it exerts. Gravity is thus mea¬
sured by the pressure which a stone exerts on its sup¬
ports. A weight which at Quito will pull out the rod of
a spring steelyard to the mark 312, will pull it to 313 at
Spitzbergen; and it is a fact, that a body will fall 313
inches at Spitzbergen in the same time that it falls 312 at
Quito. Gravitation is the cause both of the pressure and
the fall, and it is a matter of unexcepted observation that
they have always the same ratio. The philosophers who
have so strenuously maintained the other measure of
forces are among the most eminent of those who have
examined the motions produced by gravity, magnetism,
electricity, &c.; and they never think of measuring those
forces any other way than by the velocity. It is in this
way that the whole of the celestial phenomena are ex¬
plained in perfect uniformity with observation, and that
the Newtonian philosophy is considered as a demonstra¬
tive science.
There must, therefore, be some defect in the principle
on which the other measurement of forces is built, or in
the method of applying it. Pressure is undoubtedly the
immediate and natural measure of force ; yet we know
that four springs, or a bow four times as strong, give only
a double velocity to an arrow.
The truth of our law rests on this only, that we assume
the changes of motion as the measure of the changing
forces, or at least as the measures of their exertions in
producing motion. In fact, they are the measures only
of a certain circumstance, in which the actions of very
different natural powers may resemble each other, name¬
ly, the competency to produce motion. They do not,
perhaps, measure their competency to produce heat, or
even to bend springs. We can surely consider this apart
from all other circumstances, and it is worthy of separate
consideration. Let us see what can be, and what ought
to be, deduced from this way of treating the subject.
38. The motion of a body may certainly remain un¬
changed. If the direction and velocity remain the same,
we perceive no circumstance in which its condition with
respect to motion differs. Its change of place or situa¬
tion can make no difference; for this is implied in the
very circumstance of the bodies being in motion.
But if either the velocity or direction change, then sure¬
ly is its mechanical condition no longer the same ; a force
has acted on it, either intrinsic or from without, either ac¬
celerating, or retarding, or deflecting it. Supposing the
direction to remain the same, its difference of condition
can consist in nothing but its difference of velocity. This
is the only circumstance in which its condition can differ,
as it passes through two different points of its rectilineal
path. It is this determination by which the body will de¬
scribe a certain determinate space uniformly in a given
time, which defines its condition as a moving body; the
changes of this determination are the measures of their
own causes, and to those causes we have given the name
force. Those causes may reside in other bodies, which
may have other properties, characterized and measured
by other effects. Pressure may be one of those proper¬
ties, and may have its own measures ; these may or may
not have the same proportion with that property which is
the cause of a change of velocity ; and therefore changes
of velocity may not be a measure of pressure. This is a
question of fact, and requires observation and experience;
but, in the mean time, velocity, and the change of velocity,
is the measure of moving force and of changing force.
When, therefore, the change of velocity is the same what¬
ever the previous velocity may be, the changing force must Second
be considered as the same. Therefore, finally, if the pre- Law °f
vious velocity is nothing, and consequently the change on Motion,
that body is the very velocity or motion that it acquires,
we must say, that the force which produces a certain
change in the velocity of a moving body is the same with
the force which would impart to a body at rest a velocity
equal to this change or difference of velocity produced on
the body already in motion.
39. This manner of estimating force is in perfect con¬
formity to our most familiar notions on these subjects.
We conceive the weight or downward pressure of a body
as the cause of its motion downwards; and we conceive
it as belonging to the body at all times, and in all places,
whether falling, or rising upwards, or describing a parabo¬
la, or lying on a table ; and, accordingly, we observe, that
in every state of motion it receives equal changes of velo¬
city in the same or an equal time, and all in the direction
of its pressure,
40. All that we have now said of a change of velocity
might be repeated of a change of direction. It is surely
possible that the same change of direction may be made
on any two motions. Let one of the motions be consider¬
ed as growing continually slower, and terminating in rest.
In every instant of this motion it is possible to make one
and the same change on it. The same change may there¬
fore be made at the very instant that the motion is at an
end. In this case the change is the very motion which
the body acquires from the changing force. Therefore, in
this case also, we must say that a change of motion is it¬
self a motion, and that it is the motion which the force
would produce in a body that was previously at rest.
41. The result of these observations is evidently this, How ascer-
that we must ascertain, in every instance, what is the tained and
change of motion, and mark it by characters that are con- measured,
spicuous and distinguishing; and this mark and measure
of change must be a motion. Then we must say, that the
changing force is that which would produce this motion
in a body previously at rest. We must see how this is
manifest as a motion in the difference between the former
motion and the new motion; and, on the other hand, we
must see how the motion produceable in a quiescent body
may be so combined with a motion already existing as to
exhibit a new motion, in which the agency of the changing
force may appear.
Suppose a ship at anchor in a stream, while one man
walks forward on the quarter deck at the rate of two miles
per hour, another walks from stem to stern at the same
rate, a third walks athwart ship, and a fourth stands still.
Let the ship be supposed to cut or part her cable, and
float down the stream at the rate of three miles per hour.
We cannot conceive any difference in the change made
on each man’s motion in absolute space ; but their motions
are now exceedingly different from what they were : the
first man, whom we may suppose to have been walking
westward, is now moving eastward one mile per hour;
the second is moving eastward four miles per hour, and
the third is moving in an oblique direction, about three
points north or south of due east. All have suffered the
same change of condition with the man who had been
standing still. He has now got a motion eastward three
miles per hour. In this instance, we see very well the
circumstance of sameness that obtains in the change of
these four conditions. It is the motion of the ship which
is blended with the other motions. But this circumstance
is equally present whenever the same previous motions
are changed into the same new motions. We must learn
to expiscate this; which we shall do by considering the
manner in which the motion of the ship is blended with
each of the men’s motions.
356
DYNAMICS.
i
Second 42. This kind of combination has been called the com-
Law of position of motion ; because, in every point of the motion
'Motion^ really pursued, the two motions are to be found.
Comnosi- ^le fundamental theorem on this subject is this : Two
tion of mo-unif°rm motions in the sides of a parallelogram compose
tion. an uniform motion in the diagonal.
Suppose that a point A (fig. 1) describes AB uniform¬
ly in some given time, while the line AB is carried uni¬
formly along AC in the same time, keeping always paral¬
lel to its first position AB. The point A, by the combi¬
nation of these motions, will describe AD, the diagonal of
the parallelogram ABDC, uniformly in the same time.
Fig. 1.
described in the same time. When the point has got to
E, the middle of AB, the line AB has got into the situa¬
tion GH, half way between AB and CD, and the point E
is in the place e, the middle of GH. Draw EeL parallel
to AC. It is plain that the parallelograms ABDC and
AEeG are similar; because AE and AG are the halves of
AB and AC, and the angle at A is common to botli.
Therefore, by a proposition in the elements, they are
about the same diagonal, and the point e is in the diago¬
nal of AD. In like manner, it may be shown, that when
A has described AF, three fourths of AB, the line AB
will be in the situation IK ; so that AI is three fourths of
AC, and the point f in which A is now found, is in the
diagonal AD. It will be the same in whatever point of AB
the describing point A be supposed to be found. The line
AB will be on a similar point of AC, and the describing
point will be in the diagonal AD.
Moreover, the motion in AD is uniform; for Ae is de¬
scribed in the time of describing AE ; that is, in half the
time of describing AB, or in half the time of describing
AD. In like manner, Kf is described in three fourths of
the time of describing AD, &c. &c.
Lastly, the velocity in the diagonal AD is to the velo¬
city in either of the sides as AD is to that side. This is
evident, because they are uniformly described in the same
time.
This is justly called a composition of the motions AB and
AC, as will appear bj' considering it in the following man¬
ner: Let the lines AB, AC be conceived as two material
lines like wires. Let AB move uniformly from the situa¬
tion AB into the situation CD, while AC moves uniformly
into the situation BD. It is plain that their intersection
will always be found on AD. The point e, for example, is a
point common to both lines. Considered as a point of EL,
it is then moving in the direction eH or AB ; and con¬
sidered as a point of GH, it is moving in the direction eL.
Both of these motions are therefore blended in the motion
of the intersection along AD. We can conceive a small
ring at e embracing loosely both of the wires. This ma¬
terial ring will move in the diagonal, and will really par¬
take of both motions.
Thus we see how the motion of the ship is actually
blended with the motions of the three men ; and the cir-
ehmstance of sameness which is to be found in the four Sect
changes of motion is this motion of the ship, or of the Can
man who was standing still. By composition with each ^
of the three former motions, it produces each of the three
new motions. Now, when each of two primitive motions
is the same, and each of the new motions is the same, the
change is surely the same. If one of the changes has
been brought about by the actual composition of motions
we know precisely what that change is ; and this informs
us what the other is, in whatever way it was produced.
Hence we infer that,
43. When a motion is any how changed, the change is Its im
that motion which, when compounded with the former mo- and ml
tion, will produce the new motion. Now, because we assume sure•
the change as the measure and characteristic of the chan¬
ging force, we must do so in the present instance ; and we
must say,
44. That the changing force is that which will produce in Chang
a quiescent body the motion which, by composition with the force,
former motion of a body, will produce the new motion.
And, on the other hand,
When the motion of a body is changed by the action o/its efi;
any force, the new motion is that which is compounded of the
former motion, and of the motion which the force woidd pro¬
duce in a quiescent body.
When a force changes the direction of a motion, we seeDefbc r
that its direction is transverse in some angle BAG; be-force. ’
cause a diagonal AD always supposes two sides. As we
have distinguished any change of direction by the term
deflection, we may call the transverse force a deflecting
force.
In this way of estimating a change of motion, all the
characters of both motions are preserved, and it expresses
every circumstance of the change ; the mere change of di¬
rection, or the angle BAD, is not enough, because the
same force will make different angles of deflection, accord¬
ing to the velocity of the former motion, or according to
its direction. But in this estimation the full effect of the
deflecting force is seen ; it is seen as a motion; for when
half of the time is elapsed, the body is at e instead of E;
when three fourths are elapsed it is at /instead of F; and
at the end of the time it is at D instead of B. In short, the
body has moved uniformly away from the points at which
it would have arrived independent of the change ; and this
motion has been in the same direction, and at the same
rate, as if it had moved from A to C by the changing
force alone. Each force has produced its full effect; for
when the body is at D, it is as far from AC as if the force
AC had not acted on it; and it is as far from AB as it would
have been by the action of AC alone.
For all these reasons, therefore, it is evident, that if we
are to abide by our measure and character of force as a
mere producer of motion, we have selected the proper
characteristic and measure of a changing force; and our
descriptions, in conformity to this selection, must be agree¬
able to the phenomena of nature, and retain the accuracy
of geometrical procedure; because, on the other hand,
the results which we deduce from the supposed influence
of those forces are formed in the same mould. It is not
even requisite that the real exertions of the natural forces,
such as pressure of various kinds, &c. shall follow these
rules; for their deviations will be considered as new
forces, although they are only indications of the differen¬
ces of the real forces from our hypothesis. We have ob¬
tained the precious advantage of mathematical investiga¬
tion, by which we can examine the law of exertion which
characterizes every force in nature.
45. On these principles we establish the following fun¬
damental elementary proposition, of continual and indis¬
pensable use in all mechanical inquiries.
DYNAMICS.
357
I.v of
X ion.
Futia-
me
tbt^ra-
Cofiosi.
tio'if
fon»
^ond If cl body or material particle be subjected at the same time
to the action of two moving forces, each of which would
separately cause it to describe the side of a parallelogram
uniformly in a given time, the body will describe the dia¬
gonal uniformly in the same time.
For the body, whose motion AB was changed into AD,
had gotten its motion by the action of some force. It was
moving along NAB, and when it reached the point A, the
force AC acted on it. The primitive motion is the same,
or the body is in the same condition in every instant of
the primitive motion. It may have acquired this motion
when it was in N, or when at O, or any other point of NA.
In all these cases, if AC act on it when it is in A, it will al¬
ways describe AD ; therefore it will describe AD when it
acquires the primitive motion also in A; that is, if the two
forces act on it at one and the same instant. The demonstra¬
tion may be neatly expressed thus: The change induced
by each force on the motion produced by the other is the
motion which it would produce in the body if previously
at rest. Therefore the motion resulting from joint action
is the motion which is compounded of these two motions,
or it is a motion in the diagonal of the parallelogram, of
which these motions are the sides.
This is called the composition of forces. The forces
which produce the motions along the sides of the parallelo¬
gram are called the simple forces, or the constituent forces;
and the force which would alone produce the motion along
the diagonal is called the compound force, the resulting
force, the equivalent force.
46. On the other hand, the force which produces a mo¬
tion along any line whatever may be conceived as result¬
ing from the combined action of two or more forces. We
may hnow or observe it to be so ; as when we see a lighter
dragged along a canal by two horses, one on each side.
Each pulls the boat directly toward himself in the direc¬
tion of the track-rope ; the boat cannot go both ways, and
its real motion, whatever it is, results from this combined
action. This might be produced by a single force; for
example, if the lighter be dragged along the canal by a
rope from another lighter which precedes it, being drag¬
ged by one horse, aided by the helm of the foremost light¬
er. Here the real force is not the resulting, or the com¬
pound, but the equivalent force.
lUlution This view of a motion mechanically produced is called
the resolution of forces. The force in the diagonal is said
to be resolved into the two forces, having the directions
and velocities represented by the sides. This practice is
of the most extensive and multifarious use in all mechani¬
cal disquisitions. It may frequently be exceedingly diffi¬
cult to manage the complication of the many real forces
which concur in producing a phenomenon ; and by substi¬
tuting others, whose combined effects are equivalent, our
investigation may be much expedited. But more of this
afterwards.
We must carefully remember, that when the motion
AD is once begun, all composition is at an end, and the
motion is a simple motion. The two determinations, by
one of which the body would describe AB, and by the
other of which it would describe AC, no longer co-exist
in tile body. This was the case only in the instant, in the
very act of changing the motion AB into the motion BD ;
yet is the motion AD equivalent to a motion which is pro¬
duced by the actual composition of two motions AB and
AC ; in which case the two motions co-exist in every point
of AD.
47. Accordingly this is the way in which the composi-
tioj t,ra' t*l>n forces is usually illustrated, and thought to be de-
dl ^On*monstrated. A man is supposed (for instance) to walk
uniformly from A to C on a sheet of ice, while the ice is
carried uniformly along AB by the stream. The man’s
Wide.
®fkra.
real motion is undoubtedly along AD; but this is by no Second
means a demonstration that the instantaneous or short- Law of
lived action of two forces would produce that motion; Motion,
the man must continue to exert force in order to walk;
and the ice is dragged along by the stream. Some indeed
express this proof in another way, saying, let a body de¬
scribe AB, while the space in which this motion is perform¬
ed is carried along AC. The ice may be carried along,
and may, by friction or otherwise, drag the man along
with it; but a space cannot be removed from one place to
another, nor, if it could, would it take the man with it.
Should a ship start suddenly forward while a man is walk¬
ing across the deck, he would be left behind, and fall to¬
ward the stern. We must suppose a transverse force, and
we must suppose the composition of this force without
proof. This is no demonstration.
We apprehend, that the demonstration given above of
this fundamental proposition is unexceptionable, when the
terms force and deflection are used in the abstract sense
which we have affixed to them. The only circumstance in
it which can be the subject of discussion is, whether we
have selected the proper measure and characteristic of a
change of motion. We never met with any objection to it.
48. But some have still maintained that it does not evi-Objections
dently appear from these principles, that the motion to the de-
which results from the joint action of two natural powers, ni°nstra-
whose known and measurable intensities have the same pro- j *
portions with AB and BC, and which also exert themselves annlv
in those directions, will produce a motion having the direc-t0 pres_
tion and proportion of AD. They will not, if the velocities sures.
produced by these forces are not in the proportion of those
intensities, but in the subduplicate ratio of them. Nay,
they say that it is not so. If a body be impelled along
AC by one spring, and along AB by two springs equally
strong, it will not describe the diagonal of a parallelogram,
of which the side AB is double the side AC. They add,
that an indefinite number of examples can be given where
a body does not describe the diagonal of the parallelogram
by the joint action of two forces, which separately would
cause it to describe the sides. And lastly, they say that
at any rate it does not appear evident to the mind, that
two incitements to motion, having the directions and the
same proportion of intensity with that of the sides of a
parallelogram, actually generate a third, which is the im¬
mediate cause of the motion in the diagonal. An equiva¬
lent force is not the same with a resulting force.
49. Yet we see numberless cases of the composition of
incitements to motion, and they seem as determinate and
as susceptible of being combined by composition, as the
things called moving forces, which are measured by the
velocities. We see them actually so combined in a thou¬
sand instances, as in the example already given of a light¬
er dragged by two horses pulling in different directions.
Experiment even shows, that this composition follows pre¬
cisely the same rule as the composition of the forces
which are measured by the velocities; for if the point A
(fig. 1) be pulled by a thread or pressed by a spring in
the direction AB, and by another in the direction AC,
and if the pressures are proportional to AB and AC, then
it will be withheld from moving, if it be pulled or pressed
by a third force, acting in the direction At?, opposite to
AD, the pressure being also proportional to AD. This
force acting in the direction Kd, would certainly with¬
stand an equal force acting in the direction AD; there¬
fore we must conclude that the two pressures AB and
AC really generate a force AD. This uniform agreement
shows that the composition is deducible from fixed princi¬
ples ; but it does not appear that it can be held as demon ¬
strated by the arguments employed in the case of motions.
A demonstration of the composition of pressures is farther
358
DYNAMICS.
wanted, in order to render mechanics a demonstrative
science.
Accordingly, philosophers of the first eminence have
ms cum turned their attention to this problem. It is by no means
position is easY; being so nearly allied to first principles, that it must
of more be difficult to find axioms of greater simplicity by which
difficult in-it may be proved.
yestiga- Mechanicians generally contented themselves with the
tl0r1, solution given by Aristotle; but this is merely a composi¬
tion of motions; indeed he does not give it for any thing
else, and calls it (Tuvdeff/s ruv <pu qv. The first writer who
appears to have considered it as different from the mere
composition of motions, was the celebrated Dutch engineer
Stevinus, in his work on Sluices; but his solutionis obscure.
It was sufficient, however, to convince Daniel Bernoulli of
the necessity and the difficulty of the problem. He has
given the first complete demonstration of it in the first vo¬
lume of the commentaries of the Imperial Academy of Sci¬
ences at St Petersburg. It is extremely ingenious; but
it is tedious and intricate, requiring a series of fifteen pro¬
positions to demonstrate that two pressures, having the di¬
rections and magnitudes of the sides of any parallelogram,
compose a third, which has the direction and magnitude
of its diagonal. His first proposition is, that two equal pres¬
sures, acting at right angles, compose a third, in the direction
o f the diagonal of a square, and having to either of the other
two the proportion of the diagonal of a square to its sides.
M. d’Alembert has greatly simplified and improved this
demonstration, by beginning with a case that is self-evi¬
dent; namely, if three equal forces are inclined to each other
in equal angles of 120°, any one of them will balance the
combined action of the other tioo. Surely; for neither of
them can prevail. Therefore two equal forces, inclined
in an angle of 120°, produce a third, which has the direc¬
tion and proportion of the diagonal of the rhombus; for
this is equal and opposite to one of the three above men¬
tioned. He then demonstrates the same thing of two
equal forces inclined in any angle; and by a series of
eight propositions more, demonstrates the general theo¬
rem. This dissertation is in the Memoirs of the Aca¬
demy at Paris for 1769. He improves it still farther in a
subsequent memoir.
Mr Riccati and Mr Fonsenex, in the Commentaries of
me Academy of Turin, have given analytical demonstra¬
tions, which are also very ingenious and concise, but re¬
quire acquaintance with the higher mathematics. There
is another very ingenious demonstration in the Journal des
Spavans for June 1764, but too obscure for an elementary
proposition. It is somewhat simplified by Belidor in his
Ingenieur Francois. Frisius, in his Cosmographia, has
given one, which is perhaps the best of all those that are
easily comprehended without acquaintance with the higher
mathematics; but we imagine that, although no one can
doubt of the conclusion, it has not that intuitive evidence
for every step of the process that seems necessary.
Compos!- 50. We here offer another, composed by blending too-e-
tionofpres-ther the methods of Bernoulli and D’Alembert; and we
sures. imagine that no objection can be made to any step of it.
We limit it entirely to pressures, and do not at all consider
nor employ the motions which they may be supposed to
produce.
(A.) If two equal and opposite pressures or incitements
to motion act at once on a material particle, it suffers no
change of motion; for if it yields in either direction by
their joint action, one of the pressures prevails, and they
are not equal.
Equal and opposite pressures are said to balance each
other; and such as balance must be esteemed equal and
opposite.
(B.) If a and b are two magnitudes of the same kind,
Second
Law of
Motion.
proportional to the intensities of two pressures which act So >
in the same direction, then the magnitude a + b will mea- La
sure the intensity of the pressure, which is equivalent, and
may be called equal to the combined effort of the other ^
two; for when we try to form a notion of pressure as a
measurable magnitude, distinct from motion or any other
effect of it, we find nothing that we can measure it by but
another pressure. Nor have we any notion of a double or
triple pressure different from a pressure that is equivalent
to the joint effort of two or three equal pressures. A pres¬
sure a is accounted triple of a pressure b, if it balances
three pressures, each equal to b, acting together. There¬
fore, in all proportions which can be expressed by numbers,
we must acknowledge the legitimacy of this measurement -
and it would surely be affectation to omit those which the
mathematicians call incommensurable.
In like manner, the magnitude a — b must be acknow¬
ledged to measure that pressure which arises from the
joint action of two pressures a and b acting in opposite di¬
rections, of which a is the greatest.
(C.) Let ABCD and AbCd (fig. 2) be two rhombuses,
which have the common diagonal AC. Let the angles
BA6, DA<i, be bisected by the straight lines AE and AF.
If there be drawn from the points E and F the lines
EG, EH, F^, ¥h, making equal angles on each side of EA
and FA, and if Gg, HA be drawn, cutting the diagonal
AC in I and L: then AI -j- AL will be greater or less
than AQ, the half of AC, according as the angles GEH,
$FA, are greater or less than GAH, gAh.
Fig. 2.
A.
Draw GH, gh, cutting AE, AF, in O and o, and draw
Oo, cutting AC in K.
Because the angles AEG and EAG are respectively
equal to AEH and EAH, and AE is common to both tri¬
angles, the sides AG, GE, are respectively equal to AH,
HE, and GH is perpendicular to AE, and is bisected in
O ; for the same reasons gh is bisected in o. Therefore
the lines Gg, Oo, HA, are parallel, and 1L is bisected in
K. Therefore AI + AL is equal to twice AK. More¬
over, if the angle GEH be greater than GAH, AO is
greater than EO, and AK is greater than KQ. There¬
fore AI + AL is greater than AQ; and if the angle GEH
be less than GAH, AI -j- AL is less than AQ.
(D.) Two equal pressures, acting in the directions AB
and AC (fig. 3), at right angles to each other, compose a
pressure in the direction AD, which bisects the right angle;
and its intensity is to the intensity of each of the consti¬
tuent pressures as the diagonal of a square to one of the
sides.
-
»
D Y N A M I C S,
s#d,
U of
I
Fig. 3.
It is evident, that the direction of the pressure, gene¬
rated by their joint action, will bisect the angle formed
by their directions; because no reason can be assigned
for the direction inclining more to one side than to the
other.
In the next place, since a force in the direction AD
does, in fact, arise from the joint action of the equal pres¬
sures AB and AC, the pressure AB may be conceived as
arising from the joint action of two equal forces similarly
inclined and proportioned to it. Draw EAF perpendicu¬
lar to AD. One of these forces must be directed along
AD, and the other along AE. In like manner, the pres¬
sure AC may arise from the joint action of a pressure in
the direction AD, and an equal pressure in the direction
AF. It is also plain that the pressures in the directions
AE and AF, and the two pressures in the direction AD,
must be all equal. And also, any one of them must have
the same proportion to AB or to AC, that AB or AC has to
the force in the direction AD, arising from their joint ac¬
tion.
Therefore, if it be said that AD does not measure the
pressure arising from the joint action of AB and AC, let
Ad, greater than AD, be its just measure, and make
Ad: AB = AB : Ag = AB : Ac. Then Ag and Ae have
the same inclination and proportion to AB that AB and AC
have to Ad. We determine, in like manner, two forces
Af and Ag as constituents of AC.
Now Ad is equivalent to AB and AC, and AB is equi¬
valent to Ae and Ag ; and AC is equivalent to A/and Ag.
Therefore Ad is equivalent to Ae, Af, Ag, and Ag. But
(A) Ae and Af balance each other, or annihilate each
other’s effect; and there remain only the two forces or
pressures Ag, Ag. Therefore (B) their measure is a mag¬
nitude equal to twice Ag. But if Ad be greater than the
diagonal AD of the square, whose sides are AB and AC;
then Ag must be less than AI, the side of the square
whose diagonal is AB. But twice Ag is less than AD, and
much less than Ad. Therefore the measure of the equi¬
valent of AB and AC cannot be a line Ad, greater than
AD. In like manner, it cannot be a line AS that is less
than AD. Therefore it must be equal to AD, and the
proposition is demonstrated.
(E.) Cor. Two equal forces, AB, AC, acting at right
angles, will be balanced by a force AO, equal and oppo¬
site to AD, the diagonal of the square whose sides are
AB and AC ; for AO would balance AD, which is the
equivalent of AB and AC.
(F.) Let AECF (fig. 4), be a rhombus, the acute angle
of which, EAF, is half of a right angle. Two equal pres¬
sures, which have the directions and measures AE, AF,
compose a pressure having the direction and measure
AC, which is the diagonal of the rhombus.
359
Fig. 4.
c
Second
Law of
Motion.
It is evident, in the first place, that the compound force
has the direction AC, which bisects the angle EAF. If
AC be not its just measure, let it be AP less than AC.
Let ABCD be a square described on the same diagonal,
and make AP : AQ = AE : AO, — AF : Ao. Draw KOG,
Ko<7 perpendicular to AE, AF; draw Gh?, OHo, EG, EK,
Yg, FK, PF, and PE.
The angles CAB and FAE are equal, each being half
of a right angle. Also the figures AEPF and AGEK are
similar; because AP : AQ = AE : AO. Therefore FA :
AP = KA : AE, and EA : AP = GA : AE. Therefore,
in the same manner that the forces AE, AF are affirmed
to compose AP, the forces AG and AK may compose the
force AE, and the forces Ag and AK may compose the
force AF. Therefore (B) the force AP is equivalent to
the four forces AG, AK, Ag, AK. But (D) AG and
Ag are the sides of a square, whose diagonal is equal to
twice AI; and the two forces AK, AK are equal to, or
are measured by, twice AK. Therefore the four forces
AG, AK, Ag, AK, are equivalent to 2 AI + 2 AK =
4 ALL
But because AP was supposed less than AC, the angle
FPE is greater than FAE, and GEK is greater than GAK,
AO is greater than OE, and AH is greater than HQ, and
2AH is greater than AQ; and therefore 4ALI is greater
than AC, and much greater than AP. Therefore AP
is not the just measure of the force composed of AE and
AF.
In like manner it is shown that AE and AF do hot
compose a force whose measure is greater than AC. It
is therefore equal to AC; and the proposition is demon¬
strated.
(G.) By the same process it may be demonstrated, that
if BAD be half a right angle, and EAF be the fourth of
a right angle, two forces AE, AF will compose a force
measured by AC. And the process may be repeated for
a rhombus, whose acute angle is glh, yjjth, &c. of a right
angle; that is, any portion of a right angle that is pro¬
duced by continual bisection. Two forces, forming the
sides of such a rhombus, compose a force measured by the
diagonal.
(H.) Let ABCD, Ab Cd, (fig. 5), be two rhombuses,
formed by two consecutive bisections of a right angle.
Let AECF be another rhombus, whose sides AE and AF
bisect the angles BAZ> and DAnk
The two forces AE, AF, compose a force AC.
Bisect AE and AF in O and o. Draw the perpendicu¬
lars GOH, goh, and the lines Gig, OKo, HLA, and the lines
EG, EH, Yg, Yh.
360
DYNAMICS.
Second
Law of
Motion.
y‘
C
It is evident that AGEH and AgFh are rhombuses;
because AO = OE, and Ao — oF. It is also plain, that
since bAd is half of BAD, the angle GAH is half of bAd.
It is therefore formed by a continual bisection of a right
angle. Therefore (G) the forces AG, AH, compose a
torce AE; and Ag, Ah, compose the force AF. There¬
fore the forces AG, AH, Ag, Ah, acting together, are
equivalent to the forces AE, AF, acting together. But
AG, Ag compose a force = 2 AI; and the forces AH, Ah
compose a force = 2 AL. Therefore the four forces act¬
ing together are equivalent to 2 AI + 2 AL, or to 4 AK.
But because AO is ^ AE, and the lines Gg, Oo, HA, are
evidently parallel, 4 AK is equal to 2 AQ, or to AC; and
the proposition is demonstrated.
(I.) Cor. Let us now suppose that by continual bisec¬
tion of a right angle we have obtained a very small angle
« of a rhombus; and let us name the rhombus by the mul¬
tiple of a, which forms its acute angle.
The proposition (G) is true of a, 2 a, 4 a, &c. The pro¬
position (H) is true of 3 a. In like manner, because (G)
is true of 4a and 8a, proposition (H) is true of 6 a; and
because it is true of 4 a, 6 a, and 8 a, it is true of 5 a and
7 a. And so on continually till we have demonstrated it
of every multiple of a that is less than a right angle.
(K.) Let HAS (fig. 6) be perpendicular to AC, and let
ABCD be a rhombus, whose acute angle BAD is some
multiple of 2 a that is less than a right angle. Let Ab, Cd
be another rhombus, whose sides Ab, Ad bisect the angles
11AB, SAD. Then the forces Ab, Ad compose a force AC.
Fig. 6.
R A >S
Draw Mi, rfS parallel to BA, DA. It is evident that
ARAB and ASe?D are rhombuses, whose acute angles are
multiples ot a, that are each less than a right angle.
Therefore (I) the forces AR and AB compose the force
Ab and AS, AD compose Ad; but AR and AS annihi¬
late each other’s effect, and there remains only the forces
AB, AD. Therefore Ab and Ad are equivalent to AB
and AD, which compose the force AC; and the proposi¬
tion is demonstrated.
(L.) Cor. Thus is the corollary of last proposition ex¬
tended to every rhombus, whose angle at A is some mul¬
tiple of a less than two right angles. And since a may be
Fig. 5.
A
taken less than any angle that can be named, the proposi-
tion may be considered as demonstrated of every rhombus •
and we may say,—
(M.) Two equal forces, inclined to each other in am
angle, compose a force which is measured by the diagonal
of the rhombus, whose sides are the measures of the consti¬
tuent forces.
(N.) Two forces AB, AC (fig. 7) having the direction
and proportion of the sides of a rectangle, compose a force
AD, having the direction and proportion of the diagonal.
Fig. 7.
Draw the other diagonal CB, and draw EAF parallel to
it: draw BE, CF parallel to DA.
AEBG is a rhombus ; and therefore the forces AE
and AG compose the force AB. AFCG is also a rhom¬
bus, and the force AC is equivalent to AF and AG.
Therefore the forces AB and AC, acting together, are
equivalent to the forces AE, AF, AG, and AG actino-
together, or to AE, AF, and AD acting together; but
AE and AF annihilate each other’s action, being opposite
and equal (for each is equal to the half of BC). There¬
fore AB and AC acting together are equivalent to AD,
or compose the force AD.
(0.) Two forces, which have the direction and propor¬
tions of AB, AC (fig. 8) the sides of any parallelogram,
compose a force having the direction and proportion of
the diagonal AD.
Fig. 8.
Se d
Draw AF perpendicular to BD, and BG and DE per¬
pendicular to AC.
Then AFBG is a rectangle, as is also AFDE ; and
AG is equal to CE. Therefore (N) AB is equivalent
to AF and AG. Therefore AB and AC acting together,
are equivalent to AF, AG, and AC acting together; that
is, to AF and AE acting together; that is (N) to AD;
or the forces AB and AC compose the force AD.
51. Hence arises the most general proposition.
Ifa material particle be urged at once by two pressures Com[
or incitements to motion, whose intensities are proportional tion o 1
to the sides of any parallelogram, and ivhich act in the di- 'nc‘t(e
rections of those sides, it is affected in the same manner as
it were acted on by a single force, whose intensity is measur¬
ed by the diagonal of the parallelogram, and which acts in
its direction; Or, two pressures, having the direction and
proportion of the sides of a parallelogram, generate a pres¬
sure having the direction and proportion of the diagonal.
52. Thus have we endeavoured to demonstrate from ab¬
stract principles the perfect similarity of the composition
of pressures, and the composition of forces measured by
the motions which they produce. We cannot help being
of the opinion that a separate demonstration is indispen-
»
DYNAMICS.
ear<lien
ireijlv
sanied-
ld sably necessary. What may be fairly deduced from the
one case cannot always be applied to the other. Nocom-
>l0],n* position of pressures can explain the change produced by
✓-iH' a deflecting force on a motion already existing; for the
cen ^ changing pressure is the only one that exists, and there is
iffe 1CG none to be compounded with it. And, on the other hand,
* H iT" our notions and observations of the composition of mo-
f m on tions will not explain the composition of pressures, unless
n<l6res-we take it for granted that the pressures are proportional
ire* sap-10 t]ie velocities; but this is perhaps a gratuitous assump-
' " tion. At any rate, it is not an intuitive proposition ; and
we have mentioned some facts where it seems that they
do not follow the same proportion. The pressure of four
equal springs produces only a double velocity. It would
appear, therefore, that there are circumstances which
oblige us to say, that the exertion of pressure, as a cause
of motion, is not (always at least) proportional to the real
measurable pressure. We are therefore anxious to disco¬
ver in what the difference consists ; and in the mean time
must allow, that the pressure exerted on a body at rest is
different from its exertion in producing motion. We can¬
not indeed state any immediate comparison between pres¬
sure and motion, nor have we any clear conception of the
connection between them. It is only by our own sensations of
touch that we have any notion of pressure, and it is expe¬
rience that teaches us that it always accompanies every
cause of motion. We can, however, observe the propor¬
tions of pressures, and compare them with the proportions
of motion. We very often observe them different; and
therefore it was indispensably necessary to investigate the
laws of combined pressure as we did the laws of combin¬
ed motion in consequence of pressure. Yet we should
err if we hastily asserted that pressures are not propor¬
tional to the motions which they produce; all that we are
entitled to call in doubt is, whether the pressures in their
exertion, while they actually produce motion, or changes
of motion, continue to be the same as when they do not
produce motion, being withstood or balanced by opposite
pressures. Considered as causes of motion, we ought to
think that they do not vary while they produce motion,
and that the actual pressure, while it produces a double
motion, is really double, although it may be quadruple
when the body exerting it is made to act on a body that
it cannot move. We are confirmed in this opinion by ob¬
serving, that other facts show us, that even while produ¬
cing motion, the pressure which we call quadruple, because
we have measured it by four equal pressures balancing
it, is really quadruple, considered as the cause of motion,
and produces a quadruple motion. A bow which requires
four times the force to draw it to any given extent, will
communicate the same velocity to a bundle of four arrows
that a bow four times more easily drawn communicates to
one arrow, and w ill therefore produce a quadruple motion.
Yet it will only produce a double velocity in the arrow
that acquired a simple velocity from a bow having one
fourth of the strength.
These discrepancies should excite the endeavours of me¬
chanicians to investigate the laws observed in the action
of" pressures producing motion. Had this been done with
care and with candouir, we should not have had the great
difference of opinion which still divides philosophers
about the measui’es of moving forces. But a spirit of party,
which had arisen from other causes, gave importance to
what was at first only a difference of expression, and made
the partizans of Mr Leibnitz avail themselves of the figu¬
rative language which has done so much harm in all the
departments of philosophy. Notwithstanding all our cau¬
tion, it is hardly possible to avoid metaphorical conceptions
when we employ the language of metaphor. The abettors
of the Leibnitzian measure of moving forces, or perhaps,
VOL. vm.
to speak more properly, the abettors of the Leibnitzian
measure of that force which is supposed to preserve bodies
in their condition of motion, insist that the force which
is exerted in producing any change of motion is greater in
proportion as the motion changed is greater; and they
give a very specious argument for their assertion. They ap¬
peal to the exertions which we ourselves make. Here we
are conscious of the fact. Then they give similar examples
of the action of bodies. A clay ball, moving six feet per
second, will make the addition of one foot to the velocity
of an equal clay ball that is already moving four feet per
second in the same direction. But if this last ball be al¬
ready moving ten feet per second, we must follow it with
a velocity of twelve feet in order to increase its velocity
one foot. But, without insisting on the numberless para¬
logisms and inconsistencies which this way of conceiving
the matter would lead us into, it suffices to observe, that
the phenomena give us abundant assurance that there has
been the same exertion in both these cases. This ac¬
celeration is always accompanied by a compression of the
balls, and the compression is the same in both. This com¬
pression is a very good measure of the force employed to
produce it; and, in the present case, we need not even
trouble ourselves with any rule for its measurement: for
surely, when the compression is not different, but the same,
the force exerted is the same. This is farther confirmed
by observing, that it requires the same force to make the
same pit, or to give the same motion, to a piece of clay lying
on the table of a ship’s cabin, whether the ship be sailing two
miles or ten miles per hour.
Thus we see that there are strong reasons for believ¬
ing, that the exertions of pressure in producing motion,
or that the pressures actually exerted, are proportional to
the changes of motion observed, and that they coincide
in this respect with our abstract conceptions of moving
forces.
But we have still better arguments. None of the Leib-
nitzians think of denying the equal exertions of gravity,
or of any of those powers which they call solicitations or
accelerating forces. They all admit that gravity, or any
constant accelerating force, produces equal increments of
velocity in equal times, and that a double gravity will pro¬
duce a double increment in an equal time, and an equal
increment in half of the time: and that a quadruple gra¬
vity will produce a double velocity in half the time. All
these things are granted by them, and their writings are
full of reasonings from this principle. Now, from the fact,
acknowledged by the Leibnitzians, that the quadruple force
of a bow gives a double velocity to the arrow, in every in¬
stant of its action, it indisputably follows, that it has acted
on it only for half the time of the action of the four times
weaker bow, which gives the arrow only half the velocity ;
and thus has the discrepancy between the effects of pres¬
sures and of our abstract moving forces entirely disappear¬
ed. For this circumstance of the difference in the time of
acting will be found, on strict examination, in all the cases
of the change of motion by pressures which we measure by
their effects on a body at rest. When this and the appre¬
ciable changes of actual pressure, during the time of pro¬
ducing the motion, are taken into consideration, all dif¬
ference vanishes, and the composition of pressures is in
perfect harmony with the composition of motions, or of
abstract moving forces. Dynamics is thus made a de¬
monstrative science, and affords the opportunity of investi¬
gating, by observation and experiment, the nature of those
mechanical powers which reside in bodies, and which ap¬
pear to us under the form of pressure, inducing us to con¬
sider pressure as a cause of motion.
In this, however, we are rather inaccurate. Pressure is
one of the sensible effects of that property which is also
2 z
362
DYNAMICS.
Second the cause of motion. It is not the pressure of a piece of
Motion' kut its heaviness, that is the reason that it gives
motion to a kitchen jack. Pressure is merely a generic
name, borrowed from a similar instance, and given to mov¬
ing forces, which have the same nature, but different
names that serve to mark their connection with certain
substances, in which they may be supposed to reside.
Natural philosophy is almost entirely employed in examin¬
ing the nature of these various pressures or accelerative
forces; and the general doctrines of dynamics, by ascer¬
taining what is common to them all, enable us to mark
with precision what is characteristic of each.
General 53. We have now advanced very far in this investiga-
coiollaries. tjon. for we have obtained the criterion by which we
learn the direction and the magnitude of every changing
force; and, on the other hand, we see how to state what
will be the effect of the exertion of any force that is known
or suspected to act. All this we learn by the composition
of forces ; and the greatest part of mechanical disquisition
consists in the application of this doctrine. For such rea¬
sons it merits minute consideration; and therefore we
must point out some general conclusions from the proper¬
ties of figure, which will greatly facilitate the use of the
parallelogram of forces.
54. First, The constituent and the resulting forces, or
the simple and compound forces, act in the same plane;
for the sides and diagonal of a parallelogram are in one
plane.
Fig. 9.
55. Second, The simple and the compound forces are
proportional to the sides of any triangle which are paral¬
lel to their directions. For if any three lines, ab, bd, ad,
be drawn parallel to AB, AC, and AD (fig. 9), they will
form a triangle similar to the triangle ABD. For the
same reasons they are proportional to the sides of a tri¬
angle db'd, which are respectively perpendicular to their
directions.
56. Third, Therefore each is proportional to the sine of
the opposite angle of this triangle; for the sides of any
triangle are proportional to the sines of the opposite
angles.
57. Fourth, Each is proportional to the sine of the an¬
gle contained by the directions of the other two ; for AD
is to AB as the sine of the angle ABD to the sine of the
angle ADB. Now the sine of ABD is the same with the
sine of BAG contained between the directions AB and
AC, and the sine of ADB is the same with the sine of
CAD ; also AB is to AC, or BD, as the sine of ADB (or
CAD) to the sine of BAD.
Some spe- 58. We now proceed to the application of this funda-
cial uses of mental proposition. And we observe, in the first place,
the paral- that since AD may be the diagonal of an indefinite num-
forces.am° berof Parallel°grams, the motion or the pressure AD may
result from the joint action of many pairs of forces. It
may be produced by forces which would separately pro¬
duce the motions AF and AG. This generally gives us
the means of discovering the forces which concur in its
production. If one of them, AB, is known in direction
and intensity, the direction AC, parallel to BD, and the
intensity, are discovered. Sometimes we know the direc¬
tions of both. Then, by drawing the parallelogram or
triangle, we learn their proportions. The force which de- s
fleets any motion AB into a motion AD, is had by simply h J
drawing a line from the point B (to which the body „
would have moved from A in the time of really moving ^
from A to D) to the point D. The deflecting force is
such as would have caused the body move from B to D
in the same time. And, in the same manner, we get the
compound motion AD, which arises from any two simple
motions AB and AC, by supposing both of the motions
to be accomplished in succession. The final place of the
body is the same, whether it moves along AD or along
AB and BD in succession.
59. This theorem is not limited to the composition ofEquj
two motions or two forces only; for since the combined km
action of two forces puts the body into the same state asman.'
if their equivalent alone had acted on it, we may supposeces-
this to have been the case, and then the action of a third
force will produce a change on this equivalent motion.
The resulting motion will be the same as if only this third
force and the equivalent of the other two had acted on
the body. Thus, in fig. 10, the three forces AB, AC, AE,
may act at once on a particle of matter. Complete the
parallelogram ABDC ; the diagonal AD is the force which
is generated by AB and AC. Complete the parallelogram
AEFD; the diagonal AF is the force resulting from the
combined action of the forces AB, AC, and AE. In like
manner, completing the parallelogram AGHF, the dia¬
gonal AH is the force resulting from the combined ac¬
tion of AB, AC, AE, and AG, and so on of any number
of forces. •
Fig. 10.
K.
This resulting force and the resulting motion may be
much more expeditiously determined, in any degree of
composition, by drawing lines in the proportion and di¬
rection of the forces in succession, each from the end of
the preceding. Thus, draw AB, BD, DF, FH, and join
AH; AH is the resulting force. The demonstration is
evident.
60. It is to be noticed here, that in the composition of
more than two forces, we are not limited to one plane.
The force AD is in the same plane with AB and AC;
but AE may be elevated above this plane, and AG may
lie below it. AF is in the plane of AD and AE, and AH
is in the plane of AF and AG.
Complete the parallelograms ABLE, ACKE, ELFK.
It is evident that ABLFKCD is a parallelepiped, and that
AF is one of its diagonals. Hence«we derive a more ge¬
neral theorem of great use.
Three forces having the proportion and direction of the three
sides of a, parallelopiped, compose a force having the pro-
portion and direction of the diagonal.
61. Any number of forces acting together on one par-One f
tide of matter are balanced by a force that is equal and may b
opposite to their resulting force; for this force would ba-^an.cel ■
lance their resulting force which is equivalent to them in®^
action. When this is duly considered, we perceive that”
each force is then in equilibrio with the equivalent of all
♦
»
DYNAMICS.
363
nd the others ; for a force can balance only what is equal and
j' of opposite to it. It appears very readily by the geometri-
M> on- Cal construction. If, instead of the circuit A, B, D, F, H,
we take B, D, F, H, A, we have BA for the equivalent of
the forces AC, AE, AG; but AB is equal and opposite
to BA. Therefore the force AB is in equilibrio with the
equivalent of all the others.
62. When any number of forces act on one particle of
matter, and are in equilibrio, if they be considered as act¬
ing in parcels, the equivalents of these parcels are in equi¬
librio ; for let the forces AB, AC, AE, AG, Ah, be in
equilibrio, and let them be considered in the two parcels
AB, AC, and AE, AG, Ah, then AD is the equivalent of
AB, BD (or AC), and DA is the equivalent of DF, FH,
HA (or Ah) : now AD and DA balance each other. This
corollary enables us to simplify many intricate complica¬
tions of force; it also enables us to draw accurate conclu¬
sions from very imperfect observations. In most of our
practical discussions we know, or at least we attend to, a
part only of the forces which are acting on a material par¬
ticle ; and in such cases we reason as if we saw the whole:
yet is our mathematical reasoning good with respect to
the equivalent of all the parcels which we are contem¬
plating, and the equivalents of the smaller parcels of which
it consists; and the neglected force, or parcel of forces,
induces no error on our conclusions.
Ex li* 63. In the spontaneous phenomena of nature, the in-
tioime- vestigation and discovery of our ultimate object of search
is frequently very' difficult, on account of the multiplicity
the >sidt-directions and intensities of the operating forces or mo-
ing otion tions. We may generally facilitate the process, by sub¬
in < npli- stituting equivalent forces or motions acting in convenient
cat cases, directions. It is in this way that the navigator computes
the ship’s place with very little trouble, by substituting
equivalent motions in the meridional and equatorial direc¬
tions for the real oblique courses of the ship. Instead of
setting down ten miles on a course, S. 36° 52' W. he
supposes that the ship has sailed eight miles due south,
and six miles due west, which brings her near to the same
place. Then, instead of fourteen miles south-west, he
sets down ten miles south and ten miles west; and he
proceeds in the same way for every other course and dis¬
tance. He does this expeditiously by means of a traverse
table, in which are ready calculated the meridional and
equatorial sides of right-angled triangles, corresponding
to every course and distance. Having done this for the
course of a whole day, he adds all the southings into one
sum, and all the westings into another; he considers
these as forming the sides of a right-angled triangle;
he looks for them, paired together, in his traverse table,
and then notices what angle and what distance corre¬
sponds to this pair. This gives him the position and mag¬
nitude of the straight line joining the beginning and end
of his day’s work.
The miner proceeds in the same way when he takes the
plan ot subterraneous workings, measuring, as he goes
along, and noticing the bearing of each line by the com¬
pass, and setting down, from his traverse table, the
northing or southing, and the easting or westing, for each
oblique line: but there is another circumstance which he
must attend to, namely, the slope of the various drifts,
galleries, and other workings. This he does by noting
the rise or the dip of each sloping line. He adds all these
into two sums, and taking the risings from the dips, he
obtains the whole dip. Thus he learns how far the work¬
ings proceed to the north, how far to the east, and how
far to the dip.
The reflecting reader wdll perceive that the line joining
the two extremities of this progression will form the dia¬
gonal of a rectangular parallelepiped; one of whose sides
Second
Law of
Motion.
lies north and south, the other lies east and west, and the
third is right up and down.
The mechanician proceeds in the very same way in the
investigation of the very complicated phenomena which
frequently engage his attention. He considers every
motion as compounded of three motions in some conve¬
nient directions, at right angles to each other. He also
considers every force as resulting from the joint action of
three forces, at right angles to each other, and takes the
sum or difference of these in the same or opposite direc¬
tions. From this process he obtains the three sides of a
parallelepiped, and from these computes the position and
magnitude of the diagonal. This is the motion or force
resulting from the composition of all the partial ones.
This procedure is called the estimation or reduction ofForces
motions and forces. may be
estimated
Fig. 11. by, or re-
A.. P duced to,
IT
F
64. A motion or force AB (fig. 11) is said to be estimated^-
in the direction EF, or to be reducedto this direction when^^1100’
it is conceived as compounded of the motions or forces AC,
AD, one of which, AC, is parallel to EF, and the other,
AD, is perpendicular to it. This expression is abundant¬
ly significant; for it is plain that the motion AD neither
promotes nor hinders the progress along EF, and that AC
expresses the whole progress in this direction.
Fig. 12.
A
P
K
''<6
H
65. In like manner, a force AB (fig. 12) is said to be esti~ or a given
mated in, or reduced to, a given plane EFG when it is plane’
conceived as resulting from the joint action of two forces ,
AC, AD, one of which is parallel to a line ab drawn in
that plane, and the other AD is perpendicular to it. The
position of the line ab is determined by letting fall BZ»
perpendicular to the plane, and drawing Z»P to the point
P, in which BA meets the plane; then Aa being drawn
parallel to B6, will cut off ba, which is the reduction of
the motion AB to the plane. Drawing AC parallel to ab,
and completing the parallelogram ACBD, it is evident
that the motion AB is equivalent to AD and AC, which
is parallel to ab, and the three forces AB, AC, AD, are,
as they should be, in one plane perpendicular to the plane
EG.
66. If three forces AB, AC, AD (fig. 13) are in equilibrio, Equili-
and are reduced to anyone direction dAl, or to one plane brium °f
EFGH, the reduced forces are also in equilibrio. estimated
First, let them be reduced to one direction dlby draw-o* J.e(juce(j.
ing the perpendiculars B6, Cc, Dd; make AL equal to
AD, and join BL, CL, and draw the perpendiculars L£,
Cc ; then, because the forces AB, AC, AD, are in equili¬
brio, ABLC must be a parallelogram, and AL is the force
equivalent to AB and AC combined; then, because the
lines Dd, Bb, Cc, \J, are parallel, dA is equal to Al, and
Ab to Co, or to cl; therefore Al is equal to the sum of
Ab and Ac, which are the reductions of AB and AC ;
364
DYNAMICS.
Second therefore e?A is equal to the same sum, and in equilibrio
Law of wjfh them.
Motion.
Secondly, Let them be reduced to one plane, EFGH,
and let a/S, ad, be the reduced forces. The lines Dd,
Aa, B/3, Cx, LX, are all parallel, being perpendicular to
the plane ; therefore the planes AB, /Sa, and CL, Xx, are
parallel, and a/3, xX, are parallel. For similar reasons,
/3X, ax, are parallel; therefore afiXx is a parallelogram.
Also, because the lines D§, Aa, Lx, are parallel, and DA
is equal to AL; therefore da is equal to aX. But be¬
cause afiXx is a parallelogram, the forces afi, ax, are equi¬
valent to aTi; and ad is equal and opposite to aX, and will
balance it; and therefore will balance afi and ax, which
are the reductions of AB and AC to the plane EFGH,
while ad is the reduction of AD; therefore the proposi¬
tion is demonstrated.
The most The most usual and the most useful mode of reduction
useful is to estimate all forces in the directions of three lines
mode of re-drawn from one point, at right angles to each other, like
to their co-^e three plane angles of a rectangular chest, forming the
ordinates, length, the breadth, and the depth of the chest. These
are commonly called the three co-ordinates. The result¬
ing force will be the diagonal of this parallelepiped. This
process occurs in all disquisitions in which the mutual ac¬
tion of solids and fluids is considered, and when the oscil¬
lation or rotation of detached free bodies is the subject of
discussion.
Relative 67. The only other general theorem that remains to be
motions of deduced from this law of motion is, that if a number of
affected In bodies are moving in an7 manner whatever, and an equal
any extra^ ^orce. act on every particle of matter in the same or paral-
neous " directions, their relative motions will suffer no change ;
equal and Fi 14
parallel 1 ’S'
force.
for the motion of any body A (fig. 14), relative to another
body B, which is also in motion, is compounded of the
real motion of A, and the opposite to the real motion of
B; for let A move uniformly from A to C, while B de¬
scribes BD uniformly; draw AB, also draw AE equal and
parallel to BD ; join EC, DC, ED. The motion of A, re- Sec
lative to B, consists in its change of position and distance. La* >
Had A described AE, while B described BD, there would Mot
have been no change of relative place or distance; but aH
is now at C, and DC is its new direction and distance.
The relative or apparent motion of A therefore is Ec!
Complete the parallelogram ACFE; it is plain that the
motion EC is compounded of EF, which is equal and pa¬
rallel to AC, the real motion of A, and of EA, the equal
and opposite to BD, the real motion of B.
Now let the motions of A and B sustain the same chano-e;
let the equal and parallel motions AG, BH, be compound¬
ed with the motions AC and BD ; or let forces act at
once on A and B, in the parallel directions AG, BH, and
with equal intensities ; in either supposition, the resulting
motions will be Ac, ¥>d, the diagonals of the parallelograms
AGcC and BHc?D. Construct the figure as before, and
we see that the relative motion is now ec, and that it is
the same with EC both in respect of magnitude and po¬
sition.
Here we still see the constant analogy between the
composition of motions and the composition of forces. In
the first case, the relative motions of things are not chan¬
ged, whatever common motion be compounded with them
all; or, as it is usually but inaccurately expressed, al¬
though the space in which they move be carried along
with any motion whatever. In the second case, the rela¬
tive motions and actions are not changed by any external
force, however great, when equally exerted on every par¬
ticle in parallel directions.
Thus it is that the evolutions of a fleet in a uniform
current are the same, and produced by the same means,
as in still water. Thus it is that we walk about on the
surface of this globe in the same manner as if it neither
r'evolved round the sun, nor turned round its axis. Thus
it is that the same strength of a bow will communicate a
certain velocity to an arrow, whether it is shot east, or
west, or north, or south. Thus it is that the mutual ac¬
tions of sublunary bodies are the same, in whatever direc¬
tions they are exerted, and notwithstanding the very great
changes in their velocities by reason of the earth’s rota¬
tion and orbital revolution. The real velocity of a body
on the earth’s equator is about 3000 feet per second great¬
er at midnight than at mid-day. For at midnight the mo¬
tion of rotation nearly conspires with the orbital motion,
and at mid-day it nearly opposes it. The difference be¬
tween the velocities at the beginning of January and the
beginning of July is vastly greater. And at other times
of the day, and other seasons of the year, both motions of
the earth are transversely compounded with the easterly
or westerly^ motion of an arrow or cannon bullet; yet we
can observe no change in the effects of the mutual actions
of bodies.
68. This is an important observation, because it proves This
that forces are to be measured by no other scale than by fords e*
the motions which they produce. We have had repeated1?01181
occasions to mention the very different estimation of mov-11™,'1 L
ing forces by Mr Leibnitz; and have shown how, by a [ioMi 0f
very partial consideration of the action of those natural movii
powers called pressures, he has attempted to prove that forces
moving forces are proportional to the squares of the velo-1}16111
cities; and we showed briefly in what manner a right
consideration of what passes when motion is produced by^^
measurable pressures, proves that the forces really exert¬
ed are as the velocities produced. But the most copious
proof is had from the present observation, that, in fact, the
mutual actions of bodies depend on their relative motions
alone.
69. The Leibnitzian measure of moving force is altoge¬
ther incompatible with the universal fact now mentioned,
»
DYNAMICS.
365
-id viz. that the relative motions of bodies, resulting from
ll of their mutual actions, are not affected by any common mo-
tion, or the action of any equal and parallel force on both
bodies; for this universal fact imports, that when two bo-
and -1"" (jjgg are moving with equal velocities in the same direc-
conl Ition, a force applied to one of them, so as to increase its
wltl lC1 velocity, gives it the same motion relative to the other, as
tkm ty if both bodies had been at rest. Here it is plain that the
to t' space described by the body in consequence of the primi-
sqiiys of t-ve porcC) and 0f the force now added, is the sum of the
thos.mo- ces which each of them would generate in a body at
tion rest. Therefore the forces are proportional to the veloci¬
ties or changes of motion which they produce, and not to
the squares of those velocities. This measure of forces,
or the position that a force makes the same change on any
velocity whatever, and the independence of the relative
motions on any motion that is the same on all the bodies
of a system, are counterparts of each other. Since this
independence is a matter of observation in all terrestrial
bodies, we are entitled to say that the powers which the
Author of nature has imparted to natural bodies are no
way different from what are competent to matter once
called into existence. And it also follows from this, that
we must always remain ignorant of the absolute motions
of bodies. The fact that it has required the unremitted
study of ages to discover even the relative motions of our
solar system, is an argument to prove that the influence
of this mechanical principle extends far beyond the limits
of this sublunary world; nor has any phenomenon yet
been exhibited which should lead us to imagine that it is
So sr.
not
fen of
thL‘ ist
opt m is
wit ut
for'
not universal.
When we have made use of these arguments with some
’sde-zealous partizans of Mr Leibnitz’s doctrine, they have an-
^ swered, that if indeed this independence of the relative
motions of terrestrial bodies were observed to obtain ex¬
actly, it would be a conclusive argument. But the motion
with which all is carried along is so great in comparison
with the motions which we can produce in our experi¬
ments, that the small additions or diminutions that we can
make to the velocity of this common motion must observe
very nearly the proportions of the additions or diminutions
of their squares. The differences of the squares of 2, 3,
and 4, are very unequal; but the differences of the squares
of 9, 10, 11, are much nearer to the ratio of equality;
and the differences of the squares of 1000001, 1000002,
1000003, do not sensibly deviate from this ratio. But it
is not fact that we cannot produce motions which have
a very sensible proportion to the common motion. The
motion of a cannon ball discharged with one third of its
weight of powder, is nearly equal to that of the rotation
of the earth’s equator. When, therefore, we discharge the
ball eastward, we double its motion; when to the west¬
ward, we destroy it. Therefore, according to Leibnitz, the
action in the first case is three times the action in the se¬
cond. In the first case it changes the square of the velo¬
city (which we may call 1) from 1 to 4; and, in the se¬
cond, it changes it from 1 to 0. But, say the Leibnitzians,
the velocity of rotation is but ^ of the orbital velocity of
the earth, and our observations of the velocities of cannon
bullets are not sufficiently exact to ensure us against an
error of -yy. But the latter observations on the peculiar
motions of the fixed stars concur in showing, that the sun,
with his attending planets, are carried along with a very
great motion, which, in all probability, has a sensible ratio
to the orbital motion of the earth. This must make a pro¬
digious change on the earth’s absolute motion, according
as her orbital motion conspires with, opposes, or crosses,
this other motion ; the earth may even be at absolute rest
in some points of its orbit. Thus will the composition with
the motions produced in our experiments be so varied
that cases must occur when the difference of the results of
the two measures offeree will be very sensible.
But, further, they have not attended to the agreement
of our experiments when the discharges of cannon are made
in a direction transverse to that of the common motion.
Here the immensity of the common motion, and the mi¬
nuteness of our experimental velocities, can have no effect
in diminishing the difference of the results of the two doc¬
trines. This will appear distinctly to every reader who is
much conversant in disquisitions of this kind; and it is in
these more moderate motions that the complete indepen¬
dence of the relative motions on the common motions most
accurately appears. Pendulum clocks and watches have
been often executed which do not deviate from perfect
equability of motion one part in 86,400. This could not
be obtained in all directions of the oscillations, if the
forces deviated from the ratio of the velocities one part
in 86,400.
On the whole, we may consider it as established on the
surest foundation, that the action of those powers of na- agreement
tural bodies which we call pressures, such as the force of
springs, the exertions of animals, the cohesion of bodies, as ^o^cof °‘
well as the action of those other incitements to motion force
which we call attractions and repulsions, stich as gravitation, all our ac-
magnetism, and electricity, is proportional to the change curate ob-
of velocity produced by it. And we must observe here, servations
that this is not a mere mode of conception, the result of
the laws of human thought, which cannot conceive a na-natural
tural power as the cause of motion otherwise than by itSp0Wers,
producing motion, and which cannot conceive any degree
of moving power different from the degree of the motion.
This is the abstract doctrine, and is true whether the
pressures are proportional to the velocities or to the
squares of the velocities.
But we see further, that whatever is the pressure of a
spring (for example) on a quiescent body, yet the pressure
actually exerted in producing a double velocity is only
double, and not quadruple, as our first imperfect obser¬
vations make us imagine.
70. Sir Isaac Newton has added another proposition to Newton’s
the number of laws of motion; namely, that every action third law
is accompanied by an equal and contrary re-action. But in
affirming this to be a law of nature, he only means that iton experi_
is a universal fact: and he makes this affirmation on the ence alone,
authority of what he conceives to be a law of human and is not
thought; namely, that those qualities which we find in a necessary
all bodies on which we can make experiments and ob-t^th-
servations, are to be considered as universal qualities of
body. But we have limited the term law of motion to
those consequences that necessarily flow from our notions
of motion, of the causes of its production and changes.
Now this third Newtonian proposition is not such a result.
A magnet is said to act on a piece of iron, when, and only
when, the vicinity of the magnet is observed to be accom¬
panied by certain motions of the iron. But it by no means
follows from this observation, that the presence of the iron
shall be accompanied by any motion, or any change of
state whatever of the magnet, or any appearance that can
suggest the notion that the iron acts on the magnet.
When this was observed, it was accounted a discovery.
Newton discovered that the sun acts on the planets, and
that the earth acts on the moon; and Kepler discovered
that the moon re-acts on the earth. New'ton had observed
that the iron re-acts on the magnet; that the actions of
electrified bodies were mutual; and that every action ot
sublunary bodies was, in fact, accompanied by an equal
and contrary re-action. On the authority of his rule of
philosophizing, he affirmed that the planets re-act on the
sun, and that the sun is not at rest, but is continually agi-
Perfect
1
366
DYNAMICS.
Second tated by a small motion round the general centre of gra-
Law ot vitation. He pointed out several consequences of this re-
lo ion. action- Astronomers examined the celestial motions more
narrowly, and found that those consequences do really
obtain, and disturb all the planetary motions. It is now
found that this reciprocity of action obtains throughout
the solar system with the utmost precision, and that the
third Newtonian proposition is really a law of nature, al¬
though it is not a law of human thought. It is a disco¬
very. The contrary involves no absurdity or contradic¬
tion. It would indeed be contrary to experience; but
things might have been otherwise. It is conceivable and
possible that a ball A shall strike another equal ball B,
and carry it along with it, without any diminution of its
velocity. The fact that the velocity of A is reduced to
one half, is the indication of a force residing in B, which
force changes the motion of A; and the intensity of this
force is learned from the change which it produces. This
is found to be equal to the change produced by A on B.
And thus the re-action of B is discovered to be equal to the
action of A.
It is highly probable that this universality and equality
of re-action to action is the consequence of some general
principle, which we may in time discover ; meanwhile we
are entitled to suppose it universal, and to reason from this
topic in our disquisitions about the actions of bodies on
each other.
Mauper- Although the celebrated philosophers of Europe have
tuis, Leib- at last agreed in the reception of the two propositions so
nitz, and largely discussed by us as the laws of motion, they have
other phi- c[ifFerecl exceedingly in their opinion about their origin
have en-3’ ant* va^d‘ty- Some asserted that they are entirely mat-
tertained ters experience, while others affirmed them to be ne-
very ina- cessary truths. The Royal Academy of Berlin made this
dequate question the subject of their prize dissertation in the year
opinions 1744. Mr Maupertuis, president of the academy, pub-
theTfoun^lisl^d a dissertation, in which he endeavoured to prove
dation of ^lat are necessary truths, only because they are such
the laws as ma^e die quantity of action the least possible, an economy
of motion, which is worthy of infinite wisdom, and therefore certain¬
ly directs the choice of the Author of nature. On this
account alone are they necessary truths.
But this is not the way to consider a question of this
kind. We know too little about infinite wisdom to be able
to say, with Messrs Leibnitz and Maupertuis, that the
Deity should or should not impress on bodies laws differ¬
ent from those which are essential to matter; and we are
not to inquire whether God could or could not do this.
We know from our own experience, that matter, when
subjected to the action of intelligence, may be moved in
a way extremely different from what it would follow if
left to itself, and that its motions may either be regulated
by fixed but contingent law, or may be without any con¬
stancy whatever, and vary in every instance. When we
suppose the existence of matter and motion, a variety of
truths are involved in the supposition, in the same manner
as all the theorems in the third book of Euclid’s Elements
are involved in the conception of a circle and a straight
line. Our first employment should be to evolve those
truths. We can do this in no way but by first noticing the
relations of the ideas that we have of the different objects
of contemplation, and then following the laws of human
thought in our judgments concerning those relations. This
process of the mind is expressed in the train of a geome¬
trical demonstration. The different parts or argumenta¬
tions of this train are not the causes of our conclusions,
but the means by which we form our judgment; not the
reasons of the truth of our ultimate conclusion, but the steps
by which we arrive at the knowledge of it. The young
geometer generally thinks otherwise. But that this is the
matter of fact, is plain from this, that more than one de¬
monstration, and often very different, can be given of the
same theorem. We must proceed in the same manner in
the present question; and the first general truths which
we find involved in the notions of matter, motion, and
force, must be received as necessary truths. The steps
by which we arrive at the discovery are the laws of hu¬
man thought; and the expression of the discovery, in-
volving both the truth itself, and the manner of conceiv¬
ing it, is a necessary law of motion. There may be other
facts, perhaps as general as any of those necessary laws
but which do not necessarily result from the relations of
our notions of motion and of force. These are discovered
by observation only, and they serve to characterize the
forces which nature presents to our view. These facts are
contingent laws of motion.
We apprehend that this method has been followed in
treating this article. The first proposition, termed a law
of motion, is only a more convenient way of expressing our
contemplation of a motion in body as an effect of the ge¬
neral cause which we term force. The second proposition
does nothing but express more distinctly the relation be¬
tween this cause and its effect; it expresses what we
mean by the magnitude and the kind of the cause. The
proposition, stating the composition of forces, is but ano¬
ther form of the same law, better suited to the ordinary
procedure in geometrical disquisitions.
These propositions might have completed the doctrines
of dynamics; but it appears that, in order to the produc¬
tion of a material universe which should accomplish the
purposes of the Creator, it was necessary that there be
certain characteristic differences between the forces in¬
herent in the various collections of matter which compose
this universe. The facts or physical laws (for the above-
mentioned laws are metaphysical) of motion may be dif¬
ferent from those which would have been observed had
matter been left entirely to itself. This difference may
have* introduced other laws of motion as necessarily re¬
sulting from the nature of the forces. We have occasion¬
ally mentioned some instances where this appears to ob¬
tain, but gave good reasons for affirming that a due exa¬
mination of all circumstances which may be observed in
the production or variation of motion by those forces, has
demonstrated, that there are no such deviations from the
two laws of motion already determined, but that all the
mechanical powers of bodies, when considered merely as
causes of motion, act agreeably to the same laws. Careful
examination was, however, said to be necessary.
This examination must consist in distinctly noticing the
circumstances that occur in the production of motion by
any force whatever. It is by no means enough to state
simply the intensity of the force and the direction of its
exertion. If a force continue to act, it continues to vary
the motion already produced. Should the force change its
intensity or direction while it is acting, these circumstan¬
ces must induce still farther changes in the motion; and
it is not till all action has ceased that the motion is brought
to its ostensible state, in which it is the object of our at¬
tention and our future discussions. Instances of the ef¬
fects of such continued and such varied actions are to be
seen in most of the phenomena of nature or art. The com¬
munication of motion by impulse is perhaps the only in¬
stance (very frequent indeed) that can be produced where
this is not necessary; nay, we shall perhaps find reason to
conclude that this instance is not an exception, and that
even the communication of motion from one billiard ball
to another is brought about by an action continued for
some time, and greatly varied during that time. Much
preparation is therefore necessary before we can apply the
?
DYNAMICS.
367
_ eie.general laws of motion to the solution of most of the ques-
rate md tions which come before us in the course even of our ele-
RetJed mentary disquisitions. We must lay down some general
Mol,ns- propositions which determine the results of the continued,
^n(j perhaps varied, actions of moving forces; and we
must mark the different effects of the simple continuation
of action, and also those of the variations in this continu¬
ed action, both in respect of intensity and direction. The
effect of a mere continuance of action must be an accele¬
ration of the motion, or a retardation of it if the force con¬
tinue to act in the opposite direction. The effect of the
continued action of a transverse force must be a continual
deflection, that is, a curvilineal motion. These must there¬
fore now occupy our attention in their order.
OF ACCELERATED AND RETARDED MOTIONS.
u 71. All men can perceive that a stone dropped from the
C fex-hand, or sliding down an uniform slope, has its motion con-
sun i
posi,n of tinually accelerated, and that the motion of an arrow ris-
ouracep-jng perpendicularly through the air is continually retard-
small. The mean of these two, or ^ ^ ' = 96,^f Accele-
liontthe e(j. antj tjiey feej n0 difficulty in conceiving these chan-
nfa'dy ges of motion as the effects of the continual operation of
inject their weight or heaviness. The falling stone is in a differ-
to n ion. ent condition in respect of motion in the beginning and
end of its fall. In what respect do these states of the body
differ? Only in respect to what we call its velocity. This
is an affection of motion ; it is an expression of the rela¬
tion between the two notions or ideas which concur to
form the idea of motion, namely, the space and the time.
These are all the circumstances that we observe in a mo¬
tion. Time elapses, and during its currency a space is de¬
scribed. The term velocity expresses the magnitude of the
space, which corresponds to some unit of time. Thus the
rate of a ship’s motion is determined when we say that it
is nine miles in an hour, or nine miles per hour. We some¬
times say (but awkwardly) “ the motion is at the rate or
with the velocity of a mile in three days.” It is most con¬
veniently expressed by a number of some given units of
length, which completely make up the line described du¬
ring this unit of time. But the mechanicians express it in
a way more general by a fraction, of which the numera¬
tor is a number of inches, feet, yards, fathoms, or miles,
and the denominator is the number of seconds, minutes,
or hours employed in moving along this line. This is a
very proper expression; for when we speak of any velo¬
city, and continue to reason from it, we conceive ourselves
to speak of something that remains the same, in the dif¬
ferent occasions of using the term. Now if the velocity be
constant, it is indifferent how long the line may be, because
the time of its description will be lengthened in the same
proportion. Thus if 48 feet be described in 12 seconds,
36 feet will be described in 9 seconds, 16 feet will be de¬
scribed in 4 seconds, &c. Now ^8, ^p, and are frac¬
tions of equal value, being equal to or 4, that is, to the
velocity of 4 feet per second. The value of this fraction,
or the quotient of the number of the units of length, di¬
vided by the number of units of time, is the number of
those units of length described uniformly in one unit of
time.
But how shall we determine the velocity in any instant
192
2 7 2 7 rated and
is probably more exact. Due attention to the nature of Retarded
this motion shows us that 96 is the proper measure, or ^Jetions.
that the motion at that instant is at the rate of 96 feet
per second. But it is peculiar to this kind of motion that
the half sum of the spaces described in two succeeding
equal moments is the measure of the velocity in the mid¬
dle instant. Therefore this method will not generally give
an accurate measure. Yet it is indispensably necessary to
obtain some accurate measure; for it is in this particular
alone that the state of the body differs from its similar
state in another instant. The difference of place makes
no distinction; for if a body continue its motion unchan¬
ged, its condition in every different instant of time, or
point of space, is unchanged, or the same. The change of
place is not a change of motion, but is involved in the
very conception of the continuation of the motion. The
change of condition consists, therefore, in the change of
velocity: therefore the change of velocity is the only in¬
dication and the only measure of the action (perhaps ac¬
cumulated) of the changing force. It is therefore the
chief object of our search ; and accurate measures of velo¬
city are absolutely necessary.
72. When the velocity changes continually, there can
be no actual measure of it. In what then does the magni¬
tude of a velocity consist, when there is no actual measure
of it ? It is a certain undescribable determination, by which,
if not changed, a certain space would be uniformly de¬
scribed in a given unit of time. Thus we know, that if,
when a stone has fallen sixteen feet, its motion be direct¬
ed along a horizontal plane, without diminution, it will
move on for ever at the rate of thirty-two feet per second.
The space which would be thus described is not the velo¬
city, but the measure of the velocity. But the proportions Momenta-
of those spaces, being the proportions of those measures, JT propor-
are the proportions of the velocities themselves. We maytiou ot ve
discover these proportions in the following manner:
Fig. 15
locities
that are
continu¬
ally chan¬
ging-
tude
do-
or in any point of a motion that is continually changing ?
we Suppose that a body has fallen 144 feet, and that we
hw oac.wou^ ascertain its velocity in that point of its fall, or the
tual ea. velocity which it has in passing through that point. In
suri ^e next second the body falls 112 feet farther. This can¬
not be the measure of the velocity at the beginning of the
fourth or the end of the third second. It is too great. The
fall during the preceding second vras 80 feet. This is too
Let ACG (fig. 15) be a line described by a body with Funda-
a motion any how continually but gradually varied; and let mental re-
it be required to determine the proportion of the velocity Ijj'^gcha-
in any point C to the velocity in any other point F. njcaj jis_
Axiom.—If A be to B in a ratio that is greater than any qUisitions.
ratio less than that of C to D, but less than any ratio greater
than that of C to D, then A is to B as C to D.
Take the straight line acg to represent the time of the
body’s motion along ACG, so that the points a, c,f g,
may represent the instants of time in which the body
passes through the points A, C, F, G; and the portions
ac, cf,fg, of the line ag, may represent the times employ¬
ed in describing the portions AC, CF, FG; and therefore
ac is to of as the time of describing AC to the time of de¬
scribing AF.
368
DYNAMICS.
Of Accele- Moreover, let hkno be a line so related to the straight
rated and i;ne acfn by the perpendicular ordinates ah, ck,fn, go, that
Retarded ■ ^ T ’ ■' 1 ■ ■1
Motions.
Retarded argaS afnh, agoh, may be proportional to the por¬
tions AC, AF, AG, of the line described by the moving
body; and let this relation be true with respect to every
point B, D, E, &c. and the corresponding points h, d, e,
&c.
Then it is affirmed that the velocity in the point C is to
the velocity in the point F as ck is to fn.
Let the equal lines he, cd, ef, fg, represent equal mo¬
ments of time, and let B, D, E, G, be the points through
which the body is passing at the instants b, d, e, g. Then
the areas hike, chid, emnf,fnog, will represent, and be pro¬
portional to, the spaces BC, CD, EF, FG, which are de¬
scribed during the moments he, cd, ef, fg.
Draw tp parallel to ag, so as to make the rectangle btpc
equal to the trapezium hike ; and draw the lines qv, ur, sx,
in the same manner, so that each rectangle may be equal
to its corresponding trapezium.
If the motions had been uniform during the moments
be sm&fg, that is, if the spaces BC and FG had been uni¬
formly described, then the velocity in the point C would
have been to the velocity in the point F as cp to fs ; for
.since the rectangles btpc and fsxg are respectively equal
to the trapeziums hike and fnog, and since hike is to fnog
as BC is to FG, the rectangle btpc is to the rectangle fsxg
as BC to FG. But because these two rectangles have
equal altitudes be and fg, they are to each other in the
proportion of their bases cp and gx, or cp and fs. Therefore
BC is to FG as cp to fs. But if BC and FG are uniformly
described in equal times, they are proportional to the ve¬
locities of those uniform motions. Therefore cp is to fs as
the velocity with which BC is uniformly described to the
velocity with which FG is uniformly described in an equal
time.
But the motion expressed by the figure is not uniform,
because the line hlo recedes from the axis ag, and the
areas, cut off by the parallel ordinates, increase in a greater
proportion than the corresponding parts of the axis ; that
is, the spaces increase faster than the times; for the mo¬
ments be, cd, effg, being all equal, it is evident that the
corresponding slips of the area continually augment. The
motion is swifter at the instant c than at the instant b, and
the velocity at the instant c is greater than that with which
the space BC would be uniformly described in the same
time. For the same reason, the velocity at the instant f
is /css .than that with which the space FG would be uni¬
formly described in the same time. Therefore the velo¬
city at the instant c is to the velocity at the instant/in a
greater ratio than that of cp to fs. In the very same
manner, it will appear, by comparing the motion during
the moment cc/with the motion during the moment ef, that
the velocity at the instant c is to the velocity at the in¬
stant/in a less ratio than that of to fr.
Therefore the velocity in the point C is to the velocity
in the point F in a greater ratio than that of cp X.o fs, but
in a less ratio than that of cq to fr.
But by continually diminishing the equal moments be,
cd, ef, fg, it is evident that cp and cq continually approach
to equality with ck, and fr and fs continually approach to
equality with/« ; that when cp is less than ck,fs is greater
than/*, and when cq is greater than ck,fr is less than fn.
Therefore the velocity in the point C is to the velocity
in the point F in a ratio that is greater than the ratio of
any line less than ck to any line greater than fn, but which
is less than the ratio of any line greater than ck to any
line less than fn. Therefore the ratio of the velocity in
C to the velocity in F is greater than any ratio that is
less than that of ck to fn ; but it is less than any ratio
that is greater than that of ck to fn. Therefore the velo-
rata 1(j
city in the point C is to the velocity in the point F as c&Of a
to fn. ' rate( ^
This important theorem may be expressed in more ge- ^ ?d
neral terms as follows: Motr
If the abscissa ag of a line hko represent the time of any V
motion, and if the areas bounded by parallel ordinates be pro¬
portional to the spaces described, the ordinates are propor¬
tional to the velocities.
Remark.—-The propriety or aptitude of expressing the
time by the portions of the axis aeg will perhaps appear
more clearly in the following manner :
Let aeg be any straight line, and let h!kv be another line
straight or curved. Let the straight line ahz, perpendicu¬
lar to ag, be carried uniformly down along this line, keeping
always perpendicular to it, and therefore always parallel
to its first position ahz. In its various situations ckz, emz,
&c. it will cut off areas ackh, aemh, &c. bounded by the
axis, by the ordinates ah and ck, or by the ordinates ah
and em,, &c. and by the line hkg. By this motion the
moveable ordinate is said, in the language of modern geo¬
metry, to generate the areas ackh, aemh, &c. At the same
time, let a point A move along the line ACG, setting out
from A at the instant when the line az sets out from a;
and let the motion of the point A be so regulated that the
spaces AB, AC, AD, &c. generated by this motion may
increase at the same rate with the areas abih, ackh, adlh,
&c. or such that we shall have AB to AC as abih to ackh,
&c. It is plain that the motion along AG is the same with
that described in the enunciation of the proposition; for
because the motion of the ordinate az along the axis ag is
supposed to be uniform, the spaces ab, ac, ad, &c. are pro¬
portional to the times in which they are described, and
may therefore be taken to measure or to represent those
times.
73. Cor. 1. In a motion continually varied, the velocities
in the different points of the path are to each other in the li¬
miting or ultimate ratio of the spaces described in equal times,
those times being supposed to diminish continually; for it
is evident that if the equal moments be, cd, effg, are sup¬
posed to diminish continually till the instants b and d
coalesce with c, and the instants e and g coalesce with/
then the ratio of ck to fn is the limit of the continually
increasing ratio of cp to fs, or of the continually diminish¬
ing ratio of cq to/r. Sir Isaac Newton calls this the ulti¬
mate ratio of cp to fs, or of cq to/r. Now the ratio of cp
to fs is, by construction the same with the ratio of the
rectangle btpc to the rectangle/sav?, and the ratio of cq to
fr is the same with the ratio of the rectangle cqvd to the
rectangle eurf. But the ratio of the rectangle btpc to the
rectangle/s;r<7 is the same with the ratio of the space bike
to the space/wo^; that is (by hypothesis) the same with
the ratio of the space BC to the space FG; and the ratio
of the rectangles cqvd and eurf is the same with that of
the spaces CD and EF. Therefore the ratio of the velo¬
city at C to the velocity at F is the same with the ulti¬
mate ratio of the small increments BC, FG, or CD, EF of
the spaces generated in very small and equal times.
It is also evident, that because the ratio of ck to fn is
the limit both of the ratio of cp to fs and of the ratio of
to fr, these ultimate ratios are the same, and that we may
say that the velocity in C is to the velocity in F in the
ultimate ratio of BC to EF, or in the ultimate ratio of CD
to FG.
We also can easily perceive that the ratio of the area
bike to the area emnf approaches more near to the ratio
of ck to fn as we take the moments be and ef smaller.
Therefore, in many cases of practice, where it may be
easy to measure the spaces described in the different
small moments of the motion, but difficult to ascertain
their ultimate ratio, so as to obtain accurate measures of
i
>
DYNAMICS.
369
cle the proportions of the velocities, we may reduce the errors
and’of measurement to something very insignificant, by taking
lie ded these moments extremely small; and we shall diminish
jlcfins. error still more by taking the proportion of the half
sum of BC and CD to the half sum of EF and EG for the
proportion of the velocities in C and F.
1 It often happens that we have it not in our power to
compare the spaces described in small moments which are
precisely equal. Still we can find the exact proportion
of the velocities, if we can ascertain the ultimate ratio of
the increments of the spaces, and the ultimate ratio of the
moments of time in which these increments are described ;
for it is plain, by considering the gradual approach of the
points p and r to the points k and n, that the ratio of ck
to fn is still the ultimate ratio of the bases of rectangles
equal to the mixtilineal areas, whether the altitudes (re¬
presenting the moments) are equal or not. Now the bases
of two rectangles are in the proportion of the rectangles
directly, and of their altitudes inversely. But the ulti¬
mate ratio of the altitudes is the ultimate ratio of the mo¬
ments, and the ultimate ratio of the rectangles is the ulti¬
mate ratio of the spaces described in those unequal mo¬
ments. Therefore, in such cases, we have,
74. Cor. 2. The velocities are in the ratio compounded of
the direct ultimate ratio of the momentary increments of the
spaces, and the inverse idtimate ratio of the increments (or
moments) of the times in which these increments of the spaces
are made.
If s, v, and t, are taken to represent the magnitudes
of the spaces, velocities, and times, and if ds, dt, and dv,
are taken always in the limiting or ultimate ratio of their
momentary increments,1 we shall have v always in the
proportion of ds directly, and of dt inversely. We express
this by the proportional equation v == —, which is equi¬
valent to the analogy ^ v - ox ^ : v ~ :
dsdT.
75. N. B. Here observe that this is not the only way
of stating the relation of space and time—the abscissa
may be made the time, and the ordinate the space : then
the velocity =
The converse of this proposition mpy be thus expressed.
76. If the axis ag of the line hho represent the time of a
varied motion along the line AG, and if the ordinates ah,
hi, ck, Sfc. be as the velocities in the instants a, b, c, or in
the points A, B, C ; then the areas abih, ackh, adlh, Sfc.
are proportional to the spaces AB, AC, AD, &c.
This may be demonstrated in the same way with the
former ; but the indirect demonstration is more brief, and
equally strict.
If the spaces AC, AF, &c. are not proportional to the
areas ackh, afnh, &c. they are proportional to some other
areas ackh', afn'h', &c. which are bounded by the same
ordinates, and by another line h!kn'. But because the
areas ackh', afn'h!, &c. are always proportional to the
spaces AC, AF, &c. described on the line AG, the velo¬
city in the point C is to the velocity in the point F as
the ordinate ck is to the ordinate fn'; but, by hypothesis,
the velocity in C is to the velocity in F as cA tofn, and
fn' is equal tofn, which is absurd. Therefore the spaces
AC, AF, are not proportional to any other areas, &C.
77. Cor. The ultimate ratio of the momentary incre- Of Accele-
ments of the spaces is compounded of the ratio of the veloci- rated and
ties, and the ultimate ratio of the increments of the times:
for when the moments be, ef, are equal, it is evident that
the ultimate ratio of the rectangles bept, efru is the same
with the ultimate ratio of the increments of the spaces.
But the ultimate ratio of these rectangles is the same
with that of their bases cp and/r; that is, the ratio of ck
to fn, that is, the ratio of the velocities. And when the
moments are unequal, the ratio of the rectangles is com¬
pounded of the ratio of their bases and the ratio of their
altitudes ; that is, compounded of the ratio of the veloci¬
ties and the ultimate ratios of the moments of time.
We have therefore d^ \ ds — VriT : vdt and ds = vdt.
It most commonly happens that we can only observe
the accumulated results of varied motions, and in them
we only observe a space passed over, and a certain portion
of time that has elapsed during the motion ; but being able
to distinguish the portions of the whole space which are
described in known portions of the whole time, and hav¬
ing made such observations in several parts of the motion,
we discover the general law that the motion affects, and
we affirm this law to hold universally, even though we
have not observed it in every point. We do this with a
degree of probability and confidence proportioned to the
frequency of our observation. It is not till we have done
this that we can make use of the first of these two proposi¬
tions, which enables us to ascertain the velocity of the
motion in its different moments. Thus, if we observe that
a stone in falling descends one foot in the quarter of a
second, 16 feet in a second, 64 feet in two seconds, and
144 feet in three seconds, the general law immediately
observed is, “ that the spaces described are as the squares
of the timesfor 1 is to 16 as the square of | to the
square of 1. Again, 16 is to 64 as 1" to 2^, and 16 is to
144 as l2 to 32. Hence we infer, with great probability,
that the stone would fall 36 feet in a second anu a half,
for 16 is to 36 as l2 to l}f; and we conclude in the same
way for all other parts of the motion.
78. This immediate observation of the analogy between A good
the spaces and the squares of the times suggests an easy example
determination of the velocity in this particular kind of^.^^
motion, and it merits particular notice, being very often thod
referred to. We can take ag to represent the time, and
then, because the areas which are to represent the spaces
described must be proportioned to the squares of the por¬
tions of ag, we perceive that the line which comes in
place of hko must be a straight line drawn from a ; for
example, the straight line ahy; for this is the only boun¬
dary which will give areas abfi, ac%, add, &c. pioportiona!
to ab3, ad, ad?, &c. And we perceive that any straight
line drawn from a will have this propert}'.
Having thus got our representations of the times and
the spaces, we say, on the authority of our theorem, that
the velocity at the instant b is to the velocity at the in¬
stant d as 5/3 to dd, &c. And now we begin to make in¬
ferences purely geometrical, and express our discovery of
the velocities in a very general and simple manner.. W e
remark, that 5/3 is to dh as ab is to ad; and we make the
same affirmation concerning the magnitudes represented
by these lines. We say that the velocity at the instant b
is to the velocity at the instant d as the time ab is to the
time ad. We say, in terms still more general, that the
velocities are proportional to the times from the beginning
of the motion. We moreover perceive, that the spaces are
• In this article, as originally printed, the symbols and > were employed to represent the things here denoted by A dt, and
dv: a like change in the notation of the fluxions of the quantities will be made throughout the art c e. ^ A
VOL. VIII.
370
DYNAMICS.
Of Accele- also proportional to the squares of the acquired velocities;
rating and or the velocities are as the square roots of the spaces.
^Force”° Can ^ur*'^er infer’ from the properties of the tri-
,_r^' angle, that the momentary increments of the spaces are
' proportional to the momentary increments of the squares
of the times, or of the squares of the velocities.
We also observe, that not only the whole acquired ve¬
locities are proportional to the whole elapsed times, but
that the increments of the velocities are proportional to
the times in which they are acquired; for rrn is to gp as
be to df, &c. Equal increments of velocity are therefore
acquired in equal times. Therefore such a motion may,
in great propriety of language, be denominated a uniform¬
ly accelerated motion ; that is, a motion in which we observe
the spaces proportioned to the squares of the times, is a mo¬
tion uniformly accelerated ; and spaces in the duplicate ra¬
tio of the times form the ostensible characteristic of an
uniformly accelerated motion.
79. Lastly, if we draw sA parallel to the axis ab, we per¬
ceive that the rectangle aeik is double of the triangle act.
Now, because ae represents the time of the motion, and
es represents the acquired velocity, the rectangle aeik will
represent the space which would be uniformly described
with the velocity eg during the time ae. But the triangle
aet represents the space really described with the uniform¬
ly accelerated motion during the same time. Hence we
infer, that the space that is described in any time, with a
motion increasing uniformly from nothing, is one half of
the space which would be uniformly described during the
same time with the final velocity.
These are but a part of the inferences which we may
draw from the geometrical properties of those representa¬
tions which we had selected of the different measureable
affections of motion. We may affirm, with respect to the
motions themselves, all the inferences which relate to
magnitude and proportion, and thus improve our know¬
ledge of the motions.
We took the opportunity of this very simple and per¬
spicuous example, to give our readers a just conception of
the mathematical method of prosecuting mechanical know¬
ledge, and to make them sensible of the unquestionable
authority for every theorem deduced in this manner.
One of the most important is, to discover the accumu¬
lated result of a motion of which we only observe the mo¬
mentary increments. This is to be done by finding the
area, or portions of the area, of the mixtilineal space agoh ;
and it is evidently analogous to the inverse method of
fluxions, or the integral calculus.
In most cases, we must avail ourselves of the corollary
ds == vdt, and we obtain the solution of our question only
in the cases where our knowledge of the quantities ds, dt,
and v (considered as geometrical magnitudes, that is, as
lines and surfaces), enables us to discover s and t.
OF ACCELERATING AND RETARDING FORCES.
80. Having thus discovered the proportions of the ve¬
locities in motions varying in any manner whatever, we
can observe the variations which happen in them. These
variations are the effects, and the only marks and mea¬
sures, of the changing forces. They are the characteris¬
tics of their kinds (considered merely as moving forces);
that is, the indications of the directions in which they act;
for this is the only difference in hind of which they are
susceptible in this general point of view. If they increase
the velocity, their direction must be conceived as the
same with that of the previous motion; because the re¬
sult of the action of a force is equivalent to the composi¬
tion of the motion which that force would produce in a
quiescent body with the motion already existing; and an Of a
increase of velocity is equivalent to the composition of a ratin
motion in the same direction. iteta
Having no other mark of the force but the acceleration Fci
we have no other name for it in the abstract doctrines of ^
dynamics, and we call it an accelerating force. Had it
retarded the motion, we should have called it a retardinq
force.
In like manner we have no measure of the magnitude or
intensity of an accelerating force, but the acceleration
which it produces. In order therefore to investigate the
powers which produce all the changes of motion, we must
endeavour to obtain measures of the acceleration.
A continual increase of velocity is the effect of the con¬
tinued action of accelerating forces. If equal increments
of velocity are produced in every succeeding equal mo¬
ment of time, we cannot conceive that there is any change
in the accelerating force. Therefore a uniformly accele¬
rated motion is the mark of the unvaried action of an ac¬
celerating force, that is, of the continued action of a con¬
stant force ; of a force whose intensity is always the same.
When therefore we observe a body describe spaces pro¬
portional to the squares of the times, we must infer that
it is urged forward by a force whose intensity does not
change; and, on the other hand, a constant force must
produce a uniformly accelerated motion by its continued
action. And if any previous circumstances assure us of
this continued action of an invaried force, we may make
all the inferences which were mentioned under the article
of uniformly accelerated motion.
81. That force must surely be accounted double which Meas
produces a double increment of velocity in the same timeanaa
by its uniform action ; we can form no other estimation ofr,atinf
its magnitude. And in general, accelerating forces must be *orce'
accounted proportional to the increments of velocity which
they produce, by acting uniformly during the same or equal
times.
Supposing them to act on a body at rest. Then the
velocity produced is itself the increment; and we must
say that accelerating forces are proportional to the velo¬
cities which they generate in a body in equal times. And
because we found (No. 79), that the space described with
a uniformly accelerated motion is half the space which
would be uniformly described in the same time with the
final velocity, which space is the direct measure of this
velocity, and because halves have the same proportion
with the wholes—we may say that accelerating forces are Anotl
proportional to the spaces through which they impel a bodymeasl
from rest in equal times by their uniform action.
This is an important remark; because it gives us an
easy measure of the force, without the trouble of first
computing the velocities. It also gives us the only dis¬
tinct notion that we have of the measurement of forces
by the motions which they produce. When speaking of
the composition of forces, we distinguished or denomi¬
nated them by the sides and diagonal of a parallelogram.
These lines must be conceived as proportional to the
spaces through which the forces urge the body uniformly
during the small and insensible time of their action, which
time is supposed to be the same for both forces; for the
sides of the parallelogram are supposed to be separately
described in equal times, and therefore to be proportional
to the velocities generated by the constituent forces. If
indeed the forces do not act uniformly, nor similarly, nor
during equal times, we cannot say (without farther inves¬
tigation) what is the proportion of the intensity of the
forces, nor can we infer the composition of their action.
We must at least suppose, that in every instant of this
very small time of their joint action, their direction re¬
mains unchanged, and that their intensities are in the
le.
id
*
J
of
-
»
DYNAMICS.
0 vccele-same ratio. We shall see by and by, that with these
r8 igand conditions the sides of the parallelogram are still propor-
jjyding tional to the velocities generated. In the mean time we
rce3,j may take the spaces through which a body is uniformly
impelled from rest (that is, with a uniformly accelerated
motion) as the measures of the forces; yet these spaces
are but the halves of the measures of the velocities. Then,
if a body be moving with the velocity of thirty-two feet
per second, and an accelerating force acts on it during a
second, and if this force be such that it would impel the
body (from a state of rest) sixteen feet, it will add to the
body a velocity of thirty-two feet per second. Accord¬
ingly, this is the effect of gravity—the weight of a pound
of lead may be considered as a force which does not vary
in its intensity. We know that it will cause the lead to
fall sixteen feet in a second; but if the body has already
fallen sixteen feet, we know that it is then moving with
the velocity of thirty-two feet per second. And the fact
is, that it will fall forty-eight feet farther in the next se¬
cond, and will have acquired the velocity of sixty-four
feet per second. It has therefore received an augmenta¬
tion of thirty-two feet of velocity by the action of gravity
during the second second; and gravity is in fact a con¬
stant force, causing equal increments of velocity in equal
times, however great the velocities may be. It does not
act like a stream of fluid, whose impulse or action dimi¬
nishes as the solid body withdraws from it by yielding.
But supposing that we have not compared the incre¬
ments of velocity uniformly acquired during equal times,
in what manner shall we measure the accelerating forces ?
In such a case that force must be accounted double which
generates the same velocity, by acting uniformly during
half the time; for when the force is supposed invariable,
the changes of velocity which it produces are proportional
to the times of its action; therefore if it produces an
equal velocity in half the time, it will produce a double
velocity in an equal time, and is therefore a double force.
The same may be said of every proportion of time in which
an equal change of velocity is produced by the uniform
action of an accelerating force. The force must be ac¬
counted greater in the same proportion that the time re¬
quired for the production of a given velocity in a body is
less. Hence we infer that accelerating forces are inversely
proportional to the times in which a given change of velocity
is produced hy their uniform action.
82. By combining these two propositions, we establish
this general theorem:
\ sure ^Accelerating forces are proportional to the changes of velo-
a< }erat- city which they produce in a body hy their uniform action
directly, and to the times in which these changes are pro~
duced inversely.
If, therefore, A and a are the forces, V' and v' the
changes of velocity, and T' and H the portions of time in
which they are uniformly produced, we have
V' ■»/
A:a=\’t>,dV,=
and a =
* U
The formula « = — is not restricted to any particular
magnitude of d and f. It is true, therefore, when the por¬
tion of time is diminished without end ; for since the ac¬
tion is supposed uniform, the increment of velocity is
lessened in the same proportion, and the value of the frac-
s d .
tl0n ~ti remains t*16 same. The characters or symbols d
and t are commonly used to express finite portions of v
and t, The symbols v and t are used by Newton to ex-
371
ii force.
press the same things taken in the ultimate or limiting Of Accele-
ratio. (These have been changed to dv and dt through-rating and
out this article.) They are usually considered as indefi- Retarding
nitely small portions of v and t. We shall abide by the L^orce^_,
n , . dv
formula a — —.
• dt
83. It must always be kept in mind, that v and t are ab-Is an ab¬
stract numbers; and that v refers to some unit of space, struct
such as a foot, an inch, a yard; and that t refers to some number,
unit of time, such as an hour, a minute, a second; and
especially that a is the number of the same units of space,
which will be uniformly described in one unit of the time
with the velocity generated, by the force acting uniform¬
ly during that unit. It is twice the space actually describ¬
ed by the body during that unit when impelled from rest
by the accelerating force. It is necessary to keep hold
of these clear ideas of the quantities expressed by the
symbols.
On the other hand, when the measure of the accelerat- Measure
ing force is previously known, we employ the theorem °fa change
at — d ; that is, the addition made to the velocity during ot vel°city.
the whole or any part of the time of the action of the
force is obtained by multiplying the acceleration of one
unit of time by the number of such units contained in t'.
These are evidently leading theorems in dynamics, be-These
cause all the mechanical powers of nature come under the measures
predicament of accelerating or retarding forces. It is the exPressthe
collection of these in any subject, and the manner in^f^j1
which they accompany or are inherent in it, which de-
termine the mechanical character of that subject; andofmecha-
therefore the phenomena by which they are brought into nical na-
view are the characteristic phenomena. Nay, it may eventure-
be questioned whether the phenomena bring any thing
more into view. This force, of which we speak so fami¬
liarly, is no object of distinct contemplation; it is merely
dv
a something that is proportional to —. And when we ob-
dV
serve that the -pf,, found in the motions that result from
dl
the vicinity of a body A, is double of the which re¬
sults from the vicinity of another body B, we say that a
force resides in A, and that it is double of the force resid¬
ing in B. The accelerations are the things immediately
and truly expressed by these symbols. And the whole
science of dynamics may be completely taught without
once employing the word force, or the conception which
we imagine that we form of it. It is of no use till we
come to study the mechanical history of bodies. Then,
indeed, we must have some way of expressing the fact,
32 £001
that an acceleration = ——— is observed in every thing
on the surface of this globe; and that an acceleration
418 feet .
1"
is observed over all the surface of the sun.
These facts are characteristic of this earth and of the sun;
and we express them shortly by saying that such and
such forces reside in the earth and in the sun. It will pre¬
serve us from many mistakes and puzzling doubts, if we
resolutely adhere to this meaning of the term force ; and
this will carry mathematical evidence through the whole
of our investigations.
84. As velocity is not an immediate object of contem-Another
plation, and all that we observe of motion is a space and measure of
a time, it may be proper to give an expression of this mea- accelerat-
sure of accelerating force which involves no other idea.in2 *orce’
Supposing the body to have been previously at rest, we
372
DYNAMICS.
ratingTnd have Multiply both parts of the fraction by t
Retarding
which does not change its value, and we have a==
$
But vt = s ; and therefore a == —.
t
§
The formula a = is equivalent to the proportion
&: lr=s : a ; and a would then be the space through which
the accelerating force would impel the body in one unit
of the time t. But this is only half of the measure of
the velocity which the accelerating force generates during
that unit of time. For this reason we did not express the
accelerating force by an ordinary equation, but used the
symbol ==. In this case, therefore, of uniform action, we
2s
may express the accelerating force by a = —.
85. The following theorem is of still more extensive
use in all dynamical disquisitions.
Most ge- Accelerating forces are proportional to the momentary in-
neral mea- crements of the squares of the velocities directly, and as the
sure ot ac- spaces along which they are uniformly acquired inversely,
celeratmg r ^ u j it i it
force.
Fig. 16.
A
Let A'B, A'C, and AD (fig. 16) be three lines, described
in the same or equal times by the uniform action of accele¬
rating forces; the motions along these lines will be uniform¬
ly accelerated, and the lines themselves will be proportional
to the forces, and may be employed as their measures.
On the greatest of them, AD, describe the semicircle
ABCD, and apply the other two lines A'B, A'C as chords
AB, AC. Draw EB, FC perpendicular to AD. Take
any small portions B6, Cc of AB and AC, and draw be, cf
perpendicular to AD, and Eh and Eh parallel to AB and
AC.
Then, because the triangles DAB and BAE are similar,
we have AD : AE = AD2 : AB2. And because AD is
to AB as the velocity generated at D is to the velocity
generated at B (the times being equal), we have AD to
AE as the square of the velocity at D to the square of
the velocity at B; which we may express thus:
AD : AE = V2, D : V2, B.
For the same reasons we have also
AD ; AF = V2, D : V*, C. Therefore
AE : AF = V2, B : V2, C.
But because in any uniformly accelerated motion, the
spaces are as the squares of the acquired velocities, we
have also
AE : Ae = V2, B : V*b, and
AF : Af= V2, C : V2c.
Therefore Ee is to Ef as the increment of the square of
the velocity acquired in the motion along E>b to the incre¬
ment of the square of the velocity acquired along Cc.
AB : AD = Ee : EA; and in like manner,
AD: AC =: FA : F/I Therefore
g
But by similarity of the triangles ABD and Eeh, we Of a
have
-Ketar i
Fori
AB : AC = Ee X FA : F/X EA.
Now AB and AC are proportional to the forces which
accelerate the body along the lines A'B and A'C; Ee and
Ef are proportional to the increments of the squares of
the velocities acquired in the motions along the portions
BA and Cc; and EA and FA are equal to those portions
respectively. The ratio of AB to AC is compounded of
the direct-ratio of Ee to Ef, and the inverse ratio of EA
to FA. The proposition is therefore demonstrated.
The proportion may be expressed thus :
Ee Ef
AB : AC =
^ and may be expressed by the
proportional equation AB = or symbolically, a =
ds
Fig. 17.
A & F j*
% G
Remark.—Because the motion along any of theses is.
three lines is uniformly accelerated, the relation between one bj if
spaces, times, and velocities, may be represented by meansthe in
of the triangle ABC (fig. 17); where AB represents the1”61111
time, BC the velocity, and ABC the space. If BC be taken
equal to AB, the triangle is half of the square ABCF of
the velocity BC; and the triangle ADE is half of the
square ADEG of the velocity DE. Let E)d and BA be
two moments of time, equal or unequal. Then DrfeEand
BAcC are half the increments of the squares of the veloci¬
ties DE and BC, acquired during the moments E>d and
BA. It was demonstrated that the ratio of the area
DcfeE to the area BAcC is compounded of the ratio of DE
to BC, and the ultimate ratio of Dc? to BA. But E)d and
BA are respectively equal to se and jcc. Therefore DcfeE
is to BAcC, in the ratio compounded of the ratio of DE to
BC, and the ultimate ratio of to xc. If we represent
DE and BC by V and v, then se and xc must be repre¬
sented by V' and v', the increments of V and v ; and then
the compound ratio will be the ratio of VV' to vd; and if
we take the ultimate ratio of the moments, and conse¬
quently the ultimate ratio of the increments of the velo¬
cities, we have the ratio of YdV to vdv. If therefore
V2 and v2 represent the squares of the velocities, YdY and
vdv will represent, not the increments of those squares,
but half the increments of them.
We may now represent this proposition concerning ac¬
celerating forces by the proportional equation a = ^;
ys — vi ’
and wre must consider this as equivalent with a =■  v;
<c (— S)
keeping always in mind that a, V, and v, relate to the
same units of time and space, and that a is that number
of units of the scale on which S and s are measured,
which is run over in one unit of time.
1
D Y N A
Of cele- This will be more clearly conceived by taking an ex-
rati, and ample. Let us ascertain the accelerative power of gra-
Hftping vity, supposing it to act uniformly on a body. Let the
FcP' spaces be measured in feet and the time in seconds. It is
matter of observation, that when a body has fallen 64
Jfe!.re° feet, it has acquired a velocity of 64 feet per second ; and
g'red that when it has fallen 144 feet, it has acquired the velo-
asa cce- city of 96 feet per second. We want to determine what
lera g velocity gravity communicated to it by acting on it du-
foro; ring one second. We have V2 = 9216, and v1 — 4096 ;
and therefore V2 — ij2 = 5120. S = 144, and s — 64, and
S — s — 80, and 2 (S — s) = 160.
Now a —
5120
leo-’
= 32.
Therefore gravity has generated the velocity 32 feet per
second by acting uniformly during one second.
86. The augmentation of the square of the velocity is pro¬
portional to the force and to the space jointly. For, because
a we have ads = vdv.
ds
Thus we learn, that a given force, acting uniformly on
a body along a given space, produces the same increment
of the square of the velocity, whatever the previous velo¬
city may have been. Also, in the same manner as we for¬
merly found that the augmentation of the velocity was
proportioned to the time during which the force has acted,
so the augmentation of the square of the velocity is pro¬
portional to the space along which it has acted.
TVems It is pretty plain, that all that we have said of the uni-
resj ting form action of an accelerating force may be affirmed of a
ret: ing retaTding force, taking a diminution or decrement of velo-
J" city in place of an increment. A uniformly retarded mo¬
tion is that in which the decrements of velocity in equal
terms are equal, and the whole decrements are propor¬
tional to the whole times of action. Such a motion is the
indication of a constant or invariable force acting in a di¬
rection opposite to that of the motion. We conceive this
to be the case, when an arrow is shot perpendicularly up¬
wards ; its weight is conceived as a force continually press¬
ing it perpendicularly downwards.
In such motions, however great the initial velocity may
be, the body will come to rest; because a certain deter¬
mined velocity will be taken from the body in each equal
successive moment, and some multiple of this will exceed
the initial velocity. Therefore the velocity will be extin¬
guished before the end of a time that is the same multiple
of the time in which the velocity was diminished by the
quantity above mentioned. It is no less evident that the
time in which any velocity will be extinguished by an op¬
posing or retarding force, is equal to the time in which
the same force would generate this velocity in the body
previously at rest. Therefore,
87. (1.) The times in which different initial velocities
will be extinguished by the same opposing force are pro¬
portional to the initial velocities.
88. (2.) The distances to which the body will go till
the extinction of its velocity, are as the squares of the
initial velocities.
Ffs ge-
Ifyv®'
^inten
(3.) They are also as the squares of the times elapsed.
89. (4.) The distance to which a body, projected with
any velocity, will go till its motion be extinguished by the
uniform action of a retarding force, is one half of the space
which it would describe uniformly during the same time
with the initial velocity.
It very rarely happens that the force which accelerates
the body acts uniformly, or with an unvaried intensity.
I he attraction of a magnet, for example, increases as the
iron approaches it. The pressure of a spring diminishes
as it unbends. The impulse of a stream of water or wind
diminishes as the impelled surface retires from itby yield-
M I C S.
373
ing. Therefore the effects of accelerating forces are very Of Accele-
imperfectly explained, till we have shown wdiat motions re- rating and
suit from any given variation of force, and how to discover Retarding
the variation of force from the observed motion. This last
question is perhaps the most important in the study of
mechanical nature. It is only thus that we learn what is
usually called the nature of a mechanicalforce. This chiefly
consists in the relation subsisting between the intensity of '
the force and the distance of the substance in which it re¬
sides. Thus the nature of that power which produces all
the planetary motions, is considered as ascertained, when
we have demonstrated that its pressure or intensity is in¬
versely as the square of the distance from the body in
which it is supposed to reside.
Acceleration expresses some relation of the velocity and
time. This relation may be geometrically expressed in a
variety of ways. In fig. 18 the uniform acceleration, or
the unvaried relation between the velocity and the time,
is very aptly expressed by the constant ratio of the ordi¬
nates and abscisses of the triangle agv. The ratio of db
to ad is the same with that of ej to ae, or that of/p to af
&c.; or the ratio of the increment of velocity -rx to the
increment of the time /Sor or he, or that of /p to a, &c.
This ratio -jrx : fin is equivalent to the symbol —.
Fig. 18.
But when the spaces described in a varied motion are
represented by the areas bounded by a curve line hho, we
no longer have that constant ratio of the increments of
the ordinates and abscisses.
90. Therefore, in order to obtain measures of the acce-Theirmea-
lerating forces, or at least of their proportions, let the ab-sures in
scissa aeg (fig. 18) of the line hko again represent the time suc*1 casfs
of a motion. But let the areas bounded by parallel ordi- bowebtam-
nates now represent the velocities; that is, let the wholeor(lms 0f "
area increase during the time ag at the same rate with the m0st ex¬
velocities of the motion along the line AG. In this case tensive
the ordinates hi, ck, dl, &c. will be as the accelerations at use.
the instants b, c, d, &c. or in the points B, C, D, &c.
This is demonstrated in the same way as the former pro¬
position (No. 72). If the accelerating force be supposed
constant during any two equal moments be and fg, the rect¬
angles bept and fgxs would express the increments of ve¬
locity uniformly acquired in equal times, and their bases
cp and fs would have the ratio of the accelerations, or of
the accelerating forces. But as the velocities expressed
by the figure increase faster than the times during every
moment, the force at the instant c is to the force at the
instant/in a greater ratio than that of cp to fs ; but, for
similar reasons, it is in a less ratio than that of cq to fr ;
and therefore (as in the other proposition) the force at
the instant c is to the force at the instant/as ck to fn.
91. Cor. Because cp is to fs in the ratio compounded of
1
374 DYNAMICS.
Of Accele- the direct ratio of the rectangle cptb to the rectangle^a^,
rating andanc[ tjie inverse ra(;f0 0f t}ie altitude be to the altitude^;
Forces?8 an^ ^ecause these rectangles are proportional to the in-
i_,_ \_i crements of velocity, and the ultimate ratio of the alti¬
tudes is the ultimate ratio of the moments or increments
of the time, we must say that the accelerating forces {that
is, their intensities or pressures producing acceleration) are
directly as the increments of velocity, and inversely as the
increments of the times; which proposition may be ex¬
pressed in regard to two accelerations A and a, by this
analogy:—
A a = — • —
eff ' dt
All these
theorems
relate to
changes of
velocity;
by which
means
they indi¬
cate imme¬
diately the
operation
of natural
powers.
Or by the proportional equation « = ^ Also adt = dv,
and Jadt — v’. And thus do these theorems extend even
to the cases where there cannot be observed an immediate
measure either of velocity or of acceleration, because nei¬
ther the space nor the velocity increases uniformly.
dv
The theorem a = — is employed when we would dis¬
cover the variation in the intensity of some natural power.1
We observe the motion, and represent it by a figure ana¬
logous to fig. 18, where the abscissa represents the times,
and the area is made to increase at the same rate with the
spaces described. Then the ordinates will represent the
velocities, or have the proportion of the velocities. Then
we may draw a second curve on the other side of the same
abscissa, such that the areas of this last curve shall be pro¬
portional to the ordinates of the first. The ordinates of this
last curve are proportional to the accelerating forces.
92. On the other hand, when we know from other cir¬
cumstances that a force, varying according to some known
law, acts on a body, we can determine its motion. The
intensity of the force in every instant being known, we
can draw a line so related to another line representing the
time, that the ordinates shall be proportional to the forces.
The areas will be proportional to the velocities. We can
draw another curve to the same absciss, such that the or¬
dinates of this shall be proportional to the areas of the
other, that is, to the velocities of the motion. The areas
of this second curve will be proportional to the spaces de¬
scribed.
93. We must now observe, that all that has been said
concerning the effects of accelerating forces continually
varying, relates to changes of motion, independent of what
the absolute motions may be. The areas of the line whose
ordinates represent the velocities do not necessarily re¬
present the spaces described, but the change made on the
spaces described in the same time; not the motions, but
the changes of motion. If, indeed, the body be supposed
to be at rest when the forces begin to act, these areas
represent the very spaces that are passed over, and the
ordinates are the very velocities. In every case, how¬
ever, the accelerations are the real increments of the ve¬
locities.
This circumstance gives a great extension to our theo¬
rems, and enables us to ascertain the disturbances of any
species of regular motion, apart from the motions them¬
selves, and thus avoid a complication which would fre¬
quently be inextricable in any other way. And this pro¬
cess, which is merely mathematical, is perfectly conform¬
able to mechanical principles. It is in fact an application
of the doctrine of the composition of motion; a doctrine
rigidly demonstrated when we measure a mechanical forcpQf a
by the change of motion which it produces. Accelerationmin
is the continual composition of a new motion with the mo-^eta
tion already produced. Fm
We may learn from this investigation of the value of an
accelerating force, that no finite change of velocity is ef. ^ fi
fected in an instant by the action of an accelerating force.vek?
When the fig. 18 is used for the scale of accelerations, can°b
and they are represented by the ordinates of the line Adduced!
the increment of velocity is represented by an area, thatinstai
is, by a slip of the whole area ; which slip must have’some3^3
altitude, or must occupy some portion of the abscissa which
represents time. Some portion of time, however small it ^
may be, must elapse before any measurable addition can
be made to the velocity. The velocity must change con¬
tinually. As no motion can be conceived as instantane¬
ous, because this would be to conceive that in one instant
the moving particle is in every point of its momentary
path,-—so no velocity can change, by a finite quantity, in
one instant, because this would be to conceive that in
that instant the particle had all the intervening velocities.
The instant of change is at once the last instant of the
preceding velocity, and the first of the succeeding, and
therefore must belong to both. This cannot be conceived,
or is absurd. As a body, in passing from one part of space
to another, must pass in succession through all the inter¬
mediate places ; so, in passing from one velocity to another,
it must in succession have all the intermediate velocities.
It must be continually accelerated—we must not say ^ra-
dually—however small the steps.
But to return from this digression :
94. The most frequent cases which come under exami-More
nation do not show us the relation between the forces and venieij
times, but the relation between the forces and spaces.mann^ f
Thus, when a piece of iron is in the neighbourhood of a?onsi(lt
magnet, or a planet is considered in the neighbourhood ["4?]
of the sun, a force is acting on it in every point of its path,forces,
and we have discovered that the intensity of this force more f
varies in a certain proportion. Thus, a spring varies in itsquentli
pressure as it unbends; gunpowder presses less violently?oni*nf
as it expands, &c. &c. into vi
Our knowledge is generally confined to some such effect
as this. We know, that while a body is moving along a
line, ADE (fig 19), it is urged forward by a force, of which
the intensity varies in the proportion of the ordinates BF,
CG, DH, El, &c. of the line FGHI.
-To investigate the motion or change of motion produced
by the action of this force, let CD be supposed a very small
portion of the space s, which we may express by d. Draw
GK perpendicular to DH. Then, if we suppose that the
1 See Barrow’s Led, Geomctr, passim.
-^rirr
DYNAMICS. 375
cele-force acts with the unvaried intensity CG through the
J, frand whole space CD, the rectangle CDKG will express half
H rding 0f the increment of the square of the velocity (No. 85).
rccs- -yye may suppose that the force acts uniformly along the
adjoining small space Dr with the intensity DH. The
rectangle DHor will in like manner express another half
increment of the square of the velocity. And in like man¬
ner we may obtain a succession of such increments. The
aggregate or sum of them all will be half the difference
between the square of the velocity at B and the square of
the velocity at E.
If we employ/to express the indetermined or variable
intensity of the accelerating force, and v to express the
variable velocity, and v' its increment uniformly acquired,
then the rectangle CDKG will be expressed by//. We
have seen that this is equal to vv'. Therefore, in every
case where we can tell the aggregate of all the quantities
it is plain that we will obtain half the difference be¬
tween the squares of the velocities in B and E, on the
supposition that the intensity of the force was constant
along each little space, and varied by starts. Then, by
increasing the number and diminishing the magnitude of
those little portions of the space without end, it is evident
that we terminate in the expression of the real state of the
case, i. e. of a force varying continually ; and that in this
case the aggregate of these rectangles occupies the whole
area AEIF, and is equivalent to the fluent offds, or to the
symbol y/<&, used to express this fluent, which is conceived
an aggregate of small rectangles fd. And we see that
this area expresses half of the augmentation of the square
of the velocity. Therefore,
Rim. 95. If the abscissa AE (fig. 19) of a line FGI is the
1 tant path along which a body is urged by an accelerating force,
l orem> and if the ordinates BF, CG, DH, #c. are proportional to
the forces acting in the points B, C, D, &;c. the intercepted
areas BCGF, BEIF, /c. are proportional to the augmenta¬
tions of the square of the velocity}
Observe that the areas BCGF and DEIH are also pro¬
portional to the augmentations made on the squares of the
velocities in B and in D.
Observe also, that it is indifferent what may have been
the original velocity. The action of the forces represent¬
ed by the ordinates make always the same addition to its
square ; and this addition is half the square of the velocity
which those forces would generate in the body by impel¬
ling it from rest in the point A.
96. Lastly, on this head, observe, that we can state
what constant or variable force will make the same aug¬
mentation of the square of the velocity by impelling the
body uniformly along the same space BE, or along what
space a given force must impel the body in order to pro¬
duce the same increase of the square of its velocity. In
the first case, we have only to make a rectangle BENp,
equal to the area BEIF, and then Bp is the intensity of
the constant force wanted. In the second case, in which
the force EO is given, we must make the rectangle AaOE
equal to the area BEIF, and AE is the space required.
' worse. 97. The converse of this proposition, viz. if the areas
are as the increments of the square of the velocity, the ordi¬
nates are as the forces, is easily demonstrated in the same
way; for if the elementary areas CDKG and EIMe repre¬
sent increments of the squares of the velocity, the accele¬
rating forces are in the ratio compounded of the direct
ratio of these rectangles and the inverse ratio of their al¬
titudes, because these altitudes are the increments of the
space (No. 85). Now the base CG of the rectangle
CDKG is to the base El of the rectangle EIMe in the
same compounded ratio; therefore the force m C is to theOf Accele-
force in E as CG to El. rating and
98. The line hko (fig. 18) was called by Dr Barrow
(who first introduced this extensive employment of mo-
tion into geometry) the scale of velocities ; and the line scaies 0f
FHL (fig. 19) was named by him the scale of accelera- force, velo-
tions. Hermann, in his Phoronomia, calls it the scale of city, acce-
forces. We shall retain this name, and we may call hko of Oration,
fig. 18 the scale of accelerations, when the areas representtime’ ^
the velocities. Sir Isaac Newton added another scale of
very great use, viz. a scale of times. It is constructed as
follows.
99. Let ABE (fig. 19) be the line along which a body
is accelerated, and let FHI be the scale of forces, that is,
having its ordinates FB, HD, IE, &c. proportional to the
forces acting at B, D, E, F, &c.; \etfhi be another line so
related to ABE, that C^ is to E* in the inverse subdupli¬
cate ratio of the area BFGC to the area BFIE ; or, to ex¬
press it more generally, let the squares of the ordinates to
the line fgi be inversely as the areas of the line FHI in¬
tercepted between these ordinates and the first ordinate
dr^wn through B; then the times of the bodies moving
from a state of rest in B are as the intercepted areas of
the curve/;?.
For let CD and Ee be two very small portions of the
space described in equal times. They will be ultimately
as the velocities in C and E. The area FBCG is to the
area FBEI as the square of E? to the square of Cg (by
construction); but the area FBCG is to FBEI as the
square of the velocity at C to the square of the velocity
at E (by the proposition); therefore the square of the ve¬
locity at C is to the square of the velocity at E as the
square of E? to the square of Cg; therefore Ei is to Cg
as the velocity at C to the velocity at E, that is, as CD
to Ee: but since E? : Cg — CD : Ee, we have E? X Ee
=: Cg Y. CD, and the elementary rectangles C^D and
dme are equal, and may represent the equal moments of
time in which CD and Ee were described. Ihus the areas
of the line fgi will represent or express the times of de¬
scribing the corresponding portions of the abscissa.
We may7 express the nature of this scale more briefly
thus. Let BE be the space described with any varied
motion, and fgi a curve, such that its ordinates are in¬
versely as the velocities in the different points of the ab¬
scissa, then the area will be as the times of describing the
corresponding portions of the abscissa.
100. In all the cases where our mathematical know-Example
ledge enables us to assign the values of the ordinates of of the ap.
the figure 19, we can obtain the law of action of the forces, 0
or the nature of the force; and where we can assign the1
value of the areas from our knowledge of the proportions
of the ordinates or forces, we can ascertain the velocities
of the motion. We shall give an example or two, which
will show the way in v/hich we avail ourselves of the geo¬
metrical properties of figure in order to ascertain the ef¬
fects of mechanical forces.
(1.) In fig. 19, let the accelerating force which impels
the body along the line AB be constant, and let the body
be previously at rest in B ; the line which bounds the or¬
dinates that represent the forces must be some line <z> HN
parallel to AB. The area BDHp is to the area BENp as
the square of the velocity at D to the square of the velo¬
city at E. These areas, having equal bases DH and EN,
are as their altitudes BD and BE; that is, the spaces
described are as the squares of the acquired velocities.
And we see that this characteristic mark of uniformly ac¬
celerated motion is included in this general proposition.
i Newton’s Principia, i. 39.
376
DYNAMICS.
Of Accelf1- Fig* 20.
rating and
{j\
B\ I
2J
101. (2.) Let us suppose that the body is impelled from
A (hg. 20), towards the point C, by a force proportional
to its distance from that point. This force may be repre¬
sented by the ordinates DA, EB, eb, &c. to the straight
line DC. We may take any magnitude of these ordinates ;
that is, the line DC may make any angle with AC. It
will simplify the investigation if we make the first force
AD AC. About C describe the circle AHa, cutting
the ordinate EB in F; let eb be another ordinate, cutting
the circle in/very near to F; draw CH perpendicular to
AC, and make the arch H/t — /F, and draw be parallel to
HC ; join FC and DH, and draw F^ perpendicular to/6.
Let IML be another ordinate.
The area DABE is to the area DAKL as the square
of the velocity at B to the square of the velocity at K.
But DABE is the excess of the triangle ADC above the
triangle EBC, or it is half of the excess of the square of
CA or CF above the square of CB, that is, half the square
of BF. In like^ manner, the area DAKL is equal to half
the square of KM; but halves have the same ratio as the
integers; therefore the square of BF is to the square of
KM as the square of the velocity at B to the square of the
velocity at K; therefore the velocity at B is to the velo¬
city at K as Bh is to KM. The velocities are proportional
to the sines of the arches of the quadrant AFH described
on AC.
Cor. 1. The final velocity with which the body arrives
at C is to the velocity in any other point B as radius to
the sine of the arch AF.
Cor. 2. The final velocity is to the velocity which the
body would acquire by the uniform action of the initial
force at A as 1 to ^2; for the rectangle DACH ex¬
presses the square of the velocity acquired by the uniform
action of the force Dx\ ; and this is double of the triangle
DAC; therefore the squares of these velocities are as I
and 2, and the velocities are as ^/l, and ^2, or as 1
to \/2.
102. Cor. 3. The time of describing AB is to the time
of describing AC as the arch AF to the quadrant AFH.
For when the arch 1/is diminished continually, it is plain
that the triangle/zF is ultimately similar to CFB, by rea¬
son of the equal angles Ctb (or CFB) and fiF, and the
right angles CBF and/Fi; therefore the triangles ^F
and CBF are also similar. Moreover, Bb is equal to Fy,
F/is equal to AH, which is ultimately equal to cC; there¬
fore, since the triangles/^F and CFB are similar, we have
F<7 : 1/~ bB : Cb — FB : HC ; therefore B6 is to cC
as FB to HC, that is, as the velocity at B to the velocity
at C ; therefore B6 and cC are described in equal mo¬
ments when indefinitely small; therefore equal portions
Ff, AH, of the quadrant correspond to equal moments of Of 4
the accelerated motion along the radius AC ; and the rating
arches AF, FM, MH, &c. are proportional to the times Retar
of describing AB, BK, KH, &c. Fore
Cor. 4. The time of describing AC with the unequally ''"’’V
accelerated motion, is to the time of describing it uni¬
formly with the final velocity as the quadrantal arch is to
the radius of a circle; for if a point move in the quad¬
rantal arch so as to be in F, / M, H, &c. when the body
is in B, A, K, C, it will be moving uniformly, because the
arches are proportional to the times of describing those
portions of AC ; and it will be moving with the velocity
with which the body arrives at C, because the arch AH is
ultimately — Cc. Now if two bodies move uniformly with
this velocity, one in the arch AFH, and the other in the
radius AC, the times will be proportional to the spaces
uniformly described; but the time of describing AFH is
equal to the time of the accelerated motion along AC,
therefore the proposition is manifest.
103. Cor. 5. If the body proceed in the line Ca, and
be retarded in the same manner that it was accelerated
along AC, the time of describing AC uniformly with the
velocity which it acquires in C is to the time of describ¬
ing ACa with the varied motion, as the diameter of a
circle to the circumference ; for because the momentary
retardations at K', B', &c. are equal to the accelerations at
K and B, &c. the time of describing AC« is the same with
that of describing AHa uniformly with the greatest velo¬
city ; that is, to the time of describing AC uniformly as
AHa to AC, or as the circumference of a circle to the
diameter; therefore, &c. N. B. In this case of retard¬
ing forces it is convenient to represent them by ordinates
K'L, B'E, aD', lying on the other side of the axis ACa;
and to consider the areas bounded by these ordinates as
subtractive from the others. Thus the square of the ve¬
locity at K' is expressed by the whole area DACK'L'C,
the part C'K'L' being negative in respect of the point
DAC. This observation is general.
Cor. 6. The time of moving along KC, the half of AC,
by the uniform action of the force at A, is to that of de¬
scribing ACa by the varied action of the force directed to
C, and proportional to the distance from it, as the diame¬
ter of a circle to the circumference ; for when the body
is uniformly impelled along KC by the constant force IK,
the square of the velocity acquired at C is represented by
half the rectangle IKCH, and therefore it is equal to the
velocity which the variable force generates by impelling
it along AC (by the way, an important observation). The
body will describe AC uniformly with this velocity in the
same time that it is uniformly accelerated along KC.
Therefore by Cor. 5 the proposition is manifest.
Cor. 7. If two bodies describe AC and KC by the ac¬
tion of forces which are everywhere proportional to the
distances from C, their final velocities will be proportional
to the distances run over, and the times will be equal.
For the squares of the final velocities are proportiona
to the triangle ADC, LKC, that is, to AC2, KC2, and
therefore the velocities are as AC, KC. The times of
describing AC and KC uniformly, with velocities propor¬
tional to AC and KC, must be equal; and these times
are in the same ratio (viz. that of radius to j of the cir¬
cumference) to the times of describing AC and KC with
the accelerated motion. Therefore, &c.
Thus, by availing ourselves of the properties of the
circle, we have discovered all the properties or characters
of a motion produced by a force always directed to a fixed
point, and proportional to the distance from it. Some of
these are remarkable, such as the last corollary; and they
are all important, for there are innumerable cases where
this law of action obtains in nature. It is nearly the law
e.
d
DYNAMICS.
377
cede- of action of a bowstring, and of all elastic bodies, when
^and their change of figure during their mutual action is mo-
rding derate; and it has been by the help of this proposition
1ces> first demonstrated in a particular case by Lord Brouncker
and Mr Huygens, that we have been able to obtain pre¬
cise measures of time, and consequently of actual motions,
and consequently of any of the mechanical powers of na¬
ture. It is for this reason, as well as for the easy and
perspicuous employment of the mathematical method of
proceeding, that we have selected it.
Instead of giving any more particular cases, we may
observe in general, that if the intensity of the force be
proportional to any power whose index is n—1 of the
distance, and if a be the distance from the fixed point at
which the body begins to be accelerated, and x its dis¬
tance from the point in any part of the motion, the velo¬
city will be == Va" — xn. This is very plain, because the
increment CGHD of the area of fig. 19, which is also the
increment of the square of the velocity, is ==a;n_1e£r, and the
area is == xn ; and the whole area, corresponding to the
distance a, is an. Therefore the portion of the area lying
beyond the distance a? is a” — xn. This is as the square of
the velocity, and therefore the velocity is as the square
root Van — xn of this quantity.
vdv
This proposition, or/== ^ie 39th of
the first book of Newton’s Principia, and is perhaps the
most important in the whole doctrine of dynamics, whe¬
ther employed for the investigation of forces or for the
explanation of motions. It furnishes the most immediate
data for both purposes, but more especially for the last.
By its help Sir Isaac Newton was able to point out the
numerous disturbances of the planetary motions, and to
separate them from each other; thus unravelling, as it
were, that most intricate motion in which all are blended
together. He has given a most wonderful specimen of
its application in his Lunar Theory.
We now are able to explain all the puzzling facts which
were adduced by Leibnitz and his partisans in support of
their measure of the forces of bodies in motion. We see
why four springs, equally bent, communicate but a double
velocity, and nine springs but a triple velocity; why a
bullet moving twice as fast will penetrate an earthen ram¬
part to a quadruple depth, &c. &c.
This theorem also gives a most perspicuous explanation
of the famous doctrine called conservatio virium vivarum.
When perfectly elastic bodies act on each other, it is
found that the sum of the masses multiplied by the squares
of the velocities is always the same. This has been sub¬
stituted, with great encomiums, by the German philoso¬
phers, in place of Descartes’s principle, that the quantity
of motion in the universe, estimated in one direction, re¬
mains always the same. They are obliged, however, to
acknowledge, that in the actions of perfectly hard bodies,
there is always a loss of vis viva, and therefore have denied
the existence of such bodies. But there is the same loss
in the mutual actions of all soft or ductile, or even imper¬
fectly elastic, bodies; and they are miserably puzzled how
to explain the fact; but both the conservatio and the amissio
are necessary consequences of this theorem.
In the collision of elastic bodies, the whole change of
motion is produced during the short time that the bodies
are compressed, and wdiile they regain their figure. When
this is completed, the bodies are at the same distance
from each other as when the mutual action began. There-
iore the preceding body has been accelerated, and the
following body has been retarded along equal spaces; and
in every point of this space the accelerating and the re¬
tarding force has been equal. Consequently the same
VOL. vm.
It serva-
t ’irium
vi irutn.
area of fig. 20 expresses the change made on the square Of Accele-
of the velocity of both bodies. Therefore, if V and U areratiHg and
the velocities before collision, and v and u the velocities HedEU'ding
after collision, of the two bodies A and B, we must have
A X V2 — = B X w2 — U2, and therefore A X V2
+ B X U2 = A X ^ + B X w2.
But in the other class of bodies, which do not complete¬
ly regain their figure, but remain compressed, they are
nearer to each other when their mutual action is ended
than when it began. The foremost body has been acce¬
lerated along a shorter space than that along which the
other has been retarded. The mutual forces have in
every instant been equal and opposite. Therefore the
area which expresses the diminution of the square of the
velocity must exceed the area expressing the augmenta¬
tion by a quantity that is always the same when the
permanent compression is the same; that is, when the
relative motion is the same. A X V2 — v2 must exceed
B X w2 — U2, and A X V2 + B X U2 must exceed
A X r2 + B X m2.
This same theorem is of the most extensive use in all
practical questions in mechanic arts; and without it me¬
chanics can go no farther than the mere statement of
equilibrium.
Hermann, professor of mathematics at Pavia, one of the History of
ornaments of the mathematical class of philosophers, has No. 95 is
given a pretty demonstration of this valuable proposition, curious.
in the Acta Eruditorum Lipsice for 1709; and says, that
having searched the writings of the mathematicians with
great care, he found himself warranted to say, that New¬
ton was the undoubted author, and boasts of his own as
the first synthetical demonstration. The purpose of this
assertion was not very apparent at the time; but long
after, in 1746, when Hermann’s papers, preserved in the
town-house of Pavia, were examined, in order to deter¬
mine a dispute between Maupertuis and Koenig about
the claim to the discovery of the principle of least action,
letters of Leibnitz’s were found, requesting Hermann to
search for any traces of this proposition in the writings
of the mathematicians of Europe. Leibnitz was by this
time the envious detractor from Newton’s reputation, and
could not but perceive that all his contorted arguments
for his doctrine received a clear explanation by means of
this proposition, in perfect conformity to the usual mea¬
sure of moving forces. Newton had discovered this theo¬
rem long before the publication of the Principia, and even
before the discovery of the chief proposition of that book
in 1666; for in his Optical Lectures, the materials of
which were in his possession in 1664, he makes frequent
use of a proposition founded on this. (See No. 42.) We
may here remark, that Hermann’s demonstration is in
every step the same with Dr Barrow’s demonstration of
it as a theorem merely geometrical, without speaking of
moving forces (see Lect. Geometr. xi. p. 85* edit. 16), but
giving it as an instance of the transformation of curves,
which he calls scales of velocity, of time, of acceleration,
&c. It is very true that Barrow in these mathematical
lectures approached very near to both of Newton’s dis¬
coveries, the fluxionary geometry, and the principles of
dynamics; and the junto on the Continent, who were his
continual detractors, charge him with impudent plagia¬
rism from Dr Barrow, and even say that he has added no¬
thing to the discoveries of his teacher. But surely Dr Bar-
row was the best judge of this matter; and, so far from re¬
senting the use which Newton has made of what he had
taught him, he was charmed with the genius of the juvenis
spectatissimus his scholar, and of his own accord gave him
his professorial chair, and ever after lived in the utmost har¬
mony and friendship with him. Nay, it would even appear
3 B
378
DYNAMICS.
Of Accele- from some expressions in those very lectures, that Dr Bar-
rating and row 0Wed to young Newton the first thought of making
Retarding sucjj extensive use of motion in geometry. We recommend
this work of Barrow’s to the serious perusal of our read-
ergj ^ho wigh to acquire clear notions of the science of
motion, and an elegant taste in their mechanical disquisi¬
tions. After all the cultivation of this science by the
commentators and followers of Newton, after the Phoro-
nomia of Hermann, the Mechanica of Euler, the Dyna-
mique of D’Alembert, and the Mechanique Analytique of
De la Grange, which are undoubtedly works of transcen¬
dent merit and utility, the Principia of Newton will still
remain the most pleasing, perspicuous, and elegant speci¬
men of the application of mathematics to the science of
universal mechanics, or what we call Dynamics.
The two fundamental theorems/(/£ — dv, and fds = vdv,
enable us to solve every question of motion accelerated
or retarded by the action of the mechanical powers of na¬
ture. But the employment of them may be greatly ex¬
pedited and simplified by noticing two or three general
cases which occur very frequently.
Similar in- 104. These may be called similar instants of time, and
slants and similar points of space ivhich divide given portions of time,
points, anci space in the same ratio. Thus the middle is a si-
what. milar instant of an hour or of a day, and is the similarly
situated point of a foot or of a yard. The beginning of
the 21st minute, and of the 9th hour, are similar instants
of an hour and of a day. The beginning of the fifth inch,
and of the second foot, are similar points of a foot and
of a yard.
Similar ac- 105. Forces may be said to act similarly when their in-
tions, what, tensities in similar mstants of time, or in similar points of
space, are in a constant ratio. Thus in fig. 20, when one
body is impelled towards C from A, and another from K,
each with a force proportional to the distance of every
point of its motion from C, these forces may be said to act
similarly along the spaces AC and KC, or during the times
represented by the quadrantal arches AFH, KNO. The
following propositions on similar actions will be found
very useful on many occasions; but we must premise a
geometrical lemma.
Fig. 21.
106. If there be two lines EFGH (fig. 21), efgh, so re¬
lated to their abscisses AD, ad, that the ordinates BF, bf
drawn from similar points B and b of the abscisses, are in
the constant ratio of AE to ae ; then the area ADHE is
to the area adhe as the rectangle of AD X AE to the rect¬
angle ad x ae.
4 or, let each abscissa be divided into the same number
of equal and very small parts, of which let CD and cd be
one in each. Inscribe the rectangles CGID, cgid. Then
because the number of parts in each axis is the same, the
lengths of the portions CD and cd will be proportional to
the whole abscisses AD and ad. And because C and c are
similar points, CG is to eg as AE is to ae. Therefore CD
X CG : cc? X eg = AD X AE : ad X ae. This is true of
each pair of corresponding rectangles, and therefore it is
! nd
true of their sums. But when the number of these rect-Of a
angles is increased, and their breadth diminished without ratins „
end, it is evident that the ultimate ratio of the sum of all^ai^
the rectangles, such asjCDHG, to the sum of all the rect- N
angles cdhg, is the same with that of the area ADHE to
the area adhe, and the proposition is manifest.
107. If two particles of matter are similarly impelled du¬
ring given times, the changes of velocity are as the times and
as the forces jointly.
le-
Fig. 22.
A D
Let the times be represented by the straight lines ABC
(fig. 22), and abc, and the forces by the ordinates AD,
BE, CF, and ad, be, cf. Then if B and b are similar in¬
stants (suppose the middles) of the whole times, we have
BE : be = AD : ad. Therefore, by the lemma, the area
ACFD is to acfd as AC X AD to ac X ad. But these
areas are proportional to the velocities (No. 72), and the
proposition is demonstrated. For the same reason, the
change of velocity during the time AB is to the change
during ab as AB X AD to ab X ad.
Cor. 1. If the times and forces are reciprocally propor¬
tional, the changes of velocity are equal; and if the forces
are inversely as the times, the changes of velocity are
equal.
108. If two particles be similarly urged along given spaces,
the changes made on the squares of the velocities are as the
forces and spaces jointly.
For if AC (fig. 22) and ac are the spaces along which
the particles are impelled, and the forces are as the ordi¬
nates AD and ad, the areas ACFD and acfd are as the
changes on the squares of the velocities. But these areas
are as AC X AD, and ac X ad. Therefore, &c.
Cor. 2. If the spaces are inversely as the forces, the
changes of the squares of the velocities are equal; and if
these are equal, the spaces are inversely as the forces.
Cor. 3. If the spaces along which the particles have
been impelled from a previous state of rest, are directly
as the forces, the velocities are also as the forces. For,
because the changes of the squares of the velocities are
as the spaces and forces jointly, they are in this case as
the squares of the forces or of the spaces; but the changes
of the squares of the velocities are in this case the whole
squares of the velocities; therefore the squares of the ve¬
locities are as the squares of the forces, and the velocities
are as the forces. N. B. This includes the motions re¬
presented in fig. 20.
109. If two particles be similarly impelled along given
spaces, from a state of rest, the squares of the times are pro¬
portional to the spaces directly, and to the forces inversely.
Let ABC (fig. 22), abc, be the spaces described, and
AD, ad, the accelerating forces at A and a. Let V, B
express the velocity at B, and v, b the velocity at b.
Let GHK and ghk be curves whose ordinates are in¬
versely as the velocities at the corresponding points of
the abscissa. These curves are therefore exponents of
the times (No. 99). Then, because the forces act simi¬
larly, we have, by the last theorem, AC X AD : ac
X ad - V2, B : vl, b, = W : HB2. Therefore HB
:hb z= Vac X ad : VAC X AD, and therefore in a con-
DYNAMICS.
379
rurcele-slant ratio. Call this the ratio of m to n. But since
and the ordinates of the lines GHK, ghk, are inversely as
Rf-ding ^0 velocities, the areas are as the times (No. 99) ; and
l ce5, since these ordinates are in the constant ratio of m to n,
the areas are in the ratio of AC X to ac X n. There¬
fore (calling the times of the motions T and t), we have
T\t — m X AC : n X ac; and therefore
T2: *2 = m2 X AC2: »2 X ac2. But
: ri* = ac X ad: AC X AD. Therefore
T2: £2 = ac X ad X AC2 : AC X AD X ac2,
or T2 :t2 =. ad X ,AC : AD X ac.
. AC ac
0r T “ AD:a^.
The attentive reader will observe that these three pro¬
positions give a great extension to the theorems which
were formerly deduced from the nature of uniformly ac¬
celerated motion, or of uniform action of the forces, and
were afterwards demonstrated to obtain in the momentary
action of forces any how variable.
The first of the three propositions, V:v = FX T:/X t,
is the extension of the theorem fdt = dv. The second,
V2: v2 ~ F X S :/ X s, is the extension of the theorem
* S 5
fds = vdv. And the third, T2 : <2 = ^ is the exten¬
ds
sion of/= -j-—;, or of fd (f) = ds. These theorems
d(t )
hold true of all similar actions; and, only for this rea¬
son, are true of uniformly accelerated motions, or uniform
actions.
A regate There remains one thing more to be said concerning
ol any the action of accelerating forces. Their magnitude is
eiid acce-ascertained by their effect. Therefore that is to be con¬
sidered as a double force which produces a double quan¬
tity of motion. Therefore when a body A contains twice
the number of equal atoms of matter, and acquires the
same velocity from the action of the force F, that another
body a, containing half the number of atoms, acquires
from the action of a force/, we conceive F to be double
of/. That this is a legitimate inference appears clearly
from this, that we conceive the sensible weight of a body,
or that pressure which it exerts on its supports, as the ag¬
gregate of the equal pressure of every atom accumu¬
lated perhaps on one point; as when the body hangs by a
thread, and, by its intervention, pulls at some machine.
Without inquiring in what manner or by what interven¬
tion this accumulation of pressure is brought about, we
see dearly that it results from the equal accelerating
force of gravity acting immediately on each atom. When
this weight is thus employed to move another body by
the intervention of the thread, which is attached to
one point perhaps of that body, it puts the whole into
motion, generating a certain velocity v in every atom, by
acting uniformly during the time t. We conceive each
atom to have sustained the action of an equal accelerating
force whose measure is —. Without considering how this
1( ;ing
ft ?s.
the impelled body contains the number m of atoms, tl:e Of Deflect-
. mv ing Forces,
aggregate ot forces is m -, or —.
But since we measure forces by the quantity of motion
which they produce, we must conceive, that when the
same force is applied to a body which consists of n par¬
ticles, and produces the velocity u, by acting uniformly
during the same time t, the force n^s equal to the force
v
m
t
110. Sir Isaac Newton found it absolutely necessary, Moving
in the disquisitions of natural philosophy, to keep this force, mo-
circumstance of acceleration clear of all notions of quan-1/6 force,
tity of matter, or other considerations, and to contem-
plate the affections of motion only. He therefore con-guished'
v _ from acce-
sidered - as the true original measure of accelerating lerating
t force.
force, and m ^ as an aggregate. He therefore calls the
aggregate a vis matrix, a moving force, measured by
the quantity of motion that it generates. And he confines
the term accelerating force to the quantity — measured by
the acceleration or velocity only. It would be conve-
v
nient, therefore, also to confine the symbol / to m
and to retain the symbol a for expressing the accelerat¬
ing force —.
This appellation of motive force is perfectly just and
simple ; for we may conceive it as the same with the
accelerating force which produces the velocity m times v
in one particle, by acting on it uniformly during the
time t. This motion of one particle having the velocity
mv, is the same with that of m particles having each the
velocity v. . .
If therefore a motive force f act on a body consisting
/ ”
m t
force is exerted on each atom, or by what it is immediately
exerted, or how it is diffused through the body from the
point to which the weight of the other body is applied by
means of the thread ; we still consider it as the aggregate
of the action of gravity on each atom of that other body.
Moreover, attending only to the motion produced by it,
and perhaps not knowing the weight of the impelling
body, we measure it, as a moving force, by considering it
as the aggregate of the forces propagated to each atom of
of m particles, the accelerating force a is =
Therefore the three last propositions concerning the
similar, the uniform, or the momentary actions of moving
forces, when expressed in the most general terms, are,
✓ 4 4-
fd , fds
v2-' , or vdv —
• m in
„ . ms'
/2  .
• /
OF DEFLECTING FORCES.
Ill When we observe the direction of a body to Deflecting
change, we unavoidably infer the agency of a force whichforces.
acts in a direction that does not coincide with that of the
body’s motion ; >and we may distinguish this circumstance
by calling it a deflecting force. We have already shown
how to estimate and measure this deflecting force, by
considering it as competent to the production of that mo
tion which, when compounded with the former motion,
. will nroduce the new motion (No. 44). Now, as all changes
the impelled body, and measured by j. If we know that J, tion are reaiiy compositions of motions or forces, it
380
DYNAMICS.
OfDeflect
ing Forces
Alteration
of deflec¬
tions are
continual,
and pro¬
duce curvi-
lineal mo-
tions.
Example.
Determi¬
nation of
the path,
is evident that we shall explain the action of Reflecting
forces when we show this composition.
We may almost venture to say a priori, that all deflec¬
tions must be continual, or exhibit curvilineal motions:
for as no finite velocity, or change of velocity, can be pro¬
duced in an instant by the action of an accelerating force,
no polygonal or angular deflection can be produced; be¬
cause this is the composition of a finite velocity produced
in an instant. Deflective motions are all produced by the
composition of the former motion, having a finite velocity,
with a transverse motion continually accelerated from a
state of rest. Of this we can form a very distinct notion,
by taking the simplest case of such accelerated motion,
namely, a uniformly accelerated motion.
Fig. 23.
112. Let a body be moving in the direction AC (fig.
23) with any constant velocity, and when it comes to A,
let it be exposed to the action of an accelerating force,
acting uniformly in any other direction AE. This alone
would cause the body to describe AE with a uniformly
accelerated motion, so that the spaces AD, AE, would be
as the squares of the times in which they are described.
Therefore, if AB be the space which it would have de¬
scribed uniformly in the time that it describes AD by the
action of the accelerating force, and AC the space which
it would have described uniformly while it describes AE
by the action of the accelerating force, nothing more is
wanted for ascertaining the real motion of the body but
to compound the uniform motion in the direction AC with
the uniformly accelerated motion in the direction AE.
AD is to AE as the square of the time of describing AD
to the square of the time of describing AE; that is, as
the square of the time of describing AB to the square of
the time of describing AC; that is, as AB2 to AC2 (by
reason of the uniform motion in AC). This composition is
performed by taking the simultaneous points B, D, and
the simultaneous points C, E, and completing the paral¬
lelograms ABED, ACGE. The body will be found in
the points F and G in the instants in which it would have
been found at B and C by the uniform motion, or in D and
E by the accelerated motion. In the same manner may
be found as many points of the real path as we please. It
is plain that these points will be in a line AFG, so related
to AE that AD : AE nr DF2: EG2; or so related to the
original motion AC, that AB2 : AC2 BF : CG, &c.
This line is therefore a parabola, of which AE is a dia¬
meter, DF and EG are ordinates, and which touches ACOfn
in A.
. .ecu
ln£ I ces.
Having thus ascertained the path of the body, we can
also ascertain the motion in that path; that is, the velo-an<^c
city in any point of it. We know that the velocity in the^1 “
point G is to the velocity of the uniform motion in the™8^'
direction AC as the tangent TG is to the ordinate EG •
because this is the ultimate ratio of the momentary incre¬
ment of the arch AFG to the momentary increment of
the ordinate EG. Thus is the velocity in every point of
the curve determined. We have taken it for granted that
the line of projection touches the pafli, and that the direc¬
tion in every point is that of the tangent. To suppose
that the curve, in any portion of it, coincides with the
tangent, is to suppose that the body is not deflected, that
is, is not acted on by a transverse accelerating force;
and to suppose that the tangent makes a finite angle with
any part of the path, is to suppose that the deflection is
not continual, but by starts, both of which are contrary
to the conditions of the case. No straight line can be
drawn between the direction of the body and the suc¬
ceeding portion of the path, otherwise we must again
suppose that the deflection is subsultory, and the motion
angular.
113. But while the investigation is so easy when the
direction and intensity of the deflecting force in every
point of the curve are known, the investigation of the de¬
flecting force from the observed motion is by no means
easy. The observed curvilineal motion always arises from
a composition of a uniform motion in the tangent with
some transverse motion ; but the same curvilineal mo¬
tion may be produced by compounding the uniform mo¬
tion in the tangent with an infinity of transverse mo¬
tions, and the law of action will be different in these
transverse motions according as their directions differ.
We must learn not only the intensity of the deflecting
force, and the law of its variation, but also its direc¬
tion in every point of the curve. It is not easy to find
general rules for discovering the direction of the trans¬
verse force; most commonly this is indicated by extrin¬
sic circumstances. The deflecting force is frequently
observed to reside in or to accompany some other body.
It may be presumed, therefore, that it acts in the direc¬
tion of the line drawn to or from that body; yet even this
is uncertain. The most general rule for this investiga¬
tion is to observe the place of the body at several inter¬
vals of time before and after its passing through the point
of the curve, where we are interested to find its precise
direction. We then draw lines joining those places of the
tangent where the body would have been by the uniform
motion only. We shall perhaps observe these lines of
junction keep in parallel positions: we may be assured
that the direction of the transverse force is the same with
that of any of these lines. This is the case in the ex¬
ample just now given of a parabolic motion; but when
these lines change position they will change it gradu¬
ally, and their position in the point of contact is that to
which their positions on both sides of it gradually ap¬
proximate.
But all this is destitute of the precision requisite in
philosophical discussion. We are indebted to Sir Isaac
Newton for a theorem which ascertains the direction of the
transverse force with all exactness, in the cases in which
we most of all wish to attain mathematical accuracy, and
which not only opened the access to those discoveries
which have immortalized his name, but also pointed out
to him the path he was to follow, and even marked his
first steps. It therefore merits a very particular treat¬
ment.
i
1
’Deflect,
r Forces
■wton’s
idamen-
theo-
n for the
•ection
a deflect.
' force.
■eas=to
e times
Jicate
1 ntral
roes.
litre of
lection,
ntre of
tvs.
ntral
ces.
DYNAMICS.
381
Fig. 24.
114. If a body describes a curve line ABCDEF (fig.
24) lying in one plane, and if there be a point S so situat¬
ed in this plane that the line joining it with the body
describes areas ASB, ASC, ASD, &c. proportional to the
times in which the body describes the arches AB, AC,
AD, &c. the force which deflects the body from rectili¬
neal motion is continually directed to the fixed point S.
Let us first suppose that the body describes the poly¬
gon ABCDEF, &c. formed of the chords AB, BC, CD,
DE, EF, &c. of this curve, and, for greater simplicity of
argument, let us consider areas described in equal succes¬
sive times; that is, let us suppose that the triangles ASB,
BSC, CSD, &c. are equal, and described in equal times.
Make Be = AB, and draw eS.
Had the motion AB suffered no change in the point B,
the body would have described Be in the equal moment
succeeding the first; but it describes BC. The body has
therefore been deflected by an external force, and BC is
the diagonal of a parallelogram (No. 45, 46), of which Be
is one side, and eC is another. The deflecting force will
be discovered, both in respect of direction and intensity,
by completing the parallelogram BcC&. BZ> is the space
which the deflecting force would have caused the body to
describe in the time that it describes Be or BC. Because
Be is equal to BA, the triangles BSc, BSA are equal.
But, by the nature of the motion, BSA is equal to BSC ;
therefore the triangles BSC and BSc are equal. They
are also on the same base BS ; therefore they lie between
the same parallels, and Ce is parallel to SB. But cC is
parallel to BZ>; therefore B6 coincides with BS, and the
deflecting force at B is directed toward S. By the same
argument, the deflecting force at the angles D, E, F, &c.
is directed to S.
Now, let the sides of the polygon be diminished, and
their number increased without end. The demonstration
lemains the same, and continues, when the polygon finally
coalesces with the curve, and the deflection is continual.
When areas are described proportional to the times,
equal areas are described in equal times; and therefore
the deflection is always directed to S. Q. E. D.
The point S may, with equal propriety of language, be
called the centre of deflection, or the centre of forces ; and
orces which are thus continually directed to one fixed
point may be distinguished from other deflecting forces
oy the name central forces.
The line joining the centre of ferees with the body, andOfDeflect-
which may be conceived as a stiff line carrying the body *ng Forces,
round, is usually named the radius vector.
115. 1 he converse of this proposition, viz. that if the Iiat!ius
deflecting forces be always directed to S, the motion is Central
performed in one plane, in which S is situated, and areas forces pro-
are described proportional to the times, is easily demon- duce areas
strated by reversing the steps of this demonstration. The ProPortion-
motion will be in the plane of the lines SB and Be, be-aJto the
cause the diagonal BC of the parallelogram of forces is. in^mes"
the plane of the sides-. Areas are described proportional
to the times; for Cc being parallel to SB, the triangles
SCB and ScB are equal; and therefore SCB and SAB
are equal, &c. &c.
116. Cor. 1. When a body describes areas round S pro-veiocity js
portional to the times, or when it is continually deflected inversely
toward S, or acted on by a transverse force directed to S, as the per-
the velocities in the different points A and E of the curve Pen<^icMar
are inversely proportional to the perpendiculars Sr and S^from the
drawn from the centre of forces to the tangents in those Centre’
points; that is, to the perpendiculars from the centre on
the momentary directions of the motion : for since the
triangles ASB, ESF are equal, their bases AB, EF are
inversely as their altitudes Sr, S£; but these bases being
described in equal times, are as the velocities, and they
ultimately coincide with the tangents at A and E.
117. Cor. 2. If Ba and Fs be drawn perpendicular to
SA and SE, we have SA X Ba =r SE X Fe, and SA : SE
— Fs : Ba. For SA X Ba is double of the triangle BSA,
and SE X Fe is double of the equal triangle SFE.
118. Cor. 3. The angular velocity round S, that is, the Angular
magnitude of the angle described in equal times by the velocity is
radius vector, is inversely proportional to the square ofinverseI7
the distance from S. For when the arches AB, EF areas the
diminished continually, the perpendiculars Ba and F£ will °f
ultimately coincide with arches described round S with tance1 from
the radii SB and SF. Now the magnitude of an angle is the centre
proportional to the length of the arch which measures it of forces,
directly, and to the radius of the arch inversely. In any
circle, an arch of two inches long measures twice as many
degrees as an arch one inch long; and an arch one inch
long contains twice as many degrees of a circle whose
radius is twice as short. Therefore, ultimately, the angle
ASB is to the angle ESF as Ba to Fe, and as SF to SB
jointly; that is, as Ba X SF to Fe X SB. But Ba : Fe
= SE : SA (Cor. 2) ; therefore ASB: ESF = SE X SF:
SB X SA, = ultimately SE2 : SB2.
I his corollary gives us an ostensible mark, in many
very important cases, of the action of a deflecting force
being always directed to a fixed point. We are often
able to measure the angular motion when we cannot mea¬
sure the real velocities.
Having thus discovered the chief circumstances which Intimate
enable us to ascertain the direction of the deflecting force, connection
we proceed to investigate the quantity of this deflective of.dyna-
determination in the different points of a curvilineal mo-r?^c^iani^
tion. 1 his is a. more difficult task. The momentary ef-^Qj^j!^
feet of the deflecting force is a small deviation from the”
tangent; and this deviation is made with an accelerated
motion. Ihe law of this acceleration regulates the cur¬
vature of the path, and is to be determined by it. We
may be allowed to observe by the way, that it appears
clearly, from the form in which Newton has presented all
his dynamical theorems, that we are indebted to these
problems for the immense improvement which he has
made in geometry by his invention of fluxions. The pur¬
poses he had in view suggested to his penetrating mind
the means for attaining them; and the connection be¬
tween dynamics and geometry is so intimate, that the
same theorems are in a manner common to both. This is
382
DYNAMICS.
Of Deflect-particularly the case in all that relates to curvature. Or
ing Forces, shall we say that the geometry of Dr Barrow suggested
the dynamical theorems to Newton ? We have seen how
the curvature of a parabola is produced by a force acting
uniformly. The momentary action of all finite forces may
be considered as uniform, and therefore the curvature
will be that of some portion of some parabola; but it will
be difficult to determine the precise degree without some
farther help. We are best acquainted with the properties
of the circle, and will have the clearest notions of the cur¬
vature of other curves by comparing them with circles.
Measure of The curvature of a circular arch of given length is so
curvature. much greater as its radius is shorter, for it will contain
so many more degrees in the same length; and therefore
the change of direction of its extremities is so much
greater. Curvatures may always be measured by the
length of the arch directly, and the radius inversely.
Fig. 25.
Evolution 119. Suppose a thread made fast at one end of a material
and involu-curve ABCD (fig. 25), and applied to it in its whole length,
tion of Taking hold of its extremity D, unfold it gradually from
curves. tjlg curve J)CBA ; tlie extremity D will describe another
curved Dc6a. This geometrical operation is called the
evolution of curves, and Dc6a is called the evolute of DCBA,
which is called the involute of Dc6a. Perhaps this deno¬
mination has been given from the genesis of the area or
surface contained by the two lines, which is folded up
and unfolded somewhat like a fan. When the describing
point is in 6, the thread 5B is undoubtedly the momentary
radius of a circle ebf, whose centre is B, the point of the
involute which it is just going to quit. The momentary
motion of b is the same, whether it is describing an arch
of the evolute passing through b, or an arch of a circle
round the centre B. The same line bt, perpendicular to
the thread 6B, touches the circle ebf and the curve Dba
in the point b. This circle ebf must lie within the curve
~Dba on the side of 5B toward a, because on this side the
momentary radius is continually increasing. For similar
reasons, the circle ebf Vies without the curve on the other
side of 5B. Therefore the circle c^both touches and cuts
the curve Dba in the point b. Moreover, because every por¬
tion of the curve between b and D is described with radii
that are shorter than 5B, it must be more incurvated than
any portion of the circle ebf. For similar reasons, every por¬
tion of the curve between b and a must be less incurvated
than this circle; therefore the circle has that precise de¬
gree of curvature that belongs to the curve in the point
Circle of b ; it is therefore called the equicurve circle, or the circle
curvature, of curvature, and B is called the centre, and ¥>b the radius
circleCUrVe curvature' ft ft easy t0 perceive that no circle can be
Had the motion represented in fig. 26 been polygo¬
nal, it is plain that the deflecting force in the point B
is to that in the point E as the diagonal BZ» of the pa¬
rallelogram ABC5 to the diagonal E* of the parallelogram
DEF* ; therefore let ABCZY be a circle passing through
the points A, B, and C, and let the radius vector BS cut
the circumference in Z; draw AZ, CZ, and the diagonal
AC, which necessarily bisects and is bisected by the dia¬
gonal BZ>. The triangles 6BC and CBZ are similar; for
the angle C5B is equal to the alternate angle AB6 or
ABZ, which is equal to the angle ACZ, standing on the
same chord AZ. And the angle CB5, or CBZ, is equal
to CAZ, standing on the same chord CZ; therefore the
remaining angle 6CB is equal to the remaining angle
described which shall touch the curve in b, and come be-OfDei
tween it and the circle ebf; for its centre must be in someingFc
point i of the radius 5B. If ib be less than B6, it must s—v
fall within the curve on both sides of b, and if ib is greater
than B6, the circle must fall without the curve on both
sides of B5. The circle ebf lies closer to the curve, has
closer contact with it than any other, and has therefore
got the whimsical name of osculating circle ; and this sort
of contact was called osculation.
This view of the genesis of curve lines is of particular
use in dynamical discussions. It exhibits to the eye the
perfect sameness of the momentary motion, and therefore
of the momentary deflection, in the curve and in the
equicurve circle, and leaves the mind without a doubt but
that the forces which produce the one will produce the
other. A great variety of curves may be described in
this way. If perpendiculars be drawn to the curve
in every point, they will intersect each other, each its
immediate neighbour, in the circumference of the curve
DBA; and geometry teaches us how to find the curve
DBA which shall produce the curve T>ba by evolution.
(See Fluxions.)
It is a matter worthy of remark, that the path of a body
that is deflected from rectilineal motion by a finite force,
varying according to any law whatever, may always be
described by evolution. This includes almost every case
of the action of deflecting forces; none being excepted
but when, by the opposite action of different forces, the
body is in equilibrio in one single point of its path.
Our task is now brought within a very narrow compass,
namely, to measure the deflection in the arch of a circle.
Fig. 26.
0 s.
DYNAMICS.
383
fleet-AZC; therefore ZA is to AC as BC to B6, and
Off
infJ°rces'
acxbc
~ az
In like manner E« =
DFXEF
Dz
B6 sive motion, the body describes BC, it deflects from the tan- Of Deflect-
gent through a space equal to the half of ¥>b, because the^g Forces,
momentary action of the deflecting force may be consi-
dered as uniform. The progressive velocity BC may be
jpiure of
UICu. Now let the points A and C continually approach, and generated by the same force uniformly acting through a
jj* jting ultimately coalesce with B; it is evident that the circle Space greater than BC; call this space x. The spaces
ABCZY is ultimately the equicurye or coinciding circle a]ong which a body must be uniformly impelled in order
at the point B, and that AS ultimately coalesces with j.0 aCqU}re different velocities are as the squares of those
and is equal to BS, and that ACXBC is ultimately
2BC2 2EF2
2BC2; therefore ultimately Bb : E^ =: -tt—, or
BZ
Ez
BC2 EP
1BZ
lEz-
Now BC and EF being described in equal times, are as
the velocities: Bb and E^ are the measures of the veloci¬
ties which the deflective forces at B and E would gene¬
rate in the time that the body describes BC or EF, and
are therefore the measures of those forces. They are as ^     
the squares of the velocities directly, and inversely as those ^ chord of curvature will be less.
velocities; therefore Bb2 : BCZ = Bo : x; but Bb : BC
=: BC : i BZ; therefore Bb2 : BC2 = Bb: ^ BZ, and B6
: 1 BZ = Bo : x, and Bb : Bo = £ BZ : x ; but Bo is ^ of
Bb, therefore « is ^ of BZ ; that is,
121. The velocity in any point of a curvilineal path is
that which the deflecting forces in that point would generate
in the body by impelling it uniformly along one fourth part
of the deflective chord of the equicurve circle. If the veloci¬
ty increase, the chord of the equicurve circle must in¬
crease ; that is, the path becomes less incurvated. If the
force be increased, the curvature will also increase, for
chords of the equicurve circles which have the directions of
the deflection.
Observe that Bb or Ei is the third proportional to half of
BZ
the chord and the arch described; for BZ>: BC = BC : -g-.
There is another general observation to be made on the
velocity of a curvilineal motion, which greatly assists us in
our investigation.
122. If a body describes a curve by the action of a force Compari-
always directed to a fixed point, and varying according to son oforbi-
.. t . n .i t . /» 17 • * #  7 fra! m rvfr inn
It is evident, that as the arches AB, BC, continually any proportion whatever of the distances from that point, and^otEm^
diminish, AC is ultimately parallel to the tangent Br, and
BO is equal to the actual deflection from the tangent.
OC2
The triangles BOC and AOZ are similar, and BO =
BC2
or ultimately = y^r. We may measure the forces by the
actual deflections, because they are the halves of the
measures of the generated velocities ; and we may say that
1 asureofl20. The actual momentary deflection from the tangent is a
(lection. third proportional to the deflective chord of the equicurve
circle and the arch described during the moment.
lotion. Either of these measures may be taken, but w'e must
take care not to confound them. The first is the most
proper, because the change produced on the body (which
is the immediate effect and measure of the force) is the
determination left inherent in it to move with a certain
velocity. This is the measure also which we obtain by
means of the differential or fluxionary calculus; but the
other measure must be obtained when our immediate ob¬
ject is to mark the actual path of the body. The steps of
this demonstration, which is Newton’s, naturally terminate
in the equicurve circle, and give at once the immediate
measure of the deflecting force. At the same time the
reader must perceive that this measure does not depend
on the force being always directed to one centre; it is
enough that the two sides of the polygon, in immediate
succession, are described in equal times. This is neces¬
sary in order that ABC6 may be a parallelogram, and that
the diagonals AC and B6 may mutually bisect each other.
Thus have we obtained a measure of deflecting force,
and, in the most important cases, a method of discovering
its direction. It only remains to point out the relation
between the intensity of the force, the curvature of the
path, and the velocity of the motion. These three cir¬
cumstances have a necessary connection; for we see that
the intensity is expressed by certain values of the other
two in the formula/ = yyy—or/ = • ^ The de-
if another body, acted on by the same centripetal force, move ” )proach to
toward the centre in a straight line, and if in any one case of centre-
equal distances from the centre of force the two bodies have
equal velocities, they will have equal velocities in every other
case of equal distances from the centre.
Let one body be impelled from A (fig. 27) toward C
along the straight line AVDEC, and let another be deflected
along the curve line VIK^. About the centre C describe
concentric arches ID, KE, very near to each other, and cut¬
ting the curve in I and K, and the line AC in D and E;
draw IC, cutting KE in N, and draw NT perpendicular
to the arch IK of the curve, and complete the parallelo¬
gram ITNO. Let the bodies be supposed to have equal
flective velocity B£> is acquired in the time that the body velocities at I and at D.
describes BC ; therefore the deflective velocity is to the ve- Then, because the centripetal forces are supposed to be
locityin the curve asB&toBC. The velocity B6 is acquired the same for both bodies when they are at equal distan-
by an accelerated motion along BO ; for while, by progres- ces, the accelerating forces at D and I may be represent-
384
DYNAMICS.
from the
centre.
OfDeflect-ed by the equal lines DE and IN; but the force IN is not
ing Forces, wholly employed in accelerating the body along the arch
IK, but, acting transversely, it is partly employed in in-
curvating the path. It is equivalent to the two forces 10
and IT, of which only IT accelerates the body. Now
IKN is a right-angled triangle, as is also the triangle
INT; and they are similar; therefore IN : IT = IK : IN,
or DE : IT = IK : DE ; that is, the force which accele¬
rates the body along DE is to the force which accelerates
the body along IK as the space IK is to the space DE ;
therefore (No. 86) the increment of the square of the ve¬
locity acquired along DE is equal to the increment of the
square of the velocity acquired alongIK. But the velocities
at D and I were equal, and consequently their squares were
equal; and these having received equal increments, there¬
fore the squares of the velocities at E and K are equal,
and the velocities themselves are equal. And since this
is the case in all the corresponding points of the line AC
and the curve VIK, the velocities at all equal distances
from C will be equal.
It is evident that the conclusion will be the same, if the
bodies, instead of being accelerated by approaching the
centre in the straight line AC, and in the curve VIK,
are moving in the opposite directions from E to A, or
from I to V, and are therefore retarded by the centripe¬
tal force.
Retarded 123. Cor. Hence it follows, that if a body be projected
curvilinealfrom any point, such as V, of the curve, in a line tending
wavs°ac- straiSllt from the centre, with the velocity which it had in
companied that Point .of.the cur.ve> ^ would go to a distance VA,
by recess such, that if it were impelled along AV by the centripe¬
tal force, it wrould acquire its former velocity in the point
V; also in any point between V and A it will have the
same velocity in its recess from the centre that it has
there in its approach to the centre.
The line BLFG, whose ordinates are as the intensities
of the centripetal force in A, V, D, E, or in A, V, I, K, may
be called the scale or exponent of force ; the areas bound¬
ed by the ordinates AB, VL, DF, EG, &e. drawm from
any two points of the axis, are as the squares of the velo¬
city acquired by acceleration along the intercepted part
of the axis, or in any curvilineal path, while the body ap¬
proaches the centre, or which are lost while the body re¬
tires from it. When we can compute these areas we ob¬
tain the velocities (see No. 102).
\v e are now in a condition to solve the chief problem
in the science of dynamics, to which the whole of it is in
a great measure subservient. The problem is this:
n fv ^ a be projected with a known velocity
SrivJtalT a ?ive.n point and in a given direction, and let it be
forces. undei the influence of a mechanical force, whose direc-
tion, intensity, and variation, are all known ; it is required
to deteimine its path, and its motion in this path, for any
given time. J
dhis pioblem is susceptible of three distinct classes of
conditions, which require different investigation.
1. The force may act in one constant directi
is, in parallel lines.
2. The force may be always directed to a fixed point.
3. It may be directed to a point which is continual¬
ly changing its place.
1. When the force acts in parallel lines, the problem is
solved by compounding the rectilineal accelerated motion
which the force would produce in its own direction with
the uniform motion which the projection alone would have
produced. The motion must be curvilineal when the ac¬
celerating force is transverse, in any degree whatever, to
the projectile motion; and the curvilineal path must be
concave on that side to which the deflecting force tends,
for the force is supposed to act incessantly. The place of
Inverse
ct.
es.
direction; that
the body will be had for any time, by finding where the Of n
body would have been at the end of that time by each ing pj
force acting alone, and by completing the parallelogram. U-Jes
Thus, suppose a body projected along AB (fig. 23), while
it is continually acted on by a force whose direction is
AD. Let D and B be the places where the body would
be at the end of a given time. Then the body will, at
the end of that time, be in F, the opposite angle of the
parallelogram ABFD. But it has not described the dia¬
gonal AF, because its motion has been curvilineal, as we
shall find by determining its place at other instants of this
time.
The velocity in any point F is found by first determin¬
ing the velocity at D, and making De? to DF as the velocity
at D to the velocity at B (that is, the velocity of projec¬
tion, because the motion along AB is uniform). Then
draw t?F. Then AB is to c?F as the constant velocity of
projection to the velocity at F. We have seen already
(No. 112-119) that </F is a tangent to the curve in F.
Hence we may determine the velocity at F in another
way. Having determined the form of the path in the way
already described, by finding its different points, draw
the tangent Fd, cutting the line DA in d. Then the
velocity at A is to that at F as AB to dl\ Hence also
we see that the velocities in every point of the curve
are proportional to the portion of the tangents at those
points which are intercepted between any two lines pa¬
rallel to AD.
Either of these methods for ascertaining the velocity,
in this case of parallel deflections, 'will in general be
easier than the general method in No. 121, by the equi-
curve circle.
It was thus that Galileo discovered the parabolic mo¬
tion of heavy bodies.
2, We must consider the motions of bodies affected byinversj
centripetal or centrifugal forces, always tending to oneproblra f
fixed point. This is the celebrated inverse problem of cen- centrip
tripetal forces, and is the forty-second proposition of theforces-
first book of Newton’s Principia. We shall give the so¬
lution after the manner of its illustrious author, because
it is elementary in the purest sense of the word, keeping
in view the two leading circumstances, and these only,
namely, the motion of approach and recess from the cen¬
tre, and the motion of revolution. By this judicious
process, it becomes a pattern by which more refined,
and, in some respects, better solutions should be model¬
led. At the same time we shall supply some steps of
the investigation which his elegant conciseness has made
him omit.
125. Let a body which tends to C (fig. 28) with a
force proportional to the ordinates of the exponent
BLFG, having the axis CA, be projected from V in the
direction VQ, with the velocity which the centripetal
force would generate in it by accelerating it along AY.
It is required to determine the path or orbit VIKI of the
body, and its place I in this orbit, at the end of the as¬
signed time T.
Suppose the thing done, and that I is the place of the
body. About the centre C, with the distances CV and
Cl, describe the circles YV and ID. Draw CIX to the
circumference, and draw the ordinate DF of the expo¬
nent of forces, producing it toward x, and produce the or¬
dinate VL toward a. Let W be the distance to which
the body would go along the tangent VQ in the time T,
and join £C. Let this be supposed done for every point
of the curve. Let aik and axy be two curves so related
to the curve VIK, that the ordinate DF cuts off an area
VaiD equal to the orbital sector VCI, and an area YaxD
equal to the circular sector VCX.
Then, because the velocity of projection is given, the
C -f
DYNAMICS.
fleet-distance is known, and the area of the triangle VC*,
^forces. But this is equal to the area VCI, by the laws of central
forces. (No. 115.) Therefore the area Vm'D is given.
Also, because the area VCI increases in the proportion of
the time, the area VmD increases at the same rate.
iic X
2
or to
KN. This is equal to the element D^E of the
area VmD, or to Di X DE, or to Bi X IN. Therefore
ic xKkn~ "IC: De’or 2IN: KN = IC : and D* =
~2IN~•
Now let Alfg/i be the exponent of the velocities, that
is (No. 86), let VP be to D/2 as ABLV to ABED, or V/
• — V ABLV : VABFD. Make Vw and \i in the tan¬
gents respectively equal to V/ and D/i Draw vu and iO
perpendicular to VC and IC, and vm perpendicular to LV
P^-ed. Let mrz be an equilateral hyperbola, having
^or i^8 asymptotes, and cutting FD produced in
T' .Ar n ^ie ordinutes Vm, Dr, are inversely proportional
to. C\, CD, or Vm : Dr = CD : CV, = Cl : CV. But
because the momentary sectors VC£ and ICK are equal,
kn = KN = Cl : CV. Therefore,
VOL. VIII,
Vm : Dr = tin : KN;
but Yv : Vm = Yk : kn,
and I* (or D/) : V« = IK ; Yk,
therefore li: Dr = IK : KN;
but I* : ?0 = IK : KN, by sim. triang.
therefore Dr = *0, and *0 : Vm = VC : CL
Also, by similarity of triangles, 10 : *'0 = IN : KN, and
210 : iO = 2IN : KN.
Now it was shown, that in order that the space Di'^E
may be equal to the space ICK, we must have
2IN : KN = IC : Di,
or 210 : iO = IC : Di;
but iO : Vm = VC : IC,
therefore 210 : Vm =r VC : Di,
. . VC X Vm
andD, = -2lO--
Having obtained Di, we easily get Da?; for the ultimate
ratio of ICK to XCY is that of IC2 to VC2. Therefore
make
IC2: VC2 = Di: Da?.
Thus are the points of the two subsidiary curves aik,
axy, determined.
The rectangle VC X Vm is a constant magnitude, and
is given because VC is given, and Vm is the given velo¬
city Yl, diminished in the ratio of radius to the sine of the
given angle CVQ.
But the line 210 is of variable magnitude; but it is also
given by means of known quantities. I02 is = It2 — iO2,
— D/"2 — Dr2, and 10 — VDfz — Dr2. Moreover, Df2
Therefore, having these subsidiary curves aik, axy, the
problem is solved as follows:
Draw an ordinate De, cutting off an area VmD propor¬
tional to the time, and describe a circle DIR. Then
draw a line CX, cutting off a sector VCX, equal to the
area YaxD cut off by the ordinate D*a?. This line will
cut the circle DR in the point I, which is the point of the
orbit that was demanded.
But the chief difficulty of the problem consists in the
description of the two subsidiary curves aik and axy, into
which the lines VIK and VXY are transformed. We at¬
tain this construction by resolving the motion in the arch
of the orbit into two motions, one of which is in the di¬
rection of the transverse force, or of the radius vector, and
the other is in the direction of revolution, or perpendicu¬
lar to the radius.
Let Yk and IK be two very small arches described in
equal moments, and therefore ultimately in the ratio of
the velocities in V and I (No. 73). Describe the circle
KE, cutting IC in N. Draw KC and ^C, and kn perpen¬
dicular to VC.
The element ICK of the orbit is = IC X KN
385
Of Deflect¬
ing Forces.
= ABFD, and Dr2 =
/
VC2 X Vm£
1C2
Therefore 210 =
ABFD
VC2 X Vm2
  ■, expressed in known quantities,
because ABFD is known from the nature of the centripe¬
tal force.
Let the indeterminate distance Cl or CD be = x, and
let the ordinate DF, expressing the force, be y. Let VC
be a, and Vm be c, and let ab be a rectangle equal to the
whole area of the exponent of force lying between the or¬
dinate AB and the ordinate CZ, so that ba —Jydx may
represent the indeterminate area ABFD.
We have Di =
2 Jab—fydx — ^
and Da? =
a3 c
2^ ab —Jydx — —Jr’
Remark.—We have hitherto supposed that the velo¬
city of projection is acquired by acceleration along AV.
But this was merely for greater simplicity of argument,
and that the final values of Di and Da; might be easier
conceived. In whatever way the velocity is acquired, it
will still be true, that when in any point V we make Yl to
Vm as the momentary increment Yk of the arch is to the
perpendicular kn on the radius vector, we shall have in
every other point, such as I, the line Df to the line Dr as
the increment IK of the arch to KN. And in the final
equation Df will still be expressed by V ab — Jydx.
126. Cor. 1. The angle which the path of the projectile
makes with the radius vector is determined by this solu¬
tion ; for li is to iO as radius to the sine of this angle;
which sine is therefore = °C
xVab
-Jydx
127. Cor. 2. When the magnitude — is equal to Apsides
x determxn-
^ ab—Jydx, the path is perpendicular to the radius vec-ed;
3 c
386
DYNAMICS.
Of Deflect- tor, and the body is at one of the apsides of its orbit, and
ingForces. kegins t0 recede from the centre after having approach¬
ed to it, or begins to approach after having receded.
128. Cor. 3. The curvature of the orbit V1K is also de¬
termined in every point; for the curvature of any line is
inversely as the radius of the equicurve circle, and this is
to the chord which passes through C as radius to the sine
of the angle CK. Because the velocity in any point I is =
VABFD, and is equal to what the centripetal force at I
would produce, by impelling the body along one fourth of
the deflective chord of the equicurve circle, we have this
chord = 4 Or we obtain it by taking a third
proportional to the momentary deflection and the momen¬
tary arch of the curve, or by other processes of the higher
geometry, all proceeding on the quantities furnished in
this investigation.
Newton 129. Such is the solution of this celebrated problem
the inven- given by Sir Isaac Newton, who may justly be called the
tor‘ inventor of the science of which it is the chief result, as
well as of the geometry by help of which it is prosecuted.
For we cannot give this glory to Galileo; for his simple
problem of the motion of bodies affected by uniform and
parallel gravity, however just and elegant his solution may
be, was peculiar; and the same must be said of Mr Huy¬
gens’s doctrine of centrifugal forces. Besides, these theo¬
rems had been investigated by Newton several years be¬
fore, sud mathesi facem proferente, as corollaries which he
could not pass unnoticed, from his general method. This
is proved by letters from Huygens. Newton’s investiga¬
tion is extremely but elegantly concise, and is one of the
best exertions of his sagacious mind.
History of 130. Whether we consider this problem as a piece of
this pro- mere mathematical speculation, or attend to its conse-
blem. quences, which include the whole of the celestial motions
in all their extent and complication, we must allow it to be
highly interesting, and likely to have engaged much atten¬
tion in the period of ardent inquiry which closed the last
century. Accordingly, it was no sooner known, by the pub¬
lication of the Mathematical Principles of Natural Philo¬
sophy in 1686, than it occupied the talents of the most
eminent mathematicians ; and many solutions were pub¬
lished, some of which differ considerably from Newton’s,
and some are more expeditious, and better fitted for com¬
putation. Of these, the most remarkable for originality and
ingenuity are those of De Moivre, Hermann, Keill, and
Stewart. The last differs most from the methods pur¬
sued by others. M‘Laurin’s propositions on this subject,
and in that part of his fluxions which treats of curvature,
are highly valuable, classing the chief affections of curvi-
lineal motions geometrically, as they are suggested by the
fluxionary method; and then showing, in a very instruc¬
tive manner, the connection between these mathematical
affections of motion and the powers of nature which pro¬
duce them. This part of his excellent work is a fine ex¬
ample of the real nature of all inquiries in dynamics,
showing that it differs from geometry little more than in
the language, in which the word force is substituted for
acceleration, retardation, or deflection. We recommend the
careful perusal of these propositions to all who wish to
have clear conceptions of the subject. Dr John Keill and
Dr Horsley (bishop of Rochester) have given particular
treatises on the motions of bodies deflected by centripetal
forces inversely proportional to the cubes of the distances ;
induced by the singular motions which result from this'
law of action, and the multitude of beautiful propositions
which they suggest to the mathematician. Newton, in¬
deed, first perceived both of these peculiarities, and has
begun this branch of the general problem. He first de¬
monstrated the description of the logarithmic and hyper-Of])ei
bolic spirals, and indicated a variety of curious recurringingFo j
elliptical spirals, which would be described by means of ''•''y
this force, showing that they are all susceptible of ac¬
curate quadrature. Several of those authors affect to con¬
sider their solutions as more perfect than Newton’s, and
as more immediately indicating the remarkable properties
of such motions; and also affect to have deduced them
from different and original principles. But we cannot help
saying that their claims to superiority are very ill found¬
ed ; there is not a principle made use of in their solutions
which was not pointed out by Newton, and employed by
him. The appearance of originality arises from their hav¬
ing taken a more particular concern in some general pro¬
perty of curvilineal motions, such as the curvature, the
centrifugal force, &c. and the making that the leading
Step of their process. But Newton’s is still the best, be&-
cause it is strictly elementary, aiming at the two leading
circumstances, the motion to or from the centre, and the
motion of revolution round that centre. To these two
purposes he adapted his two subsidiary curves.
131. Is it not surprising, that, twenty-five years after theSinguI
publication of Newton’s Principia, a mathematician on the boast >
Continent should publish a solution in the Memoirs of the Jolin
French Academy, and boast that he had given the firstnoulli'
demonstration of it ? Yet John Bernoulli did this in 1710
Is it not more remarkable that this should be precisely
the solution given by Newton, beginning from the same
theorem, the 40th l.Prin. following Newton in every step,
and using the same subsidiary lines? Yet so it is. Ber¬
noulli actually reduces the whole to two functions, namely,
ac . cP c
-j-  and~~)     —?
J ah —J'pdx —ahxA—xAJ'<pdx — a2 cs x
which last is plainly the same with Newton’s
Q x CXg
A2 V ABDF —Y ;
because Newton’s ^ is the same with —, and Newton’s
A x
A2 V ABFD — Z2 is the same with
X°'J ah f 9dx “iP ’
which Bernoulli has changed into
/
abx^
4 C <pdx —
Bernoulli’s chief boast in this dissertation is, that now
philosophers may be assured that the planets will always
describe conic sections ; a truth of which they had not as
yet received any proof; because, says he, Newton’s argu¬
ment for it in the corollary of the 13th proposition is in¬
conclusive, and because he had not been able to accom¬
modate his demonstration of the 41st and 42d propositions
to the particular case of the planetary gravitation. New¬
ton’s demonstration in the corollary of the 13th proposi¬
tion is just founded on the principle on which the very
demonstration of the 42d, adopted by Bernoulli, proceeds,
and without which that demonstration is of no force; name¬
ly, that a body, in given circumstances of situation, velo¬
city, direction, and centripetal force, can describe no other
figure than what it really describes. Newton did not ac¬
commodate the demonstration of the 42d proposition to
the planetary motions, because he had already demon¬
strated the nature of their orbits; but mentions the case
of a force proportional to the reciprocal of the cubes of their
distance, not as a deduction from the 42d, but because it
was not a deduction from it, and admitted a very singular
and beautiful investigation by methods totally and essen¬
tially different.
>
DYNAMICS.
3S:
^ elusion
u rersal
132. It cannot be expected that, in the narrow limits
prescribed to a work like ours, we can proceed to consider
the various departments of this celebrated problem. We
are only giving the outlines of the general doctrines of
dynamics; and we have bestowed more time on those
which are purely elementary than some readers may think
they deserve. We were anxious to give just conceptions
of the fundamental principles of dynamics; because we
know that nothing else can entitle it to the name of a de¬
monstrative science, and because we see much indistinct¬
ness and uncertainty, and a general vagueness or want
of precision, in several elementary works which are put
into the hands of persons entering on the study. This
leads to errors of more consequence than a person is apt
to think; because they affect our leading thoughts of me¬
chanism itself, and our notions of the intimate nature of
the visible universe.
133. But we must conclude the article with this great
rction is problem. Many very general doctrines of dynamics re¬
ar of the main untouched; all, namely, that relate to the rotative
motion of rigid bodies, and all that relate to the mutual
^ d' action of bodies on each other in the way of impulse.
Notwithstanding these great omissions, we must observe
that no new principle remains to be considered. We have
given all that are necessary; and there is no question that
occurs in the cases omitted which cannot be completely
answered by means of the propositions already established.
We have taught how to discover the existence and agency
of a mechanical force, to measure and characterize it, and
then to state what will be its various effects, according to
the circumstances of the case.
134. Proceeding by these principles, men have disco-
vered an universal fact, that every action of one body on
another is accompanied by an equal re-action of that other
on the first in the opposite direction ; that is, to express
it in the language of dynamics, “ all the phenomena which
make us infer that the body A possesses a force by which
it changes the motion of the body B, show, at the same
time, that B possesses a force by which it makes an equal
and opposite alteration in the motion of A.” This, how¬
ever, is not a doctrine of abstract dynamics; it does not
flow from our idea of force ; therefore it was not included
in our list of the laws of motion. It is a part of the me¬
chanical history of nature, just as the law of universal
gravitation is; and it might be called the law of universal
re-action. Sir Isaac Newton has, in our humble apprehen¬
sion, deviated from his accustomed logical accuracy, when
he admits, as a third axiom or law of motion, that re-ac¬
tion is always equal and contrary to action. It is a phy¬
sical law, in as far as it is observed to obtain through the
whole extent of the solar system. But Newton himself
did not, in the subsequent part of his noble work, treat it
as a logical axiom ; that is, as a law of human thought
with respect to motion; for he labours with much solici¬
tude, and with equal sagacity, to prove, by fact and obser¬
vation, that it really obtains through the whole extent of
the solar system; and it is in this discovery that his chief
claim to unequalled penetration and discernment appears.
■ Pyhion 135. Availing ourselves of this fact, we, with very little
| lained trouble, state all the laws of impulsion. The body A, for
’ example, moving to the westward at the rate of eight feet
per minute, overtakes the double body B, moving at the
rate of four feet per minute. What must be the conse¬
quence of their impenetrability, and of the equality and
contrariety of action and re-action ? Their motions must
be such that both sustain equal and opposite changes.
They must give, in some way or other, this indication of
possessing equal and opposite forces. This will be the
case if, when the changes are completed, A and B move
on in contact at the rate of four feet per minute ; for here
A has produced in each half of B a change of motion Conclusion,
two, and therefore a totality of change equal to four.
This is the effect, the mark, the measure of the impulsive
force of A ; for it is the whole impulsion. B has produced
in A a change of motion four, equal to the former, and in
the opposite direction. This is the effect, mark, and mea¬
sure of the repulsive force of A; for it is the whole repul¬
sion. And this is all that we observe in the collision of
two lumps of clay ; and the observation is one of the facts
on which the reality of the physical law of equal action
and re-action is founded; and we can make no further in¬
ference from this fact.
But the event might have been very different. A and
B may be two magnets floating on corks on water, with
their north poles fronting each other. We know, by other
means, that they really possess forces by which they equal¬
ly repel each other. The dynamical principles already
established tell us also what must happen in this case.
That both conditions of equal re-action and sensible repul¬
sion may be fulfilled, A must come to rest, and B must move
forward at the rate of four feet per minute. The same
thing must happen in the meeting of perfectly elastic bo¬
dies, such as billiard balls. If elasticities are known to be
imperfect in any degree, our dynamical principles will still
state the effect of their collision in conformity to the law
of equal reaction.
136. In like manner, all the motions of rotation are ex-and rota-
plained or predicted by means of the same principles of11011,
dynamics applied to the force of cohesion. This is con¬
sidered as a moving force, because, when the attraction
of a magnet acts on a bit of iron attached to one end of a
long lath floating on water, the whole lath is moved, al¬
though the magnet does not act on it at all; some other
force acts on it; it is its cohesion, which is therefore a
moving force, and the subject of dynamical discussion. ;
137. And thus it appears that these subjects do not
come necessarily, nor perhaps with scientific propriety,
under the category of dynamics, but are parts of the me¬
chanical history of nature. Yet, did a work like ours give
room in this place, the study of mechanical nature might
be considerably improved, by giving a system of such ge¬
neral doctrines as involve no other notions but those of
force and its measures, and the hypothesis of equal re-ac-
tion. Some very general, nay universal, consequences of
this combination might be established, which would great¬
ly assist the mechanician in the solution of difficult and
complicated problems. Such is the proposition, that the
mutual actions of bodies depend on their relative motions
only, and require no knowledge of their real motions. This
principle simplifies in a wonderful manner the most diffi¬
cult and the most frequent cases of action which nature
presents to our view ; but at the same time gives a severe
blow to human vanity, by forcing us to acknowledge that
we know nothing of the real motion of any thing in the
universe, and never shall know any thing of it, till our
intellectual constitution, or our opportunities of observa¬
tion, are completely changed.
138. M. d’Alembert had made this principle still more
serviceable for extricating ourselves from the immense
complication of actions that occurs in all the spontaneous
phenomena of nature, by presenting it to us in a different
form, which more distinctly expresses what may be called
the elements of the actions of bodies on each other. His
proposition is as follows (see his Dynamique, page 73) :
“ In whatever manner a number of bodies change their D’AIem-
motions, if we suppose that the motion which each body bert’s ge-
would have in the following moment, if it were perfectly n.er^ P™1"
free, is decomposed into two others, one of which is the
motion which it really takes in consequence of their mu¬
tual actions, the other will be such, that if each body were
388 D Y N
Dynano- impressed by this force alone (that is, by the force which
meter. WOuld produce this motion), the whole system of bodies
would be in equilibrio.”
This is almost self-evident; for if these second consti¬
tuent forces be not such as would put the system in equi¬
librio, the other constituent motions could not be those
which the bodies really take by the mutual action, but
would be changed by the first.
For example, let there be three bodies P, Q, R, and let
the forces A, B, C, act on them, such as would give them
the velocities jo, g', r, in any directions whatever, producing
the momenta, or quantities of motion, P Xp, QXq, R X r,
which we may call A, B, C, because they are the proper
measures of the moving force. Let us moreover suppose,
that, by striking each other, or by being any how connect¬
ed with each other, they cannot take these motions, A, B,
and C, but really take the motions a, b, and c. It is plain
that we may conceive the motion A impressed on the body
P, to be composed of the motion a, which it really takes,
and of another motion a. In like manner, B may be re¬
solved into b, which it takes, and another [3; and C into c
and x. The motions will be the same, whether we act on
P with the force A, or with the two forces a and a;
whether we act on Q with the force B, or with b and j3;
and on R with the force C, or with c and x. Now, by the
supposition, the bodies actually take the motions a, b, and
c ; therefore the motions a, (3, and x, must be such as will
not derange the motions a, b, and c; that is to say, that
if the bodies had only the motions a, j3, and x, impressed
on them, they would destroy each other, and the system
would remain at rest.
M. d Alembert has applied this proposition with great
address and success to the very difficult questions that oc-
D Y N
cur in the motions and actions of fluids, and many other Dyn
most difficult problems, such as the precession of the equi- met!
noxes, &c. The cause of its utility is, that in most cases
]t is not difficult to find what forces will put a system in
equilibrio ; and, combining these with the known extrane¬
ous forces whose effects we are interested to discover, we
obtain the motions which really follow the mutual action
of the bodies.
This is not, properly speaking, a principle; it is a form
in which a general fact may be conceived. In the same
way the celebrated mathematician De la Grange observ¬
ed, that a system of bodies, acting on each other in any
way, is in equilibrio, if there be impressed on its parts
forces in the inverse proportion of the velocities which
each body takes in consequence of their action or connec¬
tion ; and he expresses this universal fact by a very simple
formula; and, calling this also a principle, he solves every
question with ease and neatness, by reducing it to the in¬
vestigation of those velocities. In this way he has writ¬
ten a complete system of dynamics, to which he gives the
title of Mechanique Analytique, full of the most ingenious
and elegant solutions of very interesting and difficult pro¬
blems ; and all this without drawing a line or figure, but
accomplishing the whole by algebraic operations.
But this is not teaching mechanical philosophy; it is
merely employing the reader in algebraic operations, each
of which he perfectly understands in its quality of an al¬
gebraic or arithmetical operation, and where he may have
the fullest conviction of the justness of his procedure.
But all this may be (and, in the hands of an expert alge¬
braist, it generally is), without any notions, distinct or in¬
distinct, of the things or the process of reasoning that are
represented by the symbols made use of. (b. b. b.)
DYNANOMETER, an instrument for ascertaining the
relative strength of men and animals. * Of an instrument
of this kind, invented by Regnier, and of which a descrip¬
tion is given in the Journal de I’Ecole Polytechnique, tom.
ii. the author thus speaks: “ Some important knowledge
might be acquired, had we the easy means of ascertaining,
in a comparative manner, our relative strength at the dif¬
ferent periods of life, and in different states of health.
Buffon and Gueneau, who had some excellent ideas on this
subject, requested me to endeavour to invent a portable
machine, which, by an easy and simple mechanism, might
conduct to a solution of this question, on which they were
then engaged. Ihese philosophers were acquainted wuth
that invented by Graham, and improved by Dr Desagu-
liers, at London ; but this machine, constructed of wooden
work, was too bulky and heavy to be portable ; and, be¬
sides, to make experiments on the different parts of the
body, several machines were necessary, each suited to the
part required to be tried. They were acquainted also
with the dynanometer of citizen Leroy of the Academy
of Sciences at Paris. It consisted of a metal tube ten or
twelve inches in length, placed vertically on a foot like
that of a candlestick, and containing in the inside a spiral
spring, having above it a graduated shank terminating in
a globe. This shank, together with the spring, sunk into
the tube in proportion to the weight acting upon it, and
thus pointed out, in degreeSj the strength of the person
who pressed on the ball with his hand.
This insti ument, though ingenious, did not appear
sufficient, however, to Buffon and Gueneau ; for they wish¬
ed not merely to ascertain the muscular force of a finger
or hand, but to estimate that of each limb separately, and
of all the parts of the body. I shall not here give an ac¬
count of the attempts I made to fulfil the wishes of these
two philosophers, but only observe, that in the course of
my experiments I had reason to be convinced that the
construction of the instrument was not so easy as might
have been expected. Besides the use which an enlighten¬
ed naturalist may make of this machine, it may be possible
to apply it to many other purposes. For example, it may
be employed with advantage to determine the strength of
draught cattle; and, above all, to try that of horses, and
compare it with the strength of other animals. It may
serve to make known how far the assistance of well-con¬
structed wheels may favour the movement of a carriage,
and what is its vis inertice in proportion to the load. We
might appreciate by it, also, what resistance the slope of
a mountain opposes to a carriage, and be able to judge
whether a carriage is sufficiently loaded in proportion to
the number of horses that are to be yoked to it. In the
arts, it may be applied to machines of which we wish to
ascertain the resistance, and when we are desirous to cal¬
culate the moving force that ought to be adapted to them.
It may serve, also, as a Roman balance to weigh burdens.
In short, nothing would be more easy than to convert it
into an anemometer, to discover the absolute force of the
wind, by fitting to it a frame of a determined size filled up
with wax cloth ; and it would not be impossible to ascer¬
tain by this machine the recoil of fire-arms, and conse¬
quently the strength of gunpowder.
“ I his dynanometer, in its form and size, has a near re¬
semblance to a common graphometer. It consists of a
spring twelve inches in length, bent into the form of an
ellipsis; from the middle of which arises a semicircular
piece of brass, having engraved upon it the different de¬
grees that express a force of the power acting on the
spring. rIhe whole of this machine, which weighs only
two pounds and a half, opposes, however, more resistance
E
nasty than may be necessary to determine the action of the
|| strongest and most robust horse.”
E. DYNASTY, among ancient historians, signifies a race
or succession of kings of the same family or line. Such
were the dynasties of Egypt. The word is formed from
the Greek dvvaSTtia, of duvanci}, to be powerful.
DYSiE, in Mythology, inferior goddesses among the
Saxons, being the messengers of the great Odin, whose
province it was to convey the souls of such as died in
battle to his abode, called Valhalla or the hall of slaugh¬
ter, where they were to drink, with him and their other
gods, cerevisia, a kind of malt liquor, in the skulls of their
enemies. The Dysce conveyed those who died a natural
death to Hela, the goddess of hell, where they were tor¬
mented with hunger, thirst, and every kind of evil.
DYSART, a royal burgh of Scotland, in the county of
Fife, is situated on the coast of the Frith of Forth, about
a mile to the eastward of Kirkaldy. It consists of three
narrow streets, with a species of square in the centre. In
the principal street there are a number of antique houses,
the fronts of which are generally decorated with inscrip¬
tions and dates. Formerly this town enjoyed a consider¬
able trade, and on this account was ennobled with the po¬
pular name of “ Little Holland.” The state of trade now',
however, is far from corresponding with that ambitious
title. The principal article manufactured is salt, which,
E A D
389
together with coal, is exported in quantities. The weav- Dyscrasv
ing of checks, ticks, and similar fabrics, is also carried on, ||
and affords employment to a number of the inhabitants. Radmerus.
The harbour of the town is tolerably good. Dysart was
erected into a roj'al burgh in the beginning of the six¬
teenth century, and is at present governed by two bailies,
a treasurer, and twenty-two councillors. Besides the parish
church, there is a congregation connected with the Relief
body. The town possesses a news-room and a mechanics’
institution. The population of the burgh and parish
amounted in 1821 to 6529, and in 1831 to 7104<.
DYSCRASY, among physicians, denotes an ill habit or
state of the humours, as in the scurvy, jaundice, and other
diseases.
DYSENTERY, in Medicine, a diarrhoea or flux, where¬
in the stools are mixed with blood, and the bowels miser¬
ably tormented with gripes. See Medicine.
DYSOREXY, among physicians, denotes a want of ap¬
petite, proceeding from a weakly stomach.
DYSPEPSY, a difficulty of digestion.
DYSPNOEA, a difficulty of breathing, usually called
asthma.
DYVOUR, in Scotch Law, otherwise Bare-man, a per¬
son who, being involved in debt, and unable to pay the
same, makes cession of his effects in favour of his credi¬
tors. The word is used in the same sense as Bankrupt.
E.
Ethe second vowel, and fifth letter of the alphabet.
J This letter is most probably derived from the old
character in the ancient Hebrew and Phoenician alpha¬
bets, reversed by the Greeks to this position, E, not from
the Hebrew rr, as some have supposed. From the same
origin is also derived the Saxon e, which is the first letter
in their alphabet that differs from the Latin one. It is
formed by a narrower opening of the larynx than the let¬
ter A; but the other parts of the mouth are used nearly
in the same manner as in that letter. E has a long and
short sound in most languages. The short sound is audi¬
ble in bed, fret, den, and other words ending in consonants ;
the long sound is produced by a final e, or an e at the end
of words, as in glebe, here, hire, scene, sphere, interfere, re¬
vere, sincere, and the like, in most of which it sounds like
ee. In some other cases, this letter, by coming after i, is
long, as in believe, chief, grief, reprieve ; and sometimes the
long sound is expressed by ee, as in bleed, beer, creed, and
so on. Sometimes the final e is silent, and only serves to
lengthen the sound of the preceding vowel, as in rag, rage,
stag, stage, hug, huge. The sound of e, however, is ob¬
scure in the following words : oxen, heaven, bounden, fire,
massacre, maugre, and other words. The Greeks have
their long and short e, which they call epsilon t, and eta rj.
The French have several kinds of e ; the Latins have like¬
wise a long and short e. In some instances the latter also
write e instead of a, as dicem for dicam-, and this is no
doubt the reason why a is so often changed into e in the
preter-perfect tense, as ago, egi; facio,feci, and the like.
As a numeral, E stands for 250, according to the verse,
E, quoque ducentos et quinquaginta tenebit.
In music it denotes the tone e-la-me; in the calendar it
is the fifth of the dominical letters; and in sea charts it
distinguishes all the easterly points. In ancient contrac¬
tions and abbreviations E represents Est, Ennius, Edilis ;
EB, Ejus Bona; ED, Ejus Domus; EE, Ejus VEtas;
EF, Ejus Filius; and so on.
EACHARD, John, an English divine of great learning
and wit in the seventeenth century, was bred at Cam¬
bridge, and was the author of The Grounds and Occasions of
the Contempt of the Clergy and Religion inquired into, 1670.
In 1675 he was chosen master of Catharine Hall upon the
decease of Dr John Lightfoot; and the year following
was created doctor in divinity by royal mandate. He
died in 1697.
Eachard, Laurence, an eminent English historian of the
eighteenth century, was nearly related to Dr John Eachard.
He was the son of a clergyman, who, by the death of his
elder brother, became master of a good estate in Suffolk.
He was educated in the university of Cambridge, entered
into holy orders, and was presented to the living of Wel-
ton and Elkington in Lincolnshire, where he spent above
twenty years of his life, and distinguished himself by his
writings, especially his History of England, which was
attacked by Dr Edmund Calamy and by Mr John Old-
mixon. His General Ecclesiastical History, from the Na¬
tivity of Christ to the first Establishment of Christianity by
Human Laws under the Emperor Constantine the Great,
has passed through several editions. He was installed as
archdeacon of Stowe and prebendary of Lincoln in 1712.
He died in 1730.
EADMERUS, Eadmer, or Edmer, an esteemed his¬
torian, was an Englishman by birth, but his parents, and
the particular time and place of his nativity, are not known.
He received a learned education, and early discovered a
taste for history, by recording every remarkable event
which came to his knowledge. Being a monk in the ca¬
thedral of Canterbury, he had the happiness to become
the bosom friend and inseparable companion of two arch-
390 E A (1
Eagle, bishops of that see, St Anselm and his successor Ralph.
Xo the former of these he was appointed spiritual director
by the pope ; and that prelate did nothing without his ap¬
probation. In the year 1120 he was sent for by King
Alexander I. of Scotland, to be raised to the primacy of
that kingdom ; and having obtained leave of King Henry
and the Archbishop of Canterbury, he departed for Scot¬
land, where he was kindly received by the king, and on
the third day after his arrival elected bishop of St An¬
drews ; but on the day after his election a dispute unfor¬
tunately arose between the king and him, in a private con¬
ference about his consecration. Eadmerus having been a
constant companion of two archbishops of Canterbury, was
a violent stickler for the prerogatives of that see ; and
therefore told the king that he was determined to be con¬
secrated by none but the Archbishop of Canterbury, whom
he believed to be the primate of all Britain. Alexander, who
was naturally a fierce prince, and supported the indepen¬
dence of his crown and kingdom with great spirit, was so
much offended that he broke off the conference in a vio¬
lent passion, declaring that the see of Canterbury had no
pre-eminency over that of St Andrews. This breach be¬
tween the king and the bishop-elect became daily wider,
until at length Eadmerus, despairing of recovering the royal
favour, sent his pastoral ring to the king ; laid his pastoral
staff upon the high altar, whence he had taken it; and
abandoning his bishopric, returned to England. He was
kindly received by the Archbishop and clergy of Canter¬
bury, though they disapproved of his stiffness, and thought
him too hasty in forsaking the honourable station to which
he had been called. Nor was it long before Eadmerus be¬
came sensible of his error, and desirous of correcting it.
With this view he wrote a long submissive letter to the king
of Scotland, entreating his leave to return to the bishopric,
and promising compliance with his royal pleasure in every
thing respecting his consecration ; which letter was accom¬
panied by an epistle to the same purpose from the arch¬
bishop. These overtures, however, which were made in
the year 1122, did not produce the desired effect. But
Eadmerus is most worthy of the grateful remembrance of
posterity for his historical works, particularly for his his¬
tory of the affairs of England in his own time, from the
year 1066 to the year 1122; a work in which he has in¬
serted many original papers, and preserved many impor¬
tant facts which are nowhere else to be found. This
work has been highly commended for its authenticity, as
well as for regularity of composition and purity of style.
It is indeed more free from legendary tales than any other
work of this period ; and it is impossible to peruse it with
attention, without conceiving a favourable opinion of the
learning, good sense, sincerity, and candour of its author.
EAGLE. See Ornithology.
Eagle, in Heraldry, is accounted one of the most noble
bearings in armory, and, according to the learned in this
science, ought to be given to none but such as greatly ex¬
cel in the virtues of generosity and courage, or have ren¬
dered singular service to their sovereigns ; in which case
they may be allowed a whole eagle, or an eagle naissant,
or only the head or such other parts as may be judged
most agreeable to their exploits.
The eagle has been borne as an ensign or standard by
several nations. The first who seem to have assumed the
eagle were the Persians, according to the testimony of
Xenophon ; but subsequentlyitwas adopted by the Romans,
who, after a great variety of standards, at length fixed on
the eagle, in the second year of the consulate of C. Ma¬
rius, having till that period used indifferently wolves, leo¬
pards, and eagles, according to the humour of the com¬
mander. The Roman eagles, it must be observed, were
not painted on a cloth or flag, but were figures in relief,
E A G
formed of silver or gold, and borne on the tops of pikes; Eg
the wings being displayed, with frequently a thunderbolt Isl;
in the talons. Under the eagle on the pike were piled II
bucklers, and sometimes crowns. fag
Constantine is said to have been the first who introduced ^
the eagle with two heads, to intimate, that though the
empire seemed divided, it had yet only one body. Others
say that it was Charlemagne who resumed the eagle as the
Roman ensign, and added to it a second head; but that
opinion is destroyed by an eagle with two heads, observed by
Lipsius on the column of Antoninus, as also by the eagle’s
having only one head on the seal of the golden bull of the
Emperor Charles 1Y. The conjecture, therefore, of Me-
nestrier appears more probable ; namely, that the em¬
perors of the East, when there were two "on the throne at
the same time, struck their coins with the impression of a
cross with a double traverse, which each of them held in
his hand, as being the symbols of the Christians; and that
they did the like with the eagle in their ensigns, and in¬
stead of doubling, joined them together, representing
them with two heads ; a practice in which they were fol¬
lowed by the emperors of the West. But this conjecture
of Menestrier is not confirmed by ancient coins, without
which Papebroche inclines to think the use of the eagle
with two heads to have been merely arbitrary, though he
admits it to be probable that it was first introduced on
occasion of there being two emperors on the same throne.
The eagle on medals is, according to Spanheim, a sym¬
bol of divinity and providence, and, according to all other
antiquaries, of empire. The princes on whose medals it is
most usually found are the Ptolemies, and the Seleucidse of
Syria. An eagle with the word consecratio expresses the
apotheosis of an emperor.
Eagle, in Astronomy, is a constellation of the northern
hemisphere, having its right wing contiguous to the equi¬
noctial. See A«uila.
White Eagle, is -a Polish order of knighthood, insti¬
tuted in 1325 by Vladislaus V. on marrying his son Casi-
mir to a daughter of the grand duke of Lithuania. The
knights of this order were distinguished by a gold chain
which they wore on the stomach, and to which was sus¬
pended a silver eagle crowned.
Black Eagle, a similar order instituted in 1701 by the
elector of Brandenburg, on his being crowned king of
Prussia. The knights of this order wore an orange-co¬
loured ribbon, to which was suspended a black eagle.
Eagle Island, an island in the South Pacific Ocean,
near the north-east coast of New Holland, between Lizard
Island and Cape Flattery. Lat. 14. 32. S.
Eagles, a name frequently found in the ancient his¬
tories of Ireland, and used to express a sort of base money
which was current in that kingdom in the early part of
the reign of Edward I. that is, about the year 1272. There
were, besides the eagles, lionines, rosades, and many other
coins of the same sort, named according to the figures
they were impressed with.
The current coin of the kingdom at that time was a
composition of copper and silver, in determinate propor¬
tions ; but these were so much inferior to the standard
proportion of that time, that they were not intrinsically
worth half so much as the others. They were imported
from France and other foreign countries. When Edward
had been a few years established on the throne, he set
up mints in Ireland for coining good money, and then
decried the use of eagles, and other kinds of base coin,
making it death, with confiscation of effects, to import any
more of them into the kingdom.
EAGLET, a diminutive of eagle, properly signifying a
young eagle. In heraldry, when there are several eagles
on the same escutcheon, they are termed eaglets.
1
EAR
j jerman EALDERMAN, or Ealdorman, among the Saxons,
|| was of the same import with earl among the Danes. The
irnest. wor(j was a]s0 used for an elder, senator, or statesman ;
and hence, at this day, we call those functionaries aider-
men who are associates to the chief officer in the common
council of a city or corporate town.
EALING, a town of the county of Middlesex, five
miles and a half from London, divided into two parts, dis¬
tinguished by the names of East and West Ealing. It is
in the hundred of Ossulston, and the parish includes the
town of Old Brentford. It contains a handsome modern
church, and several chapels for separatists, with some ele¬
gant villas. The population amounted in 1801 to 5035,
in 1811 to 5361, in ,1821 to 6608, and in 1831 to 7783.
EAR. (See Anatomy.) The ear has its beauties,
which a good painter ought by no means to disregard;
and where it is well formed it would be an injury to the
head were it hidden. Suetonius insists particularly on
the beauty of Augustus’s ears ; and AElian, describing the
beauties of Aspasia, observes that she had short ears.
Martial also ranks large ears amongst the number of defor¬
mities. Amongst the Athenians it was a mark of nobility
to have the ears bored or perforated; but amongst the
Hebrews and Romans this was a type of servitude.
Ear, in Music, denotes a kind of internal sense, by
which we perceive and judge of harmony and musical
sounds. In music we seem universally to acknowledge
something like a sense distinct from the external one of
hearing, and call it a good ear; and a similar distinction
we should probably acknowledge in other affairs, if w7e had
distinct names by which to denote these powers of per¬
ception. Thus a greater capacity of perceiving the beau¬
ties of painting, sculpture, and architecture, is called a
fine taste.
EARING, in nautical language, is that part of the bolt
rope which at the four corners of the sail is left open, in
the shape of a ring. The two uppermost parts are put
over the ends of the yard-arms, and so the sail is made
fast to the yard; and into the lowermost earings the sheets
and tacks are seized or bent at the clew.
EARL, a British title of nobility, next below a marquis,
and above a viscount. The title is so ancient, that its
origin cannot now be clearly traced out. It seems toler¬
ably certain, however, that amongst the Saxons they were
called ealdormen, elder men, a word of the same signifi¬
cation with senior or senator among the Romans ; and also
schiremen, because they had each of them the civil go¬
vernment of a civil division or shire. On the irruption of
the Danes they changed their names to eorels, which, ac¬
cording to Camden, had the same signification in their
language. In Latin they are called comites, a title first
used in the empire, from being the king’s attendants; a
societate nomen sumpserunt, reges enim tales sibi associant.
After the Norman conquest they were for some time call¬
ed counts, from the French ; but they did not long retain
that name themselves, though their shires are thence de¬
nominated counties to this day. It is now become a mere
title, the holders of which have nothing to do with the
government of the county, that being now entirely devolv¬
ed on the sheriff, the earl’s deputy or vicecomes. In writs,
commissions, and other formal instruments, the king, when
he mentions any peer of the degree of an earl, usually
styles him trusty and well-beloved cousin ; an appellation
as ancient as the reign of Henry IV., who being, either by
his wife, his mother, or his sisters, actually related or al¬
lied to every earl in the kingdom, artfully and constantly
acknowledged that connection in all his letters and other
public acts; whence the usage descended to his succes¬
sors, though the reason has long ago failed.
EARNEST (Arrhas), money advanced in order to
E A S 391
bind the parties to the performance of a verbal bargain. Earth
By the civil law, he who recedes from his bargain loses his II
earnest, and if the person who received the earnest give Easter,
back, he must return the earnest double. But with us,
the person who gives it is in strictness obliged to abide
by his bargain; and in case he decline it, he is not dis¬
charged upon forfeiting his earnest, but may be sued for
the whole money stipulated.
EARTH, amongst ancient philosophers, one of the four
elements of which the whole system of nature was believed
to be composed.
Earth, in Astronomy and Geography, one of the pri¬
mary planets, being the terraqueous globe which we in¬
habit. (See the articles Figure of the Earth, and
Geology.)
EARTHS, in Chemistry. These bodies will be found
described in the article Chemistry, under the heads Al-
kaline Bases and Earthy Bases.
EASEL Pieces, among painters, such small pieces,
whether portraits or landscapes, as are painted on the easel,
or frame whereon the canvass is laid. They are thus de¬
nominated in order to distinguish them from larger pic¬
tures drawn on walls, ceilings, and the like.
EASING, in the sea language, signifies the slackening
of a rope or the like. Thus, to ease the bow line, or sheet,
is to let them go slacker; to ease the helm, is to let the
ship go more large, more before the wind, or more lar¬
board.
EASINGWOLD, a market-town in the north riding of
the county of York, 208 miles from London and 11 from
Y’ork. It is in the wapentake of Bulmer. It has a mar¬
ket on Friday, where much butter and bacon, cured in
the neighbourhood, are disposed of for distant places. The
population amounted in 1801 to 1467, in 1811 to 1576,
in 1821 to 1912, and in 1831 to 2381.
EAST, one of the four cardinal points of the world,
being that point of the horizon where the sun is seen to
rise when in the equinoctial. The word east is Saxon.
In Italy, and throughout the Mediterranean, the east
wind is called the levante; in Greek, avuroXri and c«n)-
Xiu-yig, because it comes from the side of the rising sun, aw’
qXiov, in Latin Eurus.
EASTBOURNE, a town on the coast of Sussex, in the
hundred of that name, within the rape of Pavensey. It
is 63 miles from London, and is one of those places which,
from the prevalence of sea-bathing, has within the last
fifty years been raised from a fishing village to be a large
and populous town. It is situated in a chasm between
two cliffs, through which runs a small stream. One of
these, Beachy Head, is the loftiest headland on the English
Channel. It consists of three distinct parts, each near
half a mile from the other. The resident population
amounted in 1801 to 1668, in 1811 to 1806, in 1821 to
2607, and in 1831 to 2726; but the visitors are said to be
much more numerous during the bathing season.
EAST Island, a small island in the Eastern Seas,
near the coast of Palawan. Long. 118. 36. E. Lat. 8. 40.
N. Also a small island on the east coast of Borneo.
Long. 109. 38. E. Lat. 2. 40. N. Likewise an island in
the South Pacific Ocean, on the coast of New Zealand,
near Cape East.
EASTER, a festival of the Christian church, observed
in memory of our Saviour’s resurrection. The Greeks
call it pasga, the Latins pascha, from a Hebrew word
signifying passage, applied to the Jewish feast of the
passover. It is called Easter in English, from the god¬
dess Eostre, who was worshipped by the Saxons with
peculiar ceremonies in the month of April. Ihe Asiatic
churches kept their Easter upon the very same day on
which the Jews observed their passovtr, and others on
392
E B E
E B E
Easter the first Sunday after the first full moon in the new year.
Island This controversy was determined in the council of Nice,
Eberhard w^en ^ was ordained that Easter should be kept upon one
. and the same day, which should always be a Sunday, in
all Christian churches in the world.
Easter Island, an island in the South Sea, lying in
Long. 109. 46. W. Eat. 27. 5. N. See the article Poly¬
nesia.
EASTON, a post-town and burgh of Pennsylvania, and
capital of the county of Northampton, United States. It
is situated on the Delaware, at the junction of the Le¬
high River and Canal, and also near the western end of
the Morris Canal, which connects it with New York. It
is regularly laid out, handsomely built, and possesses a
considerable trade. In the vicinity of this place there are
several valuable mills. The situation of the town is low,
and it is surrounded by considerable eminences. Here
there is a bridge across the Delaware, 570 feet in length.
The population in 1820 amounted to 2370. and has since
increased. It is distant 60 miles north of Philadelphia,
and 73 west of New York.
EASTPORT, a post-town and sea-port of Maine, in the
county of Washington, situated at the most eastern limit
of the United States, on Morse Island, in Passamaquoddy
Bay. It is a flourishing commercial place, and is very
well situated for trade, having ample facilities for commu¬
nication with the interior, by means of two rivers which
flow into the bay. Its harbour is very capacious, and of
safe entrance, and is considered as one of the best in the
United States. About 1500 tons of shipping belong to it.
The exports consist of lumber, and provisions of various
kinds. The population in 1820 amounted to 1937. Long.
66. 56. W. Lat. 44. 54. N.
EAUZE, an ancient city of the department of Gers, in
France, said to have been taken by the Saracens in 722.
It is situated on the river Selise, was formerly called Elusa,
and is the chief place in Aquitain. It now contains 3220
inhabitants. Long. 0. 3. W. Lat. 43. 56. N.
EAVES, in Architecture, the margin or edge of the roof
of a house, being the lowest tiles, slates, or the like, which
hang over the walls, in order to throw off water to a dis¬
tance from the foundations.
EivEs-Droppers, are such persons as stand under the
eaves or walls and windows of a house, by night or by
day, to hearken after news, and carry it to others, and
thereby cause strife and contention in the neighbourhood.
They are called by the Stat. of West. i. c. 33, evil members
of the commonwealth.
EBDOMARIUS, or Hebdomarius, in ecclesiastical
writings, an officer formerly appointed weekly to superin¬
tend the performance of divine service in cathedrals, and
prescribe the duties of each person attending in the choir,
as to reading, singing, praying, and the like. For this pur¬
pose the hebdomary, at the beginning of his week, drew
up in form a bill or writing of the respective persons, and
their several offices, called tabula, and the persons there
entered were styled intabulati.
EBDOME, E/35o/4»j, in Antiquity, a festival kept on the
seventh of every lunar month, in honour of Apollo, to
whom all seventh days were sacred, because one of them
was his birth-day; and hence he was sometimes called
Ebdomagenes.
EBERBACH, a bailiwick in the circle of the Neckar,
in the duchy of Baden, in Germany, comprehending one
city and nineteen villages, with 7b9b inhabitants. °The
capital, of the same name, is situated on the Neckar, and
has 2843 inhabitants.
EBERHARD, John Augustus, an eminent German
theologian and philosopher, was born at Halberstadt, in
Lower Saxony, on the 31st of August 1739. His father
was the singing-master at the church of St Martin’s in that Et
town, and also teacher of the school of the same name; a ’
man, it is said, of a lively disposition, and considerable'li¬
terary attainments. Young Eberhard was educated part¬
ly at home and partly in the school above mentioned.
In the seventh year of his age he repaired to the Univeri
sity of Halle, with the view of prosecuting his theological
studies. Towards the end of the year 1759 he returned
to his native town, and became tutor to the eldest son of
the Baron Von der Horst, to whose family he attached
himself for a number of years. In the year 1763 he was
appointed con-rector of the school of St Martin’s, and se¬
cond preacher in the Hospital .Church of the Holy Ghost;
but he soon afterwards resigned these offices, and Mowed'
his patron to Berlin.
The advantages he enjoyed, in this family, of being in¬
troduced into the best company, tended to polish his man¬
ners, and to form, even at an early period, a style of writ¬
ing which served as a model to many of his contempo¬
raries. His residence at Berlin gave him an opportunity
of extending his knowledge, and of cultivating the ac¬
quaintance of some of the most eminent literary characters
in Germany. Amongst these were Nicholai and Men¬
delssohn, with whom he associated upon terms of intimate
friendship.
In the year 1768 he accepted the situation of preacher
or chaplain to the work-house at Berlin, along with that
of preacher in the neighbouring fishing village of Stralow,
The income from these livings was small; but his object
was to continue at Berlin, and he had at the same time
the promise of further preferment upon the first vacancy.
He now applied, with renewed ardour, to the study of
theology, philosophy, and history; and the first fruits of
his talents and application soon appeared in his New Apo-
logy of Socrates; a work exhibiting such originality of
thought and eloquence of style as at once established his
character as a writer. This work was occasioned by an
attack which was made on the sentiments contained in
the fifteenth chapter of Marmontel’s Belisarius, by one
Peter Hofstede, a clergyman of Rotterdam, who, with a
contemptible industry, raked up the vices of the most ce¬
lebrated characters in the pagan world, and even went so
far as to maintain that the most virtuous amongst the hea¬
then were no fit objects of divine mercy. He seemed
particularly desirous to blacken the character of Socrates;
and from this circumstance Eberhard was induced to give
to his work the title which we have mentioned above. The
greater part of it is occupied with an investigation of some
of those peculiar doctrines which have been admitted as
dogmas of the Christian church, upon the authority ot
some of the early fathers; and an examination of those
texts of Scripture upon which they are founded. The
Apology itself, which constitutes but a small part of the
book, is esteemed a masterpiece of clear, dignified, and
persuasive eloquence. The whole work exhibits much
reading and philosophical reflection; but the liberality of
his reasoning gave great offence to many of the strictly
orthodox divines of his time, and is believed to have ob¬
structed his preferment in the church.
In the year 1774 he was appointed to the living of
Charlottenburg; and he employed the leisure he had in
this situation in publishing a second volume of his Apo~
logy; in which he not only endeavours to obviate some
objections which were taken to the former part, but con¬
tinues his inquiries into the doctrines of the Christian re- .
ligion, religious toleration, and the proper rules for inter¬
preting the Scriptures. Perceiving that his further pro¬
motion in the church would be attended with difficulty,
he resolved, although reluctantly, to accept the situation
of professor of philosophy at the University of Halle,
1
E B E
a hard, which became vacant in 1778, by the death of G. F. Moier.
however excellent as a writer, and however just his
ideas upon philosophical subjects, he does not appear to
have been peculiarly qualified to excel as a teacher. He
was highly esteemed, indeed, both by professors and stu¬
dents; but his lectures, although they attracted at first a
considerable concourse, never acquired any degree of po¬
pularity. He continued, however, to lecture very regu¬
larly; and published several manuals for the use of his
pupils.
On his arrival at Halle, the philosophical faculty pre¬
sented him with a diploma as doctor in philosophy and
master of arts. In 1786 he was admitted a member of
the Berlin Academy of Sciences; and in 1805 the king of
Prussia conferred upon him the honorary title of a privy
councillor. In 1808 he obtained the degree of doctor in
divinity, which was given him as a reward for his theolo¬
gical writings. He married in 1778, but had no children.
He died on the 6th of January 1809, being then in the
seventieth year of his age.
Eberhard’s attainments in philosophy and literature were
extensive and profound. He was master of the learned
languages, spoke and wrote French with facility and cor¬
rectness, and understood English, Italian, and Dutch. He
had read a great deal, was thoroughly versed in the philoso¬
phical sciences, and possessed a just and discriminating
taste for the fine arts. He was a great lover of music, and
was himself a proficient in that science. His manners were
mild and unassuming; and his amiable and cheerful dispo¬
sition, no less than his talents and virtues, endeared him
to a numerous circle of friends.
The following is a list of his works :
Neue Apologie des Socrates, &c. 2 vols. 8vo. The first
volume was published in 1772, the second in 1778; both
have been since republished.
Allgemeine Tlieorie des Denkens und Empjindens, &c.
Berlin, 1776, 8vo. This essay obtained the prize assigned
by the Royal Society of Berlin for that year. A new edi¬
tion appeared in 1786.
Von dem Begriff der Philosophic und ihren Theilen,
Berlin, 1778, 8vo. A short essay, in which he announced
the plan of his lectures on being appointed to the pro¬
fessorship at Halle.
Lobschrift auf Herrn Johann Thunmann, Prof, der
Weltweisheit und Beredsamheit auf der Universitdt zu
Halle. Halle, 1779, 8vo.
Amyntor, eine Geschichte in Briefen. Berlin, 1782, 8vo.
This work was written with the view of counteracting the
influence of those sceptical and Epicurean principles in
religion and morals which were then so prevalent in
France, and thence rapidly spreading amongst the higher
ranks in Germany. It is composed with great elegance
and perspicuity, and exhibits much philosophical reflec¬
tion, and knowledge of the world. The story is simple,
and seems to have been merely intended as a vehicle for
the sentiments.
Ueber die Zeichen der Aufhldntng einer nation, &c. Halle,
1783, 8vo. A lecture delivered at Halle, in presence of
his Serene Highness the reigning Duke of Wurtemberg.
Theorie der Schdnen Kunste und Wissenschaften, &c.
Halle, 1783, 8vo. 3d ed. 1790.
Vermischte Schriften. Halle, 1784.
Neue vermischte Schriften. Ib. 1786.
Allgemeine Geschichte der Philosophic, &c. Halle, 1788,
8vo; 2d ed. with a continuation and chronological tables,
1796. Eberhard published also an abridgment of this
work in 1794.
Versuch einer AUgemeinen-Deutschen Synonymik, &c.
Halle and Leipsic, 1795-1802, 6 vols. 8vo. This is
esteemed a classical work on the Synonymes of the Ger-
VOL. VIII.
E B I 393
man Language. An abridgment of it was published by Eberman-
the author in one large volume 8vo. Halle, 1802. stadt
Handbuch der Aesthetik, &c. Halle, 1803-1805, 4 J
vols. 8vo. Ebion.
Besides the works above mentioned, Eberhard contri-
buted a number of small tracts and essays to various peri¬
odical and scientific publications, and translated several
foreign works. He was also the editor of the Philosophi¬
cal Magazine, Halle, 1788-1792, and of the Philosophical
Archives, Halle, 1793-1795. These two periodical works,
which are now little read, were instituted for the purpose
of controverting the metaphysical principles of Kant, and
of vindicating the doctrines of Leibnitz and Wolf.
Frederick Nicolai published a Memoir on the life and
character of Eberhard, Berlin and Stettin, 1810, 8vo.
See also K. H. Jdrdens, Lexicon Deutscher Dichter und
Prosaisten ; and Biographic Universelle.
EBERMANSTADT, a bailiwick of the circle of the
Upper Maine, in the kingdom of Bavaria, extending over
ninety-two square miles, containing one city, two market-
towns, and thirty-three villages, with 9690 inhabitants.
The chief place is the town of that name, situated on the
river Wiesent, with 650 inhabitants.
EBERN, a bailiwick of the circle of the Lower Maine,
in the kingdom of Bavaria, extending over seventy-one
square miles. It contains one city, one market-town, and
11,400 inhabitants. It is watered by the river Baunach,
has excellent pasture, and moderate corn land. The ca¬
pital, of the same name, contains 207 houses, and 1100
inhabitants employed in making glass and porcelain wares.
EBERSBACH, a town of the circle of Lausatia, in the
kingdom of Saxony. It contains 700 houses and 5400 in¬
habitants, who have more than 1500 looms at work mak¬
ing linen.
EBERSBERG, a bailiwick in the circle of the Isar, of
the kingdom of Bavaria, extending over 240 square miles.
It contains three market-towns, 148 villages, and 3436
houses, with 16,187 inhabitants. The chief town is of the
same name, and contains 176 houses and 940 inhabitants.
EBERSDORF, a market-town of the principality of
Reuss of the Branch. It contains the prince’s castle, and
1270 inhabitants, of whom about 400 are industrious Hern-
hutters or Moravians. It is the capital of a bailiwick of
the same name, which comprehends one other town and
fourteen villages. There is a town of the same name in
Austria, but very small, and known as the lodging of Bo¬
naparte the night before the battle of Aspern.
EBESFALVA, a city of the Austrian kingdom of Hun¬
gary, in the province of Magyaren and circle of Kohel-
burg. It is well built, and contains an Arminian, a Greek,
and a Calvinist church, with 4200 inhabitants, employed in
manufactures and trade. Long. 13. 30. 16. E. Lat. 46.
11. 48. N.
EBHER, a town of Persia, in the province of Irak, situ¬
ated on a river of the same name, in a fertile country.
It contains 1000, or, as some say, 2500 houses, and has
mosques, caravanserais, bazars, and other public edifices.
It is thirty miles west of Casbin.
EBINGEN, a city of the kingdom of Bavaria, in the
province of the Black Forest and circle of Bahlingen. It
stands on the river Schmeica, and contains 4350 inhabit¬
ants, the most industrious manufacturers of woollen goods,
hosiery, hats, and leather of any in that kingdom. Most
of the goods made by them are disposed of at the fairs of
Frankfort and of Zurzach. Long. 10. 58. E. Lat. 48. 13.
40. N.
EBION, the author of the heresy of the Ebionites, was
a disciple of Cerinthus, and successor to that person. He
improved upon the errors of his master, and added to
them new' absurdities of his own. He began his preaching
3 D
394
E B I
E B U
Ebionites. in Judea ; and he taught in Asia, and even at Rome. His
 >'   tenets infected the isle of Cyprus. St John opposed both
Cerinthus and Ebion in Asia ; and it is thought that this
apostle wrote his gospel in the year 97 in order to over¬
throw this heresy.
EBIONITES, ancient heretics, who appeared in the
church in the first ages, and formed themselves into a
sect in the second century, denying the divinity of Jesus
Christ.
Origen conceives them to have been so called from the
Hebrew word ebion, signifying poor, because, according
to him, they were poor in sense, and wanted understand¬
ing. Eusebius, with a view to the same etymology, is of
opinion they were so called from having poor thoughts of
Jesus Christ, by taking him for a mere man. But it is
more probable the Jews gave this appellation to the Chris¬
tians in general out of contempt; because in the first ages
there were few except poor people who embraced the
Christian religion. This opinion Origen himself seems to
incline to in his book against Celsus, where he says that
they called those among the Jews who believed that Je¬
sus was truly the expected Messiah, Ebionites. It might
even be urged, with some probability, that the primitive
Christians assumed the name themselves, in conformity
with their profession; and it is certain that they valued
themselves on being poor, in imitation of the apostles.
Epiphanius, however, is of opinion that there had been a
man named Ebion, the chief and founder of the sect of
Ebionites, and contemporary with the Nazarenes and Ce-
rinthians; and he gives a long account of the origin of
the Ebionites, stating that they arose after the destruction
of Jerusalem, when the first Christians, called Nazarenes,
went out in order to live at Pella.
The Ebionites were little else than a branch of Naza¬
renes, only that they altered and corrupted in many
things the purity of the faith as held by the first adhe¬
rents of Christianity. For this reason Origen, in his an¬
swer to Celsus, distinguishes two kinds of Ebionites; one
of whom believed that Jesus Christ was born of a virgin,
and the other that he was born after the manner of other
men. The first were orthodox in every thing, except
that to the Christian doctrine they joined the ceremonies
of the Jewish law, together with the traditions of the Pha¬
risees. They differed from the Nazarenes, however, in
several things, particularly as to the authority of the sa¬
cred writings; for the Nazarenes received all as Scripture
that was contained in the Jewish canon, whereas the Ebi¬
onites rejected the prophets, holding the very names of
David, Solomon, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel in abhor¬
rence, and also the Epistles of St Paul, whom they treated
with the utmost disrespect. They received nothing of the
Old Testament except the Pentateuch ; a circumstance
which indicates that they were descended rather from the
Samaritans than from the Jews. They agreed with the
Nazarenes in using the Hebrew gospel of St Matthew,
otherwise called the Gospel of the Twelve Apostles; but
they had corrupted their copy in many places, and, parti¬
cularly, had left out the genealogy of our Saviour, which
was preserved entire in that of the Nazarenes, and even
in those used by the Cerinthians.
Some, however, have made this gospel canonical, and
of greater value than our present Greek gospel of St Mat¬
thew. The Nazarenes, whose sentiments as to the birth
of our Saviour were the same with those of the Ebionites,
built their error on this very genealogy.
Besides the Hebrew gospel of St Matthew, the Ebion¬
ites had adopted several other books, under the names of
St James, St John, and the other apostles; they also made
use of the travels of St Peter, which are supposed to have
been written by St Clement, but altered them so that
scarcely any truth was left in them; and in order the
better to authorize their own practices, they even made
that saint tell a number of falsehoods. (See St Epipha¬
nius, who is very diffusive on the ancient heresy of the
Ebionites, Hair. 30. But his account deserves little cre¬
dit, as, by his own confession, he has confounded the
other sects with the Ebionites, and has charged them
with errors to which the first adherents of this sect were
utter strangers.)
EBONY, a species of wood, exceedingly hard and heavy,
susceptible of a very fine polish, and on that account used
in mosaic and inlaid works, toys, and the like. There are
different kinds of ebony, but the most usual amongst us
are black, red, and green, and almost all of them the pro¬
duct of the island of Madagascar, where the natives call
them indifferently hazon mainthi, or black wood. The
island of Mauritius likewise furnishes part of the ebonies
used in Europe. Authors and travellers give very differ¬
ent accounts of the tree which yields the black ebony.
According to some of their descriptions, it would appear
to be a sort of palm tree; but according to others, a cyti-
sus. The most authentic of these is that of Falcourt, who
resided many years in Madagascar as governor. He as¬
sures us that it grows very high and large, its bark being
black, and its leaves resembling those of our myrtle, of a
deep dusky green colour. Tavernier says that the island¬
ers always take care to bury their trees when cut down,
in order to make them blacker, and to prevent their split¬
ting when wrought. Plumier mentions another black ebony
tree, discovered by him at St Domingo, which he calls spar-
tium portulacce foliis aculeatum ebeni materice.
Pliny and Dioscorides state that the best ebony comes
from Ethiopia, and the worst from India; but Theophras¬
tus prefers that of India. Black ebony is much preferred
to that of other colours. The best is a jet black, free of
veins and rind, very massive, astringent, and of an acrid
pungent taste. Its rind, infused in water, is said to purge
pituita, and cure venereal disorders; and hence Matthio-
lus look guaiacum for a sort of ebony. It yields an agree¬
able perfume when laid on burning coals; when green it
readily takes fire from the abundance of its fat. If rub¬
bed against a stone it becomes brown. The Indians make
statues to their gods and sceptres for their princes out of
this wood. It was first brought to Rome by Pompey after
he had subdued Mithridates. It is now much less used
amongst us than anciently, since the discovery of so many
ways of giving other hard woods a black colour.
As to the green ebony, besides Madagascar and the
Mauritius, it grows likewise in the Antilles, and especially
in the isle of Tobago. The tree which yields it is very
bushy; its leaves are smooth, and of a fine green colour.
Beneath its bark there is a white blea, about two inches
thick; and all beneath this, to the very heart, is a deep
green, approaching towards a black, though sometimes
streaked with yellow veins. Its use is not confined to
mosaic work; it is likewise employed in dyeing, as yield¬
ing a fine green tincture. As to red ebony, called also
grenadilla, we know little more of it than the name.
EBRO, a river of Spain. It has its source in the pro¬
vince of Toro, about ten miles west of Reynosa, from out
of the two springs of Fontibre, whence it runs south-east,
divides Burgos and Soria from Alava and Navarre, passes
through Aragon, becomes navigable near Logrono, and,
after a course of 362 miles near Amposta, empties itself
into the Gulf of Alfaques. Its tributary streams are the
Tadorra, the Ega, the Queiles, the Alhama, the Xalon, the
Gallega, the Guadalupe, and the Segre.
EBUDfE, or Hebudes, in Ancient Geography, islands
off the west coast of Scotland, now called the Western
Isles, also Hebrides.
Eb,
Ebi
Ecfsia
Eclana.
E C B
E C C
395
ECALESIA, 'EmXnffia, in Antiquity, a festival held in
honour of Jupiter, surnamed Hecalus, or Hecalesius, from
Hecale, one of the boroughs in Attica.
ECASTOR, in Antiquity, an oath in which Castor was
invoked. It was a custom for the men never to swear by
Castor, nor the women by Pollux.
ECATiEA, Exara/a, in Antiquity, statues erected to
the goddess Hecate, for whom the Athenians had a great
veneration, believing that she was the overseer of their
families, and that she protected their children.
ECATESIA, Exar^cva, in Antiquity, an anniversary so¬
lemnity, observed by the Stratonicensians, in honour of
Hecate. The Athenians likewise had a public entertain¬
ment or supper every new moon, in honour of the same
o-oddess. The supper was provided at the charge of the
more affluent; and it was no sooner brought to the accus¬
tomed place than the poor people carried all off, giving
out that Hecate had devoured it. For the rest of the
ceremonies observed on this occasion, see Potter, Arch.
Grccc. lib. ii. cap. 20.
ECATOMB/EON, Exaro/^Ca/wv, in Chronology, the first
month of the Athenian year. It consisted of thirty days,
and began on the first new moon after the summer sol¬
stice, and consequently answered to the latter part of our
June and beginning of July. The Boeotians called it Hip-
podromus, and the Macedonians Lous. The word is a de¬
rivation from the Greek riHuro[LZr\, a hecatomb, because of
the number of hecatombs sacrificed in it.
ECAVESSADE, in the manege, is a term used for a
jerk of the cavesson.
ECBATANA, more properly written Agbatana, the
chief city of Media, and the summer residence of its prin¬
ces. Its foundation is ascribed by Herodotus to Dejoces,
first king of Media, who reigned about 733 b. c.; but as
this period of history is involved in much obscurity, we
have some reason to doubt the correctness of his state¬
ment. The account of Diodorus, ii. 13, proves that it ex¬
isted at a still earlier period, and belonged to that era in
the Median history which preceded the reign of Semira-
mis. That princess, who is supposed to have lived about
1916 b. c., indulged her love of magnificence by the erec¬
tion of a royal palace within its walls ; and finding the city
in great want of water, she constructed a splendid aque¬
duct, which furnished a plentiful supply of that first ne¬
cessary of life. Pliny, vi. 14, would have us believe that
Seleucus Nicator was the founder; but as this prince
lived about 320 b. c. we cannot give credit to this state¬
ment, except he means that Seleucus became its second
founder, after it had suffered from the calamities of war.
The citadel was remarkable for strength, and construct¬
ed in a very peculiar manner. Being situated upon a hill,
it was surrounded by seven walls, in such a way that the
bulwarks of the one wall rose high above those of the
other, whilst each of them was distinguished by its own
particular colour. The circumference of the outermost
wall was equal to that of the city of Athens, or rather to
240 stadia, according to Diodorus; but this wonderful
account ought to be received with some degree of hesita¬
tion.
Ecbatanawas from the most ancient times the place of
the royal residence, and seems in splendour and magnifi¬
cence to have far exceeded all other cities. It was to it
that Cyrus carried the captive Crcesus, 546 b. c. when he
put an end to the Lydian empire ; and in the later years of
his life, when the infirmities of age made'him more sus¬
ceptible of the vicissitudes of the seasons, he used to re¬
tire for the summer months to its cool and delicious shades.
(Xen. Cyrop. viii. 6.) Here Artaxerxes assembled his ar¬
my to oppose the designs of his brother Cyrus (Diodorus
xiv. 22); and when the fate of Persia was decided by the
battle of Arbela, this was the spot chosen by Darius as Ecchellen-
the rallying point for his fugitive soldiers, (xvii. 64.) But sis
no sooner did Alexander show his determination to attack jrcciesfiei(i
it, than Darius ingloriously fled, and Ecbatana fell, with all
its riches, into the hands of the Macedonian conqueror.
(Arrian, 3, 19, 4.) The magnificence of its palace is par¬
ticularly remarked by Polybius, who tells us that the wood
was all of cedar or of cypress ; the beams, the ceilings, and
the pillars that supported the porticoes, were covered, some
with plates of silver, and some with plates of gold. The
tiles likewise were all of silver. It was of course plunder¬
ed by the Macedonians; yet in the time of Antiochus,
209 b. c. he still found there pillars cased with gold, and
a large quantity of silver tiles laid together in a heap.
Amidst all the changes of empire in the East we find that
Ecbatana continued to a very late period one of its prin¬
cipal cities. Vologeses held his court within its walls 64
a. d. (Tacit. Ann. xv. 31.)
The site of this ancient town seems unquestionably to
have been near Hamadan in A1 Djebal, though some are
inclined to place it at Tebriz in Aderbidjon; and a late
writer, Mr Williams, has even attempted to prove it to
have been at Ispahan. This opinion he supports with great
ability, but it is nothing else than a splendid paradox.
The chief authorities adduced to prove its position are
the following: It is situated at the foot of Mount Oron-
tes, Polyb. x. 27; twelve stadia distant from it, Diodor. ii.
13; twelve long days’ journey from the Caspian Gates, Ar¬
rian, iii. 20; 450 miles from Gaza, the capital of Atropa-
tene, Plin. vi. 13; from Susa fifteen days’journey, Diodor,
xvii. 110; and twenty from Persepolis, xix. 46.
The country round Hamadan at present abounds in gar¬
dens, vineyards, and pasturages ; and though it is a gloomy
abode during winter, on account of the cold, it is a de¬
lightful residence during the summer months. The tomb
of Esther is still pointed out, and continues to be visited
by Jewish pilgrims (Otter, Voyage en Turquie, vol. i. p.
182); and also the tomb of Avicenna. Abdool Kerim’s
Travels from India to Mecca, p. 97. See Mount Orontes.
ECCHELLENSIS, Abraham, a learned Maronite,
whom the president Le Jai employed in the edition of his
Polyglott Bible. Gabriel Sionita, his countryman, brought
him to Paris in order to make him his fellow-labourer in
publishing that Bible. But they quarrelled, upon which
Gabriel complained to the parliament, and cruelly de¬
famed his associate. This dispute made a great noise.
The congregation de Propaganda Fide associated him in
1636 with those whom they had employed in making an
Arabic translation of the Scriptures; they recalled him
from Paris, and he laboured in that translation at Rome in
the year 1652. Whilst he was professor of the oriental
languages at Rome, he was selected by Duke herdinand
II. to translate from Arabic into Latin the fifth, sixth, and
seventh books of Apollonius s Conics; a task in which he
was assisted by John Alphonso Borelli, who added com¬
mentaries to them. He died at Rome in 1644.
ECCLES, one of those large manufacturing towns which
within a few years have risen from villages. It is 185 miles
from London and four from Manchester, in the hundred
of Salford, and county of Lancaster. rlhe inhabitants are
chiefly occupied in the several branches of the cotton ma¬
nufacture; and amounted in 1801 to 6197, in 1811 to
12,300, in 1821 to 23,331, and in 1831 to 28,083.
ECCLESAL-Bierlow, a large township of the parish
of Sheffield, about three and a half miles from that town.
The inhabitants are chiefly occupied in the various branches
of the metal manufactures; and amounted in 1801 to
5362, in 1811 to 6569, in 1821 to 9113, and in 1831 to
14.279.
ECCLESFIELD, a large manufacturing parish of the
396 E C H
Eccleshall west riding of Yorkshire, in the wapentake of StrafForth and
■pH Tickhill, 167 miles from London and five from Sheffield,
with the trade of which place it is very much connected.
The population amounted in 1801 to 5114, in 1811 to
5805, in 1821 to 7163, and in 1831 to 7911.
ECCLESHALL, a market-town of the county of Staf¬
ford, 148 miles from London. It is in the hundred of
Pirehill, on the banks of the river Sow; is a well-built
town, in a pleasant district; and was formerly the resi¬
dence of the bishops of Lichfield. The chief part of the
inhabitants are employed in manufactures. The market
is held on Thursday. The population amounted in 1801
to 3487, in 1811 to 3901, in 1821 to 4227, and in 1831 to
4471.
ECCLESIASTES, a canonical book of the Old Testa¬
ment, the design of which is to show the vanity of all
sublunary things. It was composed by Solomon, who enu¬
merates the several objects on which men place their hap¬
piness, and then shows the insufficiency of all worldly en¬
joyments. The Talmudists made King Hezekiah the au¬
thor of this book; while Grotius ascribes it to Zorobabel, and
others to Isaiah; but the generality of commentators be¬
lieve it to be the product of Solomon’s repentance, after
having experienced all the follies and pleasures of life.
ECCLESIASTICAL, an appellation given to whatever
belongs to the church. Thus we say ecclesiastical polity,
jurisdiction, history, and so forth.
ECCLESIAST1CUS, an apocryphal book, generally
bound up with the Scriptures, and so called from its being
read in the church, ecclesia, as a book of piety and instruc¬
tion, but not of infallible authority. The author of this
book was a Jew, called Jesus the son of Sirach. The
Greeks call it the Wisdom of the Son of Sirach.
ECCLOO, a city in the province of West Flanders, which
contains 6269 inhabitants. It is the capital of the circle
of the same name, comprehending three cantons, with a
population of 42,484 persons.
ECCOPROTICS, in Medicine, laxative or loosening
remedies, which purge gently, by softening the humours
and excrements, and fitting them for expulsion. The word
is composed of the Greek particle £%, and y-ovgog, Jieces.
ELI)ALA, or Akdala, an ancient town and fortress
or Bengal, in the district of Dacca, which is frequently
mentioned in the histories of Bengal, but of which there
are now scarcely any remains. In the year 1353 Ilyas
Hajy, the second independent king of Bengal, took refuge
here, and defended the place until the setting in of the
rains, when the siege was raised. Long. 96. 45. E. Lat.
24. 4. N.
ECDICI, EjcS/xo/, amongst the'ancients, patrons of cities,
who defended their rights, and took care of the public
money. Their office resembled that of the modern syndics.
ECHALLANS, a bailiwick in the canton of Yaud, in
Switzerland, containing 6954 inhabitants, whose capital is
of the same name, and situated on the river Talent, con¬
taining 850 inhabitants.
ECHAPE, in the manege, a horse begotten between a
stallion and a mare of different breeds and countries.
ECHAPER, in the manege, a gallicism used in the
academies, implying to give a horse head, or to put him
to full speed.
ECHINADES, a group of islands off the coast of Acar-
nania, at the mouth of the river Achelous. The}' are men¬
tioned by Homer as having sent a detachment of troops to
1 roy under Meges. The chief island seems to have been
Dulichium, which some of the ancients considered as only
another name for Cephallenia; but Strabo strenuously
maintained that it was the Dolicha of his period, at the
mouth of the Achelous. It is curious that Herodotus (xi.
10), tells us that more than half of these islands had been
E C H
joined in his time to the mainland by the depositions of F t,
the river, and Thucydides (xi. 102), enters into a learned r
disquisition to prove that they must all ere long be united Eel
to the shore. This observation of Thucydides had attract-
ed the attention of the inquisitive Pausanias ; and as he
found that the prediction had not been verified, he was
only able to account for it by supposing that the lands had
ceased to be cultivated on its banks, and that thus it was
no longer supplied with the same quantity of sediment as
before. Strabo states that they were rugged and barren.
“ At present the Echinades belong to the inhabitants of
Ithaca, and produce corn, oil, and a scanty pasture for
sheep and goats. The name of the group is Curzolari."
Dodwell’s Classical Tour, v. p. 109. Gell states that se¬
veral of these islands, now hills in the plain, appear to have
ruins. Itiner. of Greece, p. 298.
ECHINATE, or Echinated, an appellation given to
whatever is prickly, or resembling the hedgehog.
ECHINITES, the name by which authors call the'fossil
centronia, frequently found in chalk pits.
ECH1NODERMATA, the first class of the fourth great
division of the animal kingdom (see vol. iii. p. 179 of this
work), commonly called Zoophytes, or radiated animals ; it
includes, among numerous other species, the star-fish, sea
urchins, &c. We shall describe the animals of this class
under the term Zoophytes, to which the reader is referred.
ECHINUS. See Zoophytes.
ECHO, a sound reflected or reverberated from a solid
concave body, and so repeated to the ear. The word is
formed from the Greek sound, which comes from the
verb sono.
The ancients being wholly unacquainted with the true
cause ol the echo, ascribed it to several which are suffi¬
ciently whimsical. But the moderns, who know sound
to consist in a certain tremor or vibration in the sonorous
body, communicated to the contiguous air, and by that
means to the ear, give a more consistent account of echo.
For a tremulous body, striking on another solid body, may
evidently be repelled without destroying or diminishing its
tremor ; and consequently a sound may be redoubled by
the resilition of the tremulous body, or air. But a simple
reflection of the sonorous air is not enough to explain the
echo; for then every plain surface of a solid hard body,
as being fit to reflect a voice or sound, would redouble it,
which we find does not hold. In order to produce an echo,
therefore, it should seem that a kind of concameration or
vaulting is necessary, in order to collect, and by collecting
to heighten and increase, and afterwards reflect, the sound,
as we find is the case in reflecting the rays of light, where
a concave mirror is required. In effect, as often as a sound
strikes perpendicularly on a wall, behind which is any
thing of a vault or arch, or even another parallel wall, so
often will it be reverberated in the same line, or other ad¬
jacent ones. For an echo to be heard, therefore, it is ne¬
cessary that the ear should be in the line of reflection; for
the person who made the sound to hear its qcho, it is ne¬
cessary that he should be perpendicular to the place which
reflects it; and for a manifold or tautological echo, it is
necessary that there should be a number of walls, and
vaults or cavities, either placed behind or fronting each
other. A single arch or concavity can scarcely ever stop
and reflect all the sound; but if there be a convenient
disposition behind it, part of the sound propagated thither,
being collected and reflected as before, will return another
echo; or if there be another concavity, opposed at a due
distance to the former, the sound reflected from the one
upon the other will be tossed back again by the latter.
Echoes may be produced in circumstances wholly differ¬
ent. For, first, a plane obstacle reflects back the sound in
its due tone and loudness, allowance being made for the
E C H
0 proportionable decrease of the sound, according to its dis-
J tance; secondly, a convex obstacle reflects the sound some-
' w},at smaller and somewhat quicker, though weaker, than
otherwise it would be; and, thirdly, a concave obstacle
echoes back the sound larger, slower, and also inverted,
but never according to the order of words. Nor does it
seem possible to contrive any single echo that shall invert
the sound, and repeat backwards ; because, in such a case,
the word last spoken, that is, which last occurs to the ob¬
stacle, must be repelled first, which cannot be. For where
in the mean time should the first words hang and be con¬
cealed; or how, after such a pause, could they be revived
and animated again into motion ? From the determinate
concavity or arching of the reflecting bodies, it may hap¬
pen that some of them shall only echo back one determi¬
nate note, and only from one place. Fourthly, the echo¬
ing body being removed farther off, it reflects more of the
sound than when nearer, which is the reason why some
echoes repeat but one syllable, some one word, and some
many. Fifthly, echoing bodies may be so contrived and
placed, that by reflecting the sound from one to the other,
either directly and mutually, or obliquely and by succes¬
sion, out of one sound, a multiple echo or many echoes
shall arise. Add to this, that a multiple echo maybe made,
by so placing the echoing bodies at unequal distances, that
they may reflect all one way, and not one on the other.
By this means a manifold successive Sound will be heard,
one clap of the hands like many, one ha continued like
laughter, one single word like many of the same tone and
accent, and one viol like many of the same kind imitating
each other. Lastly, echoing bodies may be so arranged
that from any one given sound they shall produce many
echoes different both as to tone and intention. By this
means a musical room maybe so contrived that one instru¬
ment playing ^herein shall not only seem as many of the
same sort and size, but even as a concert of different ones ;
which is effected by placing certain echoing bodies so that
any note placed shall be returned by them in thirds, fifths,
and eighths.
Echo is also used for the place where the repetition of
the sound is produced or heard.
Echoes are distinguished into different kinds. Single
echoes are those which return the voice but once. Of
these some are tonical, which only return a voice when
modulated into some particular musical tone ; and others,
polysyllabical, which return many syllables, words, and sen¬
tences. Multiple or tautological echoes are those which re¬
turn syllables and words the same oftentimes repeated.
In echoes, the place where the speaker stands is called
the centrum phonicum, and the object or place that returns
the voice the centrum phonocampticum.
At the sepulchre of Metella, wife of Crassus, there was
an echo, which repeated what was said five times. Authors
mention a tower at Cyzicus, where the echo repeated se¬
ven times. One of the finest echoes we read of is that
mentioned by Barthius, in his notes on the Thebais of Sta¬
tius (lib. vi. 30), which repeated the words uttered seven¬
teen times; it was situated on the banks of the Naha,
between Coblentz and Bingen. Barthius assures us that
he had proved what he writes, and had counted seventeen
repetitions.
Echo, in Architecture, a term applied to certain kinds
of vaults and arches, most commonly of the elliptic and
parabolic figures, used to redouble sounds, and produce
artificial echoes.
Echo, in Poetry, a kind of composition in which the
last words or syllables of each verse contain some mean¬
ing, which, being repeated apart, answers to some ques¬
tion or other matter contained in the verse. Thus, in the
line of Virgil:
E c L 397
Crudelis mater magis, an puer improbus ille ? Echometer
Improbus ille puer, crudelis tu quoque mater. j
Echo, in fabulous history, a daughter of the Air and Eclectics.
Tellus, who chiefly resided in the vicinity of the Cephisus.
She was once an attendant of Juno’s, and became the
confidant of Jupiter’s amours. Her loquacity, however,
displeased Jupiter, and she was deprived of the power of
speech by Juno, and only permitted to answer to the
questions which were put to her. Pan had formerly been
one of her admirers, but he never enjoyed her favours.
Echo, after she had been punished by Juno, fell in love
with Narcissus ; but being despised by him, pined away,
having nothing left but her disembodied voice.
ECHOMETER, among musicians, a kind of scale or
rule, with several lines on it, serving to measure the du¬
ration and length of sounds, and to determine their inter¬
vals and ratios.
ECU A, a city of Spain, in that division of Andalusia
denominated the kingdom of Seville. It is situated on
the right bank of the river Xenil, which is here crossed
by a neat bridge of modern erection. The surrounding
country suffers much from a scarcity of water; but when
the summer happens to be rainy, it is abundantly pro¬
ductive in grain of every kind, and in wine, and feeds con¬
siderable herds of cattle. It was a considerable city when
the Romans ruled the peninsula, and was then called
Astigi. Many inscriptions of ancient date are found in
the city and its vicinity. It contains six churches, sixteen
monasteries, fifteen hospitals, 6000 houses, and 28,176
inhabitants. There are some tanneries here, and a trade
in leather is carried on. Cotton is grown in the surround¬
ing country. It is thirty miles from Cordoba. Long. 4.
34. 19. W. Lat. 37. 31. 51. N.
ECKIUS, or Echius, John, an eminent and learned
controversialist, professor in the university at Ingolstadt,
and remarkable for the opposition he gave to Luther, Me-
lancthon, Carlostadius, and other leading Protestants in
Germany, was born in Suabia in 1486. He wrote many
polemical tracts; and amongst the rest a Manual of Con¬
troversies, printed in 1535, in which he discourses upon
most of the heads contested between the Protestants and
Roman Catholics. He also wrote a Commentary on Seli-
genstadt, 1536, Homilies, &c.; and died in 1543.
ECLECTICS {eclectici), a name given to some ancient
philosophers, who, without attaching themselves to any
particular sect, took whatever they judged good and solid
from each; and hence their denomination. Laertius ob¬
serves that they were also, for the same reason, denomi¬
nated analogetici; but that they call themselves phila-
lethes, or lovers of truth. The chief or founder of the ec¬
lectics was Potamon of Alexandria, who lived under Au¬
gustus and Tiberius, and who, weary of doubting of all
things with the Sceptics and Pyrrhonists, formed the ec¬
lectic sect, called by Vossius the eclective.
Towards the close of the second century, a sect arose
in the Christian church under the denomination of Eclec¬
tics, or modern Platonists, professing to make truth the
only object of their inquiry, and to be ready to adopt from
all the different systems and sects such tenets as they
thought agreeable to it. However, they preferred Plato
to the other philosophers, and looked upon his opinions
concerning God, the human soul, and things invisible, as
conformable to the spirit and genius of the Christian doc¬
trine. One of the principal patrons of this system wns
Ammonius Saccas, who laid the foundation of that sect
afterwards distinguished by the name of the New Plato¬
nists in the Alexandrian school.
Eclectics were also a certain sect of physicians among
the ancients, of whom Archigenes, who lived under Tra¬
jan, was the chief, and selected from the opinions of all
393 ECO
Eclipse the other sects those which appeared to be best and most
IJ rational. Hence they are called eclectics, and their pre-
mists' scr‘Pt'ons medicina eclectica.
ECLIPSE, in Astronomy, the deprivation of the light
of the sun, or of some heavenly body, by the interposition
of another heavenly body between us and that body. See
Astronomy.
Eclipse Islands, a cluster of small rocky barren
islands in the South Pacific Ocean, near the south-west
coast of New Holland.
ECLIPTIC, in Astronomy, a great circle of the sphere,
supposed to be drawn through the middle of the zodiac,
making an angle with the equinoctial of about 23° 30',
which is the sun’s greatest declination ; or, more strictly
speaking, it is that path or way among the fixed stars,
which the earth appears to describe to an eye placed in
the sun. (See Astronomy.) Some call it via solis, or
the way of the sun, because the sun in his apparent an¬
nual motion never deviates from it, as all the other pla¬
nets do more or less.
Ecliptic, in Geography, a great circle on the terres¬
trial globe, not only answering to, but falling within, the
plane of the celestial ecliptic. See Geography.
ECO
ECLODE, a town of Hindustan, in the province of Mai F
wah, belonging to the predatory chieftain Meer Khan 7
Long. 77. 55. E. Lat. 24. 5. N. dn' jj,
. ECLOGUE, in Poetry, a kind of pastoral composition mis
in which shepherds are introduced conversing together*
The word is formed from the Greek txXoyjj choice • so
that, according to the etymology, eclogue should be ase-
lect or choice piece ; but custom has assigned to it a fur-
ther signification, namely, a little elegant composition in
a simple, natural style and manner.
Idyllion and eclogue, in their primary sense, are the
same. I hus the idyllia, udvXXiu, of Theocritus, are pieces
written perfectly in the same vein wfith the ec%<£ of Vir¬
gil. But custom has made a difference between them,
and appropriated the name of eclogue to pieces in which
shepherds are introduced speaking ; and idyllion to those
written,like the eclogue, in a simple, natural style, but with¬
out any pastoral interlocutors.
■r Of the Idyl, as the word is generally written, Germa¬
ny m particular, amongst modern nations, has produced
some highly finished specimens. England can boast of
comparatively few eclogues so called. Those of Collins
are esteemed the best.
ECONOMISTS.
It is not generally known how much the science of po¬
litics, that master science, the late offspring of the im¬
proved reason of modern times, is indebted to the philo¬
sophers vvho are known to the world by the title of eco¬
nomists. They were, it is true, preceded in this country
by Hobbes and by Locke, and in France by Montesquieu;
but in analysing the frame of civil society, they added
considerable lights to those which had been communicat¬
ed by their predecessors; and they attempted to point
out the mode of combining the various springs of social
action in a more liberal and beneficent system than had
yet been recommended to the world.
It is worthy of remark, that the merits of this sect, in
the secondary department of political economy, have so
much obscured their important speculations on the great
questions respecting the best possible order capable of
being given to society, that they are, in this country at
least, wholly unknown, except in the character of politi¬
cal economists ; though their political economy formed
only a small and subordinate branch of their entire sys¬
tem ; and, what is indeed extraordinary, we know not a
book in the English language in which an account of that
system is to be found.
This article is intended to contain, the history of
the sect; Zdly, an account of their system ; and, 'Mly,
some observations, pointing out the principal errors into
which they have fallen.
I. M. de Gournay appears to have been the first man in
trance who had formed any systematic notions on the
ital principles of tiade. It is true, indeed, that Fenelon
had recommended, on the direct suggestion of good sense,
detached from theory, the practice of freedom of trade!
The Marquis d’Argenson was celebrated for the sound
and important maxim, Pas trop gouverner ; and the memo¬
rable advice of the merchants to the meddling Colbert
was well known, Laissez-nous faire. Another of the more
peculiar doctrines of the economists was expressed in the
famous maxim of the great Due de Sully, Que le labour age
et le pdturage sont les mammelles de Vetat; and Montes¬
quieu had brightly but superficially run over several of
the questions relative to trade.
For such lights as M. de Gournay did not derive from
his own reflections, he seems to have been chiefly indebt-
ed to the writers of England ; but there appears some
reason to conclude that the best of these had not fallen
in his way. W e do not perceive, for example, any sign
of acquaintance with the writings of Locke.
Jean-Claude-Maria Vincent, Seigneur de Gournay, was
an extraordinary man for the age and country in which
he was produced. Pie was born at St Malo, in the month
of 11 ay 1/12, the son of Claude Vincent, one of the most
considerable merchants of the place. Destined to com-
meice by his parents, he was sent to Cadiz when scarcely
se\ enteen years of age. His vigilant attention to business
did not hinder him from finding time, well husbanded and
diligently applied, not only for storing his mind with ge¬
neral knowledge, but for unravelling the combinations of
commerce, and ascertaining its elementary principles.
After he had raised himself to great eminence as a mer¬
chant, and to a high reputation for knowledge of the prin¬
ciples of commerce, the ministers of France conceived the
design of turning his knowledge to advantage in the office
of intendant of commerce, as they call it, to which he was
raised in 1751.
No sooner was M. de Gournay invested with his office,
than he began to wage war with the established system
of regulations and restrictions, which the experience of
twenty years of mercantile practice the most varied and
the most extensive, discussions with the most intelligent
merchants of Holland and of England, the perusal of the
best vvriters on the subject, and the impartial application
of his own philosophical thoughts, had all conspired to
make him regard as a source, not of national advantage,
but of continual vexation and hardship to individuals, and
of poverty to the state. “ He was astonished,” says M.
Turgot, “ to find that a citizen could neither make nor
sell a commodity, without having purchased a privilege,
by getting himself made, at a great expense, a member
of some corporation ; that if he made a piece of cloth, for
example, of any quantity and quality different from those
commanded in certain regulations, instead of being al¬
lowed to sell it to those purchasers whom such quantity
and quality suited the best, he should be condemned to
see it cut in pieces, and to pay a fine heavy enough to re¬
duce a whole family to beggary. He could not conceive
E C ON O MI S T S.
m- how, in a country where the succession to titles, to estates,
ts. and even to the crown itself, rested upon custom, and
where the application of even the punishment of death
was rarely guided by any written definitions, the govern¬
ment should have thought proper to fix by written laws
the length and breadth of each piece of cloth, and the
number of threads which it ought to contain. He was
not less astonished to see the government take in hand to
regulate the supply of commodities ; proscribe one sort of
industry in order to make another flourish; shackle with
peculiar restrictions the sale of the most necessary articles
of subsistence; prohibit the storing of commodities, of
which the quantity produced varies greatly from year to
year, while the quantity required for consumption is pretty
nearly the same; restrain the export and import of a
commodity subject to the greatest fluctuation of price ;
and dream of insuring the plentiful supply of corn by
rendering the condition of the labourer more uncertain
and more wretched than that of any other part of the
community.” (CEuvres&e M. Turgot, iii. 333.)
It may easily be imagined that M. de Gournay would
find himself encountered by opposition the moment he en¬
deavoured to introduce his beneficial views into practice.
The grand instruments of this opposition were certain
words and phrases, which have been used to screen mis¬
rule in every country in which the voice of reform has be¬
gun to be raised. “ M. de Gournay,” says Turgot, “ was op¬
posed, under the names of an ‘ innovator’ and a ‘ theo¬
rist,’ for endeavouring to develop the principles which
experience had taught him, and which he found univer¬
sally recognised by the most enlightened merchants of
every part of the world among whom he had lived. The
principles marked out for reprobation, under the title of
the ‘ new system,’ appeared to him to be exactly the prin¬
ciples of plain good sense. The whole of this system was
founded upon the certain maxim, that, in general, each man
is a better judge of his own interest, than another man to
whom it is a matter of indifference. From this M. de
Gournay concluded, that, when the interest of individuals
is precisely the same with the general interest, the best
thing to be done is, to leave every man at liberty to do
what he likes. Now he held it as impossible, that in com¬
merce, fairly left to itself, the interest of the individual
should not coincide with the interest of the community.”
The proof which M. Turgot gives of the fundamental pro¬
position, that the interest of the individual and of the com¬
munity in a free commerce are the same, we need not re¬
peat ; because it can neither be rendered more clear nor
more cogent than it is already in works with which every
person is familiar, who is at all conversant with political
science.
“ From this principle M. de Gournay concluded, that
the sole duties of government with regard to commerce
are: 1. To render to all the branches of industry that
precious liberty, of which the prejudices of barbarous
times, the proneness of governments to lend themselves
to the gratification of individual interests, and the pursuit
of a mistaken good, have conspired to deprive them : 2.
To facilitate the exercise of industry and ingenuity to
every member of the community, exciting thereby the
greatest competition among sellers, and ensuring the
greatest perfection and cheapness of the commodities sold :
3. To admit the greatest competition among buyers, by
opening to the seller every possible market; the sole
means of encouraging reproduction, which hence derives
its only reward: 4. To remove every obstacle by which
the progress of industry is retarded, by depriving it of its
natural reward.”
It is to M. de Gournay, therefore, that Turgot ascribes
the origin of political economy in France. “ It is to the
399
ardour,” says he, “ with which M. de Gournay endeavour- Econo-
ed to direct to the study of commerce and of political eco- mists,
nomy, all the talent which he was able to discover, and to
the facility with which he communicated the lights which
he himself had acquired, that we ought to ascribe the
happy fermentation which for some years has been excit¬
ed on these important subjects; a fermentation which
arose two or three years after M. de Gournay was inten-
dant of commerce, and has since that time procured us se¬
veral works calculated to wipe off from our nation that re¬
proach of frivolity, which, by its indifference for the more
useful studies, it had but too justly incurred.”
Francis Quesnay was born in the village of Ecqueville
in the year 1694. According to M. Dupont de Nemours,
the editor and commentator of the works of Turgot, and
a zealous economist, he was the son of a small proprietor,
who cultivated his own little property ; and he was emi¬
nently indebted to his mother for the fashion of his mind.
Though he was educated as a physician, and rose to such
eminence in his profession as to be first physician to the
king, the early occupation of his mind on the business of
agriculture had given the current of his thoughts a per¬
manent direction ; and when he was summoned to reflect
on the sources of wealth, by the discussions probably to
which the speculations of M. de Gournay had given birth,
agriculture was the object on which his attention was
more particularly fixed. He produced several works on
different points of the science and practice of medicine ;
and it was only at a late period of life that his works on
political economy appeared. His chief production on
this subject, Physiocralie, ou du Gouvernement le plus
avantageux au genre humain, was first published in 1768.
Not only had the speculations which he broached, and
which he propagated with much fervour and diligence,
considerable success in the world, but he had the fortune
to gain a considerable number of proselytes, who exerted
themselves with an ardour for the diffusion of his doctrine,
and with a devotion to the opinions of their master, which
more resembled the enthusiasm of the votaries of a new
religion, or that of the followers of some of the ancient
philosophers, than the indifference with which new spe¬
culations in philosophy have on all other occasions been
received in modern Europe; and which gave to the eco¬
nomists more of the character of a sect or a school, than
has appeared to belong to those who have in recent times
concurred in any other system, of philosophical opinion.
There was, in truth, in the system of M. Quesnay and
the other economists, many things well calculated to at¬
tract attention and excite enthusiasm, .from a few simple
principles, they deduced, as they imagined, by a chain of
very close and imposing arguments, a system of changes
which would easily be introduced, without the smallest
interruption to the tranquillity and happiness of the ex¬
isting generation, calculated to remove from society all
the deformities by which it was overspread, and to com¬
municate to the mass of human beings a fulness of happi¬
ness hitherto altogether unknown. At this point, there¬
fore, we may close the historical part of this article ; tor
the success of the great work of Dr Adam Smith, in a
short time, superseded the political economy of the sect;
and after the political economy was discredited, the rest
of their doctrines met with little regard. I he memory of
them, however, is well worthy of being preserved; and
this task we shall now, in as few words as possible, endea¬
vour to perform.
II. The economists proceeded upon no Utopian plan,
which supposes society to be composed of beings dif¬
ferent from those with whom we are already acquainted.
They took man as he is, a being having wants, and govern¬
ed by the desire of avoiding pain and obtaining pleasure.
400
ECONOMISTS.
Econo¬
mists.
Man must have subsistence. Upon this ground they
first took their stand. This being allowed, it followed, of
course, that whatever was the best means of obtaining
subsistence, would command the operations of men as
soon as ever it was sufficiently known.
Of these means, the first and fundamental is the esta¬
blishment of property. This they proved by convincing
arguments. We cannot exist without consuming. The
nature of man leads to a rapid multiplication of human
beings, and the earth yields a spontaneous nourishment
for only a few. To make food keep pace with population,
labour must be employed upon the ground. Men would
be born for no other purpose than that of destroying one
another, if there were not means of increasing the quan¬
tity of food in proportion to those that were born. La¬
bour, then, is one of the physical necessities of nature.
But if labour be necessary, so is property, because, with¬
out property, there can be no labour.
The proof of this proposition is short and irresistible.
Nobody would labour under an assurance that he would
derive no advantage from his labour. Nobody would la¬
bour without a certain probability that he should enjoy
the fruits of his labour. Now, this is property. The only
question, then, which remains is, what is the degree of as¬
surance with respect to the fruits of a man’s labour; in
other words, what are the laws of property which tend
most to secure the benefits which human beings derive
from their labour ? This, said the economists, is the ob¬
ject and the end of our researches.
They proceeded in their inquiry by the following steps.
As a means to this labour, on which every thing depends,
a man must be free to use his natural faculties of labour
-—his muscular powers. This freedom they called the
property of his person. As another means to the same
end, he must be free to use exclusively, and to preserve,
what he acquires by his labour. This they call his move-
able property.
Heie we see the origin of that to which men have as¬
signed the names of rights and duties. The exclusive
powers assigned to the man over his person, and over the
fruits of his labour, are called his rights. To allow these
exclusive powers, by abstaining from every act which
would impair them, is called the duties of all other men.
Here we see, also, that rights and duties are reciprocal ;
that they imply one another, that they are created to¬
gether, and that the one cannot exist without the other.
Destio_y the rights of property in the man, you destroy,
by the same act, the duties of other men to exclude them¬
selves from what was called his property. Destroy, in the
same manner, the duties of other men to exclude them¬
selves from what was called his property, and you destroy,
at the same time, his right to that exclusion. Rights and
duties are, in fact, but different names given to the same
thing, according as it is regarded under one or another of
two points of view.
Another important concatenation is here also to be seen.
Rights are advantages ; things to be enjoyed. Duties are
burthens, abstracted from things to be enjoyed. Why should
men accept these burthens, submit to these duties ? Why,
but because they find their advantage in doing so. ^ It is
plain how they find their advantage in doing so, and there
is, there can be, no other reason. Men submit to the duties
of respecting other men’s rights, that they may have rights
themselves. It is good for them to have rights; there
can be no rights without duties. It is better to have the
rights submitting to the duties, than, by renouncing the
duties, to have no rights. The duties are then the price
which is paid for the rights. The duties which one man
yields to other men, are the price which he pays for hav¬
ing rights of his own. Duties, then, are in themselves
emis; and they never ought to exist, except when thev
are compensated by a greater good. Nobody ousht to
be subjected to a burthen, which is not, either to himself
or to the community in which he has clubbed his private
interests, attended with a good sufficiently great to over¬
balance the evil which he is made to endure. Utilitu
then, is the exclusive foundation of duty. N
Having laid this foundation, the economists proceed.
On the necessity of subsistence rests the necessity 0f
property, and on the necessity of property rests the neces¬
sity of a certain inequality in the conditions of men. This
inequality exists, because a good is obtained 'throiicffi it
which can in no other way be obtained; and that good
the parent of every thing else to which the name of good
is applied. “ Those who complain of it,” says Mercier
de la Iliviere, one of the chief expositors of the doctrines
of the sect, “ see not that it is a link in the chain by which
the human species must drag from the abyss of non-pro¬
duction every thing which they enjoy. As soon as I have
acquired the exclusive property of a thing, another man
cannot have the property of it at the same time. The
law of property is the same for all men ; each man, how¬
ever, acquires in proportion to his faculties of acquiring-
but the measure of these is different in different men."
And besides this fundamental law, there is, in the whirl¬
pool of accidents, a continual succession of combinations,
some more, some less fortunate, which increase the causes
of that inequality of acquisition, without which the mo¬
tives to acquisition cannot exist  I admit
however,” he in conclusion adds, “that in any given com¬
munity, these differences in the possessions of different
men may become the source of great disorders, and which
augment again these same differences beyond their natu¬
ral and necessary degree. But what follows from this?
I hat men ought to establish an equality of conditions?
Certainly not; for to that end, it would be necessary to
destroy all property, and, by consequence, all society: it
only follow's that they should correct those disorders
which make that which is an instrument of good become
an instrument of evil; which alters in such a manner the
ciistiibution of things, that force places all the rights on
one side and all the duties on the other.”
W e have seen that the necessity of labour to procure
the means of life and the means of enjoyment, produced
a necessity of property personal and property moveable, as
the two sorts were named by the economists. The neces¬
sity of raising food, as well as the first material of most of
the other articles of human enjoyment, by labour upon
the land, produces a like necessity of creating & property
in the soil. I he proof of this proposition is not less short
and convincing than that which regards the other species
of property, lo make the land yield a produce useful to
man, it must be cleared of many incumbrances, and pre¬
pared with much labour and expense. No adequate re¬
turn can be obtained for this labour to the man who would
bestow it, without a perpetuity of possession. It is essen¬
tial for the well-being of the species that the labour should
be yielded, and in the greatest degree of perfection. It
cannot be yielded perhaps at all, certainly in no tolerable
degree of perfection, without that exclusive possession
which constitutes property. Property in land is, there¬
fore, essential to the well-being of the human species.
We see in this manner what are the rights and what
are the duties which the supply of the first wants of hu¬
man nature renders it necessary to constitute ; but as all
mankind are not disposed to respect rights and duties, it
is necessary, in order to obtain the advantages which they
are destined to produce, that measures should be taken
to protect them.
I he measures taken to protect them are generally com-
Ec<
mi,
'
))no-
lists-
* ECONOMISTS.
prehended under one name, that is, government. I he pi'Q- sence of what they called the natural and essential order
tection of the rights, or, which means same thing, the of society, it was seen to be in reality a chain of physical
' insuring of the duties, is the end, the government is the consequences, involving nothing arbitrary, nothing change-
means; and the question is, what combination of means is able ; evident, on the other hand, simple, and resting on
best adapted to the purpose ? no other ground than that of being the most advantageous
This assuredly is the most important question to which possible to the whole body of the community, and to
the human faculties can be directed ; and the economists every one of its members. *
have never yet received the credit which is their due, “ The best possible order of society, however,” they
for the ability and success with which they laboured to observed, “ cannot be established where it is no’t suffi-
resolve it. No speculations can be conceived of more im- ciently known ; but for that very reason, that it is the
portance than those in which they engaged, nor has it yet best order, the establishment of it, as soon as it is known
become easy to throw upon them a greater portion of must become the common ambition of men ; it must then
401
intioduce \tSQ\f \)y necessity, and, once established, it must
by necessity continue for ever.” These were bold pro¬
mises, but the proof was correspondent. “ The best pos¬
sible order of society must introduce itself as soon as
known, and preserve itself for ever as soon as introduced,
light.
The grand classes of means by the skilful combination
of which they conceived that the end might be obtained,
were either more direct or more indirect. The more indi¬
rect were liberty and evidence ; the more direct w*re laws
exactly adapted to the end, magistrates exactly adapted because tlm appetite of pleasure, and the aversion To
to the execution of these laws, and a supreme, or, as they pain, the o*ily moving powers within us, lead naturally
called it, “ tutelary power:' We shall endeavour to com- and constantly toward the greatest possible augmentation
niunicate their leading ideas on each of these particulars, of enjoyments ; and the desire of enjoying implies by ne-
1. Liberty. We have seen that the end which is aimed cessity that of the means by which enjoyment is pro-
at through property, as a means, is the greatest possible cured. It is, then,” said the economists, “ impossible
abundance of the things adapted for human enjoyment, that men should know their best possible condition with-
and that property is a means altogether indispensable for out a consequent union of all wills and all power to pro-
that end. It is now to be proved that liberty is. abso
lutely necessary to enable property to answer the purpose
of a means to that end, and that, without liberty, the
existence of property is deprived of almost all its advan-
cure and to preserve it. Imagine not,” they cried, “ that
for the establishment of this essential order it is neces¬
sary to change the nature of men, and divest them of
their passions; their passions, on the other hand, become
tages. In fact, the right which a man has not the liberty auxiliaries in this establishment, and, for the most com
to enjoy is not a right. The right of property in a man s plete success, it is only necessary to place them in a con-
person, in his moveables, in his land, is the right of en- dition to see with evidence that it is in this order alone
joying; but the of enjoying and the liberty of enjoy-||hey can find the greatest possible sum of enjoyments and
ing are the same thing. Liberty, therefore, cannot be of happiness.”
hurt without damaging the right of property, and the right ^hese philosophers made some admirable observations
of property cannot be hurt without damaging liberty, upon the nature of evidence, and the important purposes
“ It is,” says Mercier de la Riviere, “ so inseparably con- to which it is subservient. They made a distinction be-
nected with the right of property, that it is confounded tween those propositions which a man receives without
with it, and that the one cannot exist without the other, evidence, and those which he only receives upon the
Deprive a man,” he cries, “ of all the rights of property, strength of evidence. The first they denoted by the
and I defy you to find in him a vestige of liberty. On word opinion, the second they marked by the names of
the other hand, suppose him deprived of every portion of knowledge and certainty. “ As error,” they said, “ is every
liberty, and I defy you to show that he truly retains every thing which is not truth, in like manner, what is not evi-
right of property.” dence is only opinion ; and whatsoever is only opinion is
It is now pretty clear that liberty is necessary to pro- arbitrary, and liable to change. It is evident, therefore,
duce that abundance of production which is the end aimed that these opinions are not a sufficient foundation for the
at by the constitution of all rights and duties. Man is natural and essential order of societies. A solid edifice
excited to labour only in proportion as he is stimulated by cannot be erected on a basis of sand ; and that into which
the desire of enjoying; but the desire of enjoying can nothing arbitrary can enter, which is and must be un-
only be a motive of action in so far as it is not disjoined changeable as the ends to which it is directed, can never
from the liberty of enjoying. You cannot have produc- be founded on a principle so arbitrary and various as
tions in abundance, without the greatest possible induce- opinion; opinion which, however just and true it may ac-
ment to labour; you cannot have the greatest possible cidentally be, so long as it is not founded on evidence,
inducement to labour, without the greatest possible liberty is but opinion still, and liable every moment to be sub-
of enjoyment. The chain of evidence is therefore com- verted and expelled by any other opinion, however ex-
P^ete* travagant and absurd.”
“ Let us not,” say the economists, “ seek in men beings Evidence is the knowledge, flearly attained and pos-
which are not men. Nature has destined them to know sessed by ourselves, of all that is necessary to see the
only two springs of action, or moving powers; the appe- truth or falsehood of an object of belief. This excludes
tite of pleasure and the aversion to pain. It is in the all doubt, all uncertainty, every thing arbitrary, all exer-
purpose of nature, therefore, that they should not be de- cise of will. A man can no more help believing that
prived of the liberty of enjoying, since, without that li- which he actually holds in his mind evidence sufficient to
berty, the first of those two powers would lose the whole prove, than he can help seeing the object which is painted
of its force. Desire of enjoying, liberty of enjoying ; these on his retina.
aie the soul of the social movements, these are the fruit- From this irresistible power of evidence the economists
ful seed of abundance, because that precious combination deduced the most important consequences. “ Not only is
is the principle of all the efforts made by human beings it,” they said, “ the essential characteristic of evidence to
to procure it. stand the test of the most severe examination, but the
l. Evidence. Property, and by consequence liberty and most severe examination can have no other effect than
security of enjoying, being proved to constitute the es- that of displaying it to more advantage; that of giving to
vol. vm. 3 E
ECONOMISTS.
402
Econo- it a power more predominating and supreme; while, on
mists. t}le other hand, sufficient examination destroys preposses-
sion and prejudice, and establishes in their place, either
evidence, or at least suspension of judgment, where evi¬
dence on which to found a judgment is out of our reach.”
On the first of these propositions, that “ evidence can
stand the test of the most severe examination,” they said,
“ that all attempt at proof was surely unnecessary,—it
was self-evident; and hence,” they said, “ was evidently
deduced this most important consequence, ‘ that the liber¬
ty of examining, of criticising, and of contradicting evi¬
dence, is always and necessarily without inconvenience.’ ”
“ That a sufficient examination destroys prepossession
and prejudice,” they regarded as a proposition equally in¬
disputable ; and from this it followed, as an irresistible
consequence, “ that the most unbounded liberty of exa¬
mination and contradiction is of primary and essential im¬
portance ; for no examination can be sufficient till all the
reasons of doubt are exhausted.”
“ That a sufficient examination establishes evidence in
the place of error in the case of all questions where evi¬
dence is within our reach,” was a truth, they said, resting
on the same immoveable basis; and from this it followed,
as an evident consequence, “ that liberty of inquiry will
lead by necessity to the clear and public knowledge of
what is the best possible order of human society; for on
this subject evidence is undeniably within our reach.”
“ We may thus regard evidence as a sort of beneficent
divinity, whose pleasure consists in spreading peace on
earth. Never do you behold mathematicians at war with
mathematicians on account of the truths which they have
established on evidence ; if they enter into a momentary
dispute, it is only while they are yet in the avenue of in¬
quiry, and have investigation solely in view; but as soon as
evidence has pronounced either on the one side or the other,
every man lays down his arms, and only thinks of enjoy¬
ing in peace the good which is thus acquired in common.”
“ Pass now,” say the economists, “ from the evidence
of mathematical to that of social truths ; to the evidence
of that order of human affairs in society which would pro¬
duce to men the greatest possible amount of happiness.
From the known effects of evidence in the first of these
cases, try to conceive what would-be the effects of it in
the second ; what would of necessity be the internal con¬
dition of a society governed by that evidence; what would
of necessity be the political and respective situation of all
nations if they were illuminated by its divine effulgence ;
consider if men, rallied under the standard of that evi¬
dence, would have any division among them ; if any mo¬
tive for war would be sufficiently powerful to make them
sacrifice to it their best, and to themselves evidently best
possible condition : penetrate still deeper, and see if the
pictures which that medium presents to you do not excite
in you sensations, or rather transports, which elevate you
above yourself, and appear to indicate that, by means of
evidence, we communicate with the divinity.
“ But to increase your sensibility to the impressions
which those pictures will make upon your understanding
and your heart, place in opposition all the inconveniences
which, in a state of ignorance, arise from the force of
opinion.
“ A certain thing is forbidden under the sanction of
punishments capable of inspiring the greatest terror. What
power can such prohibition and punishments have against
an opinion which tends to despise them ? None ; we have
too many examples to prove it.
“ A man is placed by his birth in a situation in which
he might effect the happiness of a great number of other
men, if he made a beneficent use of his advantages ; what
is it the man performs when his opinion is wrong ? He
sacrifices his advantages to the disorder of his opinion, i;co
lives and dies unhappy. * mjs
“ One man unarmed commands an hundred thousand i
with arms in their hands, of whom the weakest is stronger
than he. What constitutes his power ? Their opinion •
they obey him in obeying it; they follow their leader be¬
cause they have an opinion that they ought to follow him.
“ Do you wish to see other effects which characterize
the force of opinion ? Consider the effects of honour; of
that sort of enthusiasm which prefers toil and fatigue to
repose, poverty and privation to riches, and death to life,
on which it finds the secret of shedding a lustre.
“ Opinion, of one sort or another, governs the world.
Even when it is but a prejudice, an error, there is no
power in the moral world comparable to its power. Fruit¬
ful in phantoms, it borrows all the colours of reality, in
order to deceive. Source inexhaustible of good and of
evil, it is through it alone that we see, by it alone that we
will and we act. According as it borders upon truth or
falsehood, it produces virtues or vices, the great man or
the villain. No danger stops it; difficulties render it more
intense ; at one time it founds empires, at another destroys
them.
“ Every man is therefore a little kingdom upon the earth,
governed despotically by opinion. He will burn the temple
of Ephesus, if it is his opinion that he should burn it; in
the midst of the flames he will brave his enemies, if his
opinion is that he ought to brave them. Our physical
powers themselves are so completely subordinate to the
power of opinion, that, to have the command of our phy¬
sical powers, it is necessary to begin by having the com¬
mand of our opinion; but how is it possible to have the
command of opinion, while it is the sport of ignorance,
and its nature arbitrary ? How is it possible to fix and to
unite the opinions of men, but by the agency of evidence?
Is it not visible that the Author of nature has appointed
no other means for chaining our arbitrary will ?
“ ^'e ought to look, therefore, upon ignorance as the
necessary principle of all the evils which have afflicted
society; and upon the knowledge, that is, the evidence of
the best possible order of society, as the natural source of
all the good which is destined for the inhabitants of the
earth.
“ But as all the physical forces in the world cannot
render that evident which is not so, and as evidence can
spring from nothing but adequate examination, from the
necessity of that evidence clearly follows the necessity of
examination, from the necessity of examination clearly
follows the necessity of the greatest possible liberty of con¬
tradiction, and, in addition to that liberty, the existence
of all those political institutions which are required to give
to evidence its greatest possible publicity?
The publicity of evidence was a subject on which the
economists dwelt with peculiar emphasis, and which
they branched out into a number of the most important
consequences. “ The necessity of it,” they said, “ was
apparent from this, that the proper order of society can¬
not be solidly established, but in proportion as it is suffi¬
ciently known. In any society, if some men only had
knowledge and evidence of this order, while the multitude
rested in other opinions, it would be impossible for this
order to govern ; it would in vain command ; it would not
be obeyed. This state would be that of a perpetual intes¬
tine war of one part of the nation with another. By in¬
testine war they did not, however, mean,” they said, “ only
that which is performed with arms in the hands, and by
open force ; they more peculiarly referred to those dis¬
guised and clandestine ravages and oppressions, exercised
under forms of law; to those dark and predatory prac¬
tices, which sacrifice all the victims which artifice is able
ECONOMISTS.
403
j,no- to bring within their power; to all those disorders, in a
i its. word, which tend to make all particular interests enemies
of one another, and thus to uphold, among the members
of the same political body, an habitual war of clashing in¬
terests, the contending effects of which tear in sunder all
the bonds of society. This situation is so much the more
dreadful, in as much as, excepting the superior and go¬
verning force of evidence, there is no power in nature
equal to that of opinion; as in its aberrations opinion is
tremendous, and as no means exist by which we can make
sure of retaining it always within proper limits, when it is
once given up to its own inconstancy, and to seduction.
“ From the 'publicity, which is an indispensable condi¬
tion to possession of evidence respecting what is best in
the social order, we are conducted to the necessity of
public instruction. Though faith,” said the economists,
“ be the gift of God, a peculiar grace, which cannot be
the work of men alone; nevertheless it is held that the
preaching of the gospel is peculiarly necessary to the pro¬
pagation of the faith. Why, then, should not every one
have the same opinion with regard to the publication of
the social order, more especially as that publication has
no need of being aided by grace and supernatural light ?
This order is instituted for men, and all men are born to
live under it; it is then required by this order that men
should know it, and accordingly they have all a sufficient
portion of natural faculties, to be able to elevate them¬
selves to that knowledge. For the same reasons that
knowledge is required, instruction is required, by which
alone certain kinds of knowledge can be attained.”
The economists did not enter into details respecting es¬
tablishments necessary for instruction. They, however,
affirmed, that such establishments “ constituted a part of
the essential form of a society, and that they could hardly
be too numerous, because instruction can never be too
common.” They affirmed, also, that “ verbal instructions
did not suffice; that it was necessary to have doctrinal
books, suited to the purpose, and in every body’s hand.
This help,” they said, “ was so much the more important,
as it was clear of all inconvenience, for error cannot stand
in the presence of evidence; and contradiction is not less
advantageous to evidence than it is fatal to error, which
has nothing to fear so much as examination.”
What they affirmed with respect to the necessity of
those which they called doctrinal books, and of the liberty
which ought to reign with regard to them, “ was found¬
ed, ’ they said, “ upon the very nature of that order which
is due to society, and of the evidence which belongs to it.
That order,’ they observed, “ is either perfectly and evi¬
dently known, or it is not. In the first case, its evidence
and simplicity render the formation of heresies on the
subject of it altogether impossible. In the second case,
men cannot arrive at knowledge or evidence, but through
the conflict of opinions. It is certain that an opinion can
be established only upon the ruins of those which are op¬
posed to it; it is further certain, that every opinion which
is not founded upon evidence will be contradicted, until it
is either destroyed, or recognized on evidence for a truth,
in which case it ceases to be a bare opinion, and becomes
an evident principle. And thus, in the pursuit of truths,
capable of being established on evidence, the conflict of
opinions leads, of necessity, to evidence, because it is by
evidence alone it is capable of being terminated.”
This doctrine is of such infinite importance, that we are
willing to prolong it, by adding the illustration which the
economists were accustomed to adduce. “ If a man should
be actuated by any motives to write a book endeavouring
to persuade his countrymen that they might live without
^ subsistence, that they ought to make commodities with¬
out the materials, that they multiply themselves by
change of place, or any other extravagant opinion, it Econo-
would be highly useless for the public authority to give mists,
itself any concern or labour to prevent such a book from
making an impression upon the public mind ; and, far from
feeling any alarm, every body would rest securely upon
the evidence of the contrary truths, assured that this
evidence would always be sufficient for itself, and would
quietly tiiumph over all the ridiculous efforts which would
be made to oppose it.
“ So absolutely necessary is it to leave to the whole
body of society the greatest possible freedom of examina¬
tion and contradiction; so absolutely necessary is it to
abandon evidence to its own strength, that there is no
other power which can supply its place; physical power,
of what magnitude soever, can command actions alone^
never opinions. The experience of every day affords to
this truth the evidence of the senses. So little have our
physical powers any influence over our opinions, that our
opinions, on the contrary, exercise an uncontrollable do¬
minion over our physical powers. Our physical powers
are put in motion, and guided by our opinions alone. The
common or social, called the public force, is formed by the
union of the physical powers of many individuals. This
supposes, necessarily and invariably, a correspondent union
of evils; and this can never exist but in consequence of
an union of opinions, good or bad. It is, therefore, to
reverse the order of things, and take the effect for the
cause, to desire to give the public force a power over
opinion, while it is from the union of opinions that public
force holds its own existence, and while, by consequence,
it can have no stability but in proportion to that which
reigns in the opinion on which it is founded, that is to
say, in proportion as bare opinions, stripped of evidence, are
replaced by opinions fixed and invariable, because found¬
ed upon evidence which cannot deceive.”
3. Laws. Having established as incontrovertible truths,
that property is necessary to the production of the means
of human life and enjoyment, that the system of human
rights and duties spring from it as natural consequences,
and that the natural and essential order of societies is
nothing in reality but the chain or connected order of
these same rights and duties, the economists laid down
the following definition: “ That the essential form of a
society is the continuation of all those social institutions
which are necessary to consolidate the right of property,
and secure to it all the liberty which essentially belongs
to it.”
Among these instrumental establishments, an important
place is held by laws, of which they communicated the
following very striking and original idea.
“ A multitude of men assembled without acknowledg¬
ing any respective rights, any reciprocal duties, wrould not
form a society. That does not consist in the meeting of
a number of men in a particular place. It may subsist
among men very remote in respect of place, and not sub¬
sist among men very near in respect of place. That which
really constitutes the union, are the co?iditions of the union.
These conditions are the systems of rights and duties, in
other words, the conventions entered into for their com¬
mon interest by the members of the associated body. The
laws, then, are precisely those conventions, by operation
of which, the reciprocal rights and duties are established
in such a manner that the members of the society are no
longer permitted arbitrarily to depart from them.
“ Of these conventions, some are of such a nature as
cannot be defined very exactly, or at least cannot be en¬
forced by artificial sanction, but must be left to the na¬
tural coercion of the approbation and disapprobation of
mankind. Such are the common duties of morality ; gra¬
titude, veracity, charity, and the like. But the next class
404
ECONOMISTS.
Econo- of these conventions are those which are capable of being
mists. define(j exactly, and enforced by artificial sanctions; as,
that murder shall not be committed, property ^shall not
be stolen. This last class of conventions are those which
are properly called Imvs.
“ The first property necessary to give those laws their
best possible form (for, in regard to their substance, it is
always supposed that they are strictly conformed to that
utility from which the whole system of rights and duties
takes its origin) is, that they be definitive ; to distinguish,
by an incontrovertible line, what each of them does, from
what it does not, comprehend. This is implied in the very
notion of a law, which is to render something positive,
which would otherwise be arbitrary.
“ The second property necessary to give laws their best
possible form is, that they be written. This is indeed
implied in the first property; because no combination of
ideas can be rendered positive and unvarying, of which
the expression is wot positive and unvarying. But nothing
can render an expression positive and unvarying but a
permanent sign ; and, of permanent signs, none is equal to
writing.
“ The third property necessary to give to laws their
best possible form is, that the reason of each be annexed
to it. The distinction is very important between the let¬
ter of the law, and the reason of the law. The letter of
the law is its textical composition; the reason of the law
is the motive by which it was dictated. The man who is
guilty of murder shall receive a certain punishment. This
is the letter of the law. The reason is, that if murder
were common, and not restrained by adequate motives, the
happiness of human beings, if not the species, would soon be
destroyed. Having thus acquired a knowledge of the rea¬
son of the law, I possess the evidence of its utility. And
of this I should not have been possessed, had I seen in
the law nothing more than the letter. Let us suppose two
laws, which equally assign the punishment of death; the
one for homicide, the other for walking at certain hours
in the day. Is it not clear that they would be viewed
with different eyes ; that the one would appear to be just,
the other tyrannical; that we should feel within our¬
selves a natural disposition to submit to the one, a dispo¬
sition to avail ourselves of every thing which might serve
as a means to deliver us from the hateful yoke of the
other? This difference arises from the different judgment
we form of the reason of these bad laws. The first car¬
ries with it the evidence of its utility; and that evidence
overcomes and binds without resistance the understand¬
ing and the will. The other carries with it, instead of
the evidence of utility, the evidence of nothing but a dis-
proportional rigour, of a manifest evil, to which our un¬
derstanding, and consequently our will, can never submit.
“ It is not, therefore, in the letter, but in the reason of
the laws, that we must seek for the first principle of a
constant submission and obedience to the laws; for that
principle can be nothing but the dominion exercised over
our minds by the evidence of the justice of necessity, that
is, the utility of the laws; now this evidence is not in the
letter of the laws; to establish that submission, therefore,
generally and invariably, two conditions are requisite ;
one is, that the reason of the laws contain conclusive evi¬
dence of their utility, commonly called their justice and
necessity; the other is, that the publication of this evi¬
dence be so complete, in respect both of clearness and
diffusion, as to lodge it in the mind of a majority of all
classes of the people. Men, persuaded that their laws
were bad laws, might indeed for a time be constrained to
observe them; but such a submission, contrary as it is to
nature, could not be durable, nor escape daily breaches
on the part of those who regarded themselves as suffering
by the injustice of the laws. Submission to the laws is Ecor)
always, and necessarily, proportional to the idea which we mist
hold of their justice and necessity ; that is, their indispen- w
sable use in procuring good and eschewing evil.
“ If laws,” said the economists, “are any thing but the
results of the natural order of society, or of that system
of duties and rights which are rightly founded upon the
interest of all; if the legislature of any country sets up
rights and duties of another sort, these new rights and
duties are contrary to the first; and hence, of necessity,
the laws which prescribe them are in a state of perpetual
opposition with our understandings and wills.” This con¬
trariety they proved in the following manner: “ All the
rights which a reasonable being can desire are summed
up in that of property; because from the right of property
results the liberty of enjoying; a liberty which ought to
have no bounds but those which are assigned to it by the
similar rights of property belonging to other men. As
the essential order of society thus determines the mea¬
sure of liberty belonging to each of its members, and as
that measure is the greatest which can be, without dis¬
turbing that essential order itself, it is impossible that any
thing should be added to the liberty, that is, to the rights
of one set of men, without taking from the liberty, and
by consequence from the property, of other men; and this
is an injustice and disorder, the tendency of which is de¬
structive to the society.”
It is destructive to the society, because it throws it
into a state of violence. “ My neighbour,” says Mercier
de la Riviere, “ will be content that he is not allowed to
reap or to injure my crop; but for the same reason he
wall not be content that I should be allowed to reap or to
injure his. On the view of such an injury permitted in
regard to any other man, he will take the alarm, his fears
will be excited for himself, and this anxiety wall be a
state of torment, from which his reason will perpetually
urge him to seek relief. A law which violates the prin¬
ciple of utility, is a law therefore resisted by that evi¬
dence which governs beyond control the human will. To
make such a law, is to put the society into a state of vio¬
lence, because it is to put the minds of men into a state
hostile to one another, and more or less hostile to the
laws.
4. Magistrates. By this term the economists under¬
stood judges, and, in a word, all the leading functionaries
employed in giving execution to the laws. Agreeably to
the doctrines already exhibited, they conceived that the
first service of the magistrates is that of shedding the
light of evidence upon the particular cases which have
been too obscure for the parties. But as there are some
minds with which you cannot be sure of being able in
every case to bring evidence, as it were, in contact, the
magistrate needs to be armed with a coercive power;
and all that is necessary is, that he affords to the rest of
the community evidence that in such cases the power has
been used agreeably to the principle of general good.
From these premises, the chief consequence which they
deduced was, that the legislative and judicial powers are
never to be united in the same hand, without destroying
among the people all certainty of the justice and neces¬
sity of their laws, that is, the very essence of the laws
themselves.
“ The essential form of positive laws,” they said, “ in
that which makes them to be what they ought to be, is,
that they consist of certain visible signs, which show, that
in the institution of them, that order has been followed
which is necessary, ls£, to ensure their justice and neces¬
sity, that is, their adaptation to the ends of obtaining
good and avoiding evil; 2dly, to render their adaptation
to those ends evident or certain to the individuals whom
ECONO
n- they concern. Now it is clear that these conditions could
15" not be fulfilled if the legislative power was to engross the
hr-' judicial functions. The legislator and judge being the
same person, neither could the legislator find any resource
against his own mistakes in the close review and expe¬
rience of the judge; nor, on the other side, could the ar¬
bitrary will of the judge find any bridle or chain in the
authority of the legislator; but the laws, however good in
themselves, would be rendered evil by a variable and cor¬
rupt administration.
« If the legislator were judge also, his business would
be to consummate and to crown all the mistakes which he
incurred, or the abuses which he committed, in the forma¬
tion of the laws. If the judge were legislator also, the
laws existing only in conformity to his will, he would be
under no necessity to consult the laws in passing his judg¬
ment, and would always ordain as law-maker, what he
should have to determine as law-interpreter. Thus the
reason of the positive laws would be found to consist in
nothing but the will of the legislator, as he would be
guided in making them by nothing but its arbitrary im¬
pulses ; and, in the same manner, the reason of the judi¬
cial decisions would be found to consist in nothing but the
mere will of the judge, whose independence would enable
him to make them whatever he pleased. This double ma¬
lady abundantly proves that those laws would be stript of
the essential characteristics of law, the evidence of their
justice and necessity, and an absolute exemption from
every thing arbitrary.”
The duties of the judge they deduced in the following
order: As the laws are in themselves mute, and the ma¬
gistrate is the organ through which they speak, he is par¬
ticularly charged with the guardianship of the laws. It
is of importance to know what is implied in the term
guardianship of the laws. It relates either to the laws
which are made, or to those which are to he made. The
natural strength of the laws consists in the evidence of
their goodness. Their weakness consists in the strength
of the hands which dispose of the physical power. As
the laws are mute in themselves, they cannot wield that
evidence in which their strength consists. I he magis¬
trates, who are the mouth of the laws, ought therefore to
wield it for them, and to resist the hands in which the
physical power is deposited, when they attempt the in¬
fringement of the laws, with all the force which evidence
can be made to exercise over the minds ol the community.
The same principles demonstrate what are the duties
incumbent on the depositaries of the judicial power with
regard to laws to he made. As laws ought all to be found¬
ed on that concatenation of the causes of human good
which the economists denominated “ the primary and es¬
sential reason of all laws, the evidence of that primary and
essential reason was,” they said, “ a deposit, so to speak,
in the hands of the judicial instruments, of which they
owed an account to the legislature, to the nation, and to
God himself, of whose supreme will that evidence is the
decisive token. It was their first duty, therefore, to have
a perfect knowledge of that primary and essential reason.”
Their next duty was, on all occasions, as far as their ut¬
most efforts could extend, to impart that evidence to the
governing power, and to make it as clear as it can be
made, what laws, not yet proposed, that evidence shows
that the society requires.
The economists further affirmed, “ that no man can,
without rendering himself criminal towards earth and
heaven, undertake to perform the office of judge, accord¬
ing to laws that are evidently unjust. He would in that
case cease to be a minister of justice, in order to become
a minister of iniquity. If any law, for example, ordained
that a man should be condemned to the ultimate punish-
MIST S. 405
ment, on the mere denunciation of another man, and with- Econo-
out any inquiry into the truth of the allegation, is it not
evident that such a law would be a law of murder ? And
is it not equally evident, that the barbarian who should
pronounce a judgment agreeably to that law, would be
the voluntary instrument of murder? It is necessary,
however, either to go the full length of saying that a man
can, without guilt, become the instrument of such a law,
or allow that no minister of the law ought to lend his mi¬
nistry to the execution of a law evidently unjust; for if
he may for one such law, so he may for all, however atro¬
cious ; no outrage to humanity, no excess of evil, presents
any limiting point.”
5. The tutelary authority. “ The union of wills to form
that of individual powers; the union of individual powers
to form a common or public force; the deposit of that
force in the hands of a chief, by whose ministry it may
command, and make itself obeyed,—these,” said the eco¬
nomists, “ are the component parts of the tutelary autho¬
rity. The tutelary authority is nothing more than a phy¬
sical force resulting from an union of wills; and, by ne¬
cessary consequence, it is impossible for it to be either
powerful or secure, unless the intuitive and determining
force of evidence be the principle of that union.
“ In one sense, it may be affirmed that the right of
commanding belongs to evidence alone; for, in the order
of nature, evidence is the only rule of conduct bestowed
upon us by the Author of nature. But all men are not
equally capable of seizing evidence; and even if they
were, the interest of the moment often operates upon
them with such vehemence, that the appetite of enjoy¬
ment will not, in a state of disorder, be restrained by the
evidence of duty. Among human beings, therefore, it is
necessary that the natural authority of evidence be armed
with a physical force; and that the legislative power,
though it commands in the name of evidence, have the
disposal of the public force to ensure obedience to its
injunctions.”
From the analysis of what is necessary to constitute the
tutelary authority, the key-stone, as it were, of the arch
of human society, that which gives to the whole its bind¬
ing force, and retains the parts in their order, the econo¬
mists deduced a variety of most important conclusions, of
which we can only present the more striking as a sample.
The first is, that the legislative and executive powers
are essentially inseparable, and that all the fine-looking
theories, which have solicited and obtained so much of
the admiration of a superficial world about the virtues ot
their separation, are phantoms in the air, the mere visions
of imagination. “ To dictate laws is to command ; and as
our passions render it impossible that commands should
be more than useless sounds without the physical power
of making them obeyed, the right of prescribing laws can
have no existence without the physical power of enforcing
them. The depositary of the power is, therefore, and ne¬
cessarily, the master of the right; and the executive power
is always and certainly the legislative power. Let the
enemies of this conclusion turn and torture the subject
which way they please, they never can escape from it.
Suppose, in order to form two powers, that the legislative
right is confided to one organ, the public force to another,
when opposition arises, which of the two is to be obeyed?
As it is impossible that two contradictory commands can
be obeyed at the same time, it must be absolutely decid¬
ed which of the tw'o is in preference to be obeyed. Now,
this decision is, by the very fact, the destruction of the
other power, and the establishment of that one. Ihese
two powers, therefore, unavoidably run into one; the le¬
gislative power necessarily becomes the executive power,
or the executive becomes the legislative.
ECONOMISTS.
I he second is, that the legislative never has, never can
have, a rigjht to make bad laws. A right to make bad
laws, they said, is a contradiction in terms. A right sup¬
poses a compact I. it is the offspring of an agreement, tacit
or express ; the idea of it can no more exist without that
of a mutual convention, than a debt without the contract
of debtor or creditor. The compact upon which all rights
are founded is that of mutual advantage; it is the union
of all wills, freely determined by a great interest, of which
the evidence is visible to all. How can that union which
only exists for the sake of a good continue to exist if it
is seen to produce evil ? The hope cannot be framed of
maintaining it by force, because force is its effect; force
can exist only subsequent to union, and in consequence of
union. The horrid prerogative of being able to make bad
laws supposes necessarily a state of ignorance, a state in
which the vices of the laws are not illuminated by evi¬
dence ; for it is impossible that a community should con¬
sent to uphold that which visibly hurts them. The power
exists in this hateful situation, but the right as little there
as anywhere else.
The economists come next to the important question,
What is the security for the right use of the legislative poiver ?
On this subject their anxiety to secure to their opinions
the benefit of publicity, and the favour of those in whose
hands the governing powers were actually deposited, led
them to use the veil of expressions too general, and into
some positive mistakes. “ The security,” they said, “ for
the right use of the legislative power, is the interest of that
same power, which can, in the general order alone, find its
own best possible state. The irresistible force which evi¬
dence acquires by publicity is also that security. This
evidence exists in its greatest force in the body of the
magistrates, who cannot, without ceasing to be ministers of
justice, lend their ministry to the execution of laws evident¬
ly unjust; or forbear, without being criminal, their utmost
endeavours to make the evidence of that injustice as clear
as possible both to the legislature and to the nation.”
The grand question followed, What are the hands in
which the legislative power ought to be deposited ? Having
demonstrated that the legislative and executive powers
cannot by possibility exist in any but the same hands, and
that they form together what they denominated the tute¬
lary authority, they proceeded to inquire what was implied
in the idea of authority. “ Unite,” said they, “ upon one
object a multitude of opinions and of wills; from that
union will arise naturally and necessarily an union of phy¬
sical forces for the accomplishment of those wills ; and
from the whole together will result an authority, or, in
other words, a right of commanding, founded upon a physi¬
cal power of procuring obedience to what is thus command¬
ed. If these opinions and wills should disunite, and
form, for example, two parties, the forces will for that rea¬
son be divided; there will be two forces, two authorities,
and, by consequence, two societies. That two authorities
cannot exist in the same society, they maintained by the
following proof. Such authorities must be either equal or
not equal. If equal, each of them taken separately is null.
If unequal, the superior is the real and only authority.
That, in the first case, each taken separately would be
strictly and literally null, arose, they said, from the very
nature of equality, which rendered it absolutely impossi¬
ble that the one could do any thing without the other.
Neither of them, therefore, could procure a single act of
obedience, except by their union ; but, at the very'moment
of their union, they cease to be two authorities, and form
both together only one authority made out of the union of
both. Unity is, then, a part of the very essence of autho¬
rity ; to divide it is to reduce it to an incapacity of acting,
that is, to extinguish it; for authority is not authority but
in so far as it can act to procure the execution of itc r
will.” 118 ^cc
From the necessary unity of the tutelary authority it O
followed, they said, by necessary consequence, that the
organ of that authority must be one man. That the phy¬
sical force which is one of its component parts can be di¬
rected only by one will, is above the need of proof. But
it is said that one will may be formed out of the union of
several wills, and that the public force is not subject to
the separate wills till the union takes place.
To this the economists made answer, that if the oppo¬
sition of one will can suspend the effect of all the others"
it reduces authority to inaction, and for that reason
destroys it. The reason why physical force is neces¬
sary is, that you cannot count upon the union of all wills.
If, to avoid this objection, you have recourse, they said
to plurality of suffrage, you build no longer on the basis
of evidence. That which divides opinions is not yet evi¬
dent. As nothing in government ought to be arbitrary
and every thing that is not arbitrary is founded on reasons!
that is, evidence, there cannot be diversity of opinions on
matters of government, except from the effect of igno¬
rance, or of bad design on the part of the deliberants.
But it cannot be determined by a few voices less or more,
on which side the ground of evil lies. Experience shows
that an accredited error may long unite partizans in much
greater number than the truth by which it is opposed.
I he number of those who concur in an opinion cannot
render that evident which is not evident; their opinion is
only opinion still, which is of course subject to change; for
nothing but evidence is unalterable. And with respect to
bad design, as that results from particular interests, it can
never be determined whether the number of those whom
such interests command is the greatest or the least. On
both accounts, then, plurality of suffrage is not security.
But the greatest evil, they said, of the mode of deter¬
mining, by majority of votes, the question respecting the
social order, was, that it set individual interest in opposi¬
tion to public ; in which case the public interests are sure
to be sacrificed. “ How great soever the differences
among men, they have within them, nevertheless, two
grand moving powers common to all, and which are the
source of all their actions—the appetite of pleasure and the
aversion to pain. Io suppose that men can move in op¬
position to those powers, is to suppose that the cause can
depend upon the effect. But the desire of enjoyment,
and opinion by which it is modified, cannot act naturally
and constantly in the direction of the public interest, when
authority is divided among several persons who are liable
to have interests opposite to one another. For it may be
laid down as a truth which will not admit of contesta¬
tion, that the public interest cannot be considered as
generally safe when it is in opposition to the private
interests of those who are entrusted with it. If one
or more of the public administrators behold any great
advantage to themselves in a sacrifice which has been
made, or which may be made, of the public interest, we
ask, said the economists, What can prevent the sacrifice
from being made ? Not the two springs of action which
nature has placed within us to be the cause of all we do;
for they are in this case put in opposition to the public
interest. Not any other authority in opposition to that of
the public administrator, since by the supposition they
themselves engross the whole of the governing power.”
I he remaining evil which the economists ascribe to this
expedient was, that it attached to the number of votes a
despotical authority, which can safely and usefully belong
to evidence alone. “ Under this system it is not evidence,”
they said, “ which governs; it is opinion, or the will of a
certain number of men actuated by the same opinion.
ECONOMISTS.
Ono- The mischief apt to result cannot be estimated; it is with-
,sts. out bounds. Suppose, in fact, that the vote of the majo-
rjty is dictated by private interests, and that evidence is
on the side of the minority, is it not monstrous that the for¬
mer should command, and that the form of the govern¬
ment should lend to bad design a title to triumph over
evidence itself? This excess of disorder is nevertheless
inevitable under so defective a plan of government; and
the nation remains absolutely without protection against
the scourges with which, under private interest set in
opposition to public, it may be lacerated, especially if
these private interests are the interests of men who, by
their riches or otherwise, are in possession of power.
“ We forget not,” they said, “ that the mischievous
tendency of private interest would find a counterpoise in
the knowledge of the nation. It is very true, that in a na¬
tion really enlightened, a nation that had from evidence
the knowledge of its own true interests, the body of rulers
could not abuse their authority. But why ? because the
evidence of the abuse would in that case annihilate the
authority. But the idea of a nation governed by plurali¬
ty of suffrage, and by evidence at the same time, involves
an absurdity. Again, a nation sufficiently instructed to
know all the links in the chain of social good and evil,
would never sanction a form of government which places
the common interest in opposition to the private interests
of those to whom it is entrusted. Besides, it would be
ridiculous to suppose a nation sufficiently instructed to have
the wills of all united under the evidence of what is best in
the social order, and to suppose its rulers at the very same
time so ignorant as to be divided on those subjects, and
reduced for a ground of decision to plurality of suffrage.
“ So long, on the other hand, as a nation is not thus
instructed, the people properly so called, sunk in igno¬
rance and prejudices, see no farther than the nearest ob¬
jects by which they are surrounded; each canton thinks
the interest of the state is all summed up in the interest
of that canton ; each profession in the interest of that pro¬
fession ; the knowledge of relations and dependencies is
absolutely wanting.. Such men cannot ascend from effects
to causes, much less enumerate the links in the chain of
causes and effects. It becomes, therefore, morally impos¬
sible for them to act by principle and by rule. Ever cre¬
dulous, and prone to prepossession, they must be gained
in order to be persuaded; the same artifices must be prac¬
tised upon them which are used to seduce them. The
resolutions of men, the sport of momentary impressions,
must have all the inconstancy of these impressions. Di¬
vided into rich and poor, the rich look upon the poor as
made for them, and upon every power which they wish to
possess as naturally their due. The poor, justly discon¬
tented with the treatment they receive, and mistaking the
cause, are tempted to envy the condition of the rich, and
to regard as injustice the inequality of the partition which
is made between them. It is evidently, therefore, unsafe
to choose the body of administration exclusively from
either of these two classes. Nor would much be gained
if one half were chosen from the one and the other from
the other. If the separate portions continued to be go¬
verned by the prejudices and views of the classes to which
they belonged, they would do nothing but contend; and
there is only one way in which they could receive a mo¬
tive to cease,—if collusion would enable them to serve their
own private interests by sacrificing the interests with which
they were entrusted?
The economists come then to their grand conclusion
with respect to the artificial or physical security of the
social order. To the question, what is the best form of
government, they answered, the government of a sin¬
gle individual, uniting in his own person the whole of the
407
legislative and executive powers ; in other words, absolute. Econo-
“ All men,” they said, “ would confess that the best form mists,
of government was that which was so perfectly conforma-
ble to the matural and essential order of societies, that no
abuse could result from it; that form, in short, which ren¬
ders it impossible to make gain out of misrule—which sub¬
jects him who governs to the absolute necessity of having no
greater interest than that of governing well.” This advan¬
tage would be found, they affirmed, in the government of an
hereditary sovereign, and it would be found in no other.
The reason was, that in no other could the interests of
governor and governed be rendered absolutely the same.
As the hereditary sovereign is the hereditary proprietor
of the sovereignty, the interest of the sovereignty is his
interest. The interest of the sovereignty means the most
perfect possible state of the governing authority; that is,
the most perfect possible assurance of obedience to its
command. But obedience to command can only arise
out of the union of wills. And there can be no perfect
assurance of the union of wills to obey but from one cause;
the evidence that what is commanded is for the benefit of
those who are to obey. The interest of the hereditary
sovereign, therefore, and the interest of the community, is
one and the same.
With regard to the famous idea of the balance of a con¬
stitution, that fancied arrangement of things in which the
power and will of one part of the instruments of govern¬
ment finds a counterpoise in the power and will of an¬
other ; this pretended counterpoise the economists treated
as a perfect chimera, a mere imposition of the imagination,
a sort of day-dream.
The nation, they said, is either instructed or not in¬
structed. Let us examine the supposition of the balance
in both cases. If it is instructed, or, in other words, pos¬
sesses the evidence of the causes of good and evil in so¬
ciety, there is no balance of forces; there is only one force,
because force follows will, and here wills are united. They
carry the development of this idea to a great length, to
which our limits will not permit us to follow them.
If the nation is not instructed, or, in other words, does
not possess the evidence of the causes of good and evil in
society, the establishment of counter-forces is impractica¬
ble. To ignorance there can be only one salutary coun¬
teracting force, and that is evidence. The effect of ig¬
norance in the sovereign is dreaded; and to remove the
dread, another man’s ignorance is provided. This is what
people call making counter-forces. It must be confessed
that they are not of the very best sort of materials. How
could it ever be imagined that confidence for any thing
stable could be laid on any thing so unaccountable as the
results of ignorance ?
Let us adopt this chimera for a moment, and ask if it
be possible to assure ourselves that each force will be the
same to-morrow which it appears to be to-day. It is evi¬
dently impossible; nay, what each appears to-day may be
a false appearance; for, resting only on opinion, detached
from evidence, it rests on what can never be exactly known.
The idea of a balance is the idea of two powers, one
tending by its own force in one direction, another urging
it by an equal force in an opposite direction. The effect
is rest. To balance the power of the sovereign acting in
one direction, you provide another power acting in an op¬
posite direction. If the powers are equal, they destroy
one another, and there is no action. If they are unequal,
there are not two powers, but only one power; for the
greater swallows up the less.
The theory of a constitutional balance is founded on a
metaphor, a contrivance of language; and moral forces
are supposed to be subject to the laws of material forces.
Material forces acting on a body in different directions,
408
ECONOMISTS.
Econo- make it assume a certain determinable duration between
jTusts. the two. But it has not been considered, that in physics
the direction given does not depend upon the opinion of
the things which act. In morals, on the other hand, the
things which are depended upon for counteraction change
their duration according to their opinion. A theory
which supposes that to be uniform and constant which is
known to be the reverse, is evidently absurd.
Suppose every thing which the theory needs to be sup¬
posed. Conceive an assembly, or assemblies, provided to
counteract the sovereign, and so constituted, as to form
the most perfect counteraction possible; that the sove¬
reign can ordain nothing but with the consent of the as¬
semblies, and the assemblies nothing but with the consent
of the sovereign. In this case, it is not a government of
one, but a government of many; each member of the as¬
semblies shares in the sovereignty;, they are so many
partners, therefore, with a particular partner at their
head. T.he question is, what are the interests of the
partnership? Those of the nation or not? The interests
of the partnership doubtless are, to make it as profitable
to the members as possible; for it would be absurd to
suppose them not governed by their private interests.
Suppose, then, that there is originally a tendency to
counteraction between the sovereign and the assemblies.
It is very obvious that they will put an end to this coun¬
teraction, as far as they discover that the suspension of it
is conducive to their private interests. This is a law of
nature, and may be taken for granted. As far, then, as
the serving of the private interests of the members is con¬
cerned, there is no balance of opposite forces; the forces
combine instead of opposing, and so far the balance is lost.
The loss of the balance to this extent may be a loss en¬
grossing the whole -of the protection to the common inte¬
rest which it was expected to yield, or it may be a loss
not extending so far. If it goes to the whole extent of
that protection, there is to the purpose in question no ba¬
lance at all. If it does not go to the whole extent, there
will still be some balance, more or less. What then is the
case ? The case is, that the loss goes to the whole, and
that the balance does not exist. The balance does not
exist, as far as the private interests of those who share
among them the governing powers are concerned. But
it is only from the private interests of those who govern
that the nation has any thing to fear; it is only against
these interests that the balance is provided. As far, how¬
ever, as these private interests are concerned, the balance
does not exist. As far, therefore, as the balance is even
supposed to be of any service, the balance is excluded by
the law of nature. It follows as a corollary, that in a
country where the people depend upon what is called a
balance as the whole of their security for good govern¬
ment, they have no security at all.
Such is the analysis which the economists present of
the causes of good and evil in human society, and of that
order of things which best insures the presence of the
one and the absence of the other. That part of their
doctrine which alone is yet known to the mere English
reader, their Political Economy, is introduced as only an
auxiliary exposition. It is part of the development by
which they endeavoured to prove the identity which they
supposed between the interests of the sovereign and the
interests of the people. But, as a very distinct account
of this part of their system has been given by Dr Adam
Smith and other writers, and as our object rather was the
exhibition of those doctrines of the sect which nobody
has yet presented to our countrymen in their own language,
we shall content ourselves with only marking the place
which their political economy held in their general system.
As the society has public expenses, it is necessary that
it also have a public revenue. To reconcile the formation Ecoi
of a public revenue with the idea of social order, it ought mis'
to be formed, if possible, without infringing the property '"’Y
of individuals, for the sake of which the order of society
itself is established. It ought, therefore, if possible, to
be formed without diminishing the revenue of individuals.
When the real origin of revenue, the source from which
it all is drawn, is sufficiently understood, the mode of
forming a revenue for the sovereign, without diminishing
that of individuals, would be immediately apparent. The
source of all riches is the land; because the land alone, of all
the sources of production, yields a produce greater than the
cost of the production. The surplus produce of the land,
therefore, constitutes a fund, which is over and above the
remuneration to the agents of production, and out of
which the revenue of the sovereign may be taken, with¬
out diminishing the motive to production; that is, with¬
out retarding the natural progress of the state in wealth,
population, and felicity.
To lay the foundation for this plan of a public revenue,
it was necessary to prove that the land is the only source
of production; and that manufactures and commerce,
though they alter the form of things, never add any thing
to the amount or value of production. In the develop¬
ment ol these views, one of the most remarkable results
at which the economists arrived w’as the necessity of per¬
fect freedom to all the proceedings which lead to produc¬
tion ; as giving to produce that form which is most agree¬
able to those who are to make use of it. Till the time of
the economists, the necessity of holding those proceedings
in chains, and binding them to the will of governments,
was the universal doctrine of governments, and, to a great
degree, of speculators themselves. The general principles
of the economists respecting i\\e freedom of property ne¬
cessary to constitute the foundation of social order, led
them to infer the evil of those abridgments of freedom;
but they examined the inference in detail, and showed
that the meddling officiousness of governments to compel
industry to one thing, and exclude it from another, not
only failed to effect any good purposes, but of necessity
created obstructions of the greatest magnitude to produc¬
tion in general, and tended powerfully to keep down the
wealth, population, and prosperity of the state. The light
which they diffused on this subject, and which soon pro¬
duced a grand effect on the minds of men, was a good,
the magnitude of which is beyond calculation.
Another of their conclusions is, that the revenue of the
sovereign, taken, as they said it ought to be, wholly from
the net produce of the land, ought to be a fixed and un¬
alterable proportion of that produce. The reason appear¬
ed to them conclusive. If the proportion was variable,
and depended upon the will of the owners of the land,
they might be induced to break upon the public revenue,
and deprive the state of those benefits which the public
revenue is necessary to produce. If it depended upon the
sovereign, the property of the land might be detached
from that of its produce; nobody would have a motive to
become a proprietor in land, and all the advantages which
depend on the existence of that property would be lost
the production of subsistence would fail, and the commu¬
nity could not exist.
This proportion being once fixed, there is no longer any
contrariety between the interest of the sovereign and the
interest of any portion of his people ; and the proprietors
of land are as completely and securely exempt from con¬
tributing to the expense of the state, as any other class
of the community. The sovereign derives no part of his
revenue from the subject; and this deplorable source of
the conflict of interests is wholly cut off. The proportion
being settled for ever between the sovereign and the land-
*
?
ECONOMISTS.
409
•ono- owners, that alone is the property of the landowner which
lists, is the proportion remaining to him. The rest is, with
regard to him, as if it did not exist. The sovereign they
denominated, therefore, co-proprietor of the land; and
between him and the landowner, commonly so called, a
perfect community of interests is fixed. It is the interest
of the sovereign that the produce of the land should in¬
crease, because, with every increase in the produce of the
land, his revenue increases. It is also the interest of the
landowner that the produce of the land should increase,
because it is from the same cause that his revenue in¬
creases. See the article Political Economy.
III. In the remarks which we have to offer on the doc¬
trines of this sect, we must content ourselves with a few
general strictures on one or two leading points.
The most important slips which the economists made
in tracing the laws of the social order, are found in their
deductions respecting the tutelary authority. Many steps,
nevertheless, in that doctrine they have established. That
the legislative and executive power are essentially the
same, and cannot be separated except in appearance, they
seem to us to have placed beyond the reach of dispute.
That no security for good government can be found in an
organization of counter-forces, or a balance in the consti¬
tution, they have proved in a manner equally satisfactory.
But we think they have not proved that a security for
good government can ever be found in the personal in¬
terests of a sovereign who unites in himself the whole of
the legislative and executive power. And we think they
have not proved that this security, if it cannot be found in
the interests of such a sovereign, can be found in nothing
else.
1. That the economists do not reason correctly from
their own principles, when they regard the interests of
the sovereign as an adequate security for good govern¬
ment, may be made apparent, we should hope, by an ar¬
gument of a very few steps.
In a perfect state of the social order, they say that the
interest of the sovereign would be the same with that of
the community; and the evidence of this identity would
be so clear to the sovereign, that the effect of it would be
irresistible on his mind. But in a perfect state of the
social order, they say also, that the interest of every man
would consist in the most exact conformity to all the rules
of that order, and that the evidence of this truth would
be so apparent as to be sure of its effect. In the only
state, therefore, in which the interest of the individual
entrusted with the tutelary authority could be relied on
as a security, the tutelary authority itself would not be
required ; for in a state in which every man would, of his
own accord, do what is best, an authority to compel him
to do so would be worse than useless.
The moment when you suppose a tutelary authority to
be necessary, the moment at which you suppose there is
any man in the community who can regard his private in¬
terest as consisting in any degree in what is hurtful to the
community, how can you be sure that the depositary of
the legislative and executive powers will not be that man ?
It can be easily shown that no man is acted upon by
stronger forces to impel him in that direction.
In order to prove that the legislative power cannot be
exercised by the community at large, the economists de¬
clare expressly, “ that if we study the nature of each man
in particular, we shall find in general that he would if
possible have nothing but rights on his own side, nothing
but obligations on the side of other men. The legislative
power can be exercised with safety only by those who
possess in perfection the evidence of the justice and ne¬
cessity of the original and pervading laws of social order.
It cannot, therefore, be exercised in safety by a body of
VOL. VIII.
men, among whom unequal rights exist, and must exist;
and who at the same time are all separately desirous that
the inequality should be in their favour.”
Admit this—admit that all men in general desire to
have nothing but rights on their own side, obligations on
the side of other men; to have the inequality all in their
own favour; to possess advantages, in short, over their
fellows in the community; and it is surely absurd to talk
of security in the interest of the sovereign.
It is a part of their doctrine, that he who is entrusted
with the legislative power cannot be entrusted with the
judicial power; because in that case the same party, both
legislators and judges, would destroy law, by the exercise
of arbitrary will. This is a direct admission, or rather an
unlimited affirmation, that the interest of the sovereign
is not a security such as good government requires.
Again, it is said by the economists, “ that under a govern¬
ment conformable to the principles of order, the positive
laws would be of a justice and necessity publicly evident;
and that in order to apply these laws, the judges would
unite two sorts of knowledge, both of its meaning and of
its reason ; and, secondly, a knowledge of the facts which
constitute the case in which they are required to decide.”
No men, according to them, are more urgently called
upon, none can be more reasonably expected to be in-full
possession of the evidence of that interest which every
man has in the preservation of the social order. Yet so
far are the economists from saying that the interest of
these men, and the evidence they could possess of that
interest, would be a sufficient security for the right admi¬
nistration of their trust, that they declare them liable to
the greatest malversations, and that the ultimate security
would lie in the sovereign, who would check them. It is
surely matter of wonder how the economists could fail to
perceive, that the very same motives which they rejected
as security for the right use of authority in the judges,
they trusted to as complete security in the sovereign ;
though likely to operate on the judges with greater force
than upon him.
2. We think it may also be made apparent, that the
economists do not reason correctly from their own princi¬
ples, when they conclude, that if security for good govern¬
ment cannot be found in the interests of one man entrust¬
ed with the whole of the legislative and executive powers,
it can be found in nothing else.
They expressly state, that “ the first, the real deposi¬
tary and general guardian of the laws, is the nation itself,
at the head of which is the sovereign. Accurately speak¬
ing, the deposit and guardianship of the laws can belong
to those alone who are armed with the superiority of the
physical force, to procure to that deposit its necessary su¬
periority. This being evident, it is the nation as a body
which naturally and necessarily is the depositary and
guardian of its own laws; because there is in the nation
no power comparable to that which results from the com¬
bination of its powers.” Again,
In contending that the legislative and executive powers
must always be exercised by the same hands, they affirm
that those powers could only be exercised by those who
had in their hands the superiority of the physical force.
Observe, now, the legitimate conclusion:
The people alone have the physical force necessary to
constitute them guardians of the laws. The same force
is necessary for the makers and the executors of the laws.
No body, therefore, but the people ever can, accurately
speaking, have either the legislative or the executive
powers. In a state of ignorance they may be led by fraud
to lend their powers to their own destruction. But it is
a part also of the doctrine of the economists, that in a
state of knowledge, in which they may be easily placed,
410 E D D
Economy it is not possible they should make any but a good use of
their power.
“ A nation,they said, “governed according to the
natural and essential order of society, has necessarily the
perfect evidence and knowledge of it, and therefore sees
with certainty that it enjoys its best possible situation.
This perception, of necessity, unites all the wills and all
the forces in the nation for the support of that order,
and, by consequence, for the creation and preservation of
all the institutions which are best adapted to that sup¬
port.” The people, therefore, may be safely trusted.
In a nation governed badly, governed not according to
“ the natural and essential order,” but according to what
the economists call the “ political order,” “ it is always,”
they said, “ one part of the nation which governs the rest;
the weaker which governs the stronger. In this case, too,
the power of him who commands consists in nothing but
the powers united of those who obey him. And this
union of their forces supposes, of necessity, the union of
their wills; which can be founded only upon the persua¬
sion that this obedience procures them their best possible
condition. The powers of the nation in this vicious order
are less at the disposal of the sovereign than at the dis¬
posal of those who hire to him their agency, and, by con¬
sequence, sell to him the means of procuring obedience
from the nation; his situation is therefore at bottom a
real dependence; his situation is precarious, uncertain,
changeable; he is put in chains, which he dares .not at¬
tempt to break.” In every situation, therefore, it is the
will of the people, either of the whole of the people unit-
ECONOMY, Political. See Political Economy.
ECSTACY. See Extasy.
ECSTATICI, Exrfrar/xo/, from i^isrri[u, I am entranced,
in Antiquity, a kind of diviners who were cast into trances
or ecstacies, in which they lay like dead men, or persons
asleep, deprived of all sense and motion, but who, after
some time, recovering their senses, gave strange relations
of what they had seen or heard.
ECTHESIS, in Ecclesiastical History, a confession of
faith, in the form of an edict, published in the year 639 by
the Emperor Heraclius, with a view to allay the troubles
occasioned by the Eutychian heresy in the eastern church.
However, the same prince revoked it, on being informed
that Pope Severinus had condemned it, as favouring the
Monothelites; declaring at the same time that Sergius,
patriarch of Constantinople, was its author.
ECTHLIPSIS, among Latin grammarians, a figure of
prosody, by which the m at the end of a word, when the
following word begins with a vowel, is elided, or cut off,
together with the vowel preceding it, for the sake of the
measure of the verse. Thus they read mult' ille, for mul-
tum ille.
EDAM, a small and woody island on the coast of
Java, about two miles in circuit, whither criminals are
banished. It is nine miles north-north-east from Batavia.
EDAMBAVANUM, a town in the north of India, pro¬
vince of the Carnatic, situated on the western shore of
the bay of Bengal. Long. 75. 55. E. Lat. 10. 27. N.
EDDA, a system of the ancient Icelandic or Runic
mythology, containing many curious particulars of the
theology, philosophy, and manners of the northern nations
of Europe; or of the Scandinavians who had migrated
from Asia, and from whom our Saxon ancestors were de¬
scended. Mr Mallet apprehends that it was originally
compiled, soon after the Pagan religion was abolished, as
a course of poetical lectures, for the use of such young
Icelanders as devoted themselves to the profession of scald
E D D
ed, or of a part of the people united against the rest, which Edd
is in reality both the legislative and the executive power. Wy ,
Estimate, therefore, as high as you please, exaggerate to
any excess, the inconvenience of being governed by the
people, you have that inconvenience still; you are bound
to it by the inexorable law of nature ; it is not within the
range of possibility that you should escape from it.
We have already seen that the economists declare that
“ every man wishes to have all the rights on his own side,
all the duties on the side of other men; that every man
likes inequality, in short, when the inequality is in his own
power.” From this they infer, that the community can¬
not safely govern; but from this it may with much more
justness be retorted upon them, that nothing else can
safely govern. The interest of the community, say the
economists, is easily known ; the evidence of it is within
the reach of all descriptions of the people, and so cogent
as to be irresistible. The union of wills, according to
their doctrine, follows as a matter of course. Here, there¬
fore, it should seem we have a much better security than
can be found in the interest of any individual, sovereign
or subordinate-
,It is remarkable enough that the economists have whol¬
ly overlooked, in their criticism on the plans opposed to
their own, the representative system ; and yet it is pretty
evident that it is by means of the representative system
that the grand problem of government must finally be re¬
solved. The speculations connected with this subject
will, however, find a more fitting place under the article
Government. (a. a. a.)
or poet. It consists of two principal parts ; the first con¬
taining a brief system of mythology, properly called the
Edda ; and the second being a kind of art of poetry, and
called Scalda or poetics. The most ancient Edda was
compiled by Soemund Sigfusson, surnamed the Learned,
who was born in Iceland about the year 1057. This was
abridged, and rendered more easy and intelligible, about
one hundred and twenty years afterwards, by Snorro Stur-
leson, who was supreme judge of Iceland in the years 1215
and 1222; and it was published in the form of a dialogue.
The latter added also the second part in the form of a
dialogue, being a detail of different events transacted
amongst the divinities. The only three pieces which are
known to remain of the more ancient Edda of Soemund
are, the Volupsa, the Havamaal, and the Runic chapter.
The Volupsa, or prophecy of Vola, or Fola, appears to be
the text on which the Edda is the comment. It contains,
in two or three hundred lines, the whole system of my¬
thology disclosed in the Edda, and may be compared to
the Sibylline verses, on account of its laconic yet bold
style, and its imagery and obscurity. It is professedly a
revelation of the decrees of the father of nature, and the
actions and operations of the gods. It describes the chaos,
the formation of the world with its various inhabitants,
the functions of the gods, their most signal adventures,
their quarrels with Loke their great adversary, and the
vengeance that ensued ; and it concludes with a long de¬
scription of the final state of the universe, its dissolution
and conflagration, the battle of the inferior deities and the
evil beings, the renovation of the world, the happy lot of
the good, and the punishment of the wicked. The Ha¬
vamaal, or Sublime Discourse, is attributed to the god
Odin, or Woden, who is supposed to have given these
precepts of wisdom to mankind ; it is comprised in about
a hundred and twenty stanzas, and resembles the book ot
Proverbs. Mr Mallet has given several extracts of this
treatise on the Scandinavian ethics. The Runic chapter
»
E D 1 EDI 411
dredsi contains a short system of ancient magic, especially of
I the enchantments wrought by the operation of Runic cha-
din- racters, of which a specimen is also given. A manuscript
urgk gopy of the Edda of Snorro is preserved in the library of
','v^/ the university of Upsal; the first part of it was published
with a Swedish and Latin version by M. Goranson. The
Latin version is printed as a supplement to Mallet’s North¬
ern Antiquities. The first edition of the Edda was pub¬
lished by Resenius, professor at Copenhagen, in the year
1665, in a large quarto volume, containing the text of the
Edda, a Latin translation by an Icelandic priest, a Danish
version, and various readings from different manuscripts.
Mallet has also given an English translation of the first
part, accompanied with remarks; from which we learn,
that the Edda teaches the doctrine of the Supreme, call¬
ed the Universal Father, and Odin, who lives for ever, go¬
verns all his kingdom, and directs the great things as well
as the small; who formed the heaven, earth, and air;
who made man, and gave him a spirit or soul, which will
live after the body shall have mouldered away: then all
the just shall dwell with him in a place called Gimle or
Vingolf, the palace of friendship; but wicked men shall
go to Hela, or death, and thence to Niflheim, or the abode
of the wicked, which is below in the ninth world. It in¬
culcates also the belief of several inferior gods and god¬
desses, the chief of whom is Frigga or Frea, that is, lady,
meaning thereby the earth, who was the spouse of Odin
or the Supreme God ; and hence we may infer that, ac¬
cording to the opinion of these ancient philosophers, this
Odin was the active principle or soul of the world, which
uniting itself with matter, had thereby put it in a con¬
dition to produce the intelligences or inferior gods, and
men, with all other creatures. The Edda likewise teaches
the existence of an evil being called Loke, the calumnia¬
tor of the gods, and the artificer of fraud, who surpasses
all other beings in cunning and perfidy. It teaches the
creation of all things out of an abyss or chaos; the final
destruction of the world by fire ; the absorption of the in¬
ferior divinities, both good and bad, into the bosom of
the grand divinity, from whom all things proceeded, as
emanations of his essence, and who will survive all things;
and, lastly, the renovation of the earth in an improved
state.
EDDREDSI, an island in the Red Sea, six miles from
the coast of Arabia. Long. 41. 33. E. Lat. 17. 10. N.
EDEGHERRY, a town of Hindustan, in the Carnatic,
144 miles north-west from Madras. Long. 79. 42. E.
Lat. 14. 51. N.
EDEN, the name of a country, with a garden, in which
the progenitors of mankind were settled by God himself.
The term denotes pleasure or delight. It would be end¬
less to recount the several opinions which have been efi-
tertained concerning its situation, some of them very wild
and extravagant. The garden was also called Paradise;
a term of Persic original, denoting a garden. See Paha- Eder
DISE. ||
EDER, a town of Hindustan, possessed by independent
chiefs, in the province of Gujerat, fifty-three miles north- ^*rg1'
3rrt^-‘eaSt fr°m Ahmedabad- Long. 73. 3. E. Lat. 23.
EE)ESSA, also called .ZEgjE, a city of Macedonia, in
the district of Emathia, twenty-eight miles west of Pella,
which is celebrated in the ancient history of this kingdom
as being the point from which the powerful family of the
Temenidae commenced their career of conquest, and from
which they did not desist till they had subdued the whole
of the neighbouring country. (Herodot. viii. 137, 138;
Justin, vii. 1.) It continued long the royal residence; and
even after it had ceased to be so, it still remained the bu¬
rial place of the race of Temenus, and, as Diodorus says,
the hearth of their empire. Here were interred Philip
and Eurydice, king and queen of Macedonia; and it was
intended that the body of Alexander, which was interred
at Memphis in Egypt, should be placed in these vaults.
(Diodor. xix. 52; Pausan. i. 6.) It was here that Philip
was assassinated by Pausanias, at the marriage of his
daughter Cleopatra with Alexander king of Epirus. (Dio¬
dor. xvi. 92.)
It is supposed to be the modern city of Vodina, on the
river Vistritza, where Dr Clarke says there are sepul¬
chres cut in the rock, which the superstitious inhabitants
have never plundered, because they are afraid to go near
them.
EDGWARE, a town of the county of Middlesex,
partly in the parish of that name, and partly in the parish
of Whitchurch or Little Stanmore, nine miles from Lon¬
don. Its chief importance is derived from being on the
great road to St Albans and to Buckingham, a road con¬
structed by the Romans, called the Watling Street. It
formerly was remarkable for the splendid palace of the
Duke of Chandos, which was one of the most highly finish¬
ed and decorated of any of the noble edifices in England.
This building has, however, been pulled down, and one
of the wings converted into a dwelling for a family of re¬
spectability. The population of the parish amounted in
1801 to 412, in 1811 to 543, in 1821 to 551, and in 1831
to 591; but the parish does not include the western part
of the town.
EDHILING, Edhilingus, an ancient appellation of
the nobility among the Anglo-Saxons. Instead of edhi-
ling, we sometimes meet with atheling, or cetheling ; which
appellation was likewise given to the king’s son, and the
presumptive heir of the crown.
EDICT, in matters of polity, an order or instrument,
signed and sealed by a prince, to serve as a law to his
subjects. We find frequent mention of the edicts of the
preetor, or the ordinances of that officer, expounding the
principles on which he was to administer the law.
EDINBURGH.
itlon. Edinburgh, a city, the capital of Scotland, and chief
town of Mid-Lothian, or Edinburghshire, is situated with¬
in two miles of the south shore of the Frith of Forth, at
the distance of about 392 miles north from London, in
55. 57. 20. north latitude, and 3. 10. 30. west longitude-
Ike situation of this ancient city is exceedingly romantic.
It occupies a congeries of hills and elevated grounds, ris-
nig gradually from the shore of the Forth, and attaining in
some parts to a considerable height above the level of the
sea. Ihe central elevation, which has been compared to
nothing so aptly as a wedge lying flat upon the ground,
is terminated at its highest or western extremity by a
mass of rock, seven acres in superficies at top, and about
two hundred and fifty feet above the surrounding country;
on which stands Edinburgh Castle, the nucleus of the city.
From the castle, along the descending slope towards the
east, and for a mile in length, the original, or, as it is
now called, Old Town, was built in the shape of a spaci¬
ous street. In latter times, the city, by means of bridges,
was extended to the grounds on the south and north.
The etymology of the name Edinburgh is obscurely Origin ami
but certainly found in the history of its origin. Subse- name.
EDINBURGH.
412
Edinburgh, quently to the year 449, or the era of Anglo-Saxon domi-
nion in Lothian, the Castle became the occasional resi¬
dence of the chiefs of the Northumbrian dynasty; and
from Edwin, the potent king of the territory, the appella¬
tion Edwin’s burgh was introduced. At a period coeval
with or preceding the era of Edwin, the name applied to
the fort was Mai-din in British, or Magh-dun in Gaelic,
which may either signify the fortified mount in the plain,
or the good fort; but when the English language came into
use, some busy fancies conceived that Mai-din was the
same as Maiden, and hence arose the title which it obtains
in old writings, of Castrum Puellarum, the castle of mai¬
dens, and the fable that it had been the residence of the
daughters of the British kings. The origin of Edinburgh
can now with tolerable accuracy be traced to the begin¬
ning of the seventh century, or the era of Edwin, from
which period it gradually though slowly increased in size.
In the year 856 it is described as a considerable village ;
and, with the castle, it was often the object of contest in the
wars which took place between its Anglo-Saxon possessors
and the natives of Scotland. From the period of the ces¬
sion of Lothian to the Scots, in 1020, the Castle continued
to be the frequent residence of their monarchs ; and here
the widowed consort of Malcolm Ceanmore, the pious and
worthy Margaret, died in the year 1093. In the reign of
David I. the Castle continued a royal residence, and the
town increased so much as to be considered one of the
four chief burghs in the kingdom. Soon after his acces¬
sion the munificent David founded the Abbey of Holy-
rood, on the plain at the eastern extremity of the rising
ground on which Edinburgh was built. On the canons of
this abbey he conferred the privilege of building a suburb
westward from their church, along the ridge, in order to
meet the burgh; and the new town thus reared by the
monks received from them the name of Canonsburgh, or
popularly Canongate, which title the eastern part of the
old city still retains. For a considerable period after the
reign of David, the houses of Edinburgh were all thatched
with straw ; but it nevertheless rose into importance, and
in the twelfth century it was constituted a royal burgh
by William I. surnamed the Lion.
The death of Alexander, king of Scotland, proved fatal
to Edinburgh. In June 1291 the town and castle were sur¬
rendered to Edward I.; but in 1313 they were recovered
by assault, under the conduct of Randolph earl of Moray,
and the castle was destroyed. The English again took and
repaired the castle under Edward III., who resided there
and placed a strong garrison in it. In 1337 the castle,
still in the custody of the English, was besieged by Sir
Andrew Moray, the guardian of Scotland, though without
success; and it was only by an ingenious stratagem, em¬
ployed by Sir William Douglas, in 1361, that the fortress
was secured by the Scottish patriots.
From the era of the murder of James I. at Perth, in
1436-37, the origin of Edinburgh as a national capital may
be dated. “ Neither Perth nor Scone, Stirling nor Dun¬
fermline, being able to secure royalty against the designs
of the nobility, Edinburgh and its castle were therefore
selected as the only places of safety for the royal house¬
hold and the functionaries of government. The infant
sovereign was crowned in the chapel of Holyrood, in which
sat the first parliament of his reign. James II. was par¬
ticularly attached to Edinburgh, and bestowed on it a va¬
riety of grants as to the holding of fairs and markets, the
levying of customs, and also rights to property. Besides,
in 1450, he conferred upon the city the pre-eminent pri¬
vilege of erecting walls and bulwarks for its defence.
Throughout the turbulent reign of James III. Edinburgh
was the seat of the court and regular parliament; and this
king conferred additional immunities upon the city, espe¬
cially one assigning sites for certain markets, which to theEdinbi |,
present day partly continue in the places thus fixed upon, /
On account of the loyalty of the people in assisting him
against Edward IV. he moreover granted the inhabitants
a banner, with power to display the same in defence of
their king, their country, and their own rights. This flag,
which is still esteemed a sort of palladium of the city, is
called from its colour the Blue Blanket, and remains in
the custody of the convener of the trades. In 1497 Edin¬
burgh being visited by a loathsome distemper, imported
from abroad, the king by a proclamation ordered the ma¬
gistracy to put out of the town all infected persons, who,
in order to free the city, were transported by boats to
the island of Inchkeith in the Frith of Forth, which thus
served as a lazar-house for the time. James III., in his
latter years, made Edinburgh Castle the repository of his
treasure, valuable effects, and ordnance. In 1488, when
this prince was murdered near Stirling, the whole fell into
the hands of his rebellious subjects.
The first parliament of James IV. was held at Edin¬
burgh ; and in 1503, on the marriage of this prince with
Margaret, the eldest daughter of Henry VII. of England, it
was the scene of a gorgeous royal pageant, which is fully
recounted by the historians of the time. In 1508 the king
empowered the town to let the grounds of the Boroughmuir
on the south ; but the citizens were no sooner in possession
of this grant, than they set about clearing the ground of its
wood, and so many trees were cut down that they could
not be disposed of; wherefore the magistrates enacted,
that whosoever should buy as much as would form a
new front to a house, might extend the same seven feet I
farther into the street. In consequence of this prepos¬
terous edict, Edinburgh was in a short time filled with
houses of wood instead of stone, and the principal street
was reduced fourteen feet in breadth. The year 1513 was
the epoch of a dreadful plague, and also of the great na¬
tional calamity, the defeat at Flodden. With James pe¬
rished the magistrates and many of the burgesses; the
privy council removed to Stirling for safety; the walls of
the city were greatly extended to the south, and better
fortified ; and at the same time, 1514, the corporation of
the burgh raised the civic military corps called the town
guard, which remained in force till the year 1817.
Throughout the minority of James V. the capital was
the constant scene of tumults, especially one between the
Hamiltons or Arran’s party, and the Douglasses or party
of Angus, which is known in history by the name of Clear
the Causeway. May 1532 is the era of the greatest event
in the annals of the Scottish metropolis. This was the
establishment of the College of Justice, or series of supreme
courts and their functionaries. The city now became a
place of resort from all parts of the kingdom; and the
magistrates for the first time had the High Street repair¬
ed and paved, and gave orders to the citizens to light it.
In 1538 the town was the scene of rejoicings, on the en¬
trance into the city of James, with his wife Mary of Guise.
In 1544 the regency having refused to ally the young
Queen Mary to the son of Henry VIII., an English fleet
and army were sent to ravage Scotland; and in prosecu¬
tion of this object the Earl of Hertford landed w ith a force
near Leith, and set fire to the city in several places. In
1548 Edinburgh was garrisoned by French troops under
D’Esse, who prevented the English from committing any
further serious damage.
Disturbances consequent on the change of religion in
Scotland broke out in 1556, at which time a concourse of
people assembled to protect John Knox from the violence
of the ecclesiastical judicatory. During the struggle which
ensued in effecting the reformation, Edinburgh formed the
chief position of the reformers, as Leith was of the french
*
E D I N B
hurgh.and Catholic party. By the assistance of a Protestant army
sent by Queen Elizabeth, the reformers were finally trium¬
phant, and the first assembly of the reformed kirk met at
Edinburgh on the 15th of January 1560.
A new object of excitement soon appeared in the per¬
son of Mary, the young queen of Scots, who on the 9th of
August 1561 arrived at Leith from France. On the 1st of
September she made her public entry into the city. Darn-
ley was proclaimed king at the market-cross in July 1565,
and next morning was married to the queen in the chapel
of Holyrood. In June following the queen was deliver¬
ed of a son, afterwards James VI.; and in February
1567 Darnley was blown up by gunpowder in a house at
the Kirk of the Field, on the site of which the college
now stands. Mary’s marriage with Bothwell occasioned
fresh disturbances in Edinburgh; and during the period
of the irregular warfare which ensued between the king’s
and queen’s parties, the city suffered very severely. At
length the young king himself entered upon public life,
and on the 17th of October 1579 arrived in the metropo¬
lis with a cavalcade of two thousand horse, and held his
first parliament in person. In the year following, the Earl
of Morton was beheaded in Edinburgh, by an instrument
called the Maiden, which he had himself introduced, and
which is now preserved in the Museum of the Society of
Antiquaries. The character of the city was about this
period greatly improved by the erection of the college,
which was commenced in 1581, and its first professor ap¬
pointed in 1583. The infant institution was warmly pa¬
tronized by King James, who, on the occasion of a tempo¬
rary visit which he made to Scotland in 1617, desired that
it should thenceforth be called King James’ College. In
1585-86 the city was visited by the plague, and suffered
severely from that affliction. In 1591 the city was alarmed
by an attempt of the Earl of Bothwell to seize upon the
person of the king in Holyrood Palace. The attempt,
however, was defeated by the promptitude and vigour of
the citizens. Bothwell himself escaped, but eight of his
followers were taken and put to death on the following
day. In 1596 the clergy and citizens united in tumultuary
resistance to an attempt made by the king to control the
language of the pulpit. Unable to subdue or restrain the
insurrectionary spirit which he had excited, James with¬
drew from the town, and ordered all the public courts
to be removed from it. A reconciliation, however, soon
afterwards took place, and the offended monarch returned
peaceably to his capital. In 1599 the first regular dra¬
matists appeared in Edinburgh. They were from Eng¬
land, and there is some reason to suppose that the immor¬
tal Shakspeare was amongst the number.
Three years after this the regal dignity of Scotland be¬
came extinct, or rather merged in that of England. On
the 24th of March 1603, James was called to the throne
ol the sister kingdom. Two days before his departure,
he addressed the citizens in St Giles’ Church, promising
them a continuation of his countenance, and expressing
the regret which he felt at leaving them. Amongst the
marks of royal favour with which James visited Scotland
alter his accession to the throne of England, was his em¬
powering the magistrates of Edinburgh, in 1609, to have
a sword of state carried before them, and to wear gowns;
this, it is believed, being the earliest appearance of magis¬
terial robes in Scotland. In 1617 James paid a long-pro¬
mised visit to his native country. He entered Edinburgh
by the West Port, and was conducted through the city
with great pomp, and every demonstration of rejoicing.
On the 28th of June he convened his twenty-second par¬
liament at Edinburgh. In this assembly there were several
remarkable acts passed, and amongst these one for the
restitution of archbishops, bishops, and chapters. Four
u R G H.
413
years after this, namely, in 1621, an act of the estates and Edinburgh,
town council was passed for coping houses with lead, slates,
or tiles, instead of thatch, which had hitherto been the
covering commonly' employed. In the same year water
was introduced by pipes into the city; and three new bells
were imported from Campvere in Holland, two for St
Giles’ Church, and one for the Netherbow Port.
Edinburgh seems to have enjoyed uninterrupted tran¬
quillity during the remaining period of King James’s reign.
When he died, in 1625, the ministers of the city eulogis¬
ed him as the “ most religious and peaceable prince that
ever was in this unworthy world.” After the accession
of Charles to the throne, w'hich was proclaimed at the
cross by the officers of state, a convention was held; and
the town council, in consequence of certain ships of war
being wanted, and forts for securing the coasts, not only
agreed to advance the assessment when called upon, but
also to contribute towards the maintenance of 10,000 men.
Some time afterwards, a subsidy for four years having, at
the king’s desire, been granted by parliament, the inha¬
bitants of Edinburgh generously advanced at once their
quota, amounting to L.40,000 Scots. For these acts of
kindness his majesty expressed his gratitude, by sending
a sword and gown to be worn by the provost in the man¬
ner appointed by his father. Like his father, too, Charles
resolved to visit his native country, and though prevented
for some years from fulfilling his design, he at last accom¬
plished it in 1633. He was received by the inhabitants with
much pomp, and the celebrated Drummond of Hawthorn-
den was appointed to address him on his arrival, which
he did with all the characteristic poetical embellishment
peculiar to the times. On the 18th of June, Charles was
crowned in the Abbey Church of Holyrood, and on the
20th he assembled his first Scottish parliament in the
Tolbooth. During his residence in the city on this occa¬
sion, Charles erected the bishopric of Edinburgh, a mea¬
sure which was by no means popular, and gave rise through¬
out the country to a series of civil disturbances, the prin¬
cipal focus of which seems to have been Edinburgh. Du¬
ring the civil war in 1640, the magistrates fortified the
town against the castle, and disciplined the citizens. The
governor, on perceiving these demonstrations of hostility,
fired upon the city ; but being soon afterwards invested by
General Leslie, he was compelled to surrender from want
of provisions.
Charles visited the city a second time in 1641, and was
received and entertained by the magistrates with the
utmost deference and respect. A parliament met on
the 15th of July, the result of whose proceedings was an
entire change in the government, Charles retaining only
the name of king, and the kingdom the appearance only
of a monarchy. He agreed to an act of oblivion, by which
his opponents were pardoned at the expense of his friends ;
and after a residence of four months in the northern
metropolis, he returned to London, having entrusted his
Scottish affairs to a committee of the estates. Two years
after this, in the month of July, the Solemn League and
Covenant for the extirpation of prelacy was signed in the
High Church; and shortly afterwards the city raised and
supported a regiment of twelve hundred men, to assist the
English parliamentary forces against Charles, at a cost of
L.60,000 Scottish money. For this and several other acts
of hostility to the king, the town was in 1645 threatened
with a visit from the Marquis of Montrose; but it was
saved from this disaster by the presence of another. This
was the plague, which committed great ravages amongst
its population. It was, however, the last visit which this
dreadful scourge paid to the metropolis. Shortly after this
(such were the changes of these eventful times), the city
borrowed L.40,000 Scots to raise troops for the national
414
EDINBURGH.
Edinburgh, engagement in favour of Charles. This debt they after-
Wards refused to pay, on the plea that it was contracted
in an unlawful cause. The impartial justice of Cromwell,
however, subsequently compelled them in 1652 to refund
the money. In May 1650 the Marquis of Montrose was
conveyed a prisoner into Edinburgh. Three days after¬
wards he was brought to trial, condemned to death, and
suffered on a gallows erected at the cross. Two months
subsequently Charles II. was proclaimed on the same spot;
and in the end of September following, the town was in
the possession of Cromwell. On this occasion the magi¬
strates fled to Stirling, then the head-quarters of the king’s
forces. The town was thus left without any other civic
rulers than that of a body of thirty citizens, chosen by
the inhabitants to discharge in part the functions of the
magistracy, who absented themselves front the 2d of Sep¬
tember to the 5th of December 1651. About this period
the town council granted liberty to one Adam Woodcock
to establish a stage-coach between Edinburgh and Leith ;
which is amongst the first notices of a public conveyance
of the kind in Scotland, and on that account sufficiently
remarkable.
On' the 11th of May 1660, the magistrates sent the
town-clerk to Charles, who was at Breda, expressing their
concurrence in his meditated restoration, already agreed
to by both houses of parliament in England, and their
joy at the prospect of such an event. Their messenger
“ had a most gracious acceptanceand, in the name of
the burgh, presented “ a poor myte of L.1000, which he
did graciously accept, as though it had been a greater
business.” The feelings of delight which the arrival of
the king in England excited in Edinburgh, were express¬
ed in the customary mode of costly feasting, a sumptuous
banquet having been served up by the town council at the
cross. This attachment on the part of the citizens was
ill requited by Charles, who, in settling the affairs of the
kingdom, re-established episcopacy in Scotland, in oppo¬
sition to the oath and obligation of honour by which he
was bound. It is not surprising, therefore, that the Scot¬
tish people, so attached to presbyterianism, should have
expressed their indignation at his conduct in the most
open manner. But when the liberty of the press, and
freedom in matters of religion, were in consequence also
speedily infringed upon, the whole country rose in arms,
particularly the western counties. The attempt, how¬
ever, which was made upon the life of Archbishop Sharp
in the streets of Edinburgh led that prelate to advise
those milder measures which were soon afterwards adopt¬
ed by government. In 1679, James, then duke of York,
came to reside in Edinburgh, and took up his abode in
the Palace of Holyrood, where he remained till May
1682. During this period he rendered himself extremely
odious by his opposition to the Covenanters, and by his
attempting the revival of the drama, and encouraging other
amusements to which the people were exceedingly averse.
Two years after this, the magistrates set up for the first
time a regular state carriage; and were so much pleased
with the accommodation and conveniency of this novelty,
that they ordered two coaches from London for their own
especial use, with the addition of four horses. On the de¬
mise of Charles II. in 1685, the town council erected an
equestrian statue to him in the Parliament Square, as a
proof of their gratitude to and affection for that monarch.
Soon after James’ accession, the unfortunate Earl of Ar¬
gyll was brought a prisoner into Edinburgh; and after
being ignominiously paraded through the streets, his head
was struck off by the Maiden, this being the last time, it
is believed, that the instrument was employed. After a
series of disturbances and tumultuary proceedings, occa¬
sioned by the attempts of James VII. to restore the Roman
Catholic religion, a convention of estates was held at Edin¬
burgh, in which it was declared that James had forfeited
the crown ; a resolution which was followed in March 1689
by an offer thereof to William and Mary.
The next epoch in the history of Edinburgh is formed
by the celebrated Darien expedition in 1696. The inter¬
vening period is not without interest, but it exhibits no
event of any importance in relation to the city. The oc¬
currences during that time were wholly of a national cha¬
racter, and are therefore more properly to be looked for
in the history of the kingdom. In the famous bubble al¬
luded to, Edinburgh was deeply interested, and was full of
the high anticipations which this speculation had diffus¬
ed throughout Scotland. About L.400,000 sterling were
subscribed in the country. Six ships of considerable force
and burthen, and laden with various commodities, sailed
from the Frith of Forth; and in 1699, when intelligence
arrived of the settlement being formed, the rejoicings in
Edinburgh were unbounded. On the other hand, the dis¬
appointment excited on learning in the following year of
its failure, filled the streets for several days with tumult
and riot; and the city altogether presented such a scene
of lawless anarchy, that the commissioner and officers of
state deemed it necessary, for their personal safety, to re¬
tire until the popular fury had somewhat abated.
In 1702 a similar commotion was excited, from an ap¬
prehension on the part of the populace that one Captain
Green, and his accomplices, four in number, who had been
condemned for piracy and murder on the high seas, were,
through the connivance of the authorities, to be permit¬
ted to escape the consummation of their sentence. The
Lord Chancellor, in passing from the privy council in his
coach, was attacked at the Tron Church, the glasses were
broken, and he himself was dragged from the carriage.
He was rescued by some of his friends ; but it was found
necessary to sacrifice the seamen to the resentment of the
populace. The following year was distinguished by its pre¬
senting the last exhibition of the ancient Scottish national
pageant called the Riding of the Parliament. This parting
show took place on the 6th of May 1703. In 1704 the in¬
habitants of Edinburgh were gratified by a ceremony quite
in accordance with the spirit of the age. By an act of the
privy council, a large quantity of vestments, beads, cha¬
lices, crucifixes, and other appurtenances of Catholic wor¬
ship, were brought to the cross, and there publicly burnt
before the eyes of a delighted populace.
The tumults to which the city had been so frequently
subject were revived in 1707, on the occasion of the pro¬
posed union of the kingdoms. This, as is well known, was
at first an exceedingly unpopular measure in Scotland; and
the consequence was a series of the most violent and out¬
rageous proceedings on the part of the mob, in order to in¬
timidate those members of the Scottish parliament who
were favourable to the obnoxious project. The deed, how¬
ever, was finally accomplished, though not without great
danger to the lives of its most active promoters. A small
summer house in the Regent Murray’s garden is still point¬
ed out as the place where the last signatures were attach¬
ed to the document which terminated the independence ol
Scotland as a separate kingdom.
In the civil war of 1715 Edinburgh was little further in¬
volved than from the circumstance of an unsuccessful at¬
tempt made by the Jacobites to surprise the Castle. About
this period the provost received a regular salary of L.300
per annum in order to defray his expenses ; and in 1718 the
scheme which had for some time been framed of extend¬
ing the pier and building docks at Leith was in part exe¬
cuted ; the town’s debts, which even then amounted to
L.25,000, being thereby, in the space of five years, nearly
doubled.
EDINBURGH.
415
The next occurrence of any importance in the annals of brought to trial, three were condemned and hanged, whilst Edinburgh.
the city, was the celebrated tumult designated the Porteous some others were transported. This fearful outbreaking '—  '
Mob, which took place in September 1736. The accounts of juvenile delinquency led to the adoption of several
of this remarkable affair are so numerous, so easily acces- beneficial plans for the better instruction of the lower
sible, and withal in general so full, that it is deemed unne- classes, the benefits of which still continue to be felt,
cessary to give more than a mere outline in this place. For- The most remarkable event in which Edinburgh was
teous, whose name distinguishes the transaction, was cap more particularly concerned since that period was the
tain of the city guard. At the execution of a criminal of visit of George IV. to Scotland in 1822, when he spent
the name of Wilson, whose fate had excited an extraordi- upwards of a fortnight in the metropolis, inspecting its
nary sympathy, 1 orteous, dreading a rescue by the mob, public institutions, and receiving the congratulations of
who suddenly became tumultuary, ordered the guard to his Scottish subjects. Being the first crowned head that
fire on them. Six people were killed by the discharge, and had entered Edinburgh since Charles II. in the year 1650,
eleven wounded. For this Porteous was tried and con- his late majesty’s visit caused the greatest excitement
demned to death; but he was afterwards reprieved by throughout the country, and produced such an influx of
Queen Caroline, then regent. Resolved however that he people from the surrounding counties, particularly from
should not thus escape the fate which they conceived he the west and north, as never before perhaps took place in
merited, the mob, on the evening of the day previous to Edinburgh. His majesty arrived in Leith Roads on the
that on which he was to have been executed, broke into 14th of August, and landed on the 15th, on which occa-
the jail in which he was confined, and having dragged him sion he made a grand progress from Leith through several
out, led him to the Grassmarket, the usual place of exe- of the streets of the New Town to the Palace of Holy-
cution at that period, and there hanged him by torch rood, and thence drove to the Dukeof Buccleuch’s house
light on a dyer’s pole. at Dalkeith, where he resided during his stay in Scot-
On the I7th September 1745 Edinburgh was taken pos- land. On the 17th he held a levee in Holyrood Palace,
session of by the rebels under Prince Charles Edward, and on the 19th received the addresses of the commission
A party of the Highlanders secured the Netherbow port, of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland. Next
and thus made themselves masters of the city. The main day he held a drawing-room, and on the 22d he went in
body of the rebel army arrived shortly afterwards at the procession from Holyrood House to the Castle. On the
King’s Park, headed by the Chevalier in person, who took 23d he reviewed a body of cavalry on Portobello Sands,
up his residence in Holyrood, where he held open court, and on the same evening attended a ball given in honour
and was visited by great numbers of the inhabitants. The of the royal visit by the peers of Scotland. On the 24th
city remained on this occasion in the hands of the rebels his majesty presided at a banquet given by the civic au-
till the 31st of October, when, finding it impossible to thorities, and on this occasion conferred on Sir William
reduce the castle, they proceeded on their march towards Arbuthnot, then Lord Provost, the honour of baronetcy.
England. On the 26th his majesty attended a ball given by the
The public transactions of an historical nature which oc- Caledonian Hunt; on the evening of the 27 th he ap-
curred in the metropolis after these events, are not, except peared at the theatre; and on the 29th, after a visit at
in a few instances, such as to require a particular descrip- Hopetoun House, he embarked at Port Edgar, near
tion. On the 2d of February 1779, an infuriated mob, Queensferry, on his return to England,
under the influence of religious fanaticism, burnt one Ro» In 1824 the city suffered from a series of conflagrations
man Catholic chapel and plundered another. Twelve years of a most destructive and appalling description. The first
later, on the outbreaking of the revolution in France, a of these commenced on the 24th of June, w hen some of
considerable body of the inhabitants manifested their ad- the private dwellings in the Parliament Square, with a
miration of the new political principles which were then part of the High Street, and several closes, were consumed,
brought so prominently forward, by forming themselves The second and the most extensive began on the evening
into associations for supporting the cause of political rege- of the 15th November, and continued for three days, de-
neration. These societies, the members of which received stroying an immense number of houses, chiefly between
the appellation of Friends of the People, at length drew the High Street and Cowgate, also several fronting the
down upon them the notice and vengeance of govern- High Street at the Cross, another portion of the Parlia¬
ment. Several persons accused of having been concerned ment Square, and likewise the spire of the Tron church,
in spreading sedition, and engaged in treasonable prac- which had accidentally caught fire from the flying brands,
tices, were arrested and brought to trial. One of them In no part of the united kingdom was the passing of the
named Watt, was condemned and beheaded, whilst others reform bill more strenuously insisted upon, or received,
were transported. Subsequently, during the war with when framed into a law, with more heartfelt demonstra-
France, the citizens showed great zeal in support of the tions of joy, than it was by the citizens of Edinburgh,
government, by forming themselves into regiments of vo- The first election of members of parliament under that
lunteers, consisting of yeomanry, artillery, and several act took place at the cross on the 21st of December 1832;
corps of infantry. On the last night of the year 1812, and never, except perhaps during the visit of George IV.
being the season devoted to innocent festivity, the streets w as such a multitude of people collected upon its streets,
ot Edinburgh were disgraced by a series of riots, out- Edinburgh is surrounded on all sides, excepting on the
rages, and robberies, hitherto unparalleled. During al- north, where the ground slopes gently towards the Frith
most the whole night, after eleven o’clock, a gang, princi- of Forth, by lofty hills. On the east, in the immediate
pally composed of young men, armed with bludgeons and vicinity of the city, are the abrupt and rocky elevations
other weapons, infested some of the principal streets of of Arthur’s Seat, Salisbury Crags, and the Calton Hill,
the metropolis, and knocked down, robbed, and otherwise the first of which rises to the height of 800 feet above the
wantonly maltreated almost every person who had the level of the sea. On the south are the Braid and Pent-
misfortune to fall in their way. In the dreadful tumult land Hills, and on the west the hill of Corstorphine. Salis-
and scuffles which ensued, one officer of police was killed bury Crags form a continued range of naked and perpen-
and many persons dangerously wounded, some of whom dicular cliffs, which rise like a mural crown from the sum-
died in consequence, whilst a great number received se- mit of the hill, and at a distance have a singularly wild
vere contusions. Several rioters were seized, and being and romantic appearance, the interest of which is height-
EDINBURGH.
416
Edinburgh, ened by the contrast of the splendid city over which they
tower majestically. The town stands on high and uneven
ground, being built on three eminences, which run parallel
to one another from east to west. The most elevated of
these, on which the city was originally built, is terminat¬
ed abruptly on the west by a precipitous rock surmounted
by the Castle, whilst to the east it gradually inclines to
the plain from which rises the lofty elevation of Arthur’s
Seat. The valley to the north of this ridge, which was
formerly filled with water, has been of late years drained,
and is now laid out in public gardens. It still retains,
however, its original name of the North Loch.
Rise and Till the middle of the eighteenth century, Edinburgh
progress ofcontinued to occupy little more than the same space of
the city, ground which it had covered in the reigns of James III.
and James IV.; namely, the ridge between the Castle
on the west and Holyrood House on the east, with the
hollow called the Cowgate on the south, and part of the
rising ground beyond. In a great proportion of this
Old Town the buildings are crowded and irregular, and
the houses in some parts rise to the unusual height of
eleven stories. The principal, or High Street, which is
somewhat more than a mile in length, and is in some
parts ninety feet in breadth, occupies the centre of the
ridge, and extends, under different designations, nearly
in a straight line from the Castle on the western extre¬
mity to the Palace of Holyrood on the eastern. Both sides
of the ridge occupied by this street are covered with build¬
ings crowded together in the closest array, and descend¬
ing from the High Street, chiefly in narrow lanes, or
closes as they are termed, which are seldom broader than
six feet, and which, consisting of high houses on either
side, are inhabited by numerous families, with little regard
either to health or cleanliness. A proposal in the reign
of Charles II. to extend the town over the lands to the
north, beyond the hollow called the North Loch, having
been frustrated, nothing was done till 1751, when an old
building having fallen, by which one person was killed, a
strong feeling regarding the inconvenience and decayed
condition of the houses began to be expressed. The first
decided step towards extending the city was taken by Pro¬
vost Drummond, on the 21st of October 1763, when he
laid the foundation-stone of what is now styled the North
Bridge, in order to connect the town with the properties
on the north. This edifice consists of three great central
arches, each seventy-two feet in width and sixty-eight in
height, with small side arches, making the total length
310 feet. In 1767, whilst this work was proceeding, an
act for extending the royalty was obtained; and a plan for
the New Town being then formed by Mr Craig, architect,
the foundation of the first house was laid on the 20th of
October the same year. By this plan the chief streets of
the New Town of Edinburgh were disposed in three parallel
lines from east to west; that on the south side, formed like
a terrace, and facing the Old Town, being called Princes
Street; a similar street facing the north, called Queen
Street; and the third, which was named George Street,
running up the centre. An elegant square at the west end
of George Street, styled Charlotte ’Square, corresponded
to another at its eastern extremity, designated St Andrew
Square. Between Princes Street and George Street a nar¬
row street of inferior houses runs along the whole length,
and a street of nearly the same appearance is situated be¬
tween Queen Street and George Street. Seven cross streets,
namely, St Andrew, St David, Hanover, Frederick, Castle,
Charlotte, and Hope Streets, intersecting these parallel
thoroughfares at right angles from south to north, com¬
pleted the plan. Coeval with the erection of these splen¬
did streets and squares, a lofty street was opened from
the extremity of the North Bridge and Princes Street,
towards Leith Walk, or main road to Leith, opening an ex-Edinl
eellent communication with that sea-port. The whole of
the new edifices according to Mr Craig’s plan were com¬
pleted about the year 1815, but the greater part much
earlier. Only one serious error was committed by the local
authorities in connection with the building of the New
Town. This was the formation of a huge mass of earth
called the Earthen Mound, which was laid down in the
valley of the North Loch, parallel to the North Bridge,
and calculated to serve the purpose of a second bridge. It
was begun about 1781, out of the accumulation of the
rubbish from the excavations of the New Town, and has
been recently completed. It is computed to contain up¬
wards of two millions of cart loads, and now serves as a
thoroughfare from Hanover Street to the upper part of the
Old Town.
Such was the success attending the building of the New
Town, that in time a second extension of the same nature
was projected, still farther towards the north, beyond an
open area in front of Queen Street. The design of this
second town intimately resembled that of its predecessor,
consisting of a terrace in front and rear, a large central
street, with two intermediate narrow ones, and cross
streets in continuation of those in the former New Town.
This vast and splendid addition to Edinburgh was com¬
menced in 1801, and was nearly finished in the year 1826.
Its central street is entitled Great King Street, and, as in
the case of George Street, it is terminated by large open
areas: one of these, of an oblong form, is styled Drum¬
mond Place; whilst the other, of a circular shape, is call¬
ed the Royal Circus. Since this portion of the New Town
was completed, another extension, still farther towards the
north, has been projected, and is now partially built; and
between the new streets in this quarter and the sea, a
distance of about a mile and a half, are now built a num¬
ber of isolated villas and ranges of houses, of a similarly
elegant style of architecture.
About the time when the second New Town approach¬
ed its completion, a series of superb edifices began to be
erected on its north-western confines, between Charlotte
Square and the Water of Leith, on the property of the
Earl of Moray. This magnificent part of Edinburgh was
erected during the years 1823, 1824, and 1825. An open
space called Moray Place forms the chief cluster of build¬
ings, and is considered as the most superb part of the mo¬
dern extension of the metropolis. To the westward of Char¬
lotte Square and Princes Street another series of beautiful
streets and crescents have been erected, chiefly on the
lands of Coates. As it is by a road through these new
streets that persons from the west of Scotland enter the
town, the appearance of so many structures on a scale of
uniform splendour almost unrivalled in Britain, seldom fails
to excite feelings of delight and admiration. This quarter
of the town has latterly been considerably improved by
the erection of a magnificent bridge of four arches, stretch¬
ing across the deep dell or ravine at the bottom of which
flows the Water of Leith. This bridge was completed in
1832, and will henceforth serve as the principal entrance
to Edinburgh from the north.
The extension of the New Town to the north and west
absorbed public attention till about the year 1813, when
the idea was started of opening an entrance from the
east. The foundation-stone of a bridge to form a connec¬
tion with the Gallon Hill, styled Regent Bridge, was laid
in September 1815, and the work was completed in 1819.
The arch of this structure is fifty feet wide, by about the
same in height. On the top of the ledges of the bridge
are arches and ornamental pillars of the Corinthian order,
which on either side are connected with the houses in the
line of street formed at the same time. The street, or
EDINBURGH.
417
i ir^h. Waterloo Place as it has been designated, is composed
of very superb houses of four stories, and each is termi¬
nated at Princes Street by a pediment and pillars above
the lower story. From Waterloo Place, the new road by
which most of the vehicles and passengers from the east
enter the city, proceeds by a sweep round the southern
face of the Calton Hill. The entrance by this thorough¬
fare is not less commanding and beautiful than that by
the west; and the semicircular range of houses forming the
Royal and Regent Terraces, lately erected on the slope
of the hill, have a very striking effect. From the north¬
ern and eastern base of the hill towards Leith, the rudi¬
ments of another New Town were simultaneously formed.
At present (1833) only a few streets in this quarter have
been completed, but these are on a scale not surpassed by
many of the modern structures.
Some years prior to the foundation of the New Town,
certain private proprietors began to build lines of houses, of
a good style of architecture, on the grounds to the south
of the Old Town, and in this way George Square, Argyle
Square, and Brown Square were opened for the recep¬
tion of the higher class of citizens. The erection of these
and other edifices soon suggested the necessity of a proper
communication between them and the High Street, on the
plan of the North Bridge ; and on the 1st of August 1785,
the foundation-stone of a bridge crossing the Cowgate,
styled the South Bridge, was laid, and the thoroughfare
opened for passengers in March 1788. The South Bridge
consists of twenty-two arches, all of which are concealed
by the buildings along its sides, with the exception of one
at the centre spanning the Cowgate. In later times the
city has spread very considerably towards the south; and
beyond the outskirts of the streets in this direction there
have been erected towards Newington a variety of neat
and beautiful villas, which form the residences generally
of the more respectable mercantile classes. From the
period of the erection of the South Bridge in the year
1788, no further improvements took place in this direc¬
tion, till after the opening of the Union Canal. The for¬
mation of this canal, to serve as a water communication
with Glasgow, by joining the Forth and Clyde Canal, took
place in virtue of an act of parliament procured in 1817
by a joint-stock company. Its eastern termination is about
half a mile south-west from the Castle. Here the place
j of shipment, called Port Hopetoun, has been greatly im¬
proved by the erection of various new streets, one of which
communicates directly wdth the west end of Princes Street
or the New Town. In order to form an equally direct line
of communication with the Old Town, and, generally speak¬
ing, that the High Street might be more thrown open to
an approach from the southern districts, an act of parlia¬
ment was procured by the inhabitants in 1827, vesting
powers in certain individuals called Commissioners of Im¬
provements, to open two lines of approach to the Old
Town, one proceeding from the neighbourhood ef Port
Hopetoun on the south-west, and the other from the dis¬
trict on the south, adjacent to George Square and the
open grounds or Meadow Walks in its vicinity. Both lines
were calculated to render the destruction of many houses
on the Castle Hill and in the Lawnmarket absolutely ne¬
cessary, as well as to require bridges of an expensive na¬
ture; and the outlay for the whole was ordained by the
same and by a subsequent act of parliament to be de¬
frayed by assessments upon the inhabitants. These im¬
provements are now (1833) in progress, and when finish¬
ed will do much to renovate the more ancient part of the
capital, as well as to form useful thoroughfares through
the town.
At the present day the city extends about two miles in
length and the same in breadth, and presents, when viewed
von. vm.
from the Calton Hill, one of the most extraordinary pano- Edinburgh,
ramie scenes which can be conceived. On the right are the
splendid lines of streets of the New Town, constructed of
white sandstone, gradually spread out with a moderate des¬
cent towards the flat ornamental grounds adjacent to the
sea. In front we have the vista of Princes Street, nearly a
mile in length ; and on the opposite side of the ravine of the
North Loch, now disposed as pleasure-grounds, the huge
unbroken line of tall structures forming the Old Town, ter¬
minated by the towers of the Castle. Beyond and towards
the south, the town is seen to spread out in lines of streets
and detached houses, till arrested by the fields and inclo¬
sures towards the Braid Hills, or on the east by the pre¬
cipitous heights called Arthur’s Seat and Salisbury Crags.
The view from the Calton Hill in a northerly direction is
also remarkably fine, comprehending a prospect of the
whole Frith of Forth, and the hills of Fifeshire on its op¬
posite shore.
We now proceed to notice Edinburgh in detail, com¬
mencing with a description of its more remarkable public
edifices.
The Castle, as has already been stated, owes its origin Public
as a regular place of defence to the Anglo-Saxon dynasty, buildings
near the end of the fifth century; but its fortifications £p- tl"
pear to be of comparatively modern date. The rock on
which the fortress is situated rises to a height of three
hundred feet, and is precipitous on all sides except the
east, on which it is connected with the town by an open
glacis or esplanade. The surface of the rock measures
about seven acres, and is surmounted by battlements, lofty
barracks, and other buildings. Amongst the buildings
crowning the summit is that erected by Queen Mary as a
palace, in a small apartment on the ground floor of which
that princess was delivered of her son, James VI., on the
19th of June 1566. In the same part of the edifice is
situated the crown room, where the regalia of Scotland
were lodged in 1707, and found in 1818, after being lost
sight of for upwards of one hundred years. These regalia
consist of a crown, sceptre, sword of state, and lord trea¬
surer’s rod; the former is supposed to be even more an¬
cient than the time of Robert Bruce, though it has under¬
gone several changes since that period; the sword was a
present from Pope Julius II. to James IV. The arsenal
or storehouse of the Castle is capable of containing 30,000
stand of arms, and the whole buildings about 2000 men.
In March 1829 an addition was made to the curiosities of
the castle by the restoration of an ancient piece of ord¬
nance called Mons Meg, which had been removed from
the fortress and carried into England in 1754. This im¬
mense cannon, for it is of an unusual size, was fabricated
in the year 1498, and is curious from its structure, being
formed of bars bound together with rings. It was em¬
ployed at the siege of Norham Castle, but was rent in
1682, when firing a salute in honour of James duke of
York.
The charter of foundation of the Abbey of Holyrood is
dated 1128. It was largely endowed by the founder Da¬
vid I., and was considered as one of the wealthiest eccle¬
siastical establishments in Scotland. In 1544 it was sack¬
ed, and in part destroyed, by the Earl of Hertford when
he invaded Scotland; and again in 1547. The chapel
attached to it was desecrated and dismantled by the mob
in 1688; and in 1768 the roof fell in, and thus left it in
the ruined condition in which it now stands. Within this
chapel were interred, amongst other illustrious remains,
those of Queen Magdalen and Darnley. The royal palace
is contiguous. It is not known at what time a palace was
first erected on this spot. The more ancient parts of that
which is now in existence were built by James V.; but it
has since undergone many changes, and little if any of the
3 G
EDINBURGH.
418
Edinburgh, original building remains. In the time of Cromwell it was
burnt by the soldiers of that usurper, and was rebuilt after
the Restoration by Charles II. The architect on this oc¬
casion was Sir William Bruce, and the builder who carried
his designs into execution was Robert Mylne. The edi¬
fice is of a quadrangular figure, with an open court in the
centre, surrounded with piazzas. Amongst the curiosities
exhibited in the Palace of Holyrood is the chamber of
Queen Mary, .in which may still be seen, though in a de¬
cayed state, the bed of that unfortunate princess. In a
hall or gallery a hundred and fifty feet in length, twenty-
seven and a half in breadth, and eighteen in height, and
which is adorned with the portraits of a hundred and six
Scottish monarchs, takes place the election of representa¬
tive peers for Scotland. The most remarkable circumstance
connected wdth Holyrood House is its privilege of affording
a sanctuary to debtors. The limit of this privileged terri¬
tory is marked in the direction of the town by a strand ox-
gutter at the foot of the Canongate, and at the distance of
about a hundx-ed yards from the palace. Altogether the
sanctuary describes a circle of about five miles, including
Salisbury Crags and Arthur’s Seat. The immunities of
the sanctuary have existed since the date of the monas¬
tery. Considerable improvements were made on the ex¬
terior walls of the palace during 1832, and some years
previously, at the expense of his majesty.
Edinburgh is now chiefly distinguished as a capital by
being the seat of the Scottish supreme courts or College
of Justice, which, as has ah-eady been mentioned, was con¬
stituted in 1532 by James V. This body consists of per¬
sons intimately connected with the various supreme courts,
and comprehends the judges or senators, the faculty of
advocates, writers to the signet, solicitors in the supreme
courts, advocates’ first clerks, clerks to the judges, ex¬
tractors, keepers of the different departments, and, in a
general sense, may be said to include the principal pro¬
fessional gentlemen in Edinburgh. This influential body
at one time possessed some valuable privileges, the chief
of which now remaining are exemptions from certain local
taxes, and non-liability to be sued before any inferior civil
court of record.
The principal court connected with the College of Jus¬
tice is the Court of Session, or supreme civil court. This
judicature possesses all those peculiar powers exercised in
England by the Courts of Chancery, King’s Bench, Com¬
mon Pleas, Admiralty, and others, being a court both of
law and of equity. The constitution of the court, during its
continuance of three hundred years, has undergone many
alterations, and is now established upon an improved plan,
introduced by an act of parliament passed in 1830. There
are thirteen judges, who are separated into the first and
second divisions. In the former there are six lords, and in
the latter seven. The presiding judge in the first division
is the Lord President, and in the second division the Lord
Justice Clerk, a title which he derives from being co-ordi¬
nately the presiding judge of the High Court of Justiciary.
The two divisions form distinct courts, which, excepting on
particular occasions, have no connection with each other.
Popularly, they are each denominated the Inner House,
from their meetings being held in inner apartments leading
from the Outer House, or hall of the Parliament House.
From the first division are detached two judges with the
title of Lords Ordinary, and from the second there are
detached three. Before one or other of these ordinaries
all causes are brought in the first instance ; and, in case
of dissatisfaction with their judgments, the suits can be
removed by appeal into the Inner House, but always to
that division before whose ordinary the case was primarily
brought. The office of Lord Ordinary on the Bills, which
is successively discharged by the judges, is of great im¬
portance in a national sense, as, besides other duties, itEdinbu
includes that of supreme civil magistrate of the kingdom, '^r
Cases may be removed by appeal from the Court of Ses¬
sion to the House of Lords. The court has a winter
term of four, and a summer term of two months.
Agreeably to certain acts of parliament, a civil jurisdic¬
tion, with the title of Jury Court, was instituted in Scot¬
land, and subsisted under various modifications, between
the years 1816 and 1830, when it ceased as a separate
court. By the act 1 William IV. cap. 69, passed 23d July
1830, the benefit of jury trial in civil causes was united
with the ordinary jurisdiction of the Court of Session. In
virtue of this act, the lords president of the two divisions
respectively try by jury all issues arising out of causes in
these divisions, and otherwise discharge all duties pre¬
viously assigned to the Loi'd Chief Commissioner of the
Jury Court. In certain circumstances, the ordinary lords
of session may also discharge the same duties, and the
Lord Chief Commissioner is still qualified to act as a
judge in such causes. The juries who are impannelled
under this branch of the jurisdiction of the Court of Ses¬
sion are twelve in number, as in England, and must be
unanimous in their verdicts or findings.
Every alternate Wednesday during terms, the Teind
Court of Scotland, instituted in 1707, is held in Edinburgh,
in the apartment of one of the divisions. The judges of
the Court of Session ax-e, by commission, judges also in
this. It is the peculiar duty of the Teind Court to regu¬
late the stipends of the clergy of the established church
of Scotland, and other secular matters touching ecclesi¬
astical polity. Nine judges form a quorum.
The Higli Court of Justiciary was instituted in 167*2.
It is composed of a president, styled the Lord Justice
Clerk, and five other judges, who are at the same time
lords of session. This supreme criminal court sits every
Monday during term, and in the vacations of the Court of
Session, the commissioners of justiciary proceed, in small
detachments, upon appointed circuits.
The Commissary or Consistorial Court, the duties of
which comprehended pleas relative to declarators of mar¬
riage and legitimacy, to divorce, adherence, and the like,
was in 1830 amalgamated with the Court of Session. The
head consistorial court of Scotland was thus almost en¬
tirely abolished. A certain number of commissaries, hoxv-
ever, yet remain, whose duty consists in granting confir¬
mation of testaments of persons dying abroad and leaving
personal property in Scotland. They have also a special
jurisdiction in the county of Edinburgh, the same as she-
riffs in other counties.
The Dean of Guild Court consists of the Dean of Guild,
Old Dean of Guild, and six guild councillors. The powers
of this court were formerly far more extensive than they
are at present, having relation to causes between mer¬
chant and mariner, as well as to those between merchant
and merchant. The institution, however, of the Admi¬
ralty Court, by the act 1681, cap. 16, superseded its in-
terference with maritime affairs. Even yet, the functions
of the individual who is at the head of it do not seem to
be very distinctly defined ; but he is independent of the
burgh or bailie court. The Dean of Guild is chosen
yearly, and with his council has power to regulate the
buildings within burgh, agreeably to law. Ble alone is
competent to grant authority, by his warrants, or jedges as
they are called, for pulling down or erecting houses; and
he gives directions as to keeping buildings and streets
in proper repaii'. The provost and bailies liave no power
to review the decrees of the Dean of Guild, x-edress being
only competent in the Court of Session, as in the case of
judgments by the bailie court. For more specific infor¬
mation, see Guild.
I
«
E D I N B
burgh. The Court of Exchequer is now abolished as a separate
judicature, its functions being included in those of the
Court of Session. The only remaining branch of the Scot¬
tish Exchequer establishment now consists of a variety of
officers for conducting the business connected with the
different descriptions of revenue drawn from the country,
which pass through this channel. Amongst these is an
officer of the crown, with the title of King’s Remem¬
brancer for Scotland, whose duty it is to secure all fines
payable to the king, all treasure found, and property fall¬
ing to the crown as ultimus hares.
The Lyon Court is now nearly extinct. The duties of
the Lord Lyon, so named from the circumstance of the lion
forming the armorial bearing of the kings of Scotland, are
performed by two deputies. These duties consist in the
ordering of proclamations, conferring armorial bearings,
and superintending the management of state ceremonials
and processions. He has besides a control over a large
body of messengers at arms, and other officials, amongst
whom are six heralds, and the same number of pursuivants.
The fees payable at the lyon office for patents of arms
are, for arms without supporters L.52. 10s., and with sup¬
porters L.84; but if the patent be granted as a favour,
the price is L.115. 10s. The Lord Lyon receives a share
of the fees to the amount of L.700 a year. Altogether
his office is worth about L.1300 annually. It is enjoyed
by the Earl of Kinnoull.
The Faculty of Advocates is an association of barristers
entitled to plead before the supreme or any other courts
of record. It consists at present of four hundred and thir¬
ty members, who are presided over by a Dean. All can¬
didates for admission into this society must undergo an
examination on the Roman and Scotch law, and every
member on entering pays a fee of nearly L.300, one half
of which goes to support the library belonging to the Fa¬
culty. The appointment of judges of the Court of Session,
and the thirty-three sheriffships of Scotland, together with
several other government offices and dignities, are filled up
exclusively from this body. The Faculty, however, pos¬
sesses no charter of incorporation.
The Society of Writers to the Signet is also an un¬
incorporated body, consisting at present of nearly seven
hundred members, qualified to conduct causes before the
supreme courts, and possessing the sole right of passing
papers or warrants under the signet or seal of his majesty,
from which circumstance their professional name is de¬
rived. The principal and most lucrative branch of their
professional employment is that of conveyancing. In order
to promote the study of this important department of
legal practice, they, many years ago, founded a lecture¬
ship, which was, in 1825, erected into a professorship in
the University. In order to gain admission into this So¬
ciety, an apprenticeship of five years is necessary. At
entering into his indentures, the apprentice must show
that he has attended a university for two years ; and,
during the course of his apprenticeship, he must attend
the law classes in the University. A thorough exami¬
nation on the principles of the law of Scotland, and the
practice of conveyancing, takes place previously to ad¬
mission into the Society. Its affairs are administered at
stated meetings. It possesses an extensive and very va¬
luable library; and most of the members are associated
in supporting a fund for widows, which, by act of parlia¬
ment, must amount to L.20,000 for every hundred mem¬
bers.
The Solicitors before the Supreme Courts form a body of
attorneys incorporated in 1797. Its members amount to
between one and two hundred. With the exception of the
power of passing papers under the seal of his majesty,
their privileges are nearly the same with those of the Wri-
URGH. 419
ters to the Signet. They have also office-bearers, a hall of Edinburgh,
meeting, and a library.
Of the class of practitioners denominated Advocates’
First Clerks, there are not a great number. They are en¬
titled to act as attorneys in the Supreme Courts on under¬
going the usual examinations, and paying certain fees.
Every advocate has the privilege of appointing a clerk.
The edifice which has been appropriated since the
Union as the place of meeting of the supreme courts, is
the old Parliament House of Scotland, situated in the
centre of the Old Town, and separated from the High
Street by the cathedral of St Giles. This structure was
erected between the years 1632 and 1640, at an expense
of L.11,600 sterling to the civic corporation. In recent
times, however, with the exception of the great hall, it
has been almost totally renewed. It stands on the south¬
ern and western sides of the inclosure called the Parlia¬
ment Square, a place formerly surrounded with the shops
of tradesmen, but entirely remodelled since the destruc¬
tive fires of 1824, and now exhibiting on the south and
west sides splendid erections in the Grecian style of ar¬
chitecture, with piazzas underneath. These improvements,
which extend over the front of the old parliament-house,
or present court-house, have been executed chiefly by go¬
vernment, at a great expense. The entrance to the courts
is at the south-west angle of the square ; the great hall is
122 feet by 49, and has a lofty roof of carved oak, arched
and disposed in the same style as that of Westminster Hall.
In this hall or outer house generally sit two of the Lords
Ordinary, and the floor during session is the daily resort of
all persons connected with the courts. On a pedestal near
the south end of the hall is a statue in white marble, of
the late Lord Viscount Melville, executed in 1818 by
Chantrey.
Adjoining the Parliament House are certain spacious
apartments fitted up as libraries for the Faculty of Ad¬
vocates and the Writers to the Signet. The Library of
the former body was founded in 1682, at the instance of
Sir George Mackenzie, then Dean of Faculty. The col¬
lection is now the largest and most valuable in Scot¬
land, and is in every sense one of the noblest national
libraries. By an act of parliament passed in the reign of
Queen Anne, it is entitled to a copy of every work printed
in Britain; and, with the sums annually disbursed in the
purchase of useful and rare books, it is rapidly increasing.
The library is under the charge of six curators, a librarian,
and assistants. At present the collection is on the eve
of removal to a large new building erected for its recep¬
tion on the west side of the Parliament House, and facing
the new approach from the south.
The Library of the Society of Writers to the Signet oc¬
cupies a splendid modern erection of two stories, in the
Grecian style of architecture, extending westward from
the north-west corner of the Parliament House, and hav¬
ing a front to the Lawnmarket. This edifice contains
two large and beautiful apartments, decorated in front of
the book-presses with rows of columns, which produce a
fine effect. These noble apartments have cost the society
L.25,0(K). The library, like that of the Advocates, is under
the charge of curators, a librarian, and assistants.
The Scottish Supreme Courts possess accommodations
for their records, and the functionaries connected there¬
with, in a building styled the General Register House
of Scotland, one of the most remarkable national edifices
in the metropolis. It stands at the eastern extremity of
Princes Street, fronting the thoroughfare of the North
Bridge. The foundation was laid on the 17th of June
1776, and L.1200 were given by George III. out of the
money arising from the sale of the forfeited estates, to
assist in its erection. It was fully completed in 1822,
420 EDINBURGH.
Edinburgh, at a very great expense, which has been defrayed by
government. The building, which was planned by Mr
Robert Adam, forms a square, with a quadrangular court
in the centre, containing a circular edifice or dome fifty
feet in diameter, which joins the sides of the court, leav¬
ing spaces at the angles for the admission of light.
Viewed from the street, it presents a compact building
of 200 feet in length, by a breadth of 120, Each of the
corners is surmounted by a small turret, and the central
tower is crowned with a dome. The interior consists prin¬
cipally of small fire-proof chambers, in which are deposited
state papers, copies or records of all the title-deeds of
property, and of all legal contracts, mortgages, &c.; also
records of all suits at law from an early period.
The Post-Office establishment for Scotland is conducted
in Edinburgh, and occupies a handsome new edifice of
four stories in Waterloo Place. The duties of this well-
regulated establishment are executed by a numerous body
of individuals, amongst whom are a secretary, cashier,
clerks, and letter-carriers. The produce of the Scottish
posts is now upwards of L.207,000 annually, and the ex¬
pense of management about LAS,000.
The Stamp Office for Scotland is also situated in Wa¬
terloo Place, a short way westward of the Post-Office, to
which it bears a very considerable resemblance in point of
architectural design. This establishment, which is under
the superintendence of a comptroller, is subject to the
Board of Stamps in London.
In looking along the noble line of Princes Street, the
eye is arrested by a structure of modern date, occupying
a situation at the northern extremity of the Earthen
Mound, or that end adjoining the New Town. This edifice,
which fronts the opening of Hanover Street, is entitled
the Royal Institution Buildings, and is appropriated for the
accommodation of a variety of institutions. It was found¬
ed in the year 1823, on a substructure of piles and cross
bearers, rendered necessary by the nature of the ground,
which consists of forced earth. The building is from a
Grecian model, executed by Mr Playfair, and has a range
of Doric columns on each side, and another range sur¬
mounted with a pediment in front. Owing to the opposi¬
tion of the Princes Street proprietors, the structure is not
sufficiently elevated. The interior accommodations con¬
sist of one large central hall for exhibitions, and an upper
and lowrer range of smaller apartments on each side. Ad¬
ditions are at present making to the building by an exten¬
sion in the direction of the Mound, which will very much
improve its appearance. The Royal Institution, under
whose auspices this edifice was founded, was incorporated
by royal charter in the year 1827, for the purpose of en¬
couraging the fine arts in Scotland. The primary object
of the institution is the annual exhibition of pictures of
modern artists, and the purchase of those which are deemed
of sufficient merit to entitle them to a place in a regular
gallery of paintings. The institution also occasionally
offers exhibitions of paintings by the old masters. A se¬
parate establishment was founded in Edinburgh in 1826,
by a body of artists, with similar objects in view, entitled
the Scottish Academy of Painting, Sculpture, and Archi¬
tecture, which has now also regular exhibitions.
The Royal Society of Edinburgh was incorporated by
royal charter in 1783, for the purpose of encouraging phi¬
losophical inquiry, and discussing matters connected with
nature and art. Its meetings, which are very numerous¬
ly attended, take place twice a month during winter and
spring, and it has published twelve volumes of transac¬
tions. It is governed by a president, several vice-presi¬
dents, and twelve counsellors. It possesses very splendid
* apartments, an extensive library, and a small museum, in
the Royal Institution Buildings.
The Society of Antiquaries of Scotland originated inEdinbi
1780, and was incorporated by letters under the great seal ]'
in 1783. The society is governed by a president, three vice-
presidents, and a council of nine members, with a trea¬
surer, two curators, a general secretary, and a secretary
for foreign correspondence. The king is patron. The
fee of admission is three guineas, and two guineas annu¬
ally, or a life premium of twenty guineas. Its meetings
are held every alternate Monday during winter and spring.
The society possesses a museum, in which there is a con¬
siderable collection of antiquities, principally Scottish. Its
apartments are situated in the Royal Institution Buildings.
The Board of Trustees, which was instituted for encou¬
raging trade and manufactures in Scotland, was erected by
letters patent in the year 1727. On its erection it was en¬
dowed with the sum of L.3800, and an annuity of L.2000
from government. It has since then received various ac¬
cessions of revenue, chiefly from the forfeited estates, which
now amounts altogether to L.7961. 13s. 8d. annually. The
management of this capital is vested in twenty-eight trus¬
tees, consisting of peers, judges of the supreme courts, the
lord advocate, bankers, and gentlemen of property, all of
whom give their services gratis. Vacancies are filled up
by the crown ; five members form a quorum ; and meetings
are held periodically throughout the year. The chief ob¬
ject of this institution has hitherto been the encourage¬
ment of the manufacture of particular kinds of linen and
woollen cloths; but it now extends its patronage to other
branches, and pays, besides, LAOOper annum to the Royal
Institution of Scotland for the Encouragement of the Fine
Arts. It has an academy for instruction in drawing, and
possesses a noble gallery of casts from the ancient sculp¬
tures. It has apartments in the Royal Institution Buildings.
The Highland Society of Scotland originated in the
year 1784. In 1787 it was incorporated by royal char¬
ter, and assisted by a grant of L.3Q00 from the forfeited
estates. In 1789 it received a further and annual grant
of L.800 from the treasury. Its members exceed seven¬
teen hundred, and are admitted by ballot at public meet¬
ings, each paying a life subscription of L.12. 12s. or an
annual fee of L.l. 3s. 6d. The society is under the ma¬
nagement of a president, four vice-presidents, a treasurer
and secretary, two deputy-secretaries and collectors, and
a body of thirty ordinary and ten extraordinary directors.
The object of this institution was originally confined to
improving the condition of the Highlands; but its patron¬
age is now extended over the whole kingdom, and em¬
braces every species of improvement in agriculture, ma¬
nagement of cattle, and general country produce. It
annually awards premiums in money and medals to the
amount of L.1200, for the best specimens of live stock,
shows of which are every season made in some particular
district. The society has a handsome hall, model-room,
and other apartments in Albyn Place, at the west end of
Queen Street.
The Caledonian Horticultural Society, the object of
which is the promotion of improvement in the cultivation
of the best kinds of fruits, flowers, kitchen vegetables, and
the like, was established in the year 1809. It is supported
by the sale of shares of twenty guineas in value, or annual
fees of two guineas. Its affairs are managed by a presi¬
dent, four vice-presidents, a secretary, a treasurer, an audi¬
tor, an artist, a council of twelve, a committee of prizes,
and a garden committee. The society has an excellent
experimental garden in the grounds of Inverleith.
The object of the Society of Arts, instituted in 1821,
is to encourage the invention of machines calculated to
improve manufactures, the discovery of chemical prepa¬
rations of utility in the arts, and the exposition of facts
tending to improve the natural products of the soil. 'Ib®
r El
EDINBURGH.
421
iurgh.king is patron. The society has honorary, associate, and
ordinary members. The latter pay L.l. Is. annually, or a
life premium of L.10. 10s. It distributes about L.80 every
year in premiums for models, essays, and the like.
P cmo- Nelson’s Monument occupies the summit of a rocky
Mmts. eminence on the Calton Hill, and is one of the most pro¬
minent, though at the same time most unsightly objects in
Edinburgh. It was begun by subscription soon after the
death of Lord Nelson, whose actions it was intended to
commemorate, but it was not finished till 1815. It consists
of a lofty circular turret, with a stair inside, and is battle-
mented on the top. Round the base is a low structure in
the same style of architecture, divided into apartments.
The National Monument occupies a prominent situation
on the Calton Hill. It was begun by a body of subscribers
in 1822, and was intended to be an exact model of the Par¬
thenon at Athens. Its object was to commemorate those
Scotchmen who had fallen in the different engagements by
sea and land during the wars consequent on the French
revolution; but it has been arrested in its progress for
want of funds, and only twelve massive pillars of exqui¬
site workmanship have as yet been completed.
A monument of a singularly elegant description, de¬
signed by Mr Playfair, and which is a reproduction, with
some variations, of the choragic monument of Lysicrates,
was erected in 1830-31 on a prominent situation on the
Calton Hill. It is commemorative of the late Mr Dugald
Stewart, professor of moral philosophy in the university of
Edinburgh. A monumental erection, commemorative of
Professor Playfair, is also placed on the Calton Hill, at
the corner of the enclosure of the Royal Observatory ; and
more recently another to the memory df Robert Burns has
been raised on an isolated eminence fronting the new High
School. David Hume’s Monument, within the old Calton
Hill burying-ground, is also conspicuous.
Lord Melville’s Monument, an elegant fluted column, in
the centre of St Andrew Square, was finished in 1828. It
was raised by subscriptions chiefly among gentlemen con¬
nected with the royal navy. On the summit is a colossal
figure of the above nobleman, cut in freestone. This beau¬
tiful column rises to the height of 136 feet, is modelled
after Trajan’s pillar at Rome, and forms altogether a very
prominent and striking object.
In George Street, at the crossing of Hanover Street,
i stands a pedestal, surmounted with a figure in bronze of
George IV., erected in 1832, in commemoration of the vi¬
sit of his majesty to Scotland in 1822. A similar pedestal
and figure of Mr Pitt were erected in George Street, at
the crossing of Frederick Street, in 1833. Both statues
are by Chantrey.
During the reign of episcopacy in Scotland, Edinburgh
insti- was the seat of a bishop. It is now the place of meeting
t^aiidof the General Assembly of the church, and the seat of a
ll)”s synod and presbytery. Ecclesiastically, the ancient and
extended royalty comprehend thirteen parochial divisions,
eight of which have one clergyman each, and five are dou¬
ble or collegiate charges. That portion of the town which
is not within these divisions belongs either to the parish of
Canongate, or to that of St Cuthbert’s. Originally the city
consisted of only one parish, of which the ancient church
of St Giles was the place of public worship. This vene¬
rable fabric, which occupies a prominent situation in the
centre of the Old Town, on the south side of the Pligh
Street, is of unknown origin and date. It has been pre¬
sumed, however, that a church existed on its site as early
as the year 854 ; but the first certain intelligence regard¬
ing it occurs in 1359, when a charter was granted by
David II. bestowing some land on a chaplain who offici¬
ated at one of its altars. The building, previously to cer¬
tain alterations which were made upon it, was cruciform,
E ’sias-
ti<
till
bi,
and of Gothic architecture, but rather substantial than Edinburgh,
elegant. From the centre of the whole there rises a
square tower, the top of which is encircled with open fi¬
gured stone work, wrhilst from each corner of the tower
springs an arch, and the four meeting together produce
the appearance of an imperial crown. These arches are
highly ornamented with small pinnacles, and from the
apex rises an equally ornamented short spire. This ele¬
gant object is prominent above the whole of the town;
and being 161 feet in height, it may be seen at a great
distance. After the Reformation, the church was divided
by internal walls into separate places of worship. By these
and other subsequent alterations, the choir or eastern divi¬
sion formed the High Church ; the one occupying the cen¬
tre of the building, w^ styled the Old Church ; another en¬
tering from the south-west corner, the Tolbooth Church;
and one at the north-west corner was named the New North
Church. Between the years 1829-33 this extensive edi¬
fice was remodelled, and greatly improved in external ap¬
pearance, by an entire casing of new walls. It now forms
two churches; and contains also a spacious hall intended
as a place of meeting for the General Assembly. The de¬
sign of the remodelled church does great credit to its ar¬
chitect, Mr William Burn.
Trinity College Church, which is next in point of an¬
tiquity to St Giles, is situated on the low ground east from
the North Bridge. It was founded in 1462, by Mary of
Gueldres, widow of James II.; and in 1502 James IV. in¬
vested it with some additional revenues. At the period of
the Reformation it shared the fate of the other ecclesias¬
tical establishments of the kingdom. Its revenues were in
1567 given to Sir Simon Preston, provost of Edinburgh,
who again presented them to the town council as a com¬
mon fund. In 1587 the magistrates restored an hospital
which had formerly belonged to the establishment, and
which still exists. The body of its royal foundress lies
interred in an aisle on the north side of the church, and
within its walls are likewise the remains of many persons
celebrated in Scottish history.
The Old Grayfriars Church was built in 1612, but it
was not constituted a parish church till 1722. Previous¬
ly to this, in May 1718, its spire was blown up by gun¬
powder, which had been lodged in it by the town autho¬
rities for security. The New Grayfriars Church was built
in 1721. Both of these buildings, which are separated
only by a wall, were erected on what was formerly the
garden ground of the monastery of Grayfriars, in the south
part of the town, and which, on the demolition of the fri¬
ary in 1559, was conferred by Queen Mary on the town,
to be used as a public cemetery. The Old Grayfriars
Church is remarkable for being the place where the Na¬
tional Covenant was begun to be signed in 1638, and for
having had the historian of Charles V. as its minister.
The Tron Church, which stands in the Pligh Street,
was begun in the year 1627, and opened for public worship
in 1647. Its appellation is acquired from the circum¬
stance of a tron or weighing beam having formerly stood
upon the spot. Its steeple, formed of wood and covered
with lead, was destroyed during the great fires of 1824,
but has since been replaced by an elegant stone spire of
160 feet in height.
Lady Yester’s Church was founded in 1647, by Dame
Margaret Ker, Lady Yester. This pious lady gave the
magistrates fifteen thousand merks for the erection of the
building, and made a bequest of a thousand merks per
annum for the stipend of a minister. The original edifice
having become ruinous, it was rebuilt in 1803. It is situ¬
ated in Infirmary Street, and has no spire.
St Andrew’s Church was erected in the year 1781.
The body of the building is of an oval form, with an ex-
422
EDINBURGH.
Edinburgh, ceedingly handsome spire in front, partly resting on four
Corinthian pillars, and rising to a height of 168 feet.
St George’s Church, which is situated on the west side
of Charlotte Square, was founded in the year 1811, and
opened in 1814. It is a huge square fabric, in a plain Gre¬
cian style, and is capable of accommodating about 1600
persons. From the centre rises a tower surmounted with
a dome, 150 feet in height, somewhat in imitation of St
Paul’s. The building cost L.33,000.
St Mary’s Church stands in Bellevue Crescent, and was
opened in the year 1824. It is of an oblong figure, with a
front of considerable elegance, consisting of a portico with
a range of pillars of the Corinthian order, supporting a
pediment, from which rises a spire.
St Stephen’s Church, situated at the northern extre¬
mity of St Vincent Street, was opened in 1828, and cost
L.25,000. It is ornamented with a square towrer of solid
proportions, 162£ feet in height, terminated at the top
with a balustrade. The church can accommodate 1600
persons.
The foregoing churches are all under the patronage of
the civic corporation. The clergy, eighteen in number,
are supported by an assessment, called annuity-tax, levied
within the ancient and extended royalty on all houses and
shops, with the exception of the dwelling-houses of the
members of the college of justice. The following table,
drawn up from official documents, exhibits the nature and
amount of the funds belonging to the church establish¬
ment. It is for the year 1830.
Assessment, or annuity-tax L.8581 0 0
Seat rents of the churches 7240 0 0
Impost, a small assessment 1329 0 0
Proportion of shore-dues at Leith ...3616 0 0
Dues or customs of the pack, Leith, 21 0 0
Proportion of ale and beer duty  137 17 8
Lady Yester’s bequest  13 17 9
Dues at Port-ITopetoun  24 8 0
L.20,963 3 5
Exclusively of the seat-rents, which are appropriated to
ordinary purposes, the foregoing sums, when properly col¬
lected, afford a stipend to each minister averaging L.611.
St Cuthbert s Church is situated in the low ground be¬
tween the western extremity of Princes Street and the
castle. There formerly stood on the same spot an ancient
edifice, one of the earliest places of Christian worship in
this part of Scotland. The modern church is a large
plain building, with a spire at the western extremity; it
is of date 1/89, and stands in the midst of an extensive
burying-ground. In modern times it has been popular¬
ly named the West Kirk, from its situation to the west of
the metropolis. The populous parish of St Cuthbert’s has
likewise at present (1833) five chapels of ease, one of
which, in Clerk Street, erected in 1823, is a handsome
building.
The church of the parish and subordinate burgh of Ca-
nongate is of date 1688, and was erected at an expense of
L.24,000 sterling. It is situated in the midst of a bury-
ing-ground, on the north side of the Canongate, but having
no spire, it is not conspicuous as a place of worship.
Lady Glenorchy’s Chapel, a simple square edifice, situat¬
ed near the College Church, was founded and endowed
by the pious lady whose name it bears, in the year 1772,
and was opened in 1776. It is under the government of
the established ecclesiastical courts.
The Gaelic Chapel, the only one in Edinburgh in which
the service is conducted in the Celtic tongue, is situated in
North College Street. It was erected in the year 1815,
and is under the jurisdiction of the established church
courts.
There are five chapels in Edinburgh belonging to the Edinl
communion of the Scottish Episcopal church, to which a
considerable number of the higher classes are attached. '
The most elegant of these perhaps is St John’s, situated at
the west end of Princes Street. This edifice was founded in
1816, and finished in two years, at an expense of L.15,000.
It is of the florid Gothic style, from a design by Mr Bum"
measures 113 feet in length by sixty-two in breadth, and is
terminated at the western extremity by a beautiful square
tower, rising to a height of 120 feet. Another Episcopal
chapel, of tasteful Gothic architecture, is that of St Paul’s
in York Place. It was designed by Mr Elliot, founded in
1816, and finished in 1818 at an expense of about L.12,000.
It measures 122 feet by seventy-three, and from each'cor¬
ner there rises a small circular turret. St George’s Chapel,
a much smaller building, is also situated in York Place, and
of date 1794. St James’s Chapel is erected in the line of
houses in Broughton Place. St Peter’s Chapel is a similar
plain edifice in Roxburgh Place. St Paul’s Chapel, Car-
rubber’s Close, is the oldest episcopal chapel in Edin¬
burgh, having been erected about the end of the seven¬
teenth century.
The Roman Catholic communion has a principal place
of public worship, and a subordinate one. The former is
a large structure, with a Gothic gable front, situated in
Broughton Street, and was built in the years 1813-16, at
an expense of about L.8000, raised by subscriptions and
collections. The latter is situated in Blackfriars Wynd.
Another Roman Catholic chapel is at present in the course
of erection in Bristo Street, in the southern part of the
town.
Edinburgh possesses a number of places of public wor¬
ship belonging to the United Secession church, and other
presbyterian dissenting bodies. The following are those of
most note. Nicolson Street Chapel was founded in 1819,
and was raised at an expense of L.6000. It has a broad
and lofty Gothic front, with pinnacles rising to the height
of ninety feet. Broughton Place chapel is a modern build¬
ing, with a Grecian front, portico, and range of Doric co¬
lumns. Rose Street Chapel is a handsome structure of
plain Grecian architecture, built in 1830. The Cowgate
Chapel, now belonging to the Secession, was formerly oc¬
cupied by an episcopal congregation, from whom it was
purchased ; a recess in the interior is decorated by some
oil paintings of Runciman. The other chapels are at
Stockbridge, Lothian Road, Bristo Street, Potterrow, and
the Vennel.
?h
./
Edinburgh is the seat of one of the presbyteries of the
Associate Synod of Original Seceders, and of two congre¬
gations. One chapel is situated at the foot of Infirmary
Street, and the other in Richmond Street. The former is
under the superintendence of the Reverend George Pax¬
ton, professor of divinity, and author of the Illustrations
of the Holy Scriptures; and the latter under that of the
Reverend Dr M‘Crie, author of the lives of Knox and of
Melville.
There is also a congregation belonging to the Original
Burgher Associate Synod, and one to the Cameronian
communion, a rejtresentative remnant of the old Cove¬
nanters.
Edinburgh is likewise the seat of a presbytery of the
Relief Synod, and there are in the city five places of wor¬
ship belonging to that communion. Besides the foregoing
churches and chapels in Edinburgh, there are two chapels
of Scottish Independents, one of English Independents,
four of Baptists, one of Methodists, one of Bereans, one
of Unitarians, one of Glassites, one of the New Jerusalem
Church or Swedenborgians, one of the Society of Friends,
and a Jews’ synagogue.
Edinburgh has long derived celebrity from its educa-
EDINB
rgh.tional establishments, the chief of which is the University.
^ Uz 'j'his institution dates its origin about the year 1583, when
Iv u- the first professor was appointed ; and under the patron-
tio and a„e 0f James VI. it soon assumed the character of an or-
»c dinary college. About the year 1660, by means of benefac¬
tions from public bodies and from private individuals, the
establishment had attained a respectable rank among simi¬
lar institutions. As a school of medicine it first rose into
repute under Dr Alexander Munro, who became professor
of anatomy in 1720 ; and in this branch of science it after¬
wards attained a distinguished pre-eminence, from possess¬
ing professors remarkable for their abilities and success as
teachers. In the other branches of knowledge, its reputa¬
tion was gradually exalted to the highest pitch by Mac-
laurin, Black, Fergusson, Stewart, Robertson, and other
eminent men. The decay and insufficiency of the old build¬
ings had long been complained of; and at length, in 1789,
the foundation was laid of a new and extensive structure,
the plan of which had been furnished by Mr Robert Adam.
But this plan, after it had been partly carried into exe¬
cution, was altered and modified; and the building has
been finished in conformity with a very skilful and tasteful
design furnished by Mr William Playfair. It still (1833),
however, wants a dome and other interior finishings, to ren¬
der it complete. This splendid edifice forms a parallelo¬
gram, inclosing a quadrangular court. The sides of this
court are occupied with the class-rooms, the museum,
and the library. In the middle of the front are three
entrances to the court, consisting of lofty porticos pene¬
trating the building.
The number of Professorships is about thirty, and these
are divided into four Faculties, viz. Theology, Law, Me¬
dicine, and Arts. The latter includes all the chairs de¬
voted to Literature and General Science. The Principal
and Professors constitute the Senatus Academicus ; and
the Lord Provost of the city for the time being assumes
the title of Lord Rector.
The magistrates and town council are the patrons of the
University, and have the nomination to the greater num¬
ber of the chairs ; the others are under the patronage of
the crown, except three, the patronage of which is shared
by the faculty of advocates, the writers to the signet, and
the town council. The degrees it bestows are the same
as in the other Scottish colleges, namely, those of doctor
of divinity, doctor of laws, doctor of medicine, and master
of arts. The terms of the college are a winter session of
about six months, beginning in November, and a summer
session of about three months, from May to August.
During the latter term the lectures given are confined
to botany, natural history, midwifery, medical jurispru¬
dence, and clinical lectures on medicine and surgery. The
total number of students who matriculated in the session
1829-30 was 2186.
The College Museum is particularly rich in objects of
natural history, amongst which are specimens of upwards
of three thousand birds foreign and British. The Museum
occupies two large rooms, each ninety feet by thirty, be¬
sides minor apartments.
The College Library consists of upwards of 70,000 vo¬
lumes. It is supported from a fund formed by a contri¬
bution exigible from every student who matriculates, five
pounds payable by every professor on his admission, and a
portion of the fees of graduates both in medicine and arts.
It is besides entitled, along with the other libraries belong¬
ing to the Scottish universities, to a copy of every work
published in Great Britain. There is also an excellent
collection of books on theology and church history con¬
nected with the class of divinity, and which is supported
by certain annual fees paid by the students attending the
class. The principal apartment, called the Library Hall,
U R G H. i23
is 198 feet in length by fifty in width, and is certainly Edinburgh,
one of the most spacious and elegant apartments in the '
kingdom.
The celebrity of Edinburgh as a place of education has
been in some measure derived from the ecIjC 'L cf a num¬
ber of private lecturers of eminence in their several de¬
partments of science, particularly in medicine. These lec¬
turers are chiefly members of the Royal College of Sur¬
geons. This body, which was incorporated by charter in
1778, confers the same privileges on medical students as
the University does, that of doctor of medicine excepted.
The Royal College possesses a beautiful edifice in Nicol-
son Street, from a design by Mr Playfair. Towards the
street it is adorned with a lofty portico, which has a strik¬
ing effect; and the details, though elaborate, are exqui¬
sitely finished, and in admirable harmony with the de¬
sign. It cost the Royal College L.19,060, and forms seve¬
ral splendid halls for the accommodation of the members
and the Pathological Museums. These museums, enriched
by the collections of the late Dr Barclay and others, exhi¬
bit a valuable repository of preparations and objects cal¬
culated to advance the study of surgical science.
The Royal College of Physicians was established in
1681, by a charter of Charles II.; and the number of its
fellows, resident and non-resident, is now about a hun¬
dred. The meetings of the body take place in the Phy¬
sicians’ Hall, a handsome edifice in George Street, of the
Grecian style, and erected in 1775. It contains a good
library.
The High School is the chief seminary in Edinburgh
for classical education, and has long maintained an emi¬
nent place amongst similar establishments. Its origin may
be traced to an early period in the sixteenth century;
but it has been greatly extended and improved in recent
times. It now occupies a splendid structure on the south
side of the Calton Hill, facing the road that sweeps round
that eminence. The design was furnished by Mr Thomas
Hamilton, and the foundation-stone was laid on the 28th
of July 1825. The main building extends about two hun¬
dred and seventy feet in front, and in the centre of the edi¬
fice is a magnificent hexastyle Doric portico. On each
side of the portico there is a corridor, the entablature of
which is supported by six Doric columns. The apart¬
ments, which are entered through a spacious play-ground,
consist of a large hall of seventy-five by forty-three feet,
and rooms for the accommodation of the various classes
taught in the establishment. The cost of this extensive
building was about L.30,000, which was partly raised by
subscription. The patronage of the High School is vested
in the town council of the city. The system of education
is conducted by a rector and four classical masters, with
teachers of writing, arithmetic, and mathematics. The
usual number of pupils is from six to seven hundred.
The Edinburgh Academy is a similar institution with
the High School, but its fees are higher. It was begun
a few years ago by a society with a capital of L.l2,900,
which may be augmented to L.16,000, raised by proprie¬
tory shares of L.50 each. The superintendence of the
establishment is vested in fifteen directors, chosen by the
proprietors from their own body. The system ot educa¬
tion is nearly the same as that pursued in the High School.
There are here also four classical masters and a rector.
Besides the High School and Academy, there are a
number of private academies throughout the city, several
free schools, and many on moderate scales ot charges.
There are several sessional schools, which are entirely
under the control and patronage ot the kirk-sessions ot the
respective parishes where they are situated. The teacher
is allowed a fixed salary from the funds of the church, so
that the fees are extremely moderate. The private schools
424
EDINBURGH.
r. dm burgh, of Edinburgh altogether are computed to amount to about tive Society, for improvement in composition and in nuhlirFi
' tvv° huild,:e(L „ . speaking; the Select Forensic Society; the Juridical So 3
Ihe School of Arts was established in 1821. The stu- ciety, instituted in 1773; the Scotch Law Society insti*
dents are young men belonging to mechanical and trading tuted in 1815 ; the Philalethic Society, instituted in 1793'.
professions, and are divided into junior and senior classes, the Adelpho-Theological Society, instituted in 1758- the
The session is from October to April, during which period Theological Society, instituted in 1776; the Edinburgh
there are given every evening lectures on arithmetic, alge- Academical Club, instituted in 1828; the Phrenological
bra, mathematics, geometry, and other scientific subjects. Society, instituted in 1820; Edinburgh Harmonists’ So-
The students are under the guidance of several regular ciety; Edinburgh Royal Naval Club; Caledonian United
lecturers, and the institution possesses a library and col- Service Club; the Pitt Club; the Celtic Society insti
lection of apparatus and models. It is supported by the tuted in 1820; the Highland Club of Scotland, instituted*
sale of tickets of admission, and by voluntary subscrip- in 1825; St Fillan’s Highland Society, instituted in 1819-
the Six Feet Club, instituted in 1826; the Skaitino- Club -
 ^ /~i. . .1 t , P „ ’
tions.
An institution called the Edinburgh Association for the Duddingston Curling Society; the Edinburgh Corn-
Popular Instruction was established in 1832, for the pur- pany of Golfers, instituted in 1744; the Burntsfield Links
pose of affording information by popular lectures, on terms Golfing Society; the Edinburgh Burgess Golfing Society -
and at hours convenient for the middle classes of both the Thistle Golf Club; the Royal Company of Archers’
sexes, particularly those who are actively engaged during instituted in 1703 by a charter of Queen Anne, and now
the day. The association is distinguished from some other constituted the king’s body guard in Scotland; the Bruns-
institutions for education, by being entirely dependent wick Cricket Club, established at Edinburgh in 1830; the
upon the fees of subscribers, instead of relying for support Edinburgh Chess Club, instituted in 1822; the Edinburgh
on gratuitous contributions. It is conducted by directors Quoiting Club; the Edinburgh Shakspearian Club; the
Edinburgh Anatomical Society, instituted in 1833; and
the Edinburgh Ethical Society, for the study and practical
application of phrenology, instituted in the same year.
There are various other societies and clubs, which have
. _ _ been established from time to time in the Scottish me-
systematic course of education, in order to qualify them tropolis, but they are of a character too unimportant to
for any of these departments. The institution compre- require notice in this place.
chosen annually from among the subscribers.
The Scottish Naval and Military Academy was opened
on the 8th of November 1825. Its principal object is to
afford to young gentlemen intended for the army, navy,
or the East India Company’s civil or military service, a
hends classes for fortification, military drawing, survey¬
ing, landscape and perspective drawing, arithmetic, alge¬
bra and geometry, the higher mathematics, natural philo¬
sophy and navigation, elocution, geography, ancient and
In addition to these, there are several Associations of a
literary nature. The principal is the Edinburgh Subscrip¬
tion Library. This library was instituted in the year 1794,
and is the property of a body of subscribers, whose entry-
modern languages, fencing, gymnastics, and military exer- money is twelve guineas, and who pay an annual fee of one
cises. The establishment is supported by a body of pro- guinea. The others are, the Select Subscription Library,
prietors, holding shares of L.10 each, subscribers who instituted in 1800; the Edinburgh Subscription and Cir-
pay one guinea or more per annum, and donors. The dilating Select Library; the Edinburgh Mechanics’ Sub¬
management is confided in a body of honorary office-bear- scription Library, instituted in 1825; the Hope Park Ti¬
ers, twenty-seven extraordinary and fourteen ordinary di- brary, instituted in 1816; and the Bakers’ Record Office
and Library, instituted in 1828.
rectors, with a chairman and trustees. The king is patron.
The Royal Academy, better known by the name of the
Riding School, was established about the year 1760. The
members were incorporated by letters-patent in 1764, with
the title of the Royal Academy for Teaching Exercises. The
directors of this academy are eighteen in number, and are
persons amongst the most elevated in rank both in the city
and county. The school is superintended by two masters.
The Botanical Garden is about twelve acres in extent.
The first ground appropriated to this purpose was in St
The chief of the associations for religious purposes is
the Society for Propagating Christian Knowledge, insti¬
tuted in 1701, and incorporated by a charter of Queen
Anne in 1709. The others are, The Scottish Bible Socie¬
ty ; the Edinburgh Auxiliary Bible Society; the Edinburgh
Auxiliary Naval and Military Bible Society; the Scottish
Missionary Society; the Edinburgh Auxiliary Church of
England Missionary Society; Edinburgh Auxiliary to the
London Missionary Society; Baptist Home Missionary
Ann s \ards, a spot situated near the North Bridge. From Society; Society for Improving the System of Church Pa-
this it was in 1767 removed to Leith Walk, and thence ' ~     '
to its present situation in the Inverleith grounds, on the
road from Edinburgh to Newhaven, in 1822-24.
The new Observatory is situated on the Calton Hill, and
belongs to the Astronomical Institution. It is built after
a design by Mr Playfair, in the form of a cross, and is
sixty-two feet each way. The centre is surmounted with
a dome.
The Wernerian Natural History Society is an unincor¬
porated association, formed in 1808 for the promotion of
the study of natural history. The name was assumed
from Werner, the distinguished mineralogist. It has as¬
sociate and corresponding members, and holds its meet¬
ings in the university buildings.
Besides those already mentioned, there are a number of
other societies, namely, the Plinian Society, instituted in
1823 ; the Diagnostic Society, instituted in 1816 ; the Me-
tronage in Scotland; Edinburgh Philanthropic Society;
Edinburgh Association in Aid of the Moravian Missions;
Society for Promoting Christianity among the Jews; So¬
ciety for Promoting Religious Knowledge among the Poor;
Highland Missionary Society; Edinburgh Religious Tract
Society; Edinburgh Society in Aid of the Irish Evange¬
lical Society; Edinburgh Society for Promoting the Reli¬
gious Interests of Scottish Settlers in British North Ame¬
rica ; and a few others.
Besides these there are several societies who associate
the promotion of education in particular places with reli¬
gious purposes, and a number of branches of different Eng¬
lish societies for the accomplishment of similar objects.
Heriot’s Hospital was founded about the beginning of Educatj
the seventeenth century. The founder, George Heriot, ai hospi
was born in the parish of Gladsmuir, and in the year 1597
he was appointed goldsmith and jeweller to James VI. He
dico-Chirurgical Society; 'the Royal Physical Society; the died in London, whither he had removed on the accession of
Royal Medical Society; the Hunterian Medical Society; James to the English throne, on the 12th of February 1624,
the Harveian Society, instituted in 1782; the Specula- leaving a fortune, it is supposed, of not less than L.50,000.
»
EcJiurgh
EDINBURGH.
.Of this sum L.23,625. 10s. S^d. were, by his bequest, ap¬
propriated to the founding and endowing of the hospital
which bears his name, for the maintenance and education
of children, the sons of burgesses of the city “ who are
not able to maintain them.” The magistrates, town coun¬
cil, and ministers of the town, were nominated the gover¬
nors ; and certain trustees were appointed to superintend
the execution of the will. The building of the hospital,
which is from a design by Inigo Jones, was begun in 1628,
and, after some interruptions, completed in 1650, at an ex¬
pense altogether of L.30,000. It was not however opened
for its legitimate purpose till 1659, when thirty boys only
were admitted. There are now one hundred and eighty
on the establishment, all of whom are comfortably lodged,
fed, and clothed, and every pains bestowed upon their
education, which comprehends Greek, Latin, English, writ¬
ing, arithmetic, book-keeping, mathematics, and geogra¬
phy. On leaving the hospital they are furnished with a
liberal supply of articles of dress, of their own choosing;
and such of them as are apprenticed to trades receive an
apprentice fee of L.50, besides an allowance of clothing at
the expiration of their indentures. Boys who distinguish
themselves by their literary attainments, and who are qua¬
lified to enter the university with a view to the learned
professions, receive bursaries of L.30 per annum for four
years. Ten other bursaries of L.20 each, for the same
period, are bestowed upon young men unconnected with
the hospital who give proofs of superior talents. Boys
are not admitted under seven years of age, and generally
leave it at fourteen. The hospital is situated in the south¬
ern part of the town, and is one of the most remarkable
buildings connected with the city. It is three stories in
height in the central parts, and four stories at the corners,
with an interior quadrangle or court. In 1832-33, the
structure was improved in its external appearance, and a
lodge was erected at the principal entrance, which is a
beautiful miniature of the hospital.
The founder of George Watson’s Hospital died in 1723,
leaving the sum of L.12,000 sterling for the erection of an
hospital for the maintenance and education of the children
and grandchildren of decayed merchants in Edinburgh.
The will of the donor, however, was not acted upon till
1738, when the original sum had accumulated to L.20,000.
In 1721 twelve boys were admitted; and these have now
been increased to eighty. In point of lodging, education,
and otherwise, they are upon much the same footing as in
Heriot’s Hospital. On leaving the house they receive an
apprentice fee of L.10 per annum for five years; and on
attaining twenty-five years of age, if unmarried and able to
show testimonials of good behaviour, they receive a pre¬
mium of L.50. Boys preferring a college education re¬
ceive L.20 per annum for six years. The managers are
the master and twelve assistants of the Merchant Com¬
pany, with the treasurer, four old bailies, the old dean of
guild, and the two ministers of the Old Kirk parish.
In 1759 John Watson, writer to the signet in Edinburgh,
bequeathed the whole of his property to trustees, to be laid
out in such pious and charitable purposes within the city
as they might think proper. In 1781 this fund amounted
to L.4721. 5s. 6d. From that period, by the excellent
management of the trustees, it accumulated to upwards
of L.90,000. As the donor had not pointed out any parti¬
cular mode of appropriating his bequest, the trustees ori¬
ginally contemplated the institution of a foundling hos¬
pital; but they finally determined on erecting an edifice
appropriated “ for the maintenance and education of des¬
titute children, and bringing them up to be useful members
of society, and also for assisting in their outset in life such
of them as may be thought to deserve and require such
A splendid and extensive building, in the Grecian
VOL. vm.
aid
style of architecture, after a design( by Mr Burn, has Edinburgh,
accordingly been erected for the purpose, on the Dean v—-v-w'
grounds, to the westward of the city. Children of both
sexes are here maintained and educated; the girls, how¬
ever, are only instructed in English, writing, and arith¬
metic.
The Merchant Maiden Hospital originated in 1695, and
was incorporated by an act of parliament in 1707. Its ob¬
jects are the maintenance and education of the daughters
of merchant burgesses in the city, who are instructed in
English, writing, arithmetic, geography, French, and nee¬
dle work. It contains nearly a hundred inmates, who are re¬
ceived at from seven to eleven years of age, and who go out
at seventeen. On leaving the establishment, each receives
the sum of L.9. 6s. 8d. The new hospital is of Grecian
architecture, and cost L.12,250. It was founded in 1816,
and measures a hundred and eighty feet in length by
nearly sixty in breadth, with a portico in front. It is si¬
tuated near the Meadows.
The Trades’ Maiden Hospital, for the maintenance and
education of the daughters of decayed tradesmen in Edin¬
burgh, was begun in 1704, and its governors were incor¬
porated in 1707. It was founded and endowed by the
trades of the city, and since its institution it has supported
about fifty girls.
The Orphan Hospital was incorporated by a charter of
George II. granted in 1742. It receives orphans from all
parts of the country, and generally maintains and edu¬
cates about one hundred and fifty children of both sexes.
A very elegant building, designed by Mr Hamilton, for
this institution, has just been finished (1833), on the pro¬
perty of Dean, near John Watson’s Hospital.
James Donaldson, Esq. of Edinburgh, left at his death
in 1830, about L.240,000 to six trustees, for the purpose
of endowing an hospital for boys, to be called Donaldson’s
Hospital. An establishment of this kind is therefore about
to be commenced.
The Trinity Hospital, the oldest charitable institution Hospitals
in the city, was founded by Mary of Gueldres in the year for the in-
1461. The number of persons maintained in the house digent, &c.
is at present forty; and there are besides about one hun¬
dred out-pensioners. The funds of the institution consist
of lands in the county of Edinburgh, heritable property
in the city and in the town of Leith, aud money in bonds.
The magistrates and town council are the governors, and
there are regular office-bearers and house-directors.
James Gillespie, the founder of the hospital known by his
name, was a shopkeeper in Edinburgh, and, by a will dated
1796, devoted the greater part of his property to endow
an hospital for the maintenance of indigent old men and
women, and for the elementary education of one hundred
poor boys. A house for this purpose was accordingly erect¬
ed in 1801. The number of its inmates is about forty. Its
governors are, the master and twelve assistants of the
Merchant Company, four old bailies, the old dean of guild,
and the ministers of the Tolbooth and St Stephen’s
Churches. The name of Gillespie has a preference in
admission.
The principal resources for the support of the poor are
an assessment, and the collections made at church doors.
The amount of money collected for their use in 1833 was
L.13,479. 19s. 4d., whereas in 1814 it was only L.6943.
19s. lOd. Edinburgh, as regards the poor, is divided into
three districts, the ancient and extended royalty, the pa¬
rish of St Cuthbert’s, and the Canongate, each of which
has a house for the reception of paupers, with peculiar
funds and a separate board of management. The City
Poors-house, which was erected in 1743, supports six hun¬
dred persons within doors, affords regular aid to upwards
of a thousand, grants to others temporary relief, and main-
3 H
426
EDINBURGH.
Edinburgh, tains about five hundred and thirty children at nurse. The
expense incurred for each individual in the establishment
is about L.8 per annum.
Besides these public institutions for the relief of the
poor, there are several other charitable associations of a
private nature. The principal are, the Society for the Sup¬
pression of Begging; the Benevolent Strangers’ Friend
Society, instituted in 1816 ; a Society for the Relief of the
Destitute Sick, instituted in 1785 ; a Society for the Re¬
lief of Indigent Old Men, instituted in 1806; two simi¬
lar institutions for the Relief of Indigent Old Women,
instituted in 1797; the Edinburgh and Leith Seamen’s
Friend Society, for relieving poor shipwrecked or distress¬
ed seamen; and the Orkney and Zetland Society, for reliev¬
ing such distressed natives of these islands as casually find
their way to Edinburgh.
The Royal Infirmary was established in Edinburgh in the
year 1736. The building, which is situated in Infirmary
Street, consists of a body and two wings, all of four stories,
the floors of which are divided into wards fitted up with
ranges of beds sufficient to accommodate 230 patients.
It also contains a theatre for chirurgical operations, in
which 200 students can attend. All classes of persons
are admissible into the Infirmary, on a guarantee being
given that in case of death their bodies shall be removed.
Patients suffering from accidental injuries are admitted
without any stipulation. The expense incurred by this
institution is liquidated by endowments, private subscrip¬
tions, post-mortem bequests, and collections at the doors
of churches and chapels of all persuasions.
The Lying-in Hospital is adapted to the reception of
all poor and unfortunate females requiring aid, and having
no home at which they can be attended to. Besides this
there are several other institutions of a similar nature,
without hospitals, such as the Edinburgh General Dispen¬
sary and In-lying Institution; the Maternity Charity; the
Edinburgh Lying-in Institution for delivering poor mar¬
ried women at their own houses, instituted in 1824; the
Edinburgh New Town Lying-in Institution, instituted in
1825; and the Society for Relief of Poor Married Women
of respectable character when in Child-bed, instituted in
1821.
The Public Dispensary, the oldest institution of this
kind in the city, was founded in 1776. Besides this there
are the following local dispensaries: The New Town Dis--
pensary, instituted in 1815; the Western General Dispen¬
sary, instituted in 1830; the Eye Dispensary of Edin¬
burgh ; the Edinburgh Western Dispensary for Diseases
of the Eye and Ear; and the Institution for Relief of In¬
curables. All these benevolent establishments afford me¬
dicines and advice to the poor gratis.
The Magdalen Asylum, which has for its object the re¬
claiming of unfortunate females, was founded in the year
1797. From fifty to sixty persons can be accommodated
in the asylum, where they are all kept employed at use¬
ful occupations. The income of the house for the year
ending in 1831 amounted to L.1183. The building is si¬
tuated in the Canongate.
The Asylum for the Blind, situated in Nicolson Street,
was opened in 1793, and is chiefly supported by voluntary
subscription. Another for females, the former being con¬
fined to males, was established in 1822. The men are con¬
stantly employed in making mattresses, cushions, baskets,
and other articles; the females in sewing and knitting.
The number of inmates in these establishments is about
120, who receive instruction, partly according to the Abbe
Sicard’s plan, and partly according to methods which have
been devised in the institution. See article Blind.
The Deaf and Dumb Institution, occupying a large edi¬
fice in the northern part of the New Town, was established
in 1810, and contains upwards of seventy boys and girls, Edinlr
who receive the elementary and most useful branches of W, J
education. See article Deaf and Dumb.
The Lunatic Asylum, situated at Morningside, was
opened for patients in 1813. The expense of its erection
was defrayed by private subscriptions, and a grant by go¬
vernment of L.2000 from the forfeited estates. The esta¬
blishment is managed by a body of directors and two phy¬
sicians and surgeons. Inmates are received on paying a
board regulated in amount by circumstances.
The most prominent of the provident and insurance so¬
cieties is the Ministers’ Widows’ Fund, instituted in the
year 1744. From this fund the widows of clergymen receive
annuities for life, regulated in amount by the annual con¬
tribution previously made, and which varies from L.3. 3s.
to L.7. 17s. 6d. The management of this fund is entrusted
to the presbytery of Edinburgh and the professors of the
university. The next in importance is a society formed for
the benefit of the sons of the clergy, instituted in 1790.
Another has recently been formed for the benefit of the
daughters of the clergy. There are, besides, a Friendly
Society of the Ministers of the Relief Synod, instituted
in 1790; a Friendly Society of Dissenting Ministers, in¬
stituted in 1797; a society for the management of the
Episcopal Fund, for affording small additions to the sti¬
pends of the poorer clergy of the Episcopal communion ;
a Medical Provident Institution of Scotland, instituted in
1826; and a Society for Relief of the Widows and Chil¬
dren of Burgh and Parochial Schoolmasters, instituted in
1807. There are likewise a variety of humbler associa¬
tions, on various principles, throughout the city, as well
as a large number of insurance companies.
Although not an extensive trading or commercial town, Bank!
Edinburgh exerts great influence over all branches of com- instill
merce in Scotland, by means of its banking associations, tl(m
which supply capital to almost every seat of industry
throughout the country. The oldest institution of this
description is
The Bank of Scotland, which was established at Edin¬
burgh in 1695, by charter from William III. and the Scot¬
tish parliament. The capital stock of the company was
originally L.100,000 sterling, raised by shares differing in
amount from L.83. 6s. 8d. to twenty times that sum. The
capital has since been raised to a million and a half ster¬
ling. Notes were first issued by this bank in 1704. The
establishment occupies a large and conspicuous building
near the head of the Earthen Mound.
The Royal Bank of Scotland was instituted in 1727, by
royal charter. Its original capital was L.l 11,000 sterling.
In 1738 this capital was raised to L.150,000, and sub¬
sequently to L.2,000,000. The banking house is situated
in St Andrew Square, in the building formerly occupied
by the Excise Office.
The British Linen Company’s Bank was established in
1746, with a capital of L.100,000. This capital has now
increased to L.500,000. The banking house is also si¬
tuated in St Andrew Square.
All the other banks in Edinburgh belong either to pri¬
vate persons or to joint-stock companies. Of the former
there are seven, only two of which issue notes; these are,
Sir William Forbes and Co. and Ramsays, Bonars, and Co.
The joint-stock banks are, the Commercial Banking Com¬
pany of Scotland, instituted in 1810; and the National
Bank of Scotland, instituted in 1825, which now possesses
a charter of incorporation.
The present Theatre Royal was built shortly after the Place
commencement of the New Town, in 1768. Previously to P1^
this period the theatrical performances of the city were
exhibited in the Canongate, where a play-house was erect¬
ed in 1746, in opposition to a rival establishment in the
T
»
EDINBURGH. 427
i mrgh. Cow-gate. The present house, although rather small, and Evening Courant, on Monday, Thursday, and Saturday; Edinburgh.
' externally of a very plain appearance, is in its internal the Gazette, the Observer, and the Advertiser, on Tues-
arrangements one of the neatest and most commodious day and Friday; the Scotsman on Wednesday and Satur-
houses in Britain. The company of actors established day; the Weekly Journal on Wednesday; and the Weekly
here is generally considered as the best to be met with Chronicle, the Saturday Evening Post, and the Edinburgh,
out of London. But, though for many years under able Leith, and Glasgow Advertiser, a paper solely devoted to
management, the fortunes of the establishment are by no advertisements, and distributed gratis, on Saturday,
means in a flourishing state. It is situated at the extremity The public market-day is Wednesday, when there is a Public
of the North Bridge, adjacent to Princes Street; There large open market held for the sale of cattle, sheep, corn, markets,
is also a Minor or Summer Theatre, called the Adelphi, and other agricultural produce. The spacious street call-
which is situated at the head of Leith Walk. ed the Grassmarket is the chief place to which stock is
Assemblies and balls, under the patronage of ladies of brought for sale. At its western extremity there is a large
distinction, are held every winter and spring in a large granary, the lower part of which is open for the exposm-e
building in George Street, called the Assembly Rooms, of grain in sacks. This edifice was reared in 1819, and
erected in 1787." This edifice has a plain external ap- is ornamented with a small spire and clock. Once a year,
pearance, relieved, however, by a portico and pillars in at the beginning of November, there is a large sheep, cat-
front. Its principal apartment measures ninety-two feet tie, and horse market held in the vicinity of the city, call-
in length by forty-two in breadth and forty in height, and ed All Hallow Fair, being the feast of All Saints.
is occasionally used for concerts, public meetings, and Edinburgh possesses excellent butcher-meat, fish, and
other purposes. vegetable markets. They are situated in the centre of the
Perhaps the most beautiful feature of Edinburgh in its town, and consist of a series of descending open areas or
modern state consists in the highly ornamental pleasure- terraces, connected by flights of steps from the back of the
grounds which occupy the open spaces between the Old and High Street to the bottom of the valley.of the North Loch,
New Town, as well as between the latter and the second below the North Bridge. These markets, all the property
New Town. The low grounds to the east and west of the of the burgh, are exceedingly well supplied with the va-
Earthen Mound continued for about fifty years after the rious articles of consumption for which they are respec-
commencement of the New Town in a very marshy and un- tively appropriated. There is another market of a simi-
profitable condition. At length, in 1821, under the autho- lar nature, though on a more limited scale, in Nicolson
rity of an act of parliament, the ground on the west was Street; and a very spacious one, the property of a private
drained, inclosed, laid out, planted, and highly beautified individual, near Stockbridge, at the north-west extremity
with walks, and has since been opened to the proprietors or of the New Town.
tenants of property in Princes Street, or others, on payment The metropolis is abundantly supplied with coal, chiefly Coal,
of an annual fee. In 1882-33 the ground on the east was by means of the Union Canal, from pits in the west of
similarly inclosed and beautified. Before the year 1820 Scotland, and by a railway leading from the pits near
the greater part of the ground north of Queen Street was Dalkeith to its termination at St Leonards. (See Edin-
inclosed and laid out in gardens or promenades in the same burghshire.)
tasteful and pleasing style. Edinburgh possesses an abundant supply of water from Water.
In the year 1722 a marshy ground, part of the ancient the Crawley Spring in the Pentland Hills. This was
Boroughmuir, in the southern environs of the city, was effected by a joint-stock company, incorporated by act of
inclosed, drained, and traversed by extensive broad walks, parliament in 1819. The cost of laying new pipes, and
skirted with trees, for the accommodation of the citi- other matters connected with the introduction of the new
zens. These public grounds, which receive the appellation springs, amounted to nearly L.200,000. Families are sup-
of the Meadows, and bear some resemblance to St James’ plied with small service-pipes, by paying to the company
Park in London, are bordered with extensive open downs, a certain duty on their rental.
called Burntsfield Links, which are also open to the public, Edinburgh is lighted with coal gas, manufactured by a Lighting,
and form a place of agreeable recreation for youth. joint-stock company associated in 1817, and incorporated
I rature. Edinburgh has for some time been distinguished as a in 1818, with a capital of L.100,000, raised by shares of
mart of literature, and as a place the inhabitants of which L.25 each. The streets and shops were first illuminated
are noted for cultivated tastes and habits. This character, with this brilliant light in 1818. An oil-gas company,
however, is not of much older date than the latter part of instituted in 1826, not having succeeded in its objects,
the eighteenth century. Previously to that time it sel- was, after a short trial, incorporated with the coal-gas
dom produced works of merit. The early editions of the company.
Encyclopaedia Britannica were the first large works which The ancient civic establishment of Edinburgh was re-Burgalsys-
issued from the Edinburgh press. But the era of a new sys- modelled in 1833 by the act of parliament for reforming police,
tem of publishing commenced with the establishment of the royal burghs of Scotland. It possesses a town conned, &c’
the Edinburgh Review in the year 1802. The person to consisting of thirty-one members chosen by the quali-
whom Edinburgh has latterly been most indebted for an fied voters for members of parliament in their respective
increase of its literary reputation was Sir Walter Scott, wards or districts; of a deacon-convener elected by the
whose poetical productions appeared at intervals from 1802 incorporated trades; and of a dean of guild, chosen by the
till 1812, and whose novels and tales began to be published incorporation of guildry. The council so composed elects
in 1814. The principal periodical works now published a lord provost and four bailies, who compose the magis-
in Edinburgh are, the Edinburgh Review, the Edinburgh tracy. The magistrates, in virtue of former privileges,
Medical and Surgical Journal, the Journal of Agriculture, hold certain civil and criminal courts, with the assistance
and the Edinburgh Philosophical Journal, quarterly; the of assessors or legal advisers. In 1833 the funds of the
Presbyterian Review every two months; Blackwood’s Edin- civic incorporation were placed under the control of a body
burgh Magazine, Tait’s Edinburgh Magazine, the Chris- of trustees appointed by act of parliament, lor the behoof
tian Instructor, the United Secession Magazine, and the of creditors. In virtue of the act lor reforming the sys-
Christian Flerald, monthly ; and the Edinburgh Almanack tem of parliamentary representation, passed in 1832, Edin-
annually. There are ten newspapers published in Edin- burgh and its immediate suburbs return two members to
burgh, namely, the Caledonian Mercury, and Edinburgh parliament.
)
428
EDINBURGH.
Edinburgh. The merchants of Edinburgh form a body, called the
-V'—' Merchant Company, incorporated bv a charter of Charles
H. in 1681. It possesses the management of several chari¬
table institutions, and is active in superintending measures
connected with the commercial character of the city. Its
business is conducted by a master, treasurer, and twelve
assistants, and their hall of meeting is a spacious apart¬
ment in Hunter Square.
The High Constables are a body of individuals appointed
to support the authority of the magistracy, and to assist
in maintaining the public peace of the city. They are
generally respectable shopkeepers, and are qualified by
being burgesses, and having been in business for three
years.
Till the year 1805 the city was protected only by a
feeble body of old men in the garb of soldiers, entitled
the City Guard, the remains of a civic defensive force ori¬
ginally raised in 1514, after the fatal battle of Flodden.
In 1805 a regular police establishment was formed, and
the city guard was finally dissolved in 1817. The police
establishment was remodelled in 1812, and latterly in
182-2 and 1832, by acts of parliament each time. The
establishment consists of thirty-two general commissioners
elected by the inhabitants of the same number of wards,
qualified to vote by paying a certain rent. The body of
general commissioners is increased by sixteen ex officio
members, as the provost and magistrates, the sheriffs, and
certain other functionaries. Under this body there is an
executive police, with a superintendent; and a criminal
court is held daily on the plan of that at Bow Street in
London, and in which a town bailie officiates as magi¬
strate or judge, in all cases which occur within the ancient
and extended royalty; whilst cases originating in that
portion of the city included between the exterior limits of
the royalty and the general police boundary fall under the
cognisance of the sheriff-substitute. Edinburgh is now in
all its parts well watched, lighted, and cleaned; and the
expenditure for these and other public purposes amounted
in the year ending at Whitsunday 1833, to L.31,038. 6s. 6d.
An assessment on the inhabitants, of about Is. 2d. per
pound on the rental, supplies the ordinary revenue of the
establishment. The head police-office is a large building
within a small court near the Cross.
Since the destruction of the old tolbootb, an extensive
building, situated on the Gallon Hill, fronting the road
which sweeps around that eminence, has been provided
as the common town and county jail. It was erected in
1817, and is built in a castellated form, in the Saxon
style of architecture, after a plan by Mr Archibald Elliot.
It is 196 feet in length by forty feet in breadth, and is
four stories in height. The interior exhibits a series of
corridors opening upon small cells eight feet by six, and
forty-eight in number; there is also a chapel on the second
floor. This jail at present affords accommodation for
debtors, as well as offenders of every description, who are
to a certain extent classified, and furnished with airing
grounds. A lock-up house, or jail for the confinement of
criminals during short periods, adjoins the County Hall in
the High Street.
The Bridewell stands adjacent to the jail on the east.
It is an edifice of a semicircular form, within an open
court, and was constructed in 1791, upon the panopticon
principle, after a plan by Mr Robert Adam. The ex¬
penses of the establishment are defrayed partly by assess-,
ments, and partly by the work of the inmates/ J
The Canongate Jail is an old-fashioned plain edifice of
the time of James VI. It is appropriated exclusively for
the incarceration of debtors, and is under the jurisdiction
of the magistracy of Canongate.
Ihe public business connected with the civic establish¬
ment or corporation is conducted in the Royal Exchange
Buildings. The public business of the county, and the
sittings of the sheriff and justices, take place in the Coun¬
ty Hall, adjacent to the Parliament House. It was erect¬
ed in 1819, at an expense of L.15,000, but is shortly to
be removed in order to make way for the approach by the
bridge leading from the Lawnmarket towards the south.
Ihe superiority of the Canongate jurisdiction, which
formerly belonged to the abbot of Holyrood, was purchas¬
ed by the town of Edinburgh from the Earl of Roxburgh,
into whose hands it had fallen, in the year 1636. Since
that period the burgh of Canongate has been governed by
baron bailies appointed by the town council out of their
own body, and by two resident bailies, also appointed by
the same authority on the recommendation of the baron
bailies. In a similar manner bailies are appointed to the
subordinate districts of Easter and Wester Portsburgh.
Edinburgh has likewise possessed for a long period a su¬
periority over the port of Leith. See Leith.
In 1755, shortly before the commencement of the New PopulaJ
Town, Edinburgh had a population amounting to 57,195 ;tion.
in 1775 it was computed at 70,430; and in 1791 it had
risen to about 80,000. In 1801, by parliamentary census,
the amount was 82,560; in 1811 it was 102,987 ; in 1821
it was 138,235 ; but in these latter enumerations the popu¬
lation of Leith was included. In 1831 the population was
as follows:
Parish of Canongate 10,175
College Church  4,244
Greyfriars, Old  4,345
 New  4,536
High Church  2,614
Lady Yester’s  2,890
New North Church... 1,350
Old Church  1,952
St Andrew’s  7,339
St George’s  7,338
St Mary’s  6,587
St Stephen’s  5,772
Tolbooth  3,256
Tron Church  3,009
St Cuthbert’s 70,887
136,294
North Leith....  7,416
South Leith 18,439
Total of Edinburgh and Leith, 162,1561
The gross amount of the rental of dwelling-houses,
shops, warehouses, &c. producing above five pounds of
rent, within the bounds of police, for the year ending at
Whitsunday 1833, was L.406,484. The number of house¬
holders paying ten pounds of annual rent and upwards,
and qualified to vote for members of parliament for the
city, in 1832, was 9382. (m. m. m.)
tun/ere ^ a S^lL c^eience *n Aie amount here stated and the sum of the different parishes added together.
It is so in the
»
EDINBURGHSHIRE.
. urgii. EDINBURGHSHIRE, or, as it is frequently called,
1 re. Mm Lothian, is the seat of the metropolis of North Bri-
tain. It is situated between 55° 39'and 55° 59' north
latitude, and between 2° 36' and 3° 33' longitude west
from Greenwich. Its boundaries are the Frith of Forth
on the north; Linlithgowshire or West Lothian on the
west; the counties of Haddington or East Lothian, Ber¬
wick, and Roxburgh on the east; and those of Selkirk,
Peebles, and Lanark on the south ; the length of the whole
line, which is very irregular, and longest on the south, be¬
ing about ninety miles. The medium length of the coun¬
ty may be taken at twenty-four miles, and the breadth at
fifteen; the area thus comprising 360 square miles, or, by
the latest computation, 354 square miles, or 226,560 Eng¬
lish acres, of which 145,000, or sixty-four acres in a hun¬
dred, are in cultivation, and the remainder, or more than
a third, hilly, or otherwise comparatively unproductive.
The surface of this county exhibits a great variety of na¬
tural scenery, almost everywhere blended and embellished
with the labours of taste and opulence. The lower and
richer part of it is of a semicircular form, inclining towards
the Frith of Forth on the north, and terminating near Mid
Calder on the west, and Fala on the south-east, but interrupt¬
ed by the Pentland Hills, which, rising in the south-west,
approach to within five miles of the frith, and thus divide
the southern part of this tract into two large plains. These
hills cover about forty square miles ; and though none of
them rise to the height of more than 1700 feet, yet their si¬
tuation in a flat country, and their bleak and barren aspect,
render them very prominent objects in the landscape. On
the south-east, where the, county terminates almost in a
point, between the counties of Roxburgh and Selkirk, and
about fifteen miles from the sea, there is another mountain¬
ous tract, called the Morefoot Hills, the highest of which
rise to upwards of 1800 feet, and extend over fifty square
miles. From the rivulet Gala, which flows through it, this is
commonly known by the name of the Gala Water district.
Fertile valleys are found amongst these hills, and many of
the hills themselves have been cultivated. With the ex¬
ception of these two hilly tracts, Edinburghshire may be
considered as a low-lying country, though not level or flat,
the surface being varied by ridges and gentle acclivities,
and occasionally by detached hills of moderate elevation,
amongst which Arthur’s Seat, in the vicinity of Edin¬
burgh, and the Corstorphine Hills, are the most considera¬
ble. The view from these eminences is singularly rich and
beautiful; embracing, besides the city itself, a great many
gentlemen’s seats, with their pleasure grounds, and elegant
villas thickly planted in every direction, with the town and
shipping of Leith, and the estuary of the Forth expanding
into the ocean on the north and north-east, and the plains
and high grounds of Fife beyond; whilst the naked and
rugged hills to the south form a striking contrast with the
highly-ornamented landscape into which they protrude.
The climate is exceedingly variable, but not subject to
extremes. Snow seldom falls before December. From
March to June cold east winds often prevail, sometimes
attended by great falls of rain. July and August are
warm and pleasant. Partly from the nature of the soil, as
well as the climate, the corn crops, with a few exceptions,
do not come to maturity so soon as in the south of Scot¬
land by three weeks or a month. The fields, in late sea¬
sons, are not all cleared, even near the city, till the end of
October. According to a register kept in its immediate
vicinity for eight years, from 1785 to 1792 inclusive, the
average number of rainy days was 175, and the quantity
of rain 25*75 inches. The thermometer once in the same
period was at 89°, and twice besides above 80° ; the lowest
point was 11°, and the average of the whole period 46*570.
The streams of this county are so inconsiderable as not
429
to be called rivers, but waters ; a term which in Scotland is Edinburgh-
employed to denote a stream somewhat larger than a brook shire,
or burn, and whose bed is never in ordinary seasons alto-
gether dry. Almond Water, which rises in the borders of
Lanarkshire, separates this county from Linlithgowshire
for a great part of its course, and falls into the sea near
the village of Cramond, where, at high water, it is navi¬
gable by sloops for about a quarter of a mile. The Water
of Leith has its source in the western extremity of the
parish of Currie, on the north side of the Pentland Hills,
and falls into the sea at Leith, after a course of about
sixteen miles. It flows in a deeper channel than the for¬
mer ; and the banks are, for the most part, beautifully frin¬
ged with wood. In no part of the island perhaps is so small
a body of water employed with greater effect, there being
upwards of seventy mills, the greater number corn mills, >
on ten miles of its course. The Esk is the most consider¬
able rivulet, and also the most beautiful. It is formed of
two others of the same name, called the North Esk and
the South Esk. The North Esk rises on the southern side
of the Pentland Hills, above Newhall, about fourteen miles
from Edinburgh, and flows by Pennicuik, Roslin, Haw-
thornden, Laswade, and Melville Castle, till it meets with
the South Esk below Dalkeith. The South Esk has its
source in the Morefoot Hills. On its banks, which are
also well wooded and picturesque, stand Arniston, Dal-
housie, and Newbattle. Their* united streams flow into
the sea at Musselburgh. The Tyne, which rises in this
county, after a course of five or six miles in a north-east
direction, passes into East Lothian; and the Gala, the
only rivulet that flows to the south, rising on the north of
the Morefoot Hills, leaves this county after it has pro¬
ceeded about ten miles, and falls into the Tweed below #
Galashiels. The Esks and the Gala contain trout, and
salmon are caught in the Esk at Musselburgh; but the
quantity of either is not considerable. /
Edinburghshire abounds in coal, limestone, and sand¬
stone, or, as it is popularly caWeA, freestone. A continued
bed of coal extends across the whole county from Carlops,
on the confines of Tweeddale or Peeblesshire, in a direc¬
tion from south-west to north-east, near fifteen miles in
length, and from seven to eight in breadth, on both sides
of the North Esk. But it is chiefly towards the lower end
of this vale that the coal is wrought, where there are in
some places twenty-six seams, from two to ten feet thick.
Some of the seams are horizontal, and others almost
perpendicular, from which they are distinguished by the
names of Jiat seams and edge seams; and it has been re¬
marked that the position of the coal corresponds in some
degree with the surface of the ground, being level in the
valley of the North Esk, and inclined to the horizon on
the higher grounds at a distance. Coal has been wrought
in the parish of Laswade for upwards of two centuries,
where it is still so abundant that the quantity raised is
said to be equal to a sixth part of what is obtained from all
the coal works of the county. Over nearly the whole coal
district it is necessary to keep up powerful steam-engines,
for the purpose of freeing the workings from water. A
stupendous machine of this description has recently been
erected in the parish of Inveresk, by Sir John Hope, Bart.
Dikes or veins of stone frequently occur in the coal strata,
which, with the expense attending the erection ot machi¬
nery, and also that incurred in propping the roofs ot the pits,
forms a very considerable drawback upon the profits realized
by the coal-masters. Limestone is found not only in the
same tract with the coal, but still farther to the east, and
also in the south-west, where coal has not yet been dis¬
covered. The great quarry at Gilmerton, in the parish of
Libberton, about four miles from Edinburgh, is nearly a
mile in length, everywhere open to the light of day, and
430
EDINBURGHSHIRE.
Edinburgh- has the appearance of a long chasm, advancing obliquely
shire. to the surface. Like the coal in its neighbourhood, the
stone rests in an inclined position, which, when removed,
leaves a floor of such a moderate declivity as to be de¬
scended by paths among the fragments of rock that have
been left. At the bottom there is a pool of water. Over¬
head is a roof of considerable height, consisting of a bed
of solid rock, supported by pillars of limestone. The prin¬
cipal freestone quarries are at Craigleith, in the neighbour¬
hood of the city, from which the six columns in the front
of the New College were obtained; and at Hales, in the
parish of Colinton, about three miles to the westward.
The stone of the former, from its superior whiteness, has
been of late most in request for building ; but the latter is
still unrivalled for flags and for stairs. In the year 1830
a large fossil tree was found in the former quarry, at a
considerable depth down in the mass of stone; and another
towards the end of October 1833, still deeper. A stone
similar to that of Craigleith, but easier wrought, is now
got at Redhall, also in the parish of Colinton. Mill-stones
have been wrought in the parish of Pennicuik. Copper
has been found in the parish of Currie and some other
places, but not so rich as to pay for working. Ironstone
abounds in the coal district, and also along the shore from
Leith westwards ; and stones for building and paving are
to be found in every parish of the county. A stone simi¬
lar to the Chinese Petunse, used in the manufacture of
porcelain, has been found in the Pentland Hills; and
clay, fit for being made into crucibles, in the parish of Dud-
dingstone. There are mineral waters in different parts of
the county, none of which are of much celebrity, with the
exception probably of St Bernard’s Well, to the north¬
west of the city.
The*valuation of Edinburghshire, which appears to have
been taken in 1649, is L.191,054. 3s. 9d. Scots; and in
1811 the real rent of the lands, according to the returns
made under the property-tax, was L.277,827. 19s. Id.
sterling, and of the houses L.400,004. 5s. 6d. In 1795
the landed property was divided into 542 estates, of which
twelve belonged to hospitals and other corporate bodies,
of the valued rent of L. 10,628. 4s. 5d. Scots, or more than
an eighteenth part of the whole. Here, as throughout the
rest of Scotland, the land is occupied by tenants on leases
for a term of years, excepting the comparatively small
portion possessed by the proprietors themselves, or let in
grass for the season. Within a few miles round the city
the cultivation of farms is conducted with a view to the
wants of that great market, where potatoes, turnips, and
clovers are found more profitable than corn. The price
of these crops, sold on the ground, the purchaser taking
upon himself all the expense of carrying them to market,
or taking them away for his own consumption, may ave¬
rage about L.20 the Scotch acre (about L.16 the English),
and very fine crops sometimes bring even more than L.30.
Early potatoes, raised within a mile of the city, have been
sold, to the extent of several acres on one farm, at L.50
an acre. The manure for raising these crops is amply
supplied by the streets and stables of the city. The street
soil manure, although the effects of it are not so lasting as
those of stable or farm-yard dung, enables the farmers to
raise large crops of wheat and other kinds of corn, after
the green crops, upon soils that are not naturally very fer¬
tile ; but the seeds of all sorts with which it abounds are
unfavourable to the cleanness of their fields. Their straw,
instead of being consumed or converted into manure on
their farms, is carried to the city for sale, or given to stab-
lers in exchange for their dung. The rent of farms of
from fifty to a hundred acres, within a mile of the city, is
in some instances as high as L.8 or L.10 an acre. Lime
is very little employed as a manure within the circle to
which the town dung extends. Beyond this circle, which Edinbi h
has been materially extended by the canal, the system of shin
cultivation is nearly the same as we have already described "Y
under other Scotch counties. The extent of the natural
wood has been estimated at 3000 acres, and of plantations
at about 14,000, being together about one acre in every
fourteen.
In 1812, four hundred acres were employed in raising
vegetables for the city within a circuit of five miles, and
a hundred acres more were under strawberries. Mr Neill,
secretary to the Horticultural Society, states the produce
of the former at L.45, and the rent from L.8 to L.16 an
acre. Between 60,000 and 70,000 Scotch pints of straw¬
berries, or nearly half as many English gallons, are annual¬
ly sold in Edinburgh, at from 10s. 6d. a pint down to 9d.
The produce of an acre is from eight to nine hundred
pints, thus yielding a return not very different from the
garden grounds. There are also several nurseries in the
immediate vicinity of the city, some of them equal to any
in the united kingdom for their collection of fruit and fo¬
rest trees, shrubs, and herbaceous plants, as well as for
the arrangement and keeping of the grounds. About a
hundred and thirty acres are employed in this way.
The manufactures and commerce of this county, exclu¬
sive of Edinburgh, and Leith its sea-port, are inconsider¬
able. None of the three great branches of industry, the
woollen, cotton, or linen manufacture, is carried on here to
any extent. Distilleries, paper-mills on both branches of
the Esk, iron-works at Cramond, potteries and salt-pans
at Inveresk, and gunpowder-works at Stobbs and Roslin,
on the South Esk, are‘the most worthy of notice. The
paper-mills of the county have latterly much increased
in number, and the article made has become celebrated
for its quality. Machinery is employed to a considerable
extent in the manufacture of it. From the metropolis of
Scotland being situated here, the public roads which pass
through it in every direction are kept in the best order,
and thus promote its internal trade. A system of railways
has lately been constructed between the city and the coal-
works to the south-east. By this useful conveyance the
metropolis is well supplied with the valuable mineral with
which its vicinity abounds. A number of coaches also ply
upon the railway, by which a cheap and agreeable con¬
veyance is obtained for ten miles or thereabout to the
south-east of the city. A railway between Dalkeith and
the port of Leith is in the course of being laid; and it is
in contemplation to extend these improvements in land
carriage a considerable way farther.
There is a communication between Edinburgh and Glas¬
gow by means of the Union Canal. This work was com¬
menced in 1817, and finished in about five years after¬
wards. One of the principal objects for which it was
projected was to facilitate the conveyance of coal from
the coal fields of Falkirk. It has been found of consider¬
able utility in this respect, as also in various others, such
as the conveyance of manure from the city into the inte¬
rior of the country.
Besides the capital itself, there is no town of any note
in Edinburghshire, but a great many thriving villages. Of
these may be mentioned Mid Calder, Corstorphine, and
Cramond, in the north-west; Pennicuik, Dalkeith, which
is a burgh of barony, Laswade, Loanhead, and Gilmerton,
in the east and south; and Musselburgh, including the
villages of Inveresk and Fisherrow, Portobello, and New-
haven, on the Frith of Forth. Portobello is a pleasant vil¬
lage, resembling a portion of the metropolis in elegance,
and much resorted to for sea-bathing. Roslin, in the pa¬
rish of Laswade, is a pleasant village, and much resorted
to on account of its castle, a beautiful remnant of anti¬
quity. Dalkeith, the most populous of the places we have
E D R
E D R 431
nton mentioned, has been long distinguished for its great week-
i’ ly markets for meal and gram.
risi. J Among the principal seats are, Dalkeith House, Duke ot
wr*' Buccleuch; Newbattle Abbey, Marquis of Lothian ; Dud-
dingstone, Marquis of Abercorn; Dalmahoy, Earl of Mor¬
ton • Dalhousie Castle, Earl of Dalhousie ; Melville Castle,
Viscount Melville; Calder House, Lord Torphichen ; Ar-
niston, Mr Dundas; Pennicuik, Sir George Clerk. To
the above may be added the names of some other old fa¬
milies who have long held estates in the county, viz. Borth-
wick, Craig, Dalrymple, Davidson, Dick, Drummond, Dun¬
das, Forbes, Foulis, Hope, Inglis, Maconochie, Scott, Trot- Edrisi.
ter, Tytler, Watson, and Wauchope.
Edinburghshire sends four members to Parliament, one
for the county, two for the city, and one for Leith. The
annexed abstract exhibits the state of the population of
the county in 1811, 1821, and 1831.
See Robertson’s Survey of Mid Lothian ; the Statisti¬
cal Account of Scotland ; Beauties of Scotland, vol. i.; Sir
John Sinclair’s General Beport of Scotland; and, lor the
history and antiquities of the county, Chalmers’s Caledo¬
nia, vol. ii.
YEAR.
HOUSES.
1811
1821
1831
15,789
19,077
By how
many Fa¬
milies oc¬
cupied.
33,043
40,469
1167
1163
OCCUPATIONS.
Families
chiefly em¬
ployed in
Agricul¬
ture.
3594
4830
Families
chiefly em¬
ployed in
Trade, Ma¬
nufactures,
or Handi¬
craft.
13,254
18,700
All other
Families
not com¬
prised in
the two
preceding
classes.
16,195
16,939
Males.
65,004
87,759
99,911
PERSONS.
Females.
83,603
103,755
119,681
Total of
Persons.
148,607
191,514
219,592
EDMONTON, a parish in the county of Middlesex,
seven miles from London, on the great north-east road.
It is situated in the hundred of the same name, and con¬
tains many of the residences of the more wealthy citizens
of London. The new river is conducted through it. The
population amounted in 1801 to 5993, in 1811 to 7824, in
1821 to 7900, and in 1831 to 8192.
EDOM, or Idumea, in Ancient Geography, a district of
Arabia Petraea. A great part also of the south of Judaea
was called Idumeea, because it was occupied by the Idu-
means, upon the Jewish captivit)', as far as Hebron. But
the proper Edom or Idumaea appears not to have been
very extensive, from the march of the Israelites, in which
they compassed it on the south-eastward, till they came
to the country of the Moabites. Within this compass lies
Mount Hor, where Aaron died, and marching from which
the Israelites fought with King Arad the Canaanite, who
came down the wilderness against them. Ibis was the
extent of the Idumaea Propria to the south of the Dead
Sea; but in Solomon’s time it extended to the Red Sea.
(1 Kings, ix. 26.)
EDRENOS, a town of Asiatic Turkey, in Natolia, si¬
tuated on a river of the same name, twenty miles south of
Bursa.
EDRISI, or Aldrisi, the most eminent of the geogra¬
phers who have written in the Arabic language. I here
is no individual of equal eminence over whose life there
hangs a deeper veil of mystery, the various parts of it af¬
fording rather subjects of controversy to the learned than
of precise information to the biographer. 1 he place, and
even the country in which he was born, compose the first
subject of disputation. Sionita and Hezronita, who pub¬
lished a Latin translation of his work at Paris, make him
a Nubian, and gave to their work the title of Geographia
Nubiensis, the Nubian Geography. They proceeded upon
the expression there used, namely, “ the Nile of Egypt,
which cuts our land.” Hartmann was at once led to sus¬
pect the correctness of this inference, by observing that
Nubia was one of the countries of which Edrisi gives the
most meagre and imperfect account; and his suspicions
were confirmed by learning that Ockley, on examining two
manuscripts in the Bodleian Library', had found in both
“ that land,” instead of “ otcr land.” It seems now gene¬
rally agreed, therefore, that there is no reason to suppose
him of Nubian origin. Others have given him an Egyptian
one, which seems more probable, yet rests solely upon the
erroneous reading above referred to. In 1663, Bochart
stated that he had found in a manuscript of Leo Africa-
nus, that Edrisi was born at Mazara, in Sicily, in 1098.
Next year, however, the manuscript wras 'edited by Hot-
tin^er, in an appendix to his work entitled Bihliothecarius
Quadripartibus, when it appeared that the person sup¬
posed to be Edrisi was there named Esseriff Essachalli.
Esseriff, or Scheriff, is indeed an usual appellation of
Edrisi, but it is common to many, and is rather a title than
a name. The rest of the name, and the date of birth, aie
materially different, so that there seems very little reason
to doubt that Bochart was here mistaken.
The most positive statement on the subject is that of
Casiri, who says (Bibliotheca Arabico-Hispanica, ii. 9),
that if Edrisi, as appeared probable, were the person de¬
signated by the Mahommedan writers under the long ap¬
pellation of Abu Abdallah Mohamad Ben Mohamad Ben
Abdallah Ben Edris, he was born at Septa, or Ceuta, on the
coast of Morocco, in the year of the Elegira 493 (a. d.
1099). Casiri not only qualifies his statement with this
condition, but he does not state the authorities from which
it is derived; so that it rests only upon the confidence re¬
posed in his learning and accuracy. Edrisi was long a
mighty name in Northern Africa; but in 919 the dynasty
was subverted by Mahedi Abdallah, and the pioscribed
wrecks of the family, according to D’Herbelot, afterwards
sought refuge in Sicily, ihis certainly tends to strengthen
the Sicilian origin of our author, though it is not probable
that many would seek refuge by concealment in their na¬
tive country.
If we may trust the information of Casiri, Edrisi pur¬
sued his studies at Cordova, then equally famed as a seat
of Moorish empire and a seminary of Arabic learning.
From the accurate and particular description he has given
of Spain, it is probable that he had travelled through a
great part of that country. Various circumstances piove
that he removed to Sicily, and began to compose his great
work under the patronage, and indeed at the express de¬
sire, of Roger 11. king of that island. It was completed
about the year of the Hegira 548, a. d. 1153.
It has been a subject of pretty warm controversy among
the learned whether Edrisi was a Mahommedan or a
432
Edrisi.
E D R
Christian. Sionita, who adopts the latter opinion, observes
that he repeatedly calls our Saviour the Lord Jesus, and
on one occasion simply the Lord, a title which is said ne¬
ver to be applied by Mahommedans unless to Mahommed,
while they merely say “ Jesus, to whom be peace,” or
“ Jesus, to whom be safety.” He also speaks with pro¬
found respect of the holy Virgin, and of various saints,
using in regard to the latter the Italian expression in¬
stead of the Arabic. These arguments are strenuously
1 spelled by Hartmann, though not, as appears to us, on
very solid grounds. He justly remarks, indeed, that the
Mahommedans speak always with the highest respect of
every thing connected with the origin of Christianity.
But though this may impair the force of Sionita’s argu¬
ments, there seems nothing of any importance to place in
the opposite scale. Hartmann lays much stress on the
circumstance that Edrisi, amongst his numerous names,
bears that of Mohamad, which he says was never borne by
any Christian; but though this may imply that he was a
Mahommedan by birth, it does not authorize us to infer that
he may not have become a convert to the opposite faith.
He evidently wishes to offend persons of neither profes¬
sion, and thus writes in a style from which no positive in¬
ference can be drawn. But considering how high reli¬
gious differences ran in that age, it does not appear very
probable that he could have resided in Sicily, or been in
such high favour with Roger, without adopting the reli¬
gion of the monarch and country.
The only thing relative to the life of this eminent au¬
thor which remains even a subject of controversy, is the
period of its termination. Bochart has fixed it in the
year 1122; but this date clearly proves that he had some
quite different person in view; since it appears by the
preface to Edrisi’s own work, that its completion took
place in the year 1153. No other notice, nor even conjec¬
ture, relative to the time or manner of his death, is to be
found in any author.
From these meagre notices respecting the life of Edrisi,
we shall proceed to give some account of his work. It
has appeared under various titles. The first and fullest
appears to have been, The going out of a Curious Man to
explore the Regions of the Globe, its Provinces, Islands,
Cities, and their Dimensions and Situation. This is some¬
times abbreviated into The going out of a Curious Man to
explore the Regions of the Globe ; and sometimes merely
The going out of a Curious Man. Sionita published it
under the name of Relaxation of the Curious Mind; but
the title of Nubian Geography, which he and his compa¬
nion imposed upon it, though it has become general in
Europe, is, as already observed, altogether arbitrary.
The work contains a full description of the whole world,
as far as it was known to the author, with its countries,
cities, and all its features, physical and political. These are
arranged, not according to any of the methods to which we
are accustomed, but in a manner peculiar to itself. The
world is divided into seven climates, commencing at the
equinoctial line, and extending northwards to the limit
at which the earth is supposed to be rendered uninhabit¬
able by cold. Each climate is then divided by perpendi¬
cular lines into eleven equal parts, beginning with the
western coast of Africa, and ending with the eastern coast
of Asia. The whole world is thus formed into seventy-
seven equal square compartments, resembling those upon
a chess-board, or those formed upon a plane map, by the
intersecting lines of latitude and longitude. The geo¬
grapher begins with the first part of the first climate, in¬
cluding the western part of Central Africa, and proceeds
eastward through the different divisions of this climate,
till he finds its termination in the Sea of China. He then
returns to the first part of the second climate, and so pro-
E D R
ceeds till he reaches the eleventh part of the seventh cli-
mate, which terminates in the north-eastern extremity of
Asia. The inconveniences of such an arrangement must
be abundantly obvious. Instead of each country, or at
least each region of similar physical character, being de_
scribed by itself, it is severed by these mechanical sec¬
tions into fragments, which are described in different and*
distant parts oi the work ; and no connected view is given
of any great country.
The only valuable unpublished manuscripts of Edrisi
which now exist in Europe are two which are preserved in
the Bodleian Library. The first, which was brought over
from Egypt by Greaves, is written in the Arabic charac¬
ter peculiar to Northern Africa. It is illustrated by a man
of the known world, and by thirty-three other maps, con¬
taining each part of a climate, so that there are maps
only for the first three climates. The second manuscript
brought by Pococke from Syria, is written in the Arabic
character, as used in that country, and bears the date of
906 of the Hegira, or a. d. 1500. It consists of 320 leaves,
and is illustrated by one general and seventy-seven parti¬
cular maps, the last consequently including all the parts
of every climate. The general map has been published
by Dr Vincent in his Periplus of the Erythrcean Sea.
There is a manuscript (Cod. DLXXX) in the Royal Li¬
brary at Paris, which professes to be the production of
Edrisi; but D’Herbelot, it appears, has not made use of
it as such; and De Guignes expresses positive disbelief
on the subject. Hartmann, however, found it to coincide
in many particulars with the geography of Edrisi. A
copy of our author’s work was contained at one time in
the library of the Escurial, but it was destroyed by a
great fire in the year 1671.
The geography of Edrisi, in the original Arabic, was
printed at Rome in 1592, at the Medicean press, from a
manuscript preserved in the grand-ducal library at Flo¬
rence. Loth the paper and printing are exceedingly neat,
the latter being made to resemble manuscript. This un-
foi tunately constitutes the whole merit of the edition,
which swarms with typographical errors, and forms, be¬
sides, only an epitome of the original work. This epitome
seems made, indeed, in the oriental style, by the simple
omission of those parts which appeared to the editor to
be superfluous; but these comprise many essential and
important passages. The description of Mecca, for ex¬
ample, which had been unaccountably omitted, is supplied
by Pococke from his manuscript. Hartmann gives in¬
stances where reference is made to the description of
places of which there occurs no other mention. D’fler-
belot and Casiri equally remark the imperfections of this
edition; and the information obtained by the writer of
.this article, at Oxford, as to the result of a comparison be¬
tween it and the manuscripts in that university, tends en¬
tirely to confirm their statements. In most bibliographi¬
cal works, this impression has been characterized as one
of the rarest of books; but Adler, in a visit to Florence,
found in the palace there 1129 copies, which were pub¬
licly exposed to sale at a moderate rate. If, therefore,
the book be wanting, even in many extensive public li¬
braries, it is merely because those libraries have not taken
the trouble to procure it.
In 1619, two oriental scholars, Gabriel Sionita and John
Hezronita, published at Paris a Latin translation of Edri¬
si s work, bearing the title, as already observed, of Geo-
graphia Nubiensis. It is not executed with all that care
and accuracy which might have been expected from these
learned personages. They have been particularly care¬
less as to the proper names, which are given sometimes
in Latin, sometimes in Arabic, sometimes in neither, nor
in any intelligible language. In consequence of the Ara-
Edi!,
»
E D U
ication.bic original being occasionally appended, it has been sup-
■ posed to have been reprinted along with it; but this is a
mistake, there being no edition ever printed except the
Roman one. George Hieronymus Velschius, an eminent
German scholar, had prepared a copy of the Arabic origi¬
nal, with a Latin translation, which he intended to have
illustrated with notes ; but death prevented the execution
of this design, and his manuscript remains deposited in
the library of the university of Jena. Casiri (Bibliotheca
Arabico-Hispanica, ii. 13) mentions that, at the request
of many friends, he had determined to re-edit this work,
E D U 433
but he appears never to have executed this intention. Education.
The part relating to Africa, pre-eminent certainly in
point of importance, has been very ably edited by Hart¬
mann, professor of oriental languages at Marburg (Edrisi,
Africa, Gottingen, 1796). Instead of following the awk¬
ward division into climates, he has collected together all
the notices relating to each particular country, and has
annexed the statements of the countrymen and contem¬
poraries of Edrisi, so that his work forms nearly a com*-
plete body of Arabian geography, as far as relates to
Africa. (e.)
EDUCATION.
The inquiry, what education ought to be, and the de¬
scription of what it is, in those communities in which it
may be considered as having acquired its greatest improve¬
ment, are two subjects which in this work it has been
deemed convenient to keep separate. The analytical in¬
vestigation of the end to which education is directed, and
of the means which are available for the attainment of it,
is that which is attempted in the present article. What
is thought necessary to be said with respect to the other
connected topics will be given under the titles National
Education, Schools, and Universities.
INTRODUCTION.
Extent of the Subject.— The different Questions which it in¬
volves.
The end of education is to render the individual, as
much as possible, an instrument of happiness, first to him¬
self, and next to other beings.
The properties by which he is fitted to become an in¬
strument to this end are partly those of the body, and
partly those of the mind.
Happiness depends upon the condition of the body,
either immediately, as where the bodily powers are exert¬
ed for the attainment of some good; or mediately through
the mind, as where the condition of the body affects the
qualities of the mind.
Education, in the sense in which it is usually taken,
and in which it shall here be used, denotes the means
which may be employed to render the mind, as far as
possible, an operative cause of happiness. The mode in
which the body may be rendered the most fit for operat¬
ing as an instrument of happiness is generally considered
as a different species of inquiry, belonging to physicians
and others who study the means of perfecting the bodily
powers.
Education, then, in the sense in which we are now using
the term, may be defined, the best employment of all the
means which can be used by man for rendering the human
mind to the greatest possible degree the cause of human
happiness. Every thing, therefore, which operates, from
the first germ of existence to the final extinction of life,
in such a manner as to affect those qualities of the mind
on which happiness in any degree depends, comes within
the scope of the present inquiry. Not to turn every thing
to account is here, if anywhere, bad economy, in the most
ernphatical sense of the phrase.
The field, it will easily be seen, is exceedingly compre¬
hensive. It is everywhere, among enlightened men, a
subject of the deepest complaint, that the business of edu¬
cation is ill performed; and that in this, which, it might
have been supposed, would have been considered the
VOL. VIII.
most interesting of all human concerns, the practice is far
from corresponding with the progress of the human mind.
It may be remarked, that, notwithstanding all which has
been written on the subject, even the theory of education
has not kept pace with philosophy; and it is unhappily
true, that the practice remains to a prodigious distance
behind the theory. One reason why the theory or the
combination of ideas which the present state of knowledge
might afford for improving the business of education, re¬
mains so imperfect, probably is, that the writers have
taken but a partial view of the subject; in other words,
the greater number of them have mistaken a part of it for
the whole. And another reason of not less importance is,
that they have generally contented themselves with vague
ideas of the object or end to which education is required
as the means. One grand purpose of the present inquiry
will be to obviate all those mistakes; and, if not to exhi¬
bit that comprehensive view which we think is desirable,
but to which our limits are wholly inadequate, at any
rate to conduct the reader into that train of thought
which will lead him to observe for himself the boundaries
of the subject. If a more accurate conception is formed
of the end, a better estimate will be made of what is suit¬
able as the means.
1. It has been remarked, that every thing from the first
germ of existence to the final extinction of life, which
operates in such a manner as to affect those qualities of
the mind on which happiness in any degree depends, comes
within the scope of the present inquiry. Those circum¬
stances may be all arranged, according to the hackneyed
division, under two heads: they are either physical or
moral; meaning by physical, those of a material nature,
which operate more immediately upon the material part
of our frame; by moral, those of a mental nature, which
operate more immediately upon the mental part.
2. In order to know in what manner things operate up¬
on the mind, it is necessary to know how the mind is con¬
structed. Quicquid recipitur, recipilur ad modum recipi-
entis. This is the old aphorism, and nowhere more ap¬
plicable than to the present case. If you attempt to act
upon the mind in ways not adapted to its nature, the least
evil you incur is to lose your labour.
3. As happiness is the end, and the means ought to be
nicely adapted to the end, it is necessary to inquire, what
are the qualities of mind which chiefly conduce to happi¬
ness, the happiness both of the individual himself and of
his fellow-creatures ?
Each of these divisions branches itself out into a great
number of inquiries. And it is manifest that the com¬
plete development of any one of them would require a
greater space than we can allow for the whole. It is
therefore necessary for us, if we aim at a comprehensive
view, to confine ourselves to a skeleton.
The first of these inquiries is the most practical, and,
3 i
EDUCATION.
434
Education, therefore, likely to be the most interesting. Under the
physical head it investigates the mode in which the qua¬
lities of the mind are affected by the health, the aliment,
the air, the labour, &c. to which the individual is subject.
Under the moral head it includes what may be called,
1. Domestic education, or the mode in which the mind of
the individual is liable to be formed by the conduct of the
individuals composing the family in which he is born and
bred ; 2. technical or scholastic education, including all
those exercises upon which the individual is put, as means
to the acquisition of habits conducive either to intellec¬
tual and moral excellence, or even to the practice of the
manual arts; 3. social education, or the mode in which
the mind of the individual is acted upon by the nature of
the political institutions under which he lives.
The two latter divisions comprehend what is more pure¬
ly theoretical; and the discussion of them offers fewer
attractions to that class of readers, unhappily numerous,
to whom intellectual exercises have not by habit been
rendered delightful. The inquiries, however, which are
included under these divisions, are required as a founda¬
tion to those included under the first. The fact is, that
good practice can in no case have any solid foundation
but in sound theory. This proposition is not more im¬
portant than it is certain. For what is theory ? The
whole of the knowledge which we possess upon any sub¬
ject put into that order and form in which it is most easy
to draw from it good practical rules. Let any one exa¬
mine this definition, article by article, and show us that it
fails in a single particular. To recommend the separation
of practice from theory is, therefore, simply to recommend
bad practice.
have experience of ourselves when we see, when we hear, Educat
when we taste, when we imagine, when we fear, when we 1
love, when we desire, and so on. And we give names, as
above, to distinguish what we experience of ourselves on
one of those occasions, from what we experience on ano¬
ther. We have experience of other men exhibiting sigm
of having similar experiences of themselves, that is, of
seeing, hearing, and so on. It is necessary to explain,
shortly, what is here meant by a sign. When we our¬
selves see, hear, imagine, &c. certain actions of ours com¬
monly follow. We know, accordingly, that if any one, ob¬
serving those actions, were to infer that we had been see¬
ing, hearing, &c. the inference would be just. As often
then as we observe similar actions in other men, we infer
that they, too, have been seeing or hearing; and we thus
regard the action as the sign.
Having got names to distinguish the state or experi¬
ence of ourselves when we say, I see, I hoar, I wish, and
so on, we find occasion for a name which will distinguish
the having any (be it what it may) of those experiences,
from the being altogether without them ; and for this pur¬
pose we say I feel, which will apply generally to any of
the cases in which we say I see, or hear, or remember, or
fear, and comprehend the meaning of them all. The
term I think is commonly used for a purpose nearly the
same. But it is not quite so comprehensive; there are
several things which we should include under the term
our experience of our mind, to which we should not extend
the term I think. But there is nothing included under it
to which we should not extend the term Ifeel. This is
truly, therefore, the generic term.
All our experience, then, of the human mind is confined
to the several occasions on which the term I feel can be
applied. And, now, what does all this experience amount
to ? What is the knowledge which it affords ? It is first
a knowledge of the feelings themselves; we can remem¬
ber what, one by one, they were. It is next a knowledge
of the order in which they follow one another; and this
is all. But this description, though a just one, is so very
general as to be little instructive. It is not easy, how¬
ever, to speak about those feelings minutely and correct¬
ly, because the language which we must apply to them is
ill adapted to the purpose.
Let us advert to the first branch of this knowledge,
that of the feelings themselves. The knowledge of the
simple cases may be regarded as easy ; the feeling is dis¬
tinct at the moment of experience, and is distinctly re¬
membered afterwards. But the difficulty is great with
the complex cases. It is found that a great number of
simple feelings are apt to become so closely united as of¬
ten to assume the appearance of only one feeling, and to
render it extremely difficult to distinguish from one ano¬
ther the simple feelings of which it is composed. And
one of the grand questions which divide the philosophers
of the present day is, which feelings are simple, and
which are complex. There are two sorts which all have
regarded as simple; those which we have when we say, I
hear, I see, I feel, I taste, I smell, corresponding to the
five senses, and the copies of these sensations, called ideas
of sense. Of these, the second take place only in conse¬
quence of the first; they are, as it were, a revival of them;
not the same feelings with the sensations or impressions
on the senses, but feelings which bear a certain resem¬
blance to them. Thus, when a man sees the light of
noon, the feeling he has is called an impression, the im¬
pression of light; when he shuts his eyes and has a feel¬
ing, the type or relict of the impression, he is not said
to see the light, or to have the impression of light, but to
conceive the light, or have an idea of it.
These two impressions, and their corresponding ideas,
SECTION I.
Theory of the Human Mind.—Its importance in the Doc¬
trine of Education.
1. The first, then, of the inquiries embraced by the
great subject of education is that which regards the na¬
ture of the human mind ; and the business is, agreeably
to the foregoing definition of theory, to put the knowledge
which we possess respecting the human mind into that
order and form which is most advantageous for drawing
from it the practical rules of education. The question is,
how the mind, with those properties which it possesses,
can, through the operation of certain means, be rendered
most conducive to a certain end ? To answer this ques ¬
tion, the whole of its properties must be known. The
whole science of human nature is, therefore, but a branch
of the science of education. Nor can education assume
its most perfect form till the science of the human mind
has reached its highest point of improvement. , Even an
outline, however, of the philosophy of the human mind
would exceed the bounds of the present article ; we must,
therefore, show what ought to be done, rather than at¬
tempt in any degree to execute so extensive a project.
With respect to the human mind, as with respect to
every thing else, all that passes with, us under the name
of knowledge is either matter of experience, or, to carry
on the analogy of expression, matter of guess. The first
is real knowledge ; the properties of the object correspond
to it. The latter is supposititious knowledge, and the
properties of the object do or do not correspond to it;
most likely not. The first thing desirable is, to make an
exact separation of those two kinds of knowledge ; and,
as much as possible, to confine ourselves to the first.
What, then, is it which w'e experience with regard to
the human mind ? And what is it which we guess"? We
EDUCATION 435
ucation.are simple feelings in the opinion of all philosophers.
But there is one set of philosophers who think that these
are the only simple feelings, and that all the rest are
merely combinations of them. There is another class of
philosophers who think that there are original feelings
besides impressions ahd ideas ; as those which correspond
to the words remember, believe, judge, space, time, &c. Of
the first are Hartley and his followers in England, Con¬
dillac and his followers in France ; of the second descrip¬
tion are Dr Reid and his followers in this country, Kant
and the German school of metaphysicians in general on
the Continent.
The determination of this question, namely, what the
feelings are, is of very great importance with regard to
the second branch of inquiry, namely, what is the order
in which those feelings succeed one another. For how
can it be known how they succeed one another, if we are
ignorant which of them enter into those several groups
which form the component parts of the train? It is of
vast importance, then, for the business of education, that
the analysis of mind should be accurately performed ; in
other words, that all our complex feelings should be ac¬
curately resolved into the simple ones of which they are
composed. This, too, is of absolute necessity for the ac¬
curate use of language ; as the greater number of words
are employed to denote those groups of simple feelings
which we call complex ideas.
In regard to all events relating to mind or body, our
knowledge extends not beyond two points: the first is a
knowledge of the events themselves ; the second is a
knowledge of the order of their succession. The. expres¬
sion in words of the first kind of knowledge is history ; the
expression of the second is philosophy; and to render
that expression short and clear is*the ultimate aim of phi¬
losophy.
The first steps in ascertaining the order of succession
among events are familiar and easy. One occurs, and
then another, and after that a third, and so on ; but at
first it is uncertain whether this order is not merely acci¬
dental, and such as may never recur. After a time it is
observed, that events, similar to those which have already
occurred, are occurring again and again. It is next ob¬
served, that they are always followed, too, by the same
sort of events by which those events were followed to which
they are similar; that these second events are followed,
in the third place, by events exactly similar to those which
followed the events which they resemble ; and that there
is thus an endless round of the same sequences.
If the order in which one event follows another were
always different, we should know events only one by one,
and they would be infinitely too numerous to receive
names. If we could observe none but very short se¬
quences; if, for example, we could ascertain that one
event was, indeed, always followed by one other of the
same description, but could not trace any constancy far¬
ther, we should thus know events by sequences of twos
and twos. But those sequences would also be a great
deal too numerous to receive names.
Ihe history of the human mind informs us, that the se¬
quences which are first observed are short ones. They
are still, therefore, too numerous to receive names. But
men compound the matter. They give names to se¬
quences which they are most interested in observing, and
leave the rest unnamed. When they have occasion to
speak of the unnamed successions, they apply to them,
the best way they can, the names which they have got;
endeavouring to make a partial naming answer an univer¬
sal purpose. And hence almost all the confusion of lan¬
guage and of thought arises.
Ihe great object, then, is, to ascertain sequences more
and more extensive, till, at last, the succession of all Education,
events may be reduced to a number of sequences suffi-
ciently small for each of them to receive a name; then,
and then only, shall we be able to speak wholly free from
confusion. 89DOI.O01
Language affords an instructive example of this mode
of ascertaining sequences. In language the words are as
the events. When an ignorant man first hears another
speak an unknown language, he hears the sounds one by
one, but observes no sequence. At last he gathers a
knowledge of the use of a few words, and then he has ob¬
served a few sequences ; and so he goes on till he under¬
stands whatever he hears. The sequences, however, which
he has observed, are each of no greater extent than is
necessary to understand the meaning of the speaker;
they are, by consequence, very numerous and confusing.
Next comes the grammarian; and he, by dividing the
words into different kinds, observes that these kinds fol¬
low one another in a certain order, and thus ascertains
more enlarged sequences, which, by consequence, reduces
their number.
Nor is this all; it is afterwards observed, that words
consist, some of one syllable, and some of more than one ;
that all language may thus be resolved into syllables,
and that syllables are much less in number than words;
that, therefore, the number of sequences in which they
can be formed are less in number, and, by consequence,
each is more extensive. This is another step in tracing
to the most comprehensive sequences the order of succes¬
sion in that class of events wherein language consists.
It is afterwards observed, that these syllables them¬
selves are compounded ; and it is at last found, that they
may all be resolved into a small number of elementary
sounds corresponding to the simple letters. All language
is then found to consist of a limited number of sequences,
made up of the different combinations of a few letters.
It is not pretended that the example of language is ex¬
actly parallel to the case which it is brought to illustrate.
It is sufficient if it aids the reader in seizing the idea
which we mean to conve}r. It shows the analogy between
the analyzing of a complex sound, namely, a word, into
the simple sounds of which it is composed, to wit, letters;
and the analyzing of a complex feeling, such as the idea
of a rose, into the simple feelings of sight, of touch, of
taste, of smell, of which the complex idea or feeling is
made up. %It affords, aiso, a proof of the commanding
knowledge which is attained of a train of events, by ob¬
serving the sequences which are formed of the simplest
elements into which they can be resolved ; and it thus il¬
lustrates the two grand operations, by successful perseve¬
rance, in which the knowledge of the human mind is to
be perfected.
It is upon a knowledge of the sequences which take
place in the human feelings or thoughts, that the structure
of education must be reared. And, though much un¬
doubtedly remains to be cleared up, enough is already
known of those sequences to manifest the shameful de¬
fects of that education with which our supineness, and
love of things as they are, rest perfectly satisfied.
As the happiness, which is the end of education, de¬
pends upon the actions of the individual, and as all the
actions of man are produced by his feelings or thoughts,
the business of education is, to make certain feelings or
thoughts take place instead of others. The business of
education, then, is to work upon the mental successions.
As the sequences among the letters or simple elements
of speech may be made to assume all the differences be¬
tween nonsense and the most sublime philosophy, so the
sequences in the feelings which constitute human thought,
may assume all the differences between the extreme of
436 EDUCATION.
Education, madness and of wickedness, and the greatest attainable
heights of wisdom and virtue ; and almost the whole of
this is the effect of education. That, at least, all the dif¬
ference which exists between classes or bodies of men is
the effect of education, will, we suppose, without entering
into the dispute about individual distinctions, be readily
granted ; that it is education wholly which constitutes
the remarkable difference between the Turk and the
Englishman, and even the still more remarkable difference
between the most cultivated European and the wildest
savage. Whatever is made of any class of men, we may
then be sure is possible to be made of the whole human
race. WThat a field for exertion ! What a prize to be won !
Mr Hobbes, who saw so much farther into the texture
of human thought than all who had gone before him, was
the first man, as far as we remember, who pointed out
(what is peculiarly knowledge in this respect) the order in
which our feelings succeed one another, as a distinct ob¬
ject of study. He marked, with sufficient clearness, the
existence, and the cause of the sequences; but, after a
very slight attempt to trace them, he diverged to other
inquiries, which had this but indirectly for their object.
“ The succession,” he says (Human Nature, chap, iv.),
“ of conceptions in the mind, series or consequence” (by
consequence he means sequence'), “ of one after another,
may be casual and incoherent, as in dreams, for the most
part; and it may be orderly, as when the former thought
introduceth the latter. The cause of the coherence or
consequence (sequence) of one conception to another, is
their first coherence or consequence at that time when
they are produced by sense ; as, for example, from St
Andrew the mind runneth to St Peter, because their
names are read together; from St Peter to a stone, for
the same cause ; from stone to foundation, because we see
them together; and, according to this example, the mind
may run almost from any thing to any thing. But, as
in the sense the conception of cause and effect may suc¬
ceed one another, so may they, after sense, in the imagi¬
nation.” By the succession in the imagination it is evi¬
dent he means the succession of ideas, as by the succes¬
sion in sense he means the succession of sensations.
Having said that the conceptions of cause and effect may
succeed one another in the sense, and after sense in the
imagination, he adds, “ and, for the most part, they do
so ; the cause whereof is the appetite of them who, hav¬
ing a conception of the end, hav§ next unto ft a concep¬
tion of the next means to that end ; as when a man from
a thought of honour, to which he hath an appetite, cometh
to the thought of wisdom, which is the next means there¬
unto ; and from thence to the thought of study, wdiich is
the next means to wisdom.” (Ibid.) Here is a declaration
with respect to three grand laws in the sequence of our
thoughts. The first is, that the succession of ideas fol¬
lows the same order which takes place in that of the im¬
pressions. The second is, that the order of cause and
effect is the most common order in the successions in the
imagination, that is, in the succession of ideas. And the
third is, that the appetites of individuals have a great
power over the successions of ideas ; as the thought of
the object which the individual desires, leads him to the
thought of that by which he may attain it.
Mr Locke took notice of the sequence in the train of
ideas, or the order in which they follow one another, only
for a particular purpose ; to explain the intellectual sin¬
gularities which distinguish particular men. “ Some of
our ideas,” he says, “ have a natural correspondence and
connection one with another. It is the office and excel¬
lence of our reason to trace these, and hold them together
in that union and correspondence which is founded in
their peculiar beings. Besides this, there is another con¬
nection of ideas, wholly owing to chance or custom: ideasEducatii
that are not at all of kin come to be so united in some V—’y>
men’s minds, that it is very hard to separate them; they
always keep in company, and the one no sooner at any
time comes into the understanding, but its associate ap¬
pears with it; and if they are more than two which are
thus united, the whole gang, always inseparable, show
themselves together.” There is no attempt here to trace
the order of sequence, or to ascertain which antecedents
are followed by which consequents ; and the accidental
rather than the more general phenomena are those which
seem particularly to have struck his attention. ' He gave,
however, a name to the matter of fact. When one idea
is regularly followed by another, he called this constancy
of conjunction the association of ideas; and this is the
name by which, since the time of Locke, it has been com¬
monly distinguished.
Mr Hume perceived, much more distinctly than any of
the philosophers who had gone before him, that to philo¬
sophize concerning the human mind was to trace the
order of succession among the elementary feelings of the
man. He pointed out three great laws or comprehensive
sequences, which he thought included the whole. Ideas
followed one another, he said, according to resemblance,
contiguity in time and place, and cause and effect. The
last of these, the sequence according to cause and effect,
was very distinctly conceived, and even the cause of it
explained, by Mr Hobbes. That of contiguity in time and
place is thus satisfactorily explained by Mr Hume. “ It
is evident,” he says, “ that as the senses, in changing
their objects, are necessitated to change them regularly,
and take them as they lie contiguous to each other, the
imagination must, by long custom, acquire the same me¬
thod of thinking, and run along the parts of space and
time in conceiving its objects.” (Treatise of Human Na¬
ture, P. i. b. i. sect. 4.) This is a reference to one of
the laws pointed out by Hobbes, namely, that the order of
succession among the ideas follows the order that took
place among the impressions. Mr Hume shows, that the
order of sense is much governed by contiguity, and why;
and assigns this as a sufficient reason of the order which
takes place in the imagination. Of the next sequence,
that according to resemblance, he gives no account, and
only appeals to the consciousness of his reader for the
existence of the fact. Mr Hume further remarked, that
what are called our complex ideas are only a particular
class of cases belonging to the same law, namely, that of
the succession of ideas ; every complex idea being only
a certain number of simple ideas, which succeed each
other so rapidly as not to be separately distinguished with¬
out an effort of thought. This was a great discovery;
but it must at the same time be owned, that it was very
imperfectly developed by Mr Hume. That philosopher
proceeded, by aid of these principles, to account for the
various phenomena of the human mind. But though he
made some brilliant developments, it is nevertheless true,
that he did not advance very far in the general object.
He was misled by the pursuit of a few surprising and pa¬
radoxical results, and when he had arrived at them he
stopped.
After him, and at a short interval, appeared two philo¬
sophers, who were more sober minded, and had better aims.
These were Condillac and Hartley. The first work of
Condillac appeared some years before the publication of
that of Hartley ; but the whole of Hartley’s train of thought
has so much the air of being his own, that there is abun¬
dant reason to believe the speculations of both philoso¬
phers equally original. They both began upon the ground
that all simple ideas are copies of impressions; that all
complex ideas are only simple ideas united by the prm-
I
"
E D U C A T I O IN. 437
a ation. ciple of association. They proceeded to examine all the
phenomena of the human mind, and were of opinion
that the principle of association, or the succession of one
simple idea after another, according to certain laws, ac¬
counts for the whole; that these laws might by medita¬
tion be ascertained and applied ; and that then the human
mind would be understood as far as man has the means of
knowing it.
The merit of Condillac is very great. It may yet, per¬
haps, be truer to say that he wrote admirably upon philo¬
sophy, than that he was a great philosopher. His power
consists in expression ; he conveys metaphysical ideas with
a union of brevity and clearness which never has been
surpassed. But though he professed rather to deliver the
opinions of others than to aim at invention, it cannot be
denied that he left the science of the human mind in a
much better state than he found it; and this is equivalent
to discovery. As a teacher, in giving in this held a right
turn to the speculations of his countrymen, his value is
incalculable; and there is, perhaps, no one, with the ex¬
ception of Locke, who was his master, to whom in this re¬
spect the progress of the human mind is more largely in¬
debted. It is also true, that to form the conception of
tracing the sequences among our simple ideas, as compre¬
hending the whole of the philosophy of the human mind,
even with the helps which Hume had afforded, and it is
more than probable that neither Condillac nor Hartley
had ever heard of a work which, according to its author,
had fallen dead-born from the press, was philosophical and
sagacious in the highest degree.
It must be allowed, however, that, in expounding the
various mental phenomena, Condillac does not display
the same penetration and force of mind, or the same com¬
prehensiveness, as Dr Hartley. He made great
in showing how those phenomena might be resolved into
the sequences of simple ideas; but Dr Hartley made still
greater. We do not mean to pronounce a positive opinion
either for or against the grand undertaking of Dr Hartley,
to resolve the whole of the mental phenomena of man into
sequences of impressions, and the simple ideas which are
the copies of them. But we have no hesitation in saying,
that he philosophizes with extraordinary power and saga¬
city ; and it is astonishing how many of the mental pheno¬
mena he has clearly resolved—how little, in truth, he has
left about which any doubt can remain.
We cannot afford to pursue this subject any farther.
This much is ascertained, that the character of the human
mind consists in the sequences of its ideas; that the ob¬
ject of education, therefore, is to provide for the constant
production of certain sequences rather than others ; and
that we cannot be sure of adopting the best means to that
end, unless we have the greatest knowledge of the se¬
quences themselves.
In what has been already ascertained on this subject,
we have seen that there are two things which have a won¬
derful power over those sequences. They are custom,
and pain and pleasure. These are the grand instruments
or powers, by the use of which the purposes of education
are to be attained.
Where one idea has followed another a certain number
of times, the appearance of the first in the mind is sure to
be followed by that of the second, and so on. One of the
grand points, then, in the study of education, is to find the
means of making, in the most perfect manner, those repe¬
titions on which the beneficial sequences depend.
WThen we speak of making one idea follow another, and
always that which makes part of a good train, instead of
one that makes part of a bad train, there is one difficulty,
that each idea taken singly by itself is as fit to be a part
pt a bad train as of a good one; for good trains and bad
trains are both made out of the same simple elements. Education.
Trains, however, take place by sequences of twos or threes,
or any greater number; and the nature of these sequen¬
ces, as complex parts of a still greater whole, is that which
renders the train either salutary or hurtful. Custom is,
therefore, to be directed to two points; first, to form those
sequences which make the component parts of a good
train; and, secondly, to join those sequences together so
as to constitute the trains.
When we speak of making one idea follow another,
there must always be a starting point; there must be
some one idea from which the train begins to flow; and it
is pretty evident that much will depend upon this idea.
One grand question then is, “ What are the ideas which
most frequently operate as the commencement of trains ?”
Knowing what are the ideas which play this important
part, we may attach to them by custom such trains as are
the most beneficent. It has been observed, that most, if
not all, of our trains start from a sensation, or some im¬
pression upon the external or internal nerves. The ques¬
tion then is, which are those sensations, or aggregates of
sensations, which are of the most frequent recurrence ? it
being obviously of importance that those which give occa¬
sion to the greatest number of trains should be made if
possible to give occasion only to the best trains. Now the
sensations, or aggregates of sensations, which occur in the
ordinary business of life, are those of most frequent recur¬
rence, and from which it is of the greatest importance
that beneficial trains should commence. Rising up in the
morning and going to bed at night are aggregates of this
description common to all mankind; so are the commence¬
ment and termination of meals. The practical sagacity
of priests, even in the rudest ages of the world, perceived
the importance of giving religious trains an ascendency
in the mind—of uniting them, by early and steady' custom,
with those perpetually recurring sensations. The morn¬
ing and evening prayers, the grace before and after meals,
have something correspondent to them in the religion of
perhaps all nations.
It may appear, even from these few reflections and il¬
lustrations, that if the sensations which are most apt to
give commencement to trains of ideas are skilfully select¬
ed, and the trains which lead most surely to the happi¬
ness, first of the individual himself, and next of his fellow-*
creatures, are by custom effectually united with them, a
provision of unspeakable importance is made for the hap¬
piness of the race.
Beside custom, it was remarked by Hobbes, that appe¬
tite had a great power over the mental trains. But appe¬
tite is the feeling toward pleasure or pain in prospect;
that is, future pleasure or pain. To say that appetite,
therefore, has power over the mental trains, is to say that
the prospect of pleasure or pain has. That this is true
every man knows by his own experience. The best means
then of applying the prospect of pleasure and pain to ren¬
der beneficent trains perpetual in the mind, is the disco¬
very to be made, and to be recommended to mankind.
The way in which pleasure and pain affect the trains ot
the mind is as ends. As a train commences in some pre¬
sent sensation, so it may be conceived as terminating in
the idea of some future pleasure or pain. The interme¬
diate ideas between the commencement and the end may
be either of the beneficent description or the hurtful.
Suppose the sight of a fine equipage to be the commence¬
ment, and thg riches which afford it the appetite or the
end, of a train in the mind of two individuals at the same
time. The intermediate ideas in the mind of the one may
be beneficent, in the other hurtful. The mind ot the one
immediately runs over all the honourable and useful modes
of acquiring riches, the acquisition of the most rare and
438
EDUCATION.
Education, useful qualities, the eager watch of all the best opportuni-
ties of bringing them into action, and the steady industry
with which they may be applied. That of the other re¬
curs to none but the vicious modes of acquiring riches—by
lucky accidents, the arts of the adventurer and impostor,
by rapine and plunder, perhaps on the largest scale, by all
the honours and glories of war. Suppose the one of these
trains to be habitual among individuals, the other not;
what a difference for mankind!
It is unnecessary to adduce further instances for the
elucidation of this part of our mental constitution. What,
in this portion of the field, requires to be done for the
science of education, appears to be, first, to ascertain what
are the ends, the really ultimate objects of human desire ;
next, what are the most beneficent means of attaining those
objects ; and, lastly, to accustom the mind to fill up the in¬
termediate space between the present sensation and the ul¬
timate object with nothing but the ideas of those beneficent
means. We are perfectly aware that these instructions
are far too general. But we hope it will be carried in
mind, that little beyond the most general ideas can be em¬
braced in so confined a sketch ; and we are not without an
expectation that, such as they are, these expositions will
not be wholly without their use.
SECTION II.
Qualities of Mind to the Production of which the Business
of Education should he directed.
We come now to the second branch of the science of
education, or the inquiry, what are the qualities with which
it is of most importance that the mind of the individual
should be endowed. This inquiry, we are in hopes, the
preceding exposition will enable us very materially to
abridge. In one sense, it might undoubtedly be affirmed
that all the desirable qualities of the human mind are in¬
cluded in those beneficent sequences of which we have
spoken above. But as it would require, to make this suffi¬
ciently intelligible, a more extensive exposition than we
are able to afford, we must content ourselves with the or¬
dinary language,, and with a more familiar mode of con¬
sidering the subject.
That intelligence is one of the qualities in question will
not be denied, and may speedily be made to appear. To
attain happiness is the object; and, to attain it in the
greatest possible degree, all the means to that end which
the compass of nature affords must be employed in the
most perfect possible manner. But all the means which
the compass of nature, or the system in which we are
placed, affords, can only be known by the most perfect
knowledge of that system. The highest measure of know¬
ledge is therefore required. But mere knowledge is not
enough; a mere magazine of remembered facts is a use¬
less treasure. Amid the vast variety of known things,
there is needed a power of choosing, a power of discern¬
ing which of them are conducive, which not, to the ends
which we have in view\ The ingredients of intelligence
are two, knowledge and sagacity; the one affording the
materials upon which the other is to be exerted ; the one
showing what exists, the other converting it to the great¬
est use; the one bringing within our ken what is capable
and what is not capable of being used as means, the other
seizing and combining, at the proper moment, whatever is
fittest as means to each particular end. This union, then,
of copiousness and energy, this possession of numerous
ideas, with the masterly command of them, is one of the
more immediate ends to which the business of education
•is to be directed.
With a view to happiness as the end, another quality Ed
will easily present itself as indispensable. Conceive that ^
a man knows the materials which can be employed as
means, and is prompt and unerring in the mode of com¬
bining them ; all this power is lost if there is any thing in
his nature which prevents him from using it. If he has
any appetite in his nature which leads him to pursue cer¬
tain things with which the most effectual pursuit of hap¬
piness is inconsistent, so far this evil is incurred. A per¬
fect command, then, over a man’s appetites and desires
the power of restraining them whenever they lead in a
hurtful direction, that possession of himself which insures
his judgment against the illusions of the passions, and en¬
ables him to pursue constantly what he deliberately ap¬
proves, is indispensably requisite to enable him to produce
the greatest possible quantity of happiness. This is what
the ancient philosophers called temperance ; not exactly
the same with what is called the virtue or grace of tem¬
perance, in theological morality, which includes a cer¬
tain portion (in the doctrines of some theological instruc¬
tors a very large portion) of abstinence, and not only of
abstinence, or the gratuitous renunciation of pleasure,
but of the infliction of voluntary pain. This is done with
a view to please the god, or object of worship, and to
provide, through his favour, for the happiness of a second
or future life. The temperance of the ancient philoso¬
phers had a view only to the happiness of the present
life, and consisted in the power of resisting the immedi¬
ate propensity, if yielding to it would lead to an over¬
balance of evil, or prevent the enjoyment of a superior
good, in whatever the good or evil of the present life
consists. This resisting power consists of two parts;
the power of resisting pleasure, and that of resisting pain,
the last of which has an appropriate name, and is called
fortitude.
These two qualities, the intelligence which can always
choose the best possible means, and the strength which
overcomes the misguiding propensities, appear to be suffi¬
cient for the happiness of the individual himself, to the
pursuit of which it cannot be doubted that he always has
sufficient motives. But education, we have said, should
be an instrument to render the individual the best possi¬
ble artificer of happiness, not to himself alone, but also to
others. What, then, are the qualities with which he ought
to be endowed, to make him produce the greatest possible
quantity of happiness to others?
It is evident enough to see what is the first grand divi¬
sion. A man can affect the happiness of others, either by
abstaining from doing them harm, or by doing them posi¬
tive good. To abstain from doing them harm receives the
name of justice; to do positive good receives that of gene¬
rosity. Justice and generosity, then, are the two qualities
by which man is fitted to’ promote the happiness of his
fellow-creatures. And it thus appears that the four car¬
dinal virtues of the ancients do pretty completely include
all the qualities to the possession of which it is desirable
that the human mind should be trained. The defect,
however, of this description is, that it is far too general.
It is evident that the train of mental events which conduct
to the proposed results must be far more particularized, to
insure, in any considerable degree, the effects of instruc¬
tion ; and it must be confessed that the ethical instruc¬
tions of the ancients failed by remaining too much in ge¬
nerals. What is wanting is, that the incidents of human
life should be skilfully classified; both those on the occa¬
sion of which they who are the objects of the good acts
are pointed out for the receipt of them, and those on the
occasion of which they who are to be the instruments are
called upon for the performance. It thus appears that the
science of ethics, as well as the science of intellectuals,
a 3
»
EDUCATION.
439
ion. jjjyst be carried to perfection before the best foundation SECTION IV. Education.
^ is obtained for the science of education. . „
Instruments, and practical Expedients, of Education.
SECTION III.
Happiness, the End to which Education is devoted.
Wherein it consists not yet determined.
We have spoken of the qualities which are subservient
to human happiness as means to an end. But before
means can be skilfully adapted to an end, the end must
be accurately known. To know how the human mind is
to be trained to the promotion of happiness, another in¬
quiry then is necessary: Wherein does human happiness
consist ? This is a controverted question ; and we have
introduced it rather with a view to show the place which
it occupies in the theory of education, than that we have
it in our power to elucidate a subject about which there is
so much diversity of opinion, and which some of the dis¬
putants lead into very subtle and intricate inquiries. The
importance of the question is sufficiently evident from this,
that it is the grand central point tp which all other questions
and inquiries converge ; that point by their bearing upon
which the value of all other things is determined. That it
should remain itself undetermined, implies that this branch
of philosophy is yet far from its highest point of perfection.
The speculations on this subject, too, may be divided
into two great classes; that of those who trace up all the
elements of happiness, as they do all those of intellect, to
the simple sensations which, by their transformation into
ideas, and afterwards into various combinations, compose,
they think, all the intellectual and moral phenomena of
our nature; another, that of those who are not satisfied
with this humble origin; who affirm that there is some¬
thing in human happiness, and in the human intellect,
which soars high above this corporeal level; that there
are intellectual as well as moral forms, the resplendent ob¬
jects of human desire, which can by no means be resolved
into the grosser elements of sense. These philosophers
speak of eternal and immutable truths; truths which are
altogether independent of our limited experience, which
are truly universal, which the mind recognizes without
the aid of the senses, and which are the objects of pure
intellect. They affirm, also, that there is a notion of right
and of wrong wholly underived from human experience,
and independent of the laws which regulate, in this world,
the happiness and misery of human life; a right and
wrong, the distinction between which is perceived, ac¬
cording to some, by a peculiar sense ; according to others,
by the faculty which discerns pure truth; according to
others, by common sense : it is the same, according to
some, with the notion of the fitness and unfitness of
things; according to others, with the law of nature; ac¬
cording to others, with truth ; and there is one eminent
philosopher who makes it depend upon sympathy, without
determining very clearly whether sympathy depends .upon
the senses or not.
We cannot too earnestly exhort philosophers to perfect
this inquiry, that we may understand at last, not by
vague abstract terms, but clearly and precisely, what are
the simple ideas included under the term happiness, and
what is the real object to which education is pointed;
since it is utterly impossible, while there is any vague¬
ness and uncertainty with respect to the end, that there
should be the greatest precision and certainty in combin¬
ing the means.
1 There is one brilliant authority on the side of Helvetius: “
born with an equal capacity of improvement.'’ Lord Teignmouth
We come at last to the consideration of the means
which are at the disposal of man for endowing the human
mind with the qualities on which the generation of happi¬
ness depends. Under this head the discussion of the
practical expedients chiefly occurs; but it also embraces
some points of theory. The degree in which the useful
qualities of human nature are, or are not, under the powers
of education, is one of the most important.
This is the subject of a famous controversy, with names
of the highest authority on both sides of the question.
Helvetius, it is true, stands almost alone on one side.
But Helvetius, alone, is a host. No one man, perhaps,
has done so much towards perfecting the theory of edu¬
cation as M. Helvetius; and his books are pregnant with
information of the highest importance. Whoever wishes
to understand the groundwork of education, can do no¬
thing more conducive to his end, than to study profound¬
ly the expositions of this philosophical inquirer, whether
he adopts his conclusions, in all their latitude, or not.
That Helvetius was not more admired in his own country,
is owing really to the value of his work. It was too solid
for the frivolous taste of the gay circles of Paris, assem¬
blies of pampered noblesse, who wished for nothing but
amusement. That he has been so little valued in this
country, is, it must be confessed, owing a little to the
same cause; but another has concurred. An opinion has
prevailed, a false one, that Helvetius is a peculiarly dan¬
gerous enemy to religion ; and this has deterred people
from reading him; or rather the old people who do not
read have deterred the young who do. There is no book,
the author of which does not disguise his unbelief, that
can be read with more safety to religion. The author at¬
tacks nothing but priestcraft, and in one of the worst of
its forms; the popish priestcraft of the dark and middle
ages; the idea of which we are well accustomed, in this
country, to separate from that of religion. When his
phraseology at any time extends, and that is not often, to
Christianity itself, or to religion in the abstract, there is no¬
thing calculated to reduce ; there is nothing epigrammatic
and sparkling in the expression, nothing sophistical and art¬
fully veiled in the reasoning ; a plain proposition is stated,
with a plain indication of its evidence ; and if your judgment
is not convinced, you are not deluded through the fancy.
M. Helvetius says, that if you- take men who bring into
the world with them the original constituents of their na¬
ture, their mental and bodily frame, in that ordinary state
of goodness which is common to the great body of man¬
kind ; leaving out of the account the comparatively small
number of individuals who come into the world imperfect,
and manifestly below the ordinary standard ; you may re¬
gard the whole of this great mass of mankind as equally
susceptible of mental excellence, and may trace the
causes which make them to differ. If this be so, the
power of education embraces every thing between the
lowest stage of intellectual and moral rudeness, and the
highest state, not only of actual, but of possible perfec¬
tion. And if the power of education be so immense, the
motive for perfecting it is great beyond expression.
The conclusions of Helvetius were controverted direct¬
ly by Rousseau; and defended, against the strictures of
that writer, by the author himself. We recollect few
writers in this country who have embraced them.1 But
It was a favourite opinion of Sir William Jones, tliat all men are
’s Life of Sir William Jones, vol- ii. p. 211.
EDUCATION.
440
Education, our authors have contented themselves rather with reject-
ing than disproving; and, at best, have supported their
rejection only by some incidental reflection, or the indica¬
tion of a discrepancy between his conclusions and theirs.
One of the causes why people have been so much start¬
led by the extent to which Helvetius has carried the
dominion of education, seems to us to be their not includ¬
ing in it nearly so much as he does. They include in it
little more than what is expressed by the term schooling;
commencing about six or seven years of age, and ending
at latest with the arrival of manhood. If this alone is
meant by education, it is no doubt true that education is
far indeed from being all-powerful. But if in education
is included every thing which acts upon the being as it
comes from the hand of nature, in such a manner as to
modify the mind, to render the train of feelings different
from what it wrould otherwise have been ; the question is
worthy of the most profound consideration. It is probable,
that people in general form a very inadequate conception
of all the circumstances which act during the first months,
perhaps the first moments, of existence, and of the power
of those circumstances in giving permanent qualities to
the mind. The works of Helvetius would have been in¬
valuable, if they had done nothing more than prove the
vast importance of these circumstances, and direct towards
them the attention of mankind. Rousseau began this im¬
portant branch of the study of education. He remarked
a variety of important facts, which, till his time, had been
almost universally neglected, in the minds of infants, and
how much might be done, by those who surround them,
to give good or bad qualities to their minds, long before
the time at which it had been supposed that education
could commence. But Helvetius treated the subject much
more profoundly and systematically. He traced the cir¬
cumstances to the very moment of birth ; he showed at
how early an age indelible characters may be impressed;
nay, that some of the circumstances over which man has
a control (for he speaks not of others), circumstances on
which effects of the greatest importance depend, may be
traced beyond the birth.
It is evident how much it imports the science of educa¬
tion, that these circumstances should, by careful and con¬
tinued observation, be all ascertained, and placed in the
order best adapted for drav/ing from them the most effi¬
cient practical rules. This is of more importance than de¬
termining the question, whether the prodigious difference
which exists among men ordinarily well organized, is
owing wholly to the circumstances which have operated
upon them since the first moment of their sensitive ex¬
istence, or is in part produced by original peculiarities.
Enough is ascertained to prove, beyond a doubt, that if
education does not perform every thing, there is hardly
anything which it does not perform; that nothing can be
more fatal than the error of those who relax in the vigi¬
lance of education, because nature is powerful, and either
renders it impossible for them to accomplish much, or ac¬
complishes a great deal without them ; that the feeling is
much more conformable to experience, and much more
conformable to utility, which ascribes every thing to edu¬
cation, and thus carries the motive for vigilance and in¬
dustry, in that great concern, to its highest pitch. Thus
much, at any rate, is certain, that all the difference which
exists, or can ever be made to exist, between one class of
men and another, is wholly owing to education. Those
peculiarities, if any such there be, which sink a man be¬
low or elevate him above the ordinary state of aptitude to
profit by education, have no operation in the case of large
numbers or bodies. But large numbers or bodies of men
are raised to a high degree of mental excellence, and
might, without doubt, be raised to still higher. Other
large bodies, or whole nations, have been found in so very Ed •
low a mental state, as to be little above the brutes. All v«*-\
this vast distance is undeniably the effect of education '
Thus much, therefore, may be affirmed on the side of
Helvetius, that a prodigious difference is produced by
education ; while, on the other hand, it is rather assumed
than proved that any difference exists, but that which
difference of education creates.
1. Circumstances of the physical kind ivhich operate upon
the Mind in the way of Education.
The circumstances which are included under the term
Education, in the comprehensive sense in which we have
defined it, may be divided, we have said, into physical and
moral. We shall now consider the two classes in the
order in which we have named them ; and have here
again to remind the reader, that we are limited to the
task of pointing out what we should wish to be done,
rather than permitted to attempt, the performance.
Three things are desirable with regard to the physical
circumstances which operate in the way of education fa¬
vourably or unfavourably i to collect them fully, to ap¬
preciate them duly, and to place them in the order which
is most favourable for drawing from them practical rules.
This is a service, common to the sciences of education
and mind, which has been very imperfectly rendered. It
has been chiefly reserved to medical men to observe the
physical circumstances which affect the body and mind
of man ; but of medical men few have been much skilled
in the observation of mental phenomena, or have thought
themselves called upon to mark the share which physical
circumstances had in producing them. There are indeed
some, and those remarkable, exceptions. There is Dr
Darwin in our own country, and M. Cabanis in France.
They have both of them taken the mind as a part at least
of their study; and we are highly indebted to them for
the number and value of their observations. They are
both philosophers in the most important sense of the
word ; they both observed nature for themselves, observ¬
ed her attentively, and with their view steadily directed
to the proper end. But still it is not safe to rely upon
them as guides. They were in too great a haste to esta¬
blish conclusions, and were apt to let their belief run be¬
fore their evidence. They were not sufficiently careful to
distinguish between the different degrees of evidence, and
to mark what is required to constitute proof. To do this
steadily seems, indeed, to be one of the rarest of all en¬
dowments ; and was much less characteristic of the two
philosophers we have named, than a wide range of know¬
ledge, from which they collected the facts, and great inge¬
nuity in combining and applying them. Dr Darwin was
the most remarkable, both for the strength and the weak¬
ness of which we speak. The work of Darwin, to which
we chiefly allude, is the Zoonomia ; though important re¬
marks to the same effect are scattered in his other publi¬
cations. Cabanis entitled his great work Rapports du
Physique et du Moral de 1'Homme. And there are some
works recently announced by German physiologists, the
titles of which promise aids in the same endeavour. But
though we expect from them new facts and ingenious
hints, we have less hope of any great number of sound
conclusions.
There are certain general names already in use, includ¬
ing the greater number of the physical circumstances
which operate in the way of education upon the mind. It
will be convenient, because of their commonness, to make
use of them on the present occasion, though neither the
enumeration which they make is complete, nor the distri¬
bution logical.
♦
»
EDUCATION.
j'lcation. All the physical circumstances which operate upon the
mind are either, 1. inherent in the body, or, 2. external
to the body. Those which are external to the body,
operate upon the mind by first operating upon the body.
Of the first kind, the more remarkable seem to be
healthiness or sickliness, strength or weakness, beauty or
deformity, the temperament, the age, the sex.
Of the second sort, the more remarkable seem to be
the aliment, the labour, the air, temperature, action, rest.
Previous to the inquiry concerning the power which
physical circumstances exert in the formation of the mind,
it may seem that we ought to determine the speculative
question respecting the nature of the mind; that is, whe¬
ther the phenomena of mind may possibly result from a
certain organization of matter; or whether something of
a different kind, and which we call spiritual, must not be
conceived, as the source and origin of thought. We do
not mean to enter into this controversy, which would de¬
tain us too long. It is not, in the least degree, necessary
for the end which we have in view. Whether the one
hypothesis, with respect to the mind, be adopted, or the
other, the distribution of the circumstances which ope¬
rate in the formation of human character, into those com¬
monly called physical and those commonly called moral,
will be as convenient as any distribution which the pre¬
sent state of our knowledge enables us to make; and all
that inquiry can do, in regard to those circumstances, is,
to trace them accurately, and to observe their effects;
that is, to ascertain what they are, and what the order of
the mental events by which they are followed. This is
simply matter of experience; and what we experience is
the same, whether we adopt one opinion or another with
regard to the nature of that which thinks. It is in what
we experience, all ascertained, and put into the best pos¬
sible shape for ease of comprehension, and ready applica¬
tion to practice, that all useful knowledge on this, as on
all other subjects, consists.
1. First, we are to consider the circumstances of the
body which have an effect upon the mental sequences.
The object is, to ascertain which have a tendency to intro¬
duce those sequences which are favourable, which to in¬
troduce those that are unfavourable, to human happiness,
and how to turn this knowledge to account.
Health and sickness, or the states of body which those
names most peculiarly express, are the first of the cir¬
cumstances which we have enumerated under this head,
lhat these states have a tendency to introduce very dif¬
ferent trains of thought, is matter of vulgar experience;
but very little has been done to examine such trains, and
to ascertain what in each is favourable, and what is unfa¬
vourable, to human happiness.
We have already seen, that the trains which are fa¬
vourable to intelligence, temperance, justice, and genero¬
sity, are the trains favourable to human happiness. Now,
with respect to intelligence, it will be seen that health is
partly favourable and partly unfavourable; and the same
is the case with sickness. Health is favourable, by allow¬
ing that time to be given to study which many kinds of
sickness withdraw, and by admitting a more vigorous at-
. tention, which the pain and languor of sickness often im¬
pair. It is unfavourable, by introducing that flow of plea¬
surable ideas which is called high spirits, adverse at a
certain pitch to the application of attention ; and by lead¬
ing to that passionate pursuit of pleasure, which dimi¬
nishes, if it does not destroy, the time for study. The
mode in which disease operates upon the mental sequences
is a subject of great complexity, and in which little has
yet been done to mark distinctly the events, and ascer¬
tain the order of their succession. Cabanis, in his seventh
memoir, entitled De l'Influence des Maladies sur la For-
vol. vm.
441
motion des. Idees et des Affections Morales, has made a Education,
useful beginning toward the elucidation of this subject;
but here, as elsewhere, he is too often general and vague.
Instruction may also be gleaned from Darwin; but the
facts which bear upon this point rather drop from him in¬
cidentally, than are anywhere put together systematically
for its elucidation. As they were both physicians, how¬
ever, of great experience, and of unusual skill in the ob¬
servation of mental phenomena, their opinions are entitled
to the greatest respect. The result of the matter is, that
an improved medicine is no trifling branch of the art and
science of education. Cabanis accordingly concludes his
memoir with the two following propositions :
“ Imo, L etat de maladie influe d’une maniere directe
sur la formation des idees et des affections morales : nous
avons meme pu montrer dans quelques observations parti-
culieres, comment cette influence s’exerce.
“ 2do, L’observation et fexperience nous ayant fait de-
couvrir les moyens de combattre assez souvent avec suc-
ces 1’etat de maladie. Fart qui met en usage ces moyens,
peut done modifier et perfectionner les operations de Fin-
telligence et les habitudes de la volonte.”
As it is chiefly through the nervous system, and the
centre of that system, the brain, that the mental sequences
are affected, and as all the sensitive parts have not an ac¬
tion equally strong, nor equally direct, upon the nerves
and brain, diseases affect the mental sequences differently,
according to the parts which they invade. The system of
the nerves and brain is itself subject to different states of
disease. Classified with regard to the functions which
that system performs, as the organ of sensibility and of
action, these states are thus described by M. Cabanis;
“ 1. excess of sensibility to all impressions on the one
part; excessive action on the organs of motion on the
other. 2. Unfitness to receive impressions, in sufficient
number, or with the due degree of energy ; and a diminu¬
tion of the activity necessary for the production of the
motions. 3. A general disturbance of the functions of the
system, without any remarkable appearance of either ex¬
cess or defect. 4. A bad distribution of the cerebral vir¬
tue, either when it exerts itself unequally in regard to
time, having fits of extraordinary activity, followed by
others of considerable remission ; or when it is supplied
in wrong proportion to the different organs, of which some
are to a great degree abandoned, while there appears in
others a concentration of sensibility, and of the excitations
or powers by which the movements are affected.”
The effects upon the mental sequences are represented
in the following general sketch, which has the advantage
of being tolerably comprehensive, though it is unhappily
both vague and confused: “ We may lay it down as a
general fact, that, in all the marked affections of the
nerves, irregularities, less or greater, take place, relative
both to the mode in which impressions are received, and
to the mode in which the determinations, automatic or
voluntary, are formed. On one part, the sensations vary
incessantly and rapidly with respect to their vivacity,
their energy, and even their number; on another, the
strength, the readiness, the facility of action, exhibit the
greatest inequalities. Hence pei’petual fluctuation, from
great excitement to languor, from elevation to dejection ;
a temper and passions variable in the highest degree. In
this condition, the mind is always easily pushed to ex¬
tremes. Either the man has many ideas, with great men¬
tal activity and acuteness, or he is, on the contrary, al¬
most incapable of thinking. It has been well observed,
that hypochondriacal persons are by turns both courageous
and cowardly; and as the impressions are habitually faulty
either by excess or defect, in regard to almost all objects,
it is seldom that the images correspond to the reality of
442 EDUCATION.
Education, things, that the desires and the will obtain the proper the fact is worthy of the greatest attention, “ Presque Educatio
force and direction. If, along with these irregularities tous les grands scelerats sont des hommes d’une structure
which arise from the nervous system, should be found a organique vigoureuse, remarquables par la fermete et la
weakness of the muscular organs, or of some important tenacite de leurs fibres musculaires.” It is evident, there-
viscus, as, for example, of the stomach, the phenomena, fore, how deeply it concerns the happiness of mankind,
though still analogous in the main, will be distinguished that the mental trains which this circumstance has a ten-
by remarkable peculiarities. During the interval of lan- dency to raise should be accurately known, as thus alone
guor, the debility of the muscles renders the sense of the means can be known, how that which is hurtful may
weakness, the fainting and drooping, still more complete be avoided, that which is useful may be introduced,
and oppressive ; life appears ready to escape at every in- Of beauty and deformity, as circumstances affecting
slant. The passions are gloomy, excited by trifles, sel- the mental trains, much will not be necessary to be said,
fish ; the ideas are petty, narrow, and bear only upon the Illustrations will occur to every body to prove that their
objects of the slightest sensations. At the times of exci- power is not inconsiderable ; so little, however, has been
tation, which arrive the more suddenly the greater the done to ascertain the facts, and record them in the best
weakness, the muscular determinations do not obey the possible order, that any thing which deserves the name
impulses of the brain, unless by starts, which have neither of knowledge on the subject hardly exists, and the prin-
energy nor duration. These impulses serve only to con- cipal service we can render is to point it out for study;
vince the patient more profoundly of his real imbecility; to exhort future inquirers to observe diligently the trains
they give him only a feeling of impatience, of discontent, which flow from beauty and deformity as their source,
and anxiety. Desires, often sufficiently keen, but com- and to trace to the largest possible sequences, as above
monly repressed by the habitual feeling of weakness, still described, the connections which take place between them,
more increase the discouraging impression. As the pe- Beauty and deformity, it may be observed, operate upon
culiar organ of thought cannot act without the concur- the mental trains in somewhat a different way from health
rence of several others, and as at that moment it par- and disease, rather mediately than immediately. It is the
takes in some degree of the weakness which affects the idea of their effect upon other people that is the more
organs of movement, the ideas present themselves in immediate cause of the trains to which they give occa-
crowds; they spring up, but do not arrange themselves sion. The idea that beauty commands their favourable
in order; the necessary attention is not enjoyed; the regards is apt to introduce the well-known trains denoted
consequence is, that this activity of the imagination, which by the terms vanity, pride, contemptuousness, trains not
we might expect to afford some compensation for the ab- very favourable to the virtues. The idea that deformity
sence of other faculties, becomes a new source of dejec- is apt to excite their unfavourable regards, is often ob-
tion and despair.” served to lead to acuteness and vigour of intellect, em-
In this passage the mental sequences which particular ployed as instruments of protection, but to moroseness,
states of disease introduce are clearly shown to have a and even malignity of temper. The mode, however, in
prodigious influence upon human happiness; but the ef- which beauty and deformity operate upon the mental
fects which are produced in respect to intelligence, tem- trains, namely, through the idea of their effect upon other
perance, generosity, and justice, are mixed up together; people, is common to them with a great many other ad-
and the author rather shows how much this subject de- vantages or disadvantages, which derive their value chiefly
serves to be studied, than gives us information from which from their influence upon other people ; and materials for
any considerable degree of practical utility can be de- the illustration of this subject have been supplied by va-
rived. The connection between particular states of body rious writers upon the human mind,
and particular mental trains ought to be carefully watched To the word temperament no very precise idea has
and recorded. When the events one by one are accu- hitherto been annexed. It may be conceived in the fol-
rately distinguished, and made easy to be recognized, and lowing manner : The bodily structure, the composition of
when the order in which they follow one another is known, elements in the body of every individual, is different from
our power over the trains of those events, power to pre- that in the body of any other. It is observed, however,
vent such as are unfavourable, to produce such as are fa- that the composition is more nearly resembling in some
vourable, to human happiness, will then be at its height; and than in others ; that those who thus resemble may be ar-
how to take care of his health will be one of the leading ranged in groups, and that they may all be comprehended
parts of the moral and intellectual education of man. in four or five great classes. The circumstances in which
The state of the body with regard to health and dis- their bodily composition agrees, so as to constitute one of
ease is the inherent circumstance of the greatest im- those large classes, have been called the temperament,
portance, and we must pass over the rest w ith a cursory and each of those more remarkable characters of the body
notice. The next we mentioned are strength and weak- has been observed to be attended with a peculiar cha-
ness, meaning chiefly muscular strength and weakness; racter in the train of ideas; but the illustration of the
and the natural, habitual, not the accidental or diseased trains of ideas, and hence of the qualities of mind, which
state. It is a common observation, that muscular strength are apt to be introduced by temperament, and by the
is apt to withdraw the owner from mental pursuits, and diversities of age and of sex, we are obliged, by the rapid
engage him in such as are more of the animal kind; the absorption of the space allotted to us, wholly to omit,
acquisition and display of physical powers. Few men of The subject in itself is not very mysterious. Accurate
great bodily powers have been much distinguished for observation and masterly recordation alone are required,
mental excellence; some of the greatest ornaments of To be sure, the same may be said of every object of hu-
human nature have been remarkable for bodily weakness, man inquiry ; but in some cases it is not so easy to con-
Muscular strength is liable to operate unfavourably upon ceive perfectly what observation and recordation mean,
the moral as well as the intellectual trains of thought. It On these topics also we are happy to say that Cabanis
diminishes that respect for other men which is so neces- really affords very considerable helps,
sary to resist the impulses of passion ; it presents innu- 2. We come now to the second sort of physical circum-
merable occasions for playing the tyrant with impunity, stances, which have the power of introducing habitually
and fosters, therefore, all that train of ideas in which the certain trains of ideas, and hence of impressing perma-
tyrannical vices are engendered. Cabanis remarks, and nent tendencies on the mind; the circumstances which
EDUCATION,
£ icalion.are external to the body. Some of these are of very great
importance. The first is aliment.
Aliment is good or evil by quality and quantity. Hart¬
ley has remarked long ago, that though all the impres¬
sions from which ideas are copied are made on the extre¬
mities of the nerves which are ramified on the surface of
the body, and supply the several organs of sense, other
impressions are nevertheless made on the extremities of
the nerves which are ramified on the internal parts of our
bodies, and that many of those impressions are associated
with trains of ideas; that the impressions made upon the
extremities of the nerves which are ramified on the ali¬
mentary canal, are associated with the greatest number
of those trains; and of such trains, that some are favour¬
able to happiness, some altogether the reverse. If the
quantity and quality of the aliment be the principal cause
of those impressions, here is a physiological reason of the
greatest importance for an accurate observation and re¬
cordation of the events occurring in this part of the field,
what antecedents are attended by what consequents, and
what the largest sequences that can be traced. Cabanis
confirmed the doctrine of Hartley with regard to the in¬
ternal impressions, and added another class. He said
that not only the extremities of the nerves which termi¬
nate internally, but the centre of the nervous influence, the
brain itself, received impressions; and that thus there were
no fewer than three sources of mental and corporeal move¬
ments of man; one external, from which almost all our
distinct ideas are copied; and two internal, which exert
a very great influence upon the trains of ideas, and hence
upon the actions of which these trains are the antecedents
or cause.
On this too, as on most of the other topics belonging to
the physical branch of education, we must note, as still
uncollected, the knowledge which is required. It is un¬
derstood in a general way, that deep impressions are by
this means made upon the mind; but how they are made
is a knowledge which, in any such detail and accuracy as
to afford useful practical rules, is nearly wanting. There
is a passage in Hartley, which we esteem it important to
quote: “ The sense of feeling may be distinguished into
that of the external surface of the body, and that of the
cavities of the nose, mouth, fauces, alimentary duct, pel¬
vis, of the kidneys, uterus, bladder of urine, gall bladder,
follicles, and ducts of the glands, &c. The sensibility is
much greater in the last than in the first, because the im¬
pressions can more easily penetrate through the soft epi¬
thelium with which the internal cavities are invested. In
the mouth and nose this sensibility is so great, and attend¬
ed with such distinguishing circumstances, as to have the
names of taste and smell assigned respectively to the sen¬
sations impressed upon the papillae of those two organs.”
 “ The taste may also be distinguished into two kinds,
viz. the general one, which extends itself to the insides of
the lips and cheeks, to the palate, fauces, oesophagus, sto¬
mach, and whole alimentary duct, quite down to the anus.
• The pleasures of the taste, considered as extending
itself from the mouth through the whole alimentary duct,
are very considerable, and frequently repeated; they must,
therefore, be one chief means by which pleasurable states
are introduced into the brain and nervous system. These
pleasurable states must, after some time, leave miniatures
of themselves sufficiently strong to be called up upon
slight occasions, viz. from a variety of associations with
the common visible and audible objects, and to illuminate
these and their ideas. When groups of these miniatures
have been long and closely connected with particular ob¬
jects, they coalesce into one complex idea, appearing, how¬
ever, to be a simple one; and so begin to be transferred
upon other objects, and even upon tastes back again, and
443
so on without limits. And, from this way of reasoning, it Education,
may now appear that a great part of our intellectual plea-
sures are ultimately deducible from those of taste; and
that one principal final cause of the greatness and constant
recurrency of these pleasures, from our first infancy to the
extremity of old age, is to introduce and keep up pleasu¬
rable states in the brain, and to connect them with foreign
objects. The social pleasures seem, in a particular man¬
ner, to be derived from this source, since it has been cus¬
tomary in all ages and nations, and is in a manner neces¬
sary, that we should enjoy the pleasures of taste in con¬
junction with our relations, friends, and neighbours. In
like manner, nauseous tastes and painful impressions upon
the alimentary duct, give rise and strength to mental pains.
The most common of these painful impressions is that from
excess, and the consequent indigestion. This excites and
supports those uneasy states which attend upon melan¬
choly, fear, and sorrow. It appears also to me that these
states are introduced in a great degree during sleep, dur¬
ing the frightful dreams, agitations, and oppressions, that
excess in diet occasions in the night. These dreams and dis¬
orders are often forgotten ; but the uneasy states of body
which then happen leave vestiges of themselves, which
increase in number and strength every day, from the conti¬
nuance of the cause, till at last they are ready to be called
up in crowds upon slight occasions, and the unhappy per¬
son is unexpectedly, and at once, as it were, seized with
a great degree of the hypochondriac distemper, the ob¬
vious cause appearing noways proportionable to the effect;
and thus it may appear that there ought to be a great
reciprocal influence between the mind and alimentary
duct, agreeably to common observation.” Cabanis, in
like manner, says, “ Quoique les medecins aient dit plu-
sieurs choses hazardees, touchant I’effet des substances
alimentaires sur les organes de la pensee, ou sur les prin-
cines physiques de nos penchans, il n’en est pas moins
certain que les differentes causes que nous appliquons
journellement a nos corps, pour en renouveller les mouve-
ments, agissent avec une grande efficacite sur nos disposi¬
tions morales. On se rend plus propre aux travaux de
1’esprit par certaines precautions de regime, par 1’usage,
ou la suppression de certains alimens. Quelques per-
sonnes ont ete gueries de violens acces de colere, aux-
quels elles etoient sujetes, par la seule diete pythagorique ;
et dans le cas meme ou des delires furieux troublent toutes
les facultes de 1’ame, femploi journalier de certaines nour-
ritures ou de certaines boissons, fimpression d’une cer-
taine temperature de fair, faspect de certains objets, en
un mot, un systeme dietetique particulier, suffit souvent
pour y ramener le calme, pour faire tout rentrer dans for-
dre primitif.”
As it is impossible for us here to attempt a full account
of the mode in which aliments operate to produce good or
bad effects upon the train of ideas, we shall single out
that case which, as operating upon the greatest number
of people, is of the greatest importance; we mean that
in which effects are produced by the poverty of the diet;
proposing, under the term poverty, to include both bad¬
ness of quality and defect of quantity. On badness of
quality we shall not spend many words. Aliments are
bad in a variety of ways, and to such a degree as to im¬
pair the bodily health. Of such the injurious effect will
not be disputed. Others, which have in them no hurtful
ingredient, may contain so insignificant a portion of nou¬
rishment, that to afford it in the requisite degree, they
must produce a hurtful distention of the organs. The
saw-dust, which some northern nations use for bread, if
depended upon for the whole of their nourishment, would
doubtless have this effect. The potato, where solely de¬
pended upon, is not perhaps altogether free from it. Bad
444
Education
  Y  
EDUCATION.
• quality, however, is but seldom resorted to, except in con¬
sequence of deficient quantity. That is, therefore, the
principal point of inquiry.
It is easy to see a great number of ways in which de¬
ficient quantity of food operates unfavourably upon the
moral temper of the mind. As people are ready to sacri¬
fice every thing to the obtaining of a sufficient quantity
of food, the want of it implies the most dreadful poverty;
that state in which there is scarcely any source of plea¬
sure, and in which almost every moment is subject to pain.
It is found by experience, that a human being, almost con¬
stantly in pain from his birth, hardly visited by a single
pleasure, and almost shut out from hope, loses by degrees
ail sympathy with his fellow-creatures; contracts even a
jealousy of their pleasures, and at last a hatred, and would
like to see all the rest of mankind as wretched as himself.
If he is habitually wretched, and rarely permitted to taste
a pleasure, he snatches it with an avidity, and indulges
himself with an intemperance, almost unknown to any other
man. The evil of insufficient food acts with an influence
not less malignant upon the intellectual than upon the
moral part of the human mind. The physiologists account
for its influence in this manner. They say, that the signs
by which the living energy is manifested may be included
generally under the term irritability, or the power of being
put in action by stimulants. It is not necessary for us to
be very particular in explaining these terms; a general
conception will for the present suffice. A certain degree
of this irritability seems necessary to the proper state, or
rather the very existence, of the animal functions. A suc¬
cession of stimulants of a certain degree of frequency and
strength is necessary to preserve that irritability. The
most important by far of all the useful stimulants applied
to the living organs is food. If this stimulant is applied
in less than a sufficient degree, the irritability is dimi¬
nished in proportion; and all those manifestations of the
living energy which depend upon it, mental as well as
corporeal, are impaired; the mind loses a corresponding
part of its force. We must refer to the philosophical writers
on medicine for illustrations and facts, which we have not
room to adduce, but which will not be difficult to collect.
Dr Crichton places poor diet at the head of a list of causes
which “ weaken attention, and consequently debilitate
the whole faculties of the mind.”1 From this fact, about
which there is no dispute, the most important consequences
arise. It follows, that when we deliberate about the means
of introducing intellectual and moral excellence into the
minds of the principal portion of the people, one of the
first things which we are bound to provide for is a gene¬
rous and animating diet. The physical causes must go
along with the moral; and nature herself forbids that you
shall make a wise and virtuous people out of a starving
one. Men must be happy themselves before they can re¬
joice in the happiness of others ; they must have a cer¬
tain vigour of mind, before they can, in the midst of ha¬
bitual suffering, resist a presented pleasure; their own
lives and means of well-being must be worth something,
before they can value, so as to respect, the life or well¬
being of any other person. This or that individual may
be an extraordinary individual, and exhibit mental excel¬
lence in the midst of wretchedness; but a wretched and
excellent people never yet has been seen on the face of
the earth. Though far from fond of paradoxical expres¬
sions, we are tempted to say that a good diet is a neces¬
sary part of a good education; for in one very important
sense it is emphatically true. In the great body of the
people all education is impotent without it.
Labour is the next of the circumstances in our enume-Educat
ration. We have distinguished labour from action, thouo'h Wy-
action is the genus of which labour is one of the species;
because, of those species, labour is so much the most im¬
portant. The muscular operations of the body, by which
men generally earn their bread, are the chief part of the
particulars which we include under that term. The same
distinction is useful here as in the former case; labour is
apt to be injurious by its quality and by its quantity.
That the quality of the labour in which a man is employ¬
ed produces effects favourable or unfavourable upon his
mind, has long been confessed. Dr Smith made the im¬
portant remark, that the labour in which the great body
of the people are employed, has a tendency to grow less
and less favourable as civilization and the arts proceed.
The division and subdivision of labour is the principal
cause. This confines the attention of the labourer to so
small a number of objects, and so narrow a circle of ideas,
that the mind receives not that varied exercise, and that
portion of aliment, on which almost every degree of men¬
tal excellence depends. When the greater part of a man’s
life is employed in the performance of a few simple ope¬
rations in one fixed invariable course, all exercise of in¬
genuity, all adaptation of means to ends, is wholly ex¬
cluded, and the faculty lost, as far as disuse can destroy
the faculties of the mind. The minds, therefore, of the
great body of the people are in danger of really degene¬
rating, while the other elements of civilization are advan¬
cing, unless care is taken, by means of the other instru¬
ments of education, to counteract those effects which the
simplification of the manual processes has a tendency to
produce.
The quantity of labour is another circumstance which
deserves attention in estimating the agents which concur
in forming the mind. Labour may be to such a degree se¬
vere, as to confine the attention almost wholly to the pain¬
ful ideas which it brings, and to operate upon the mind
with nearly the same effects as an habitual deficiency of
food. It operates perhaps still more rapidly, obliterating
sympathy, inspiring cruelty and intemperance, rendering
impossible the reception of ideas, and paralyzing the or¬
gans of the mind. The attentive examination, therefore,
of the facts of this case, is a matter of first-rate import¬
ance. Two things are absolutely certain; that without
the bodily labour of the great bulk of mankind, the well¬
being of the species cannot be bbtained: and that if the
bodily labour of the great bulk of mankind is carried be¬
yond a certain extent, neither intellect, virtue, nor happi¬
ness can flourish upon the earth. What then is that pre¬
cious middle point, at which the greatest quantity of good
is obtained with the smallest quantity of evil, is in this
part of the subject the problem to be solved.
The state of defective food and excessive labour is the
state in which we find the great bulk of mankind; the
state in which they are either constantly7 existing, or into
which they are every moment threatening to fall. These
are two, therefore, in settling the rank among the circum¬
stances which concur in determining the degree of intel¬
lect and morality capable of being exhibited in the socie¬
ties of men, which ought to stand in a very eminent place.
The mode of increasing to the utmost the quantity of in¬
tellect, morality, and happiness in human society, will be
very imperfectly understood, till they7 obtain a new degree
of consideration.
We named, besides these, among the physical circum¬
stances which contribute to give permanent characters to
the mind, air, temperature, action, and rest. But of these
1 An Inquiry into the Nature and Origin of Mental Derangement, &c. By A. Crichton, M. D. T. 274.
1
EDUCATION.
} nation, we must leave the illustration wholly to other inquirers.
It is mortifying to be obliged to relinquish a subject on
which so much depends, and for which so little has been
done, with so very imperfect an attempt for its improve¬
ment. We shall, however, have performed a service of
some utility to education, if what w'e have said has any
tendency to lead men to a juster estimate of the physical
circumstances which concur in fashioning the human mind,
and hence to greater industry and care in studying and
applying them.
2. Circumstances of the moral hind, which operate upon
the Mind in the way of Education.
The moral circumstances which determine the mental
trains of the human being, and hence the character of his
actions, are of so much importance, that to them the term
education has been generally confined; or rather, the
term education has been generally used in so narrow a
sense, that it embraces only one of the four classes into
which we have thought it convenient to distribute the
moral circumstances which operate to the formation of
the human mind.
1. The first of these classes we have comprehended un¬
der the term Domestic Education. To this the ground¬
work of the character of most individuals is almost wholly
to be traced. The original features are fabricated here ;
not indeed in such a manner as to be unsusceptible of al¬
teration, but in such a manner decidedly as to present a
good or bad subject for all future means of cultivation.
The importance, therefore, of domestic education needs
no additional words to explain it, though it is difficult to
restrain a sigh when we reflect that it has but now begun
to be regarded as within the pale of education ; and a few
scattered remarks, rather than a full exposition of the
subject, is all the information upon it v/ith which the
world has been favoured.
By domestic education we denote all that the child
hears and sees, more especially all that it is made to suf¬
fer or enjoy at the hands of others, and all that it is al¬
lowed or constrained to do in the house in which it is
born and bred, which we shall consider generally as the
parental.
If we consider that the mental trains, as explained
above, are that upon which every thing depends, and that
the mental trains depend essential!}' upon those sequences
among our sensations which have been so frequently ex¬
perienced as to create a habit of passing from the idea of
the one to that of the other, we shall perceive immediate¬
ly the reasons of what we have advanced.
It seems to be a law of human nature, that the first sen¬
sations experienced produce the greatest effects ; more es¬
pecially that the earliest repetitions of one sensation after
another produce the deepest habit; the strongest propen¬
sity to pass immediately from the idea of the one to the
idea of the other. Common language confirms this law
when it speaks of the susceptibifity of the tender mind.
On this depends the power of those associations which
form some of the most interesting phenomena of human
life. From what other cause does it arise that the hear¬
ing of a musical air, which after a life of absence recalls
the parental mansion, produces as it were a revolution in
the whole being? That the sympathies between brothers
and sisters are what they are ? On what other cause ori¬
ginally is the love of country founded; that passionate
attachment to the soil, the people, the manners, the woods,
the rivers, the hills, with which our infant eyes were fa-
niiliar, which fed our youthful imaginations, and with the
presence of which the pleasures of our early years were
habitually conjoined ?
It is, then, a fact, that the early sequences to which we Education,
are accustomed form the primary habits, and that the '>«*—v'*-'
primary habits are the fundamental character of the man.
The consequence is most important; for it follows that,
as soon as the infant, or rather the embryo, begins to feel,
the character begins to be formed; and that the habits
which are then contracted are the most pervading and
operative of all. Education, then, or the care of forming
the habits, ought to commence as much as possible with
the period of sensation itself; and at no period is its ut¬
most vigilance of greater importance than the first.
Very unconnected, or very general instructions, are all
that can be given upon this subject, till the proper decom¬
positions and recompositions are performed; in other words,
till the subject is first analysed and then systemized; or,
in one word, philosophized, if we may use that verb in a
passive signification. We can, therefore, do little more
than exhort to the prosecution of the inquiry.
The steady conception of the end must guide us to the
means. Happiness is the end; and we have circumscrib¬
ed the inquiry, by naming intelligence, temperance, and
benevolence, of which last the two parts are generosity
and justice, as the grand qualities of mind through which
this end is to be attained. The question then is, how
can those early sequences be made to take place on which
the habits, conducive to intelligence, temperance, and be¬
nevolence are founded; and how can those sequences on
which are founded the vices opposite to those virtues be
prevented ?
Clearness is attained by disentangling complexity; we
ought therefore to trace the sequences conducive to each
of those qualities in their turn. A part, however, must
suffice when we cannot accomplish the whole. Intelligent
trains of ideas constitute intelligence. Trains of ideas
are intelligent when the sequences in the ideas correspond
to the sequences in nature. A man, for example, knows
the order of certain words when his idea of the one fol¬
lows that of the other, in the same order in which the
events themselves took place. A man is sagacious in de¬
vising means for the production of events when his ideas
run easily in trains which are at once agreeable to know¬
ledge, that is, to the trains of events, and at the same
time new in the combination. They must be agreeable
to knowledge; that is, one of the ideas must follow ano¬
ther in the order in which the objects of which they are
the ideas follow one another in nature, otherwise the train
would consist of mere chimeras, and, having no connec¬
tion with things, would be utterly useless. As the event,
however? is not in the ordinary course, otherwise saga¬
city would not be required to give it existence, the ordi¬
nary train of antecedents will not suffice; it must be a
peculiar train, at once correspondent with nature and
adapted to the end. The earliest trains produced in the
minds of children should be made to partake as much as
possible of those characters. The impressions made upon
them should correspond to the great and commanding
sequences established among the events on which human
happiness principally depends. More explicitly, children
ought to be made to see, and hear, and feel, and taste, in
the order of the most invariable and most comprehensive
sequences, in order that the ideas which correspond to
their impressions, and follow the same order of succession,
may be an exact transcript of nature, and always ^ead to
just anticipations of events. Especially the pains and
pleasures of the infant, the deepest impressions which he
receives ought from the first moment of sensation to be
made as much as possible to correspond to the real order
of nature. The moral procedure of parents is directly
the reverse; they strive to defeat the order of nature in
accumulating pleasures for their children, and preventing
446
EDUCATION.
Education, the arrival of pains, when the children’s own conduct
would have had very different effects. •
Not only are the impressions from which ideas are co¬
pied, made, by the injudicious conduct of those to whom
the destiny of infants is confided, to follow an order very
different from the natural one, or that in which the grand
sequences among events would naturally produce them;
but wrong trains of ideas, trains which have no correspon¬
dence with the order of events, are often introduced im¬
mediately by words or other signs of the ideas of other
men. As we can only give very partial examples of a ge¬
neral error, we may content ourselves with one of the
most common. When those who are about children ex¬
press by their words, or indicate by other signs, that ter¬
rific trains of ideas are passing in their minds when they
go into the dark; terrific trains, which have nothing to do
with the order of events, come up also in the minds of the
children in the dark, and often exercise over them an un¬
controllable sway during the whole of their lives. This
is the grand source of wrong education; to this may be
traced the greater proportion of all the evil biases of the
human mind. If an order of ideas corresponding with
the order of events were taught to come up in the minds
of children when they go into the dark, they would think
of nothing but the real dangers which are apt to attend
it, and the precautions which are proper to be taken ; they
would have no wrong feelings, and their conduct would
be nothing but that which prudence or a right conception
of the events would prescribe. If the expressions and
other signs of the ideas of those who are about children
indicate that trains, accompanied with desire and admira¬
tion, pass in their minds when the rich and powerful are
named, trains accompanied with aversion and contempt
when the weak and the poor, the foundation is laid of a
character stained with servility to those above, and tyran¬
ny to those below them. If indication is given to children
that ideas of disgust, of hatred, and detestation, are pass¬
ing in the minds of those about them, when particular
descriptions of men are thought of, as men of different
religions, different countries, or different political parties
in the same country, a similar train becomes habitual in
the minds of the children, and those antipathies are ge¬
nerated which infuse so much of its bitterness into the
cup of human life.
We can afford to say but very few words on the powers
of domestic education with regard to temperance. That
virtue bears an immediate reference to pain and pleasure.
The grand object evidently is, to connect with each pain
and pleasure those trains of ideas which, according to the
order established among events, tend most effectually to
increase the sum of pleasures upon the whole, and dimi¬
nish that of pains. If the early trains create a habit of
over-valuing any pleasure or pain, too much will be sacri¬
ficed during life to obtain the one or avoid the other, and
the sum of happiness, upon the whole, will be impaired.
The order in which children receive their impressions, as
well as the order of the trains which they copy from
others, has a tendency to create impatience under priva¬
tion ; in other words, to make them in prodigious haste
to realize a pleasure as soon as desired, to extinguish a
pain as soon as felt. A pleasure, how'ever, can be realiz¬
ed in the best possible manner, or a pain removed, only
by certain steps, frequently numerous ones; and if im¬
patience hurries a man to overlook those steps, he may
sacrifice more than he gains. The desirable thing would
be, that his ideas should always run over those very steps,
and none but them; and the skilful use of the powers we
have' over the impressions and trains of his infancy would
lay the strongest foundation for the future happiness of
himself, and of all those over whom his actions have any
sway. It is by the use of this power1 that almost everyEducat
thing is done to create what is called the temper of the 'w-J
individual; to render him irascible on the one hand, or r
forbearing on the other; severe and unforgiving, or indul¬
gent and placable.
Intelligence and temperance are sometimes spoken of
as virtues which have a reference to the happiness of the
individual himself, benevolence as a virtue which has a re¬
ference to the happiness of others. The truth is, that intel¬
ligence and temperance have a reference not less direct to
the happiness of others than to that of the possessor; and
benevolence cannot be considered as less essential to his
happiness than intelligence and temperance. In reality,
as the happiness of the individual is bound up with that
of his species, that which affects the happiness of the one
must also, in general, affect that of the other.
It is not difficult, from the expositions we have already
given, to conceive in a general way how sequences may
take place in the mind of the infant which are favourable
to benevolence, and how sequences may take place which
are unfavourable to it. The difficulty is, so to bring for¬
ward and exhibit the details, as to afford the best possible
instruction for practice. We have several books now in
our own language, in particular those of Miss Edgeworth,
which afford many finely selected instances, and many
detached observations of the greatest value, for the culti¬
vation of benevolence in the infant mind. But the great
task of the philosopher, that of theorizing the whole, is
yet to be performed. What we mean by “ theorizing the
whole,” after the explanations we have already afforded,
is not, we should hope, obscure. It is, to observe exactly
the facts; to make a perfect collection of them, nothing
omitted that is of any importance, nothing included of
none; and to record them in that order and form in
which all that is best to be done in practice can be most
immediately and certainly perceived.
The order of the impressions which are made upon the
child by the spontaneous order of events is, to a certain
degree, favourable to benevolence. The pleasures of
those who are about him are most commonly the cause of
pleasure to himself; their pains of pain. When highly
pleased, they are commonly more disposed to exert them¬
selves to gratify him. A period of pain or grief in those
about him is a period of gloom, a period in which little
is done for pleasure, a period in which the pleasures of
the child are apt to be overlooked. Trains of pleasurable
ideas are thus apt to arise in his mind at the thought of
the pleasurable condition of those around him ; trains of
painful ideas at the thought of the reverse ; and he is thus
led to have an habitual desire for the one, aversion to the
other. But if pleasures, whencesoever derived, of those
about him, are apt to be the cause of good to himself,
those pleasures which they derive from himself are in a
greater degree the cause of good to himself. If those
about him are disposed to exert themselves to please him
when they are pleased themselves, they are disposed to
exert themselves in a much greater degree to please him
in particular when it is he who is the cause of the plea¬
sure they enjoy. A train of ideas, in the highest de¬
gree pleasurable, may thus habitually pass through his
mind at the thought of happiness to others produced by
himself; a train of ideas, in the highest degree painful,
at the thought of misery to others produced by himself.
In this manner the foundation of a life of beneficence is
laid.
The business of a skilful education is so to arrange the
circumstances by which the child is surrounded, that the
impressions made upon him shall be in the order most
conducive to this happy result. The impressions, too,
which are made originally upon the child, are but one of
i
»
EDUCATION.
447
Ed ition, the causes of the trains which are rendered habitual to
w,him, and which, therefore, obtain a leading influence in
his mind. When he is often made to conceive the trains
of other men, by the words or other signs by which their
feelings are betokened, those borrowed trains become
also habitual, and exert a similar influence on the mind.
This, then, is another of the instruments of education.
When the trains, signified to the child, of the ideas in the
minds of those about him, are trains of pleasure at the
thought of the happiness of other human beings, trains of
the opposite kind at the conception of their misery ; and
when such trains are still more pleasurable or painful as
the happiness or misery is produced by themselves; the
association becomes in time sufficiently powerful to govern
the life.
The grand object of human desire is a command over
the wills of other men. This may be attained either by
qualities and acts which excite their love and admiration,
or by those which excite their terror. When the educa¬
tion is so wisely conducted as to make the train run habi¬
tually from the conception of the good end to the concep¬
tion of the good means; and as often, too, as the good
means are conceived, viz. the useful and beneficial quali¬
ties, to make the train run on to the conception of the
great reward, the command over the wills of men ; an as¬
sociation is formed which impels the man through life to
pursue the great object of desire, by fitting himself to be,
and by actually becoming, the instrument of the greatest
possible benefit to his fellow men.
But, unhappily, a command over the wills of men may
be obtained by other means than by doing them good ;
and these, when a man can command them, are the short¬
est, the easiest, and the most effectual. These other
means are all summed up in a command over the pains of
other men. When a command over the wills of other
men is pursued by the instrumentality of pain, it leads to
all the several degrees of vexation, injustice, cruelty, op¬
pression, and tyranny. It is, in truth, the grand source
of all wickedness, of all the evil which man brings upon
man. When the education is so deplorably bad as to al¬
low an association to be formed in the mind of the child
between the grand object of desire, the command over
the wills of other men, and the fears and pains of other
men as the means, the foundation is laid of the bad cha¬
racter, the bad son, the bad brother, the bad husband, the
bad father, the bad neighbour, the bad magistrate, the
bad citizen, to sum up all in one word, the bad man. Yet,
true it is, a great part of education is still so conducted as
to form that association. The child, while it yet hangs at
the breast, is often allowed to find out by experience that
crying, and the annoyance which it gives, is that by which
chiefly it can command the services of its nurse, and ob¬
tain the pleasures which it desires. There is not one child
in fifty who has not learned to make its cries and wailings
an instrument of power; very often they are an instru¬
ment of absolute tyranny. When the evil grows to ex¬
cess, the vulgar say the child is spoiled. Not only is the
child allowed to exert an influence over the wills of others
by means of their pains ; it finds, that frequently, some¬
times most frequently, its own will is needlessly and un¬
duly commanded by the same means, pain, and the fear
of pain. All these sensations concur in establishing a
firm association between the idea of the grand object of
desire, command over the acts of other men, and the idea
of pain and terror, as the means of acquiring it. That
those who have been subject to tyranny are almost al¬
ways desirous of being tyrants in their turn ; that is to
say, that a strong association has been formed in their
minds between the ideas of pleasure and dignity on the
| one hand, and those of the exercise of tyranny on the
other, is a matter of old and invariable observation. An Education,
anecdote has just been mentioned to us, so much in point,
that we will repeat it, as resting on its own probability,
though it is hearsay evidence (very good, however, of its
kind) on which we have received it. At Eton, in conse¬
quence, it is probable, of the criticisms which the press
has usefully made upon the system of fagging (as it is
called) at the public schools, a proposition was lately made
among the boys themselves for abolishing it. The idea
originated with the elder boys, who were in possession of
the power; a power of a very unlimited and formidable
description, and by them was warmly supported. It was,
however, opposed with still greater vehemence by the ju¬
nior boys, the boys who were then the victims of it. The
expected pleasure of tyrannizing in their turn outweighed
the pain of their present slavery. In this case, too, as in
most others, the sources of those trains which govern us
are two; the impressions made upon ourselves, and the
trains which we copy from others. Besides the impres¬
sions just recounted, if the trains which pass in the minds
of those by whom the child is surrounded, and which he
is made to conceive by means of their words and other
signs, lead constantly from the idea of command over the
wills of other men as the grand object of desire, to the
ideas of^pain and terror as the means, the repetition of
the copied trains increases the effect of the native impres¬
sions, and establishes and confirms the maleficent charac¬
ter. These are the few things we can afford to adduce
upon the subject of domestic education.
2. In the next place comes that which we have deno¬
minated Technical Education. To this the term edu¬
cation has been commonly confined ; or, rather, the word
education has been used in a sense so unhappily restrict¬
ed, that it has extended only to a part of that which we
call technical education. It has not extended to all the
arts, but only to those which have been denominated
liberal.
The question here occurs, what is the sort of educa¬
tion required for the different classes of society, and what
should be the difference in the training provided for each ?
Before we can treat explicitly of technical education, we
must endeavour to show in what manner at least this
question ought to be resolved.
There are certain qualities the possession of which is
desirable in all classes. There are certain qualities the
possession of which is desirable in some, not in others.
As far as those qualities extend which ought to be com¬
mon to all, there ought to be a correspondent training for
all. It is only in respect to those qualities which are not
desirable in all, that a difference in the mode of training
is required.
What then are the qualities the possession of which is
desirable in all ? They are the qualities which we have
already named as chiefly subservient to the happiness of
the individual himself and of other men, intelligence,
temperance, and benevolence. It is very evident that
these qualities are desirable in all men; and if it were
possible to get them all in the highest possible degree in
all men, so much the more would human nature be ex¬
alted.
The chief difficulty respects intelligence; for it will be
readily allowed that almost equal care ought to be taken in
all classes, of the trains leading to the settled dispositions
which the terms temperance and benevolence denote.
Benevolence, as we have described it, can hardly be said
to be of more importance to the happiness of man in one
class than in another. If we bear in mind also the radi¬
cal meaning of temperance, that is, the steady habit of
resisting a present desire for the sake of a greater good,
we shall readily grant that it is not less necessary to hap-
44S
EDUCATION.
Education, piness in one rank of life than in another. It is only ne-
cessary to see that temperance, though always the same
disposition, is not always exerted on the same objects in
the different conditions of life. It is no demand of tem¬
perance, in the man who can afford it, to deny himself
animal food; it may be an act of temperance in the man
whose harder circumstances require that he should limit
himself to coarser fare. It is also true, that the trains
which lead to temperance and benevolence may be equally
cultivated in all classes. The impressions which persons
are made to receive, and the trains of others which they
are made to copy, may, with equal certainty, be guided
to the generating of those two qualities in all the differ¬
ent classes of society. We deem it unnecessary, here
indeed it is impossible, to enter into the details of what
may be done in the course of technical education, to ge¬
nerate or to confirm the dispositions of temperance and
benevolence. It can be nothing more than the applica¬
tion of the principles which we developed, when we en¬
deavoured to show in what manner the circumstances of
domestic education might be employed for generating the
trains on which these mental qualities depend.
Technical education we shall then consider as having
chiefly to do with intelligence.
I he first question, as we have said before, respects
what is desirable for all; the second what is desirable for
each of the several classes. Till recently, it was denied
that intelligence was a desirable quality in the great body
of the people; and as intelligence is power, such is an
unavoidable opinion in the breasts of those who think
that the human race ought to consist of two classes, one
that of the oppressors, another that of the oppressed. The
concern which is now felt for the education1 of the work¬
ing classes, shows that we have made a great step in
knowledge, and in that genuine morality which ever at¬
tends it.
The analysis of the ideas decides the whole matter at
..once. If education be to communicate the art of happi¬
ness, and if intelligence consists of two parts, a knowledge
of the order of those events of nature on which our plea¬
sures and pains depend, and the sagacity which disco¬
vers the best means for the attaining of ends; the ques¬
tion whether the people should be educated, is the same
with the question whether they should be happy or mi¬
serable. The question whether they should have more
or less of intelligence, is merely the question whether
they should have more or less of misery, when happiness
might be given in its stead. It has been urged that men
are by daily experience evinced not to be happy, not to
be moral, in proportion to their knowledge. It is a
shallow objection. Long ago it was observed by Hume,
that knowledge, and its accompaniments, morality and
happiness, may not be strictly conjoined in every indivi¬
dual, but that they are infallibly so in every age and in
eveiy countiy. ^ I he reason is plain; a natural cause may
be hindered of its operation in one particular instance,
though in a great variety of instances it is sure to pre¬
vail. Besides, there may be a good deal of knowledge in
an individual, but not knowledge of the best things. This
cannot easily happen in a whole people; neither the whole
nor the greater part will miss the right objects of know¬
ledge when knowledge is generally diffused.
As evidence of the vast progress which we have made
in right thinking upon this subject, we cannot help re¬
marking, that even Milton and Locke, though both men
of great benevolence toward the larger family of mankind,
and both men whose sentiments were democratical, yet
seem, in their writings on education, to have had in view
no education but that of the gentleman. It had not pre¬
sented itself, even to their minds, that education was d?
blessing in which the indigent orders could be made to Fd
partake. 1 ^_,uca|
As we strive for an equal degree of justice, an equal '
degree of temperance, an equal degree of veracity, in the
poor as in the rich, so ought we to strive for an equal de¬
gree of intelligence, if there were not a preventing cause.
It is absolutely necessary for the existence of the human
race, that labour should be performed, that food should
be produced, and other things provided, which human
welfare requires. A large proportion of mankind is re¬
quired for this labour. Now, then, in regard to all this
portion of mankind that labours, only such a portion of
time can by them be given to the acquisition of intelli¬
gence as can be abstracted from labour. The difference
between intelligence and the other qualities desirable in
the mind of man is this, that much of time, exclusively
devoted to the fixing of the associations on which the
other qualities ‘depend, is not necessary; such trains may
go on while other things are attended to, and amid the
whole of the business of life. The case is to a certain ex¬
tent the same with intelligence, but to a great extent it
is not. Time must be exclusively devoted to the acquisi¬
tion of it; and there are degrees of command over know¬
ledge to which the whole period of human life is not more
than sufficient. There are degrees, therefore, of intelli¬
gence, which must be reserved to those who are not
obliged to labour.
I he question is, and it is a question which none can
exceed in importance, what is the degree attainable by
the most numerous class? To this we have no doubt it
will in time very clearly appear .that a most consolatory
answer may be given. We have no doubt it will appear
that a very high degree is attainable by them. It is now
almost universally acknowledged that, on all conceivable
accounts, it is desirable that the great body of the people
should not be wretchedly poor; that when the people are
wretchedly poor, all classes are vicious, all are hateful,
and all are unhappy. If so far raised above wretched po¬
verty as to be capable of being virtuous, though it be still
necessary for them to earn their bread by the sweat of
their brow, they are not bound down to such incessant
toil as to have no time for the acquisition of knowledge
and the exercise of intellect. Above all, a certain portion
of the first years of life are admirably available to this
great end. With a view to the productive powers of their
very labour, it is desirable that the animal frame should
not be devoted to it before a certain age, before it has
approached the point of maturity'. This holds in regard to
the lower animals; a horse is less valuable, less in regard
to that very labour for which he is valuable at all, if he is
forced upon it too soon. There is an actual loss, therefore,
even in productive powers, even in good economy, and in
the way of health and strength, if the young of the human
species are bound close to labour before they are fifteen
or sixteen years of age. But if those years are skilfully
employed in the acquisition of knowledge, in rendering
all those trains habitual on which intelligence depends, it
may be easily shown that a very high degree of intellec¬
tual acquirements may be gained; that a firm foundation
may be laid for a life of mental action, a life of wisdom,
and reflection, and ingenuity, even in those by whom the
most ordinary labour will fall to be performed.
Beside the knowledge or faculties which all classes
should possess in common, there are branches of know¬
ledge and art which they cannot all acquire, and in re¬
spect to which education must undergo a corresponding
variety. The apprenticeships, for example, which youths
are accustomed to serve to the useful arts, we regard as a
branch of their education. Whether these apprenticeships,
as they have hitherto been managed, have been good in-
i
EDUCATION.
D :ation.struments of education, is a question of importance, about
which there is now, among enlightened men, hardly any
diversity of opinion. When the legislature undertakes to
do for every man what every man has abundant motives
to do for himself, and better means than the legislature;
the legislature takes a very unnecessary, commonly not a
very innocent trouble. Into the details, however, of the
best mode of teaching, to the working people, the arts by
which the different commodities useful or agreeable to
man are provided, we cannot possibly enter. We must
content ourselves with marking it out as a distinct branch
of the subject, and an important object of study.
With respect to the education of that class of society
who have wealth and time for the acquisition of the high¬
est measure of intelligence, there is one question to which
every body must be prepared with an answer. If it be
asked, whether, in the constitution of any establishment
for the education of this class; call it university, call it
college, school, or any thing else; there ought to be a
provision for perpetual improvement, a provision to make
the institution keep pace with the human mind; or whe¬
ther, on the other hand, it ought to be so constituted as
that there should not only be no provision for, but a
strong spirit of resistance to, all improvement, a passion
of adherence to whatever was established in a dark age,
and a principle of hatred to those by whom improvement
should be proposed; all indifferent men will pronounce
that such institution would be a curse rather than a bless¬
ing. That he is a progressive being, is the grand distinc¬
tion of man. He is the only progressive being upon this
globe. When he is the most rapidly progressive, then he
most completely fulfils his destiny. An institution for edu¬
cation which is hostile to progression, is, therefore, the
most preposterous and vicious thing which the mind of
man can conceive.
There are several causes which tend to impair the uti¬
lity of old and opulent establishments for education. Their
love of ease makes them love easy things, if they can de¬
rive from them as much credit as they would from others
which are more difficult. They endeavour, therefore, to
give an artificial value to trifles. Old practices, which
have become a hackneyed routine, are commonly easier
than improvements; accordingly they oppose improve¬
ments, even when it happens that they have no other in¬
terest in the preservation of abuses. Hardly is there a
part of Europe in which the universities are not recorded
in the annals of education as the enemies of all innovation.
“ A peine la compagnie de Jesus,” says d’Alembert, “ com-
men^ait elle a se montrer en France, qu’elle essuya des
difficultes sans nombre pour s’y etablir. Les universites
surtout firent les plus grands efforts pour ecarter ces
nouveaux venus. Les Jesuites s’annon^aient pour enseig-
ner gratuitement; ils comptoient deja parmi eux des
hommes savans et celebres, superieures peut-etre a ceux
dont les universites pouvaient se glorifier; 1’interet et la va-
nite pouvaient done suffire a leursadversaires pour chercher
les exclure. On se rapelle les contradictions semblables a
que les ordres mendians essuyerent de ces memes uni¬
versites quand ils voulurent s’y introduire; contradictions
fondees a peu pres sur les memes motifs.” {Destruction
des Jesuites en France). The celebrated German philo¬
sopher Wolf remarks the aversion of the universities to
all improvement, as a notorious fact, derived from ade¬
quate motives: “ Non adeo impune turbare licet schola-
num quietem, et docentibus lucrosam, et discentibus ju-
cundam.” (Wolfii Logica, Dedic. p. 2.)
But though such and so great are the evil tendencies
which are to be guarded against in associated seminaries
of education ; evil tendencies which are apt to be indefi¬
nitely increased when they are united with an ecclesiastical
VOL. VIII.
449
establishment, because, whatever the vices of the ecclesias- Education,
tical system, the universities have in that case an interest
to bend the whole of their force to the support of those
vices, and to that end to vitiate the human mind, which
can only be rendered the friend of abuses in proportion as
it is vitiated intellectually, or morally, or both; it must
notwithstanding be confessed, that there are great ad¬
vantages in putting it in the power of the youth to obtain
all the branches of their education in one place, even in
assembling a certain number of them together, when the
principle of emulation acts with powerful effect; and in
carrying on the complicated process according to a regu¬
lar plan, under a certain degree of discipline, and with the
powerful spur of publicity. All this ought not to be rashly
sacrificed, nor does there appear to be any insuperable
difficulty in devising a plan for the attainment of all those
advantages, without the evils which have more or less ad¬
hered to all the collegiate establishments which Europe
has yet enjoyed.
After the consideration of these questions, we ought
next to describe, and prove by analysis, the exercises
which would be most conducive in forming those virtues
which we include under the name of intelligence. But it
is very evident that this is a matter of detail far too ex¬
tensive for so limited a design as ours. And though, in
common language, education means hardly any thing more
than making the youth perform those exercises, and a
treatise on education means little more than an account
of them, we must content ourselves with marking the
place which the inquiry would occupy in a complete sys¬
tem, and proceed to offer a few remarks on the two re¬
maining branches of the subject, Social Education and
Political Education.
The branches of moral education heretofore spoken of
operate upon the individual in the first period of life, and
when he is not as yet his own master. The two just now
mentioned operate upon the whole period of life, but more
directly and powerfully after the technical education is at
an end, and the youth is launched into the world under his
own control.
3. Social Education is that in which society is the in-
stitutor. That the society in which an individual moves
produces great effects upon his mode of thinking and act¬
ing, every body knows by indubitable experience. The
object is, to ascertain the extent of this influence, the
mode in which it is brought about, and hence the means
of making it operate in a good rather than an evil direc¬
tion.
The force of this influence springs from two sources;
the principle of imitation, and the power of the society
over our happiness and misery.
We have already shown, that when, by means of words
and other signs of what is passing in the minds of other
men, we are made to conceive, step by step, the trains which
are governing them, those trains, by repetition, become
habitual to our own minds, and exert the same influence
over us as those which arise from our own impressions. It
is very evident that those trains which are most habitual¬
ly passing in the minds of all those individuals by whom
we are surrounded, must be made to pass with extraor¬
dinary frequency through our own minds, and must, un¬
less where extraordinary means are used to prevent them
from producing their natural effect, engross to a propor¬
tional degree the dominion of our minds. Witn this slight
indication of this source of the power which society usurps
over our minds, that is, of the share which it has in our
education, we must content ourselves, and pass to the next.
Nothing is more remarkable in human nature than the
intense desire which we feel of the favourable regards of
mankind. Few men could bear to live under an exclusion
3 L
I
450
E D W
E D W
Edward, from the breast of every human being. It is astonishing
how great a portion of all the actions of men are directed
to these favourable regards, and to no other object. The
greatest princes, the most despotical masters of human
destiny, when asked what they aim at by their wars and
conquests, would answer, if sincere, as Frederic of Prus¬
sia answered, pour faire parler de soi; to occupy a large
space in the admiration of mankind. What are the ordi¬
nary pursuits of wealth and of power, which kindle to such
a height the ardour of mankind?. Not the mere love of
eating and of drinking, or all the physical objects toge¬
ther, which wealth can purchase or power command.
With these every man in the long run is easily satisfied.
The easy command which those advantages procure over
the favourable regards of society ; this it is which renders
the desire of wealth unbounded, and gives it that irresis¬
tible influence which it possesses in directing the human
mind.
Whatever, then, are the trains of thought, whatever is
the course of action, which most strongly recommends us
to the favourable regards of those among whom we live,
these we feel the strongest motive to cultivate and dis¬
play ; whatever trains of thought and course of action
expose us to their unfavourable regards, these we feel the
strongest motives to avoid. These inducements, operat¬
ing upon us continually, have an irresistible influence in
creating habits, and in moulding, that is, educating us,
into a character conformable to the society in which we
move. This is the general principle ; it might be illus¬
trated in detail by many of the most interesting and in¬
structive phenomena of human life; it is an illustration,
however, which we cannot pursue.
To what extent the habits and character which those
influences tend to produce may engross the man, will no
doubt depend, to a certain degree, upon the powers of the
domestic and technical education which he has under¬
gone. We may conceive that certain trains might, by
the skilful employment of the early years, be rendered so
habitual as to be uncontrollable by any habits which the
subsequent period of life could induce, and that those
trains might be the decisive ones on which intelligent and
moral conduct depends. The influence of a vicious and
ignorant society would in this case be greatly reduced;
but still the actual rewards and punishments which so¬
ciety has to bestow upon those who please and those who
displease it, the good and evil which it gives and with¬
holds, are so great, that to adopt the opinions which it
approves, to perform the acts which it admires, to acquire
the character, in short, which it “ delighteth to honour,”
can seldom fail to be the leading object of those of whom
it is composed. And as this potent influence operates
upon those who conduct both the domestic education and
the technical, it is next to impossible that the trains which
are generated, even during the time of their operation,
should not fall in with, instead of counteracting, the trains
which the social education produces; it is next to impos¬
sible, therefore, that the whole man should not take the
shape which that influence is calculated to impress upon Edward
him. Cieurge
4. The Political Education is the last which we have
undertaken to notice of the agents employed in forming
the character of man. The importance of this subject
has not escaped observation. Some writers have treated
of it in a comprehensive and systematical manner, and a
still greater number have illustrated it by occasional and
striking remarks. It is nevertheless true, that the full
and perfect exposition of it yet remains to be made.
The political education is like the key-stone of the
arch, the strength of the whole depends upon it. We
have seen that the strength of the domestic and the tech¬
nical education depends almost entirely upon the social.
Now it is certain that the nature of the social depends
almost entirely upon the political; and the most import¬
ant part of the physical (that which operates with great¬
est force upon the greatest number, the state of aliment
and labour of the lower classes) is in the long run deter¬
mined by the action of the political machine. The play,
therefore, of the political machine acts immediately upon
the mind, and with extraordinary power: but this is not
all; it also acts upon almost every thing else by which
the character of the mind is apt to be formed.
It is a common observation, that such as is the direction
given to the desires and passions of men, such is the cha¬
racter of the men. The direction is given to the desires
and passions of men by one thing, and one alone, the
means by which the grand objects of desire may be at¬
tained. Now this is certain, that the means by which
the grand objects of desire may be attained depend al¬
most w’holly upon the political machine. When the poli¬
tical machine is such that the grand objects of desire are
seen to be the natural prizes of great and virtuous con¬
duct, of high services to mankind, and of the generous
and amiable sentiments from which great endeavours in
the service of mankind naturally proceed, it is natural to
see diffused among mankind a generous ardour in the ac¬
quisition of all those admirable qualities which prepare a
man for admirable actions, great intelligence, perfect self-
command, and over-ruling benevolence. When the poli¬
tical machine is such that the grand objects of desire are
seen to be the reward, not of virtue, not of talent, but of
subservience to the will, and command over the affections
of the ruling few; interest with the man above to be the
only sure means to the next step in wealth, or powTer, or
consideration, and so on ; the means of pleasing the man
above become, in that case, the great object of pursuit.
And as the favours of the man above are necessarily li¬
mited, as some, therefore, of the candidates for his favour
can only obtain the objects of their desire by disappoint¬
ing others, the arts of supplanting rise into importance;
and the whole of that tribe of faculties denoted by the
words intrigue, flatter}', backbiting, treachery, &c. are the
fruitful offspring of that political education which govern¬
ment, where the interests of the subject-many are but a
secondary object, cannot fail to produce. (a. a. a.)
EDULCORATION properly signifies the rendering
substances more mild. Chemical edulcoration consists
almost always in taking away acids and other saline sub¬
stances ; and this is effected by washing the bodies to
which they adhere in a large quantity of water. The
washing of diaphoretic antimony, powder of algaroth, and
the like, until the water comes off quite pure and insipid,
are instances of chemical edulcoration.
EDWARD, the name of several kings of England. See
England.
EDWARDS, George, fellow of the Royal and Anti¬
quarian Societies, was born at Stratford, a hamlet belong¬
ing to Westham in Essex, on the 3d of April 1693. After
having spent some time at school, he was put as appren¬
tice to a tradesman in Fenchurch Street. His master, who
was eminent both for his piety and skill in the languages,
treated him with very great kindness; but about the middle
of his apprenticeship an accident happened which totally
put a stop to the hopes of young Edwards advancing
himself in the way of trade. Dr Nicolas, a person of emi-
i ffards, nence in the physical world, and a relation of his mas-
■orge. ter’s, happened to die. The doctor’s books were removed
to an apartment occupied by Edwards, who eagerly em¬
ployed all his leisure hours, both during the day and great
part of the night, in perusing those which treated of natu¬
ral history, sculpture, painting, astronomy, and antiquities.
The reading of these books entirely deprived him of any
inclination which he might have formerly had for mercantile
business, and he resolved to travel into foreign countries.
In 1716 he visited most of the principal towns in Hol¬
land, and in about a month returned to England. Two
years afterwards he took a voyage to Norway, at the invi¬
tation of a gentleman who was disposed to be his friend,
and who was nephew to the master of the ship in which
he embarked. At this time Charles XII. was besieging
Frederickshall, an operation which prevented our young
naturalist from making such excursions into the country
as he would otherwise have done, for the Swedes were
very careful to intercept such strangers as could not give
a good account of themselves. But notwithstanding all
his precaution he was confined by the Danish guard, who
supposed him to be a spy employed by the enemy to pro¬
cure intelligence of their designs. However, by obtain¬
ing testimonials of his innocence, a release was granted.
In 1718 he returned to England, and next year he visit¬
ed Paris by the way of Dieppe. During his stay in
France he made two journeys of one hundred miles each,
the first to Chalons in Champagne, in May 1720, and the
second on foot to Orleans and Blois; but an edict hap¬
pening at that time to be issued for securing vagrants, in
order to transport them to America, as the banks of the
Mississippi w’anted population, our author narrowly es¬
caped a western voyage. On his arrival in England, Mr
Edwards closely pursued his favourite study of natural
history, applying himself to drawing and colouring such
animals as fell under his notice. In this pursuit he paid a
strict attention to natural rather than to picturesque beau¬
ty. Birds first engaged his particular attention ; and hav¬
ing purchased some of the best pictures of them, he was
induced to make a few drawings of his own, which were
admired by the curious, who encouraged the young na¬
turalist to proceed, by paying a good price for his early
labours. Amongst his first patrons and benefactors may
be mentioned Mr James Theobalds of Lambeth, a gentle¬
man zealous for the promotion of science. Being thus
unexpectedly encouraged, he increased in skill and assi¬
duity, and, by application to his favourite pursuit, pro¬
cured a decent subsistence and a large acquaintance.
However, he remitted his industry in 1731, when, in com¬
pany with two of his relations, he made an excursion to
Holland and Brabant, where he collected several scarce
books and prints, and had an opportunity of examining
the original pictures of several great masters at Antwerp,
Brussels, Utrecht, and other cities. In December 1733,
by the recommendation of Sir Hans Sloane, then presi¬
dent of the College of Physicians, he was chosen libra¬
rian to that body, and had apartments assigned him in
the college. This office was peculiarly agreeable to his
taste and inclination, as he had the opportunity of a con¬
stant recourse to a valuable library filled with scarce and
curious books on the subject of natural history, which he
so assiduously studied. By degrees he became one of the
most eminent ornithologists in this or in any other coun¬
try. His merit in this respect is too well known to render
it necessary to pronounce any eulogium on his perform¬
ances ; but it may be observed, that he never trusted to
others what he could perform himself, and he often found
it so difficult to satisfy his own mind, that he frequently
made three or four drawings in order to delineate the ob¬
ject in its most lively character, attitude, and representa¬
tion. In the year 1743, the first volume of the History of Edwards,
Birds was published in quarto. As the number of his sub- Bryan,
scribers exceeded even his most sanguine expectations,
a second volume appeared in 1747. The third volume
was published in 1750; and in 1751 appeared the fourth
volume. This being the last which he intended to pub¬
lish at that time, he seems to have considered it as the
most perfect of his productions in natural history ; and
therefore devoutly offered it up to the great God of na¬
ture, in humble gratitude for all the good things which he
had received from Him in this world. Our author, in 1758,
continued his labours under a new title, that of Gleanings
of Natural History. A second volume of the Gleanings
was published in 1760. The third part, which formed
the seventh and last volume of his works, appeared in
1764. Thus our author, after a long series of years, the
most studious application, and the most extensive corre¬
spondence in every quarter of the world, concluded a
work which contains engravings and descriptions of more
than six hundred subjects in natural history not before
described or delineated. He likewise added a general
index in French and English, which was afterwards per¬
fected with the Linnsean names, by Linnaeus himself, who
frequently honoured him with his friendship and corre¬
spondence. Some time after Mr Edwards had been ap¬
pointed librarian to the Royal College of Physicians, he
was, on St Andrew’s Day, in the year 1750, presented by
the president and council of the Royal Society with the
gold medal, the donation of Sir Godfrey Copley, annually
given on that day to the author of any new discovery in
art or nature, in consideration of his natural history just
then completed. A copy of this medal he had afterwards
engraved, and placed under the title in the first volume
of his history. He was a few years afterwards elected
fellow of the Royal Society and of the Society of Anti¬
quaries, London, and also a member of many of the aca¬
demies of sciences and learning in different parts of Eu¬
rope. In return for these honorary distinctions from
learned bodies, he presented elegantly-coloured copies of
all his works to the Royal College of Physicians, the Royal
Society, the Society of Antiquaries, and to the British
Museum; and also to the Academy of Sciences at Paris,
from which he received a very polite and obliging letter
of thanks by their then secretary M. Defouchy. His
collection of drawings, which amounted to upwards of
nine hundred, were purchased by the Earl of Bute. They
contain a great number of British as well as foreign birds,
and other animals hitherto not accurately delineated or
described. After the publication of the last work, having
arrived at his seventieth year, he found his sight beginning
to fail, and his hand losing its wonted steadiness. He re¬
tired from public employment to a little house which he
had purchased at Plaistow, previously to which he disposed
of all the copies as well as plates of his works. The con¬
versation of a few select friends, and the perusal of a few
select books, were the amusement of the evening of his
life; and now and then he made an excursion to some of
the principal cities in England, particularly to Bristol,
Bath, Exeter, and Norwich. Some years before his death,
the alarming depredation of a cancer, which baffled all the
efforts of medical skill, deprived him of the sight of one
of his eyes ; and he also suffered much from the stone, to
which at different periods of his life he had been subject;
but in the severest paroxysms of pain he was scarcely
known to utter a single complaint. Having completed
his eightieth year, emaciated with age and sickness, he
died, deservedly lamented, on the 23d of July 1773.
Edwards, Bryan, the well-known historian of the
West Indies, was born at Westbury, in Wiltshire, on the
21st of May 1743. His father had a small paternal estate;
452
EDWARDS.
Edwards, but as this did not exceed L.100 per annum, he found it
Bryan, insufficient for the maintenance of a numerous family, and
endeavoured to improve his circumstances by dealing in
corn and malt. This hazardous trade proved, as it often
does, only a means of more deeply involving his affairs;
and he died in 1756, leaving a widow and six children in
a very distressed situation. Mrs Edwards, however, had
two opulent brothers in the West Indies, the eldest of
whom, Zachary Bayly, possessing a princely fortune, and
being of a very amiable and generous disposition, under¬
took the support and education of young Edwards. He
had already been placed by his father at the school of Mr
Foot, a dissenting clergyman at Bristol, where he had
been taught the elementary branches of education; but,
for some reason which he never was able to divine, that
person was strictly prohibited from initiating him in any
branches of classical learning. He gave a species of in¬
struction, however, not usual in schools, and from which
his pupil probably derived the greatest benefit. He was
accustomed to make the boys write letters, or rather essays,
on various subjects, such as the beauty and dignity of truth,
the obligations to a religious life, the benefits of good edu¬
cation, and the like, giving them, where it appeared ne¬
cessary, an outline of the arguments which might be em¬
ployed on the subject. When the papers were given in,
he made such observations as appeared proper, insisting at
least that they should be correct in point of grammar and
orthography. These exercises gave occasion to display
the superior talents of Edwards, whose powers of elegant
composition already began to appear. He soon became
the favourite of his master, who liberally praised these
youthful performances, and often transmitted them for the
gratification of his parents. They were entirely satisfied ;
but when the care of his education devolved on his uncle,
the agent employed by him at Bristol was much surprised
to find an entire deficiency in classical knowledge, and, im¬
puting the blame to the master, removed him immediate¬
ly to a French boarding school in the same city; It is not
said that he acquired here any great portion of Greek and
Latin, but he became master of the French language, and
having access to an extensive circulating library, cultivat¬
ed a taste for reading which adhered to him throughout
the whole of his future life.
In 1759, another uncle, the younger brother of him un¬
der whose care he had hitherto been, arrived in England.
He, too, was possessed of an ample fortune, became mem¬
ber of parliament, first for Abingdon, and afterwards for
his native town, and set up a splendid establishment in
London. He appeared quite disposed to befriend young
Edwards, and even took the latter to reside with him ; but
the nephew observes, that, after enumerating his external
advantages, he had nothing else to say in favour of his un¬
cle. What the bad qualities were which drew forth so un¬
favourable a sentence we are not informed; but in a few
months they separated, and Edwards went out to his other
uncle. In this friend he seems to have found every thing
he could desire; the most enlightened mind, the sweetest
temper, and the most generous disposition. To this was
added a truly paternal regard for himself, which was re¬
turned with all the warmth of filial affection. His uncle,
finding him possessed of literary talents, but deficient in
classical acquirements, engaged a Mr Teale, a clergyman,
and formerly master of a free grammar-school, to reside
in his house, and give him the instruction of which he
stood in need. This choice proved most acceptable to
Edwards; he found in Mr Teale a man of extensive in¬
formation, and one, too, possessing considerable taste in
poetry. He viewed him, therefore, as a companion rather
than as a teacher; but this relation between the tutor and
pupil, however agreeable to both, was not favourable for
instilling the dry principles of grammar and prosody. A
much larger proportion of their time was spent in tasting
the beauties of Dryden and Pope, and in laughing at the
comic sallies of Moliere. Mr Edwards, upon the whole,
acquired, during this period, small Latin and less Greek •
but he continued to practise composition, both in prose
and verse; and the two companions sent occasional pieces
to the colonial newspapers.
The time was now coming when Mr Edwards’ talents
were to be exercised in a wider sphere. His uncle dying,
bequeathed to him his property; and in 1773 he became
heir to the much larger estate of Mr Hume, also of Ja¬
maica. His wealth and talents united, now entitled him
to take a lead in the political concerns of the island. In
1784 he published Thoughts on the Proceedings of Govern¬
ment respecting the Trade of the West India Islands with
the United States of America. This was followed by a
speech delivered at a free conference between the Coun¬
cil and Assembly at Jamaica, held on the 25th of Novem¬
ber 1789, on the subject of Mr Wilberforce’s propositions
in the House of Commons concerning the slave trade. It
was in 1793, however, that he published his great work,
on which he had been many years engaged, entitled His¬
tory, Civil and Commercial, of the British Colonies in the
West Indies, 2 vols. 4to. He begins the work by giving
a view of the original inhabitants of the West Indies, their
manners, institutions, and the means by which they have
been so entirely exterminated. This was followed by a
sketch of the revolutions through which these islands have
passed since the first European invasion. He gives next
a geographical and statistical description of each particu¬
lar island. He treats finally, at great length, of the go¬
vernment, the social state, and above all the commerce, of
this remarkable region. In the course of the discussion,
he enters fully into its relations with the African coast
and the negro slave trade. Mr Edwards, as a great and
long-resident proprietor, was almost inevitably led to be a
supporter of this traffic. He reasons, however, in a libe¬
ral and candid manner on the question, and does not even
attempt to deny the extent of the evils with which it was
accompanied. He only insists that these evils have been
overrated; and that Great Britain, by renouncing it whilst
it was still prosecuted by the other nations of Europe,
would ruin her own colonies, without doing any thing to
improve the condition of the Africans. In 1796 he pub¬
lished, in one volume quarto, a History of St Domingo, an
island which had excited a deep interest, in consequence
of the insurrection of the slaves, and the consequent esta¬
blishment of an independent negro government. In 1801
a new edition of both these works was published, in three
vols. 8vo, under the general title of History of the West
Indies. A fifth edition issued from the press in the year
1819. When Park returned from his celebrated jour¬
ney, Mr Edwards, from his oral information, drew up a
report of it, which was submitted to the African Society,
and published in their Transactions. Mr Park afterwards
incorporated the greater part of this into the general nar¬
rative of his Travels, in preparing which he availed him¬
self much of the assistance and suggestions of Mr Edwards.
It has been currently said that this narrative was entire¬
ly written by Mr Edwards; but as this assertion has been
pointedly contradicted by Park, who has elsewhere shown
respectable talents for composition, it can only be under¬
stood in the limited sense which has now been stated. It
appears, however, that Mr Park was induced, by Mr Ed¬
wards’ influence, to give rather a more favourable view
of the trade in slaves than reflection afterwards led him
to sanction.
Mr Edwards, after his removal to England, took up his
residence at Polygon, near Southampton; and in 1796 he
I
>
EDWARDS. 453
ds became member of parliament for the borough of Gram-
I than, pound, which he continued to represent till his death,
W (^ which took place on the 15th of July 1800. He left a short
narrative of his life, which was prefixed to the edition of
his history published in 1801. (e.)
Edwards, Jonathan, a celebrated American metaphy¬
sician and divine, was born on the 5th of October 1703,
at Windsor, in the province of Connecticut. His family
had originally emigrated from England in the reign of
Queen Elizabeth. His father, Mr Timothy Edwards, was
a clergyman of great piety and respectability, and by his
mother he was grandson of Mr Solomon Stoddard, a noted
and zealous divine of Northampton. Jonathan was ac¬
cordingly reared in the bosom of Puritanism, and all his
ideas were early imbued with the cast of thought which
was native to the stock from which he had sprung. There
was something indeed not a little singular in the prevail¬
ing character of religion in America in those days. A con¬
version seems to have been a regular era in a man’s life,
which could be fixed down to a date, as much as his
coming of age or his being married. A very curious docu¬
ment remains of Jonathan’s conversion, the whole steps and
progress of which he has detailed for the behoof of his chil¬
dren; and it is a document which, even amidst all its fre¬
quentweakness and extravagance, impresses us with a high
sense of the genius and of the worth of this remarkable
man. We cannot avoid giving our readers a little insight
into it, especially as it contains some passages of deep
feeling and sensibility, which form a striking contrast to
the controversial hardness of his other writings. It is
full of bursts of tenderness ; and even whilst the subjects
of his earliest meditations were the same dark doctrines,
in their most tremendous form, which he afterwards de¬
fended so ably by the help of his mature reason, amidst
all the gloom which naturally surrounds them, they seem
to have left upon his mind no sentiments but those of
gentleness and charity. At the same time, this document
affords us a distinct proof that such doctrines take their
origin, in a great measure, in peculiar circumstances of
society, or of the individual mind; and since they were
quite as fully impressed upon Edwards before he was ca¬
pable of any profound reasoning concerning them, as after¬
wards, the presumption is, that his early prepossessions
came strongly in aid of his later conclusions.
It was in the midst of these youthful musings that he
acquired a full and firm persuasion of tenets which we will
own scarcely seem to us to be either so lovely, or of so
good report, as the more natural sentiments of his un¬
converted state, which he gave up in exchange for them.
“ I had a variety,” says he “ of concerns and exercises
about my soul from my childhood ; but had two more re¬
markable seasons of awakening before I met with that
change by which I was brought to those new dispositions,
and that new sense of things, that I have since had. The
first time was when I was a boy, some years before I went
to college, at a time of remarkable awakening in my fa¬
ther’s congregation. I was then very much affected for
many months, and concerned about the things of religion.”
Ihis state of mind, however, appears to have passed off;
but, in his last year at college, he was visited by a severe
sickness, which made him form many wise and holy reso¬
lutions, which he was afterwards for the most part enabled
to keep. So far it was well; but now follows the grand
proof of his conversion. “ From my childhood up,” he says,
“ my mind had been wont to be full of objections against
the doctrine of God’s sovereignty in choosing whom he
would to eternal life, and rejecting whom he pleased, leav¬
ing them eternally to perish, and be everlastingly tor¬
mented in hell. It used to appear like a horrible doctrine
to me. But I remember very well when I seemed to be
convinced and fully satisfied as to this sovereignty of God, Edwards,
and his justice in thus eternally disposing of men ac- Jonathan,
cording to his sovereign pleasure. But I never could give
an account how or by what means I was thus convinced,
not in the least imagining in the time of it, nor a long
time after, that there was any extraordinary influence of
God’s Spirit in it, but only that now I saw farther, and my
reason apprehended the justice and reasonableness of it.
However, my mind rested in it, and it put an end to all
those cavils and objections that had till then abode with
me all the preceding part of my life. And there has been
a wonderful alteration in my mind with respect to God’s
sovereignty from that day to this, so that I scarce ever
have found so much as the rising of an objection against
God’s sovereignty in the most absolute sense, in showing
mercy to whom he will show mercy, and hardening and
eternally damning whom he will. God’s absolute sove¬
reignty and justice, with respect to salvation and damna¬
tion, is what my mind seems to rest assured of as much as
of any thing that I see with my eyes.” This doctrine conti¬
nued throughout Mr Edwards’ life in peculiar favour with
him ; and he employs the whole resources of his dialectics
to support it, with a full conviction that he was thereby
glorifying God, and performing an important service to
mankind.
In this document of Mr Edwards’ early opinions, we
have said that, amidst all the horrors of his creed, there are
many intimations of the natural fineness and sensibility of
his spirit. The following passages are remarkably beauti¬
ful, and have about them a tone of pastoral or rather scrip¬
tural poetry. “ Not long after I first began to experience
these things, I gave an account to my father of some
things that had passed in my mind. I was pretty much
affected by the discourse we had together ; and when the
discourse was ended, I walked abroad alone in a solitary
place in my father’s pasture for contemplation. And as
I was walking there, and looked up on the sky and clouds,
there came into my mind so sweet a sense of the glorious
majesty and grace of God that I know not how to express
it....God’s excellency, his wisdom, his purity and love,
seemed to appear in every thing; in the sun, moon, and
stars; in the clouds and blue sky; in the grass, flowers,
trees; in the water and all nature, which used greatly to
fix my mind. I often used to sit and view the moon for
a long time, and so in the day time spent much time in
viewing the clouds and sky, to behold the sweet glory of
God in these things; in the mean time singing forth with
a loud voice my contemplations of the Creator and Re¬
deemer...! used to be a person uncommonly terrified with
thunder ; and it used to strike me with terror when I saw
a thunder-storm rising; but now, on the contrary, it rejoiced
me. I felt God at the first appearance of a thunder-storm,
and used to take an opportunity at such times to fix my¬
self to view the clouds, and see the lightnings play, and
hear the majestic and awful voice of God’s thunder.” These
confessions have let us already into the inside of Edwards’
mind, and there is no need to return upon them whilst we
pursue the account of his studies, life, and writings. There
is a poetry and grandeur in some of his passages of this
sort which show a moral sublimity of genius in the midst
of enthusiastic reveries, often, in inferior minds, more pro¬
ductive of dark and disorderly sentiments than of sound
and elevated piety. When he comes, however, to reason
on his theological or philosophical tenets, he is no longer
either an enthusiast or a poet; for he then proceeds with
all the pertinacity and ingenuity of a hard-headed dialecti¬
cian, determined neithei to tolerate nor employ any wea¬
pon but stern argument
He went young to Yale College, and as early as his
thirteenth year had read Locke On the Human Under-
454 EDWARDS.
Edwards, standing with great delight and profit. He had a great
Jonathan. taste for natural philosophy, but the moral and divine
sciences were his chief object; and after a long residence
at college, during which time he prepared himself assi¬
duously for the ministry, he was in due form licensed to
preach. In August 1722 he was invited to preach to the
English Presbyterians at New York, where he continued
with approbation above eight months; but as this society
was too small to maintain a preacher, he returned in the
year 1723 to his father’s house at Connecticut, where, for
some time, he applied to his studies with much industry
and perseverance ; and this severe application became ha¬
bitual to him, although he was of a delicate constitution.
In the spring of 1724, having taken his master’s degree,
he was appointed tutor of Yale College, being then in his
twenty-first year; an office which, notwithstanding his
youth, he filled for two years with great success and re¬
putation. In September 1726 he received an invitation
from the people of Northampton in Connecticut, to be¬
come assistant to his mother’s father, Mr Stoddard, to
whom he was ordained colleague in his twenty-fourth
year, and continued as pastor of this congregation till the
year 1750. During this time he married, had many chil¬
dren, and wrote several pious and useful treatises, chiefly
suggested by the events of the times, such as his Faith¬
ful Narrative of the Surprising Work of God, in the
Conversion of many Hundred Soids in Northampton (for
these, as his biographer1 tells us, were remarkable times
for the out-pouring of God’s Spirit); but particularly a
sensible and useful treatise on Religious Affections, in
which he endeavoured to restrain the extravagance and
fanaticism into which, under these strong impressions, the
religion of his flock was but too apt to degenerate. He
was a most faithful and conscientious minister, but at
last fell under the displeasure of his people, from no other
cause except his anxiety for their spiritual interests. They
appear, indeed, to have been a very stiff-necked genera¬
tion, full of absurd whimsical vagaries on the subject of
religion, but at the same time evincing little of its spirit
in their lives and conversations. They had all a voice in
the election and continuance of their clergyman, and they
wrere very ready to seize any opportunity to show their
power. Mr Edwards discovered that some licentious
books had got among the youth of his congregation, a
fact as to which he wished some investigation to take
place; and this was the first point upon which his people
flew off from him. There arose afterwards another point
about the administration of the holy communion. His
grandfather Mr Stoddard had, it seems, a notion that the
administration of the sacrament was a moment which the
Divine Spirit was much disposed to seize for the conver¬
sion of sinners; and that, therefore, the most notorious
sinners were almost without scruple to be admitted to
that holy ordinance, in the hope that this conversion would
fall upon them. The result of this precious notion was,
that the utmost licentiousness, mingled as it was with wild
religious fancies floating in every brain, began to prevail
amongst the people. When Mr Edwards, on his grand¬
father’s death, obtained the entire charge, he endeavour¬
ed to make a change in this particular; but the outcry
against him was loud and overbearing. Even his brethren
of the clergy tamely gave way to a clamour which they
condemned; and this excellent, able, and pious clergy¬
man was thus driven away by the misguided flock, for
whom he had laboured assiduously during twenty-four
years ; and at an advanced period of life, with a wife and Edm
a large family, he was thrown upon the world and the care J°natfc
of providence. ''—-y-
His next position was at Stockbridge, in the western
part of Massachusetts Bay, where he was put at the head
of a mission for converting the Indians. lie was not ena¬
bled to do much as a missionary; but here he had a great
deal of leisure, which he employed in writing his principal
works. It was now he completed his chief treatise on
the subject of free will; a work concerning the rapid exe¬
cution of which we have the following information in Sir
Henry Moncreiff Wellwood’s able and interesting Life
of Dr Erskine. “ It was not till the month of July 1752,
that he appears to have resumed his studies on the sub¬
ject of free will; for on the 7th of that month he writes
Dr Erskine, that ‘ he hoped soon to be at leisure to re¬
sume his design;’ and gives him another sketch of the
plan of his book, in which, though there be nothing new,
there is more detail than in that which he had formerly
sent him. Whatever opinion,” continues this able writer,
“ may be held with regard to Mr Edwards’ argument, it
must appear astonishing to those who are capable of ap¬
preciating the difficulty of his subject, that, in nine months
from the date of this letter, on the 14th of April 1753,
he could write Dr Erskine, that he had almost finished
the first draught of what he originally intended; though
he was under the necessity of delaying the publication
till he knew the result of proposals which he had circu¬
lated for printing his book by subscription. His book
was published in 1754, and, though he had made some
progress in preparing his materials before he left North¬
ampton, was certainly written, and nearly completed,
within the time ascertained by the two letters referred
to, and must be admitted to convey^ a very striking idea,
both of his mental resources and of his literary ardour.”
In 1757, on the death of Mr Aaron Burr, Mr Edwards
was chosen president of New Jersey College. He had only
been here, however, a very short time, when he was car¬
ried off on the 22d of March 1758, in the fifty-fifth year
of his age, by the small-pox. This disease was at that
time raging in the neighbourhood. Mr Edwards, who
had never had it, proposed to be inoculated, which his
physicians approved of. He had the disease favourably,
but a secondary fever set in, and by reason of a number
of pustules in his throat, the obstruction became such that
he could not swallow the necessary medicines, and the fatal
result was what we have stated. The character of Mr
Edwards is that of a very primitive, self-mortified, simple,
and amiable man, and affords a strong proof of the power
of genuine Christian piety upon the heart, in spite of the
most gloomy and repulsive tenets. He was solely occu¬
pied with his professional duties and his theological stu¬
dies, insomuch that, as is mentioned with inimitable sim¬
plicity by the author of his life, “ he was less acquainted
with most of his temporal affairs than many of his neigh¬
bours, and seldom knew when and by whom his forage
for winter was gathered in, or how many milk-kine he
had ; whence his table was furnished,” or by what means
his wants were provided for. Mrs Edwards, however, a
most valuable and sensible woman, fully supplied his de¬
fects in these particulars. We must quote another pas¬
sage from this piece of biography, which is equal in sim¬
plicity, though by no means in any thing else, to some ot
the exquisite biographies of Isaac Walton. After being
informed that he did not permit dancing, against which
1 This primitive piece of biography, from which all our quotations are taken, is prefixed to a volume of sermons published after
Mr Edwards’ death. Us author is not mentioned. The edition from which we quote is printed at Edinburgh, by Alexander Jar-
tliue, 1791>.
>
lairds,
jo),;han.
E D W E F F 455
amusement, indeed, he wrote a sermon, we are told that not rigidly maintained, a man could nowhere set his foot Eekeren
“ he allowed not his children to be from home after nine down with consistency and safety, short of Deism, or even !!
o’clock at night, when they went abroad to see their Atheism itself, or rather universal Scepticism.” ^Effigy.
friends and companions; neither were they allowed to sit Edwards’ works consist of several volumes of sermons,
up much after that time, in his own house, when any came printed at various times, and often reprinted in this coun-
to make them a visit. If any gentleman desired acquaint- try as well as in America. Besides these, he wrote, 1. A
tance with his daughters, after handsomely introducing Treatise concerning Religious Affections, 1746, 8vo ; 2.
himself, by properly consulting the parents, he was al- An Account of the Life of the Reverend David Brainerd,
lowed all proper opportunity for it, and a room and fire, 1749, 8vo ; 3. An Inquiry into the Qualifications for full
if needed; but must not intrude on the proper hours of Communion in the Visible Church, 1749, intended as a
rest and sleep, nor the religion and order of the family.” vindication of his principles in the matter which occa-
Mr Edwards comes nearer Bishop Butler as a philoso- sioned his dismission from Northampton ; 4. A careful
phical divine than any other theologian with whom we and strict Inquiry into the Modern Notion of that Freedom
are acquainted. His style, like Butler’s, is very much of Will which is supposed to be essential to Moral Agency,
that of a man thinking aloud. In both these authors the 1754 ; 5. The Great Christian Doctrine of Original Sin
train of thinking in their own minds is more clearly exhi- defended, containing a Reply to the Objections of Dr John
kited to us than perhaps by any other writer, whilst they Taylor, 1758; 6. A History of Redemption ; 7. Miscel-
show us with great truth and distinctness what their no- laneous Observations on Important Theological Subjects,
tions are, and how they came by them, with very little London, 1793; 8. Remarks on Important Theological
concern about the form of expression in which they are Controversies, ibid. 1796. Some, of these were posthu-
brought out. Butler, however, had a larger mind than mous, as were a few other tracts of less importance writ-
Edwards, and was by no means so much of a mere dia- ten by him. (L. l. l.)
lectician. If, therefore, he be less acute than the Ame- EEKEREN, a town of the Netherlands, in the pro-
rican, he is more comprehensive, and gives fairer play to vince of Antwerp, about four miles from that city. It has
every opposing argument. We do not mean here to enter some distilleries and tanneries, and 4740 inhabitants,
into any of Edwards’ speculations. Both on the subject of EECHAAK, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
original sin, and on the freedom of the will, he seems Bahar, 103 miles south-south-east from Patna. Long. 85.
to us to unite a great deal too closely the views which 46. E. Lat. 24. 10. N.
originated, as we have seen, in no small degree, amidst EEL. See Ichthyology.
his early reverie's, with the infallible discoveries of divine EETCOORE, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
revelation. Our notion is, that in all discussions on such Bahar, and district of Ramgur, 92 miles south from Patna,
subjects which have hitherto appeared, the speculatists Long. 85. 17. E. Lat. 24. 18. N.
have forgotten how little a part either of the history or EFBE, an island in the Eastern Seas, about five or six
the nature of man we are in fact acquainted with ; and miles in length, near the south coast of Mysol, with which
bow ready we ever are, in laying the foundations of our it forms a harbour. Captain Forrest found two villages
theories, to place a tortoise beneath the elephant. The on the island, where vessels may procure supplies. Long,
whole difficulty, for instance, on the freedom of the will, 127. E. Lat. 2. 12. S.
turns upon a puzzle in the idea of cause and effect. Per- EFFEMINA EE, womanish, unmanly, voluptuous,
haps this idea is far from being precise in our minds (Mr Effeminate (effeminati), according to the yulgate, are
Edwards uses it very loosely in his speculations); yet we mentioned in several places of Scripture. Ihe word is
do not scruple, in our reasonings upon it, to draw the there used to signify such as were consecrated to some
most positive inferences from the assumptions with which profane god, and prostituted themselves in honour of him.
we set out. We suspect, indeed, that the true and accu- The Hebrew word hadesh, translated effeminatus, pioperly
rate notion of causation always involves the idea of voli- signifies consecrated; and hence it was applied to those of
tion ; and, on that supposition, to ask for the cause of voli- either sex, who publicly prostituted themselves in honom
tion itself is absurd. It may be very true that we can- of Baal and Astarte. Moses expressly forbids these nre-
not will to do any thing without previous thought or mo- gularities among the Israelites; but the history of the
live; neither can we think without previous existence. Jews shows that they were notwithstanding iiequenty
But is our existence the cause of our thinking? Just as practised. • -c
much as our thinking is the cause of our willing. We are EFFENDI, in the Turkish language, sigm es wrw er,
far, however, from wishing to add our own crude concep- and accordingly is a title very extensively applied, as to
tions to those which have been piled up on this subject the mufti and emirs, to the pnests of mosques, to men o
from the beginning of time to the present hour, without, learning, and of the law. Ihe grand cLancekor of t ie
we believe, doiner the slightest service to the cause of mo- empire is called reis effendi. _ .
ral and religious truth, or accomplishing any thing, in short, EFFERVESCENCE, an intestine motion excited among
beyond affording an exercise for ingenuity', and too often the parts of two bodies of dineient natuies, w len t icy
a handle for uncharitable rancour and presumptuous ab- reciprocally dissolve each other. Lffervescences are com-
surdity. Mr Edwards, with all his great powers, has ac- monly attended with bubbles, vapours, small jets ot tne
cordingly, we apprehend, done but little good to the liquid, and a hissing noise; which phenomena again are
world, we mean as a philosopher ; for he did much good occasioned by the air disengaging itse . ometunes a so
in his own day, whilst he was living the life of a zealous they are accompanied with a great degiee o lea , rom
and faithful Christian minister. But it is “ thus we play the decomposition of some substances and the formation
the fools with the time; and the spirits of the wise sit of new compounds. „
in the clouds and mock us.” Exalted above all the folly Formerly the fermentation was also appbed to et-
of human wisdom, the spirit of this truly good and pious fervescences •, but now that word is confined to t ic motion
man is now, it may be, disposed to regard with some such naturally excited in animal and vegetable matters, anc
sentiment many of his own most severe and laborious spe- from which new combinations among their puncip es ta e
culations, which were carried on in the serious belief, place. <
that if “ the knots of Calvinism were trimmed off, or its FIFFIGY, the portrait, figure, or exact represen a ion
doctrines, in the whole length and breadth of them, were of a person.
456
EGG
EGG
Effigy, is also used for the print or impression of a
coin, representing the prince’s head who struck it.
Effigy, to execute or degrade in, denotes the execution
or degradation of a condemned contumacious criminal,
who cannot be personally seized.
EFFLORESCENCE, in Chemistry, denotes the forma¬
tion of a kind of mealy powder on the surface of certain
bodies. Efflorescence is occasioned either by decomposi¬
tion or by drying. The efflorescence which happens to co¬
balt and martial pyrites is of the former; and that observed
on the crystals of soda, Glauber’s salt, and the like, of the
latter kind. An efflorescence is sometimes also a species
of crystallization, such as the beautiful vegetations which
shoot up from different saline substances. See Crystal¬
lization.
EFhLORESCENTIA, in Botany (from effloresce, to
bloom), the precise time of the year and month in which
every plant shows its first flowers. Some plants flower
twice a year, as is common between the tropics; others
oftener, as the monthly rose. The former are called by
botanists biferce, the latter multiferce.
EFFLUVIUM, in Physiology, a term much used by
philosophers and physicians to express the minute par¬
ticles which exhale from most, if not all, terrestrial bo¬
dies, in form of sensible vapours.
EFFRONTES, in Ecclesiastical History, a sect of here¬
tics, in 1534, who scraped the forehead with a knife till it
bled, and then poured oil into the wound. This ceremony
served them instead of baptism. They are likewise said
to have denied the divinity of the Holy Spirit.
EFFUSION, the pouring out of any liquid. In the an¬
cient heathen sacrifices there were divers effusions of
wine and other liquors, called libations.
Ef-fusion, or Fusion, in Astronomy, denotes that part
of the sign Aquarius represented on celestial globes and
planispheres by the water issuing out of the urn of the
water-bearer.
EGENOTISO, an island in the Eastern Seas, about
twenty miles in circumference, and fifty miles from the
north-east coast of Sumatra. Long. 104. 45. E. Lat. 0.
27. S.
EGER, a circle of the Austrian kingdom of Bohemia,
extending over 110 square miles, and containing 22,500 in¬
habitants. 4 he chief place is the city of the same name.
It contains 776 houses, and 8111 inhabitants, who are
employed in various manufactures. It is celebrated as
the place where Wallenstein was put to death, and also
for its mineral water, which is extensively dispensed in
Germany. Long. 12. 18. E. Lat. 50. 5. N.
EGERlA, a nymph who assisted Numa in framing a
code of law^for the people of Rome. The king and the
nymph used to meet at night in a wood at the gates of
Rome, then called Lucus Camcenarum, which is now, ac¬
cording to popular opinion, La Caffarella. When Numa
died, Egeria was so violently affected with grief, that she
frequently interrupted by her weeping the sacrifice of
Diana, till the goddess in pity changed her into a fountain
of the same name. (Ovid. Met. xv. 547 ; Liv. i. 19; Juv.
v. 10.)
EGG, in Physiology, a body formed in certain females,
in which is contained an embryo or foetus of the same
species, under a cortical surface or shell. The exterior
part of an egg is a shell, which in a hen, for instance, is a
white, thin, and friable cortex, including all the other
parts. The shell becomes more brittle by being exposed
to a dry heat. It is lined everywhere with a very thin
but pretty tough membrane, which dividing at or very
near the obtuse end of the egg, forms a small bag, where
only air is contained. In new-laid eggs this follicle ap¬
pears very little, but becomes larger when the egg is
kept. Within this are contained the albumen or white, and y „
the vitellus or yolk; each of which has its different vir- if8
tues. The albumen is a cold, viscous, white liquor in the EggeU
egg, different in consistence in its different parts. It is deR<
observed, that there are two distinct albumens, each
which is inclosed in its proper membrane. Of these, one
is very thin and liquid, the other is more dense and vis¬
cous, and of a somewhat whiter colour, but, in old and
stale eggs, after some days incubation, inclining to a yel¬
low. As this second albumen covers the yolk on all sides
so it is itself surrounded by the other external liquid!
The albumen of a fecundated egg is as sweet and free
from corruption during the whole time of incubation as
it is in new laid eggs ; and so is also the vitellus. As the
eggs of hens consist of two liquors separated one from
another, and distinguished by two branches of umbilical
veins, one of which goes to the vitellus, and the other to
the albumen ; so it is very probable that they are of dif¬
ferent natures, and consequently appointed for different
purposes. When the vitellus grows warm with incubation,
it becomes more humid, resembling melting wax or fat; and
hence it occupies more space. For as the foetus increases,
the albumen insensibly wastes away and condenses; the
yitellus, on the contrary, seems to lose little or nothing of
its bulk when the foetus is perfected, and only appears
more liquid and humid when the abdomen of the fcetus
begins to be formed. The chick in the egg is first nourish¬
ed by the albumen, and, when this is consumed, by the
vitellus, as with milk. If we compare the^chalazce to the
extremities of an axis passing through the vitellus, which
is of a spherical form, this sphere will be composed of two
unequal portions, its axis not passing through its centre;
consequently, since it is heavier than the white, its smaller
portion must always be uppermost in all positions of the
egg. The yellowish white round spot, called cicatricula,
is placed on the middle of the smaller portion of the yolk;
and therefore, from what has been said above, must al¬
ways appear on the superior part of the vitellus. Not
long before the exclusion of the chick, the whole yolk is
taken into its abdomen; and the shell, at the obtuse end
of the egg, frequently appears cracked some time before
the exclusion of the chick. The chick is sometimes ob¬
served to perforate the shell with its beak. After exclu¬
sion, the yolk is gradually wasted, being conveyed into
the small guts by a small duct.
Eggs differ very much, according to the birds which
lay them, as to their colour, form, size, age, and the dif¬
ferent ways of dressing them : those most used in food are
hens’ eggs. As to the preservation of eggs, it is observed
that the egg is always quite full when it is first laid by the
hen ; but from that time it gradually becomes less and less
so, till its decay ; and however compact and close its shell
may appear, it is nevertheless perforated with a multitude
of small holes, though too minute for the discernment of
our eyes, the effect of which is a daily decrease of matter
within the egg, from the time of its being laid. This
perspiration is much quicker in hot weather than in cold.
To preserve the egg fresh, there needs no more than to
preserve it full, and stop its transpiration ; the method of
doing which is, by stopping up those pores with matter
which is not soluble in watery fluids ; and on this principle
it is that all kinds of varnish, prepared with spirit of wine,
will preserve eggs fresh for a long time, if it be carefully
rubbed all over the shell. Tallow, or mutton fat, is also
good for this purpose.
Artificial Method of Hatching Eggs. See Hatching.
EGGENFELDEN, a bailiwick of the circle of the
Lower Danube, in the kingdom of Bavaria, extending
over 220 square miles. It contains five market-towns, 133
villages, and 867 hamlets, with 22,566 inhabitants. The
4
>
E G 1
l lam capital is the town of the same name. It is situated on
‘j the river Roth, and contains 226 houses, with 1340 inha-
If hard, bitants.
W-' ' EGHAIVT, a village of the hundred of Godley and
Chertsey, in the county of Surrey, 18 miles from London.
It is situated on the banks of the Thames, which is the
boundary towards Middlesex, and over which is a bridge
connecting it with Staines. The great western road pass¬
ing through it gives some animation. The country around
it is pleasant. The population amounted in 1801 to 2190,
in 1811 to 2823, in 1821 to 3616, and in 1831 to 4203.
EGINHARD, or Eginhart, a celebrated historian of
the ninth century, was a native of one of the eastern pro¬
vinces of France. His family is not known, and those
who have pretended that he was of noble descent have
given no other proof of their assertion than the reception
which he met with at the court of Charlemagne. He was
instructed in letters by Alcuin, who foresaw the success
of his pupil, and recommended him to the favour of the
emperor. Being afterwards admitted to receive lessons
along with the young princes, he justified the opinions
which had been formed of his merits by the progress
which he made in his studies ; and Charlemagne, wishing
to attach to his person a young man of so much promise,
appointed the latter his secretary. Eginhard is said to
have formed a strong attachment for Emma or Imma, one
of the daughters of Charlemagne, whom, with the consent
of the emperor, he is stated to have espoused; but, how¬
ever this may be, it is certain that he married a lady of
rank belonging to the court of Charlemagne. The ex¬
pressions in the ancient manuscripts, though somewhat
vague, leave no doubt as to this circumstance. After the
death of Charlemagne, Eginhard passed into the service
of Louis le Debonnair, who confided to him the education
of his son Lothaire. But use and experience having in¬
spired him with a disgust for the court, he obtained per¬
mission to quit it; and accordingly having resigned his
employments, he withdrew to the monastery of Fontenelle,
whilst his wife Emma, and his son Vussin, also embraced
the monastic life. Having governed this monastery du¬
ring seven years, he, in 823, resigned the administration to
his friend Ansegise, and then retired first to the abbey of
St Pierre, and afterwards to that of St Bavon de Gaud. He
afterwards left his retreat, however, and returned to the
court, where he is stated by some to have taken part in
the troubles of which Louis le Debonnair became the
victim. But this is contradicted by his letters, which
prove that he neglected no means to prevent the execu¬
tion of the plot entered into against this unfortunate prince
by his own children. Eginhard is supposed to have died
about the year 839. He left several works, of which the
following are the most important: 1. Vita, et Gesta Caroli
Mayni, Cologne, 1521, in 4to, rare; 2. Annales Regum
Francorum Pipini, Caroli Magni, Ludovici Pii, ab anno
E G R 457
Christi 741 ad annum 829, contained in the collection of Egmont
Pierre Pithou, Paris, 1588, and Francfort, 1613; 3. Egin- Island
hardi Epistola, contained in the collection of Duchene, II
tom. ii. in the Eginhardus Vindicatus of John Weinekens, I gremorit.
and also in the collection of Dom Bouquet; 4. De Trans-
latione SS. Martyrum Marcellini et Petri ; 5. Ereviarium
Chronologicum ab orbe condito ad Ann. Chr. 809, which is
merely an abridgment of the Chronicle of Bede.
EGMONT ISLAND, or New Guernsey, the principal
island in the group called Queen Charlotte’s Islands, in
the South Pacific Ocean. It is about 54 miles in length,
and from 20 to 32 in breadth. The country in general is
mountainous, covered with woods, and intersected with
numerous valleys and small rivers. The inhabitants are
brave, vigorous, and active, but treacherous and dishonest.
Long. 166. E. Lat. 11. S.
Egmont Island, a small woody island in the South
Pacific Ocean, six miles in length by about four in breadth.
Long. 138. 30. W. Lat. 19. 20. N.
EGNATIA, or Gnatia, a city of Peucetia, a province of
Apulia, situated on the coast, the inhabitants of which are
ridiculed by Horace for exciting the wonder of the igno¬
rant multitude by burning incense on an altar without
the process of ignition. Pliny, with the utmost gravity",
makes the prodigy still more surprising, by stating that
this sacred stone possessed the power of setting fire to
any species of wood by mere juxtaposition (ii. 107). At¬
tempts of this kind to impose on the credulity of a su¬
perstitious people were by no means uncommon amongst
the ancients; and this trick, with.some slight variations,
was practised by the priests in very different parts of the
world. Aristotle mentions a stone in Thrace from which,
on being moistened with water, flames issued forth; and,
according to Pliny, the same thing occurred in the coun¬
try of the primitive Sabines. In Lydia, Pausanias was
witness to a miracle of a somewhat similar nature. There
was a small chapel set apart for this particular purpose ;
on entering he found the altar covered with ashes of a
peculiar colour, and one of the magi having made his ap¬
pearance, placed dry wood upon it, and his tiara on his
head. Fie then repeated a few prayers, when a beautiful
and brilliant flame issued from the altar without the ap¬
plication of fire. This city gave name to the Via Egnatia,
which passed from Brundusium through Egnatia to Canu-
sium. Its ruins are found at the Torre d’Agnazzo, where
the inhabitants still pretend to show the temple alluded
to by Horace.
EGREMONT, a market-town of the ward of Allerdale,
in Cumberland, about five miles from the sea, and 290 from
London. It formerly returned members to Parliament;
and the family of Wyndham derive from a castle near it,
now dilapidated, the title of earl. The market is held on
Saturday. The population amounted in 1801 to 1515, in
1811 to 1741, and in 1831 to 1741.
3 M
VOL. VIII.
458
E G Y P T.
Egypt, a country not less remarkable for its physical
character than its historical records, and forming as it
were the connecting link between Africa and the civilized
world, consists, first, of a long and narrow valley, which
follows the course of the Nile from Assouan to Cairo;
and secondly, of the extensive plain which is situated be¬
tween the northern extremity of this valley and the Medi¬
terranean Sea. Including the valley and the plain, it ex¬
tends from the parallel of 24° N. where the river appears
to force a passage for itself through the mountains of Nu¬
bia, to the vicinity of Darnietta, in 31° 35' N. where the
principal stream discharges itself into the ocean. The na¬
tural boundaries of Egypt are so distinctly marked, that
its nominal or territorial extent has seldom much exceed¬
ed the area which is included within its physical limits.
Immediately above the cataracts of Syene, or Assouan,
there is a small island, called Philae by the Greeks, and
Bilak by the Arabs,1 which from the earliest times con¬
stituted the southern limit or extremity of Egypt. From
Syene to Cairo, the river flows along a narrow valley,
included between two mountain ridges, which an Ara¬
bian author calls “ the wings of the Nile,” one of them
extending to the Red Sea, and the other terminating in
the deserts of ancient Libya. The river occupies the
middle of the valley as far as the strait called Djibbel-Sil-
sili, which is about forty miles long; but at the mouth of
this strait it runs along the right side of the valley, which
is bounded by a steep line of rocks, cut as it were into
peaks, whilst the ridge of hills on the left side is less pre¬
cipitous, and generally presents an accessible slope, vary¬
ing in acclivity. The mountains which confine the basin
of the Nile in Upper Egypt are intersected by defiles,
which on one side lead to the shores of the Red Sea,
and on the other to the Oases.2 Near Benisouef, the val¬
ley of the Nile, already much widened on the west, pre¬
sents on that side an opening, through which are observed
the fertile plains of Fayoum, forming a sort of table-land,
separated from the surrounding mountains on the north
and west by a wide valley, of which a portion, always laid
under water, constitutes what the inhabitants call Birket-
el-Karoon. From the southern extremity of the Delta,
near Cairo, the mountains recede eastward and west¬
ward ; one called Djibbel-el-Nairon, stretching north-west
towards the Mediterranean, the other named Djibbel-el-
Attaka, running straight east to Suez, and both forming
an angle of divergence of about 140°. At Battu-el-Ba-
hara the river divides into two large branches, one of
which flowing to Rosetta, and the other to Damietta, con¬
tain between them the triangular piece of insulated land
called from its shape the Delta, A. The whole length of
this tract, from Philse in 24° S' 45" N. to the northern¬
most point of the Delta, amounts to about four hundred
and fifty geographical miles ; the mean width of the val¬
ley between Syene and Cairo is about nine miles; and
the whole area, or superficial extent, from the shores of
the Delta to the first cataract, falls little short of eleven
thousand square miles.3
The country of which we have described the bounda¬
ries and configuration is one which, to the scholar, the
antiquary, and the philosopher, has long appeared the
most interesting on the face of the earth. If not the very j;
first, it was at least amongst the earliest, seats of civiliza- i_.a^
tion, which, from causes altogether unknown, struck its
roots deep into the alluvial mud of the Nile. Long be¬
fore the nations of the West had emerged from their pri¬
meval forests, Egypt had reached its zenith, and exhi¬
bited, completely formed, that extraordinary state of so¬
ciety in respect of laws, government, religion, and man¬
ners, which has occupied without exhausting the curio¬
sity of succeeding times. The land of the Pharaohs was
at once the cradle of science, the birth-place of letters, and
the parent source of art as well as superstition; and, at a
period long anterior to the dawn of civil history in other
countries, it was covered with those monuments which
the fury of five successive conquests, and the ravages of
near forty centuries, have failed to annihilate. To Egypt
Greece was indebted for the letters, science, art, philoso¬
phy, laws, government, and superstition, which she after¬
wards extended, altered, modified, or improved ; and hence
the polished nations of modern Europe, whose civilization
is principally a derivative of that of ancient Greece, may
trace the rudiments of their science, literature, and arts,
to the ingenious people who were the primary instruc¬
tors of the Greeks, and who, from a period far beyond
the records of history, had settled on the banks of the
Nile. But out of the materials which have reached
our times, and which, in their transit through so many
ages, have suffered almost every species of injury and
mutilation, it must obviously be a task of prodigious dif¬
ficulty to construct a chain of narrative, which shall con¬
nect the present with the past, without omitting some
essential links ; and it is plainly impossible, from piecing
together mere fragments of ruins, to establish an unbroken
concatenation between that which is and that which has
once been. Like the bridge in the vision of Mirza, which
in its nearer portion appeared tolerably entire, but in its
more remote consisted only of broken arches, which gra¬
dually disappeared in the impenetrable mist that over¬
hung the vast ocean of time in which it was lost, the history
of Egypt, though it enables us to advance a certain way
with a considerable degree of security, becomes at length
only a collection of dislocated fragments, and is finally lost
in that abyss of the elder time, of which there exists nei¬
ther record nor monument. Still the materials on which we
have to work are more ample and various than might be
suspected by a superficial or perfunctory inquirer. We
have, first, those monumental remains which have out¬
lasted the ravages of time, war, revolution, conquest, and
fanatical barbarism ; we have, next, the direct accounts or
incidental notices and statements of the Greek, Roman,
and Arabian writers ; we have, thirdly, the lights which
modern science has diffused respecting the monuments
which ancient science had constructed, and the institu¬
tions which ancient policy had founded; and we have,
lastly, the marked advantage derived from the partial suc¬
cess which has crowned the efforts of modern ingenuity in
attempting to decipher those inscriptions and writings
which have formed the mystery of ages. From all these
sources, and aided by the learned labours of those dis¬
tinguished archmologists who have devoted themselves
1 Both words, Philo; and Bilak, are corruptions of the Coptic word Pi-lakh, meaning extremity. Quatrem&re, Memoires Gco-
graphiques svr I'Egypte, i. 388.
* Malte-Brun, Universal Geography, iv. 22, English Translation.
* Girard, Memoires sur VEgypte, iii. 4.
i
>
EGYPT. 459
vpt. to illustrate the history, literature, and antiquities of an-
cient Egypt, we hope to derive sufficient materials to en¬
able us to exhibit a clear and distinct digest of all that is
at present known respecting the wonderful country, whose
learning had become proverbial even in the days of
Moses, and whose high civilization is attested by the co¬
lossal splendour of its monumental ruins. With this view
we shall commence with its civil history.
SECTION I.
HISTORY OF ANCIENT EGYPT.
Origin and Etymology of the name—High Antiquity of early
Egyptian History—Obscurity in which it is involved—The
only authority on which dependence can be placed—Territorial
Division of Egypt.—Whence and how peopled.—Ancient Inha¬
bitants—Copts—Reign of the Priests—Revolution—Menes.
—Age of this Monarch determined.—His Character and Actions.
—Commencement of Legitimate History—Fabulous extrava¬
gance of the Egyptian Chronology—Dynasties from Menes to
Moeris—Invasion and Conquest of Egypt by the Shepherds.—
Substance of Manetho’s account—Additional particulars of these
Invaders.—Havoc committed by them—Their ultimate expul¬
sion and retreat into Syria—Opinion of Bruce as to the origin
of this people.—Other opinions—Indian tradition respecting
the Pali or Shepherds—Palestine—Expulsion of the Shepherds
not to be confounded with the Exode of the Israelites—Ame-
noph—Thothmosis I.—Thothmosis II—Moeris—Thothmosis
III—Works executed by these Pharaohs, particularly Moeris.
—Lake Moeris or Lake Fayoum—Rhamses the Great, other¬
wise called Sesostris—Era of this Conqueror.—His Education.
—His Exploits—His Indian Expedition.—Results.—Return
of Sesostris Usurpation and treachery of his brother—Ex¬
pulsion of Armais, called also Danaus General State of Egypt
at this period—Monuments erected and Improvements exe¬
cuted—Component parts of the Egyptian Empire—Internal
condition.—Division of the people into Castes—Trade, Com¬
merce, and Industry.—Successors of Sesostris—Rhamses-Mei-
ammon.—His Military Enterprises and Civil Labours—State of
Egypt under the succeeding Pharaohs.—Expeditions of Che-
chonk and Osorchon—Ethiopian Invasion and Conquest of
Egypt Sabacon—.Anysias Sethon Twelve contemporary
Kings—Psammeticus I—His proceedings,—Attempt made by
him to discover the Sources of the Nile Pharaoh-Necho or
Nechus—Circumnavigation of Africa War with Assyria—
Nechus defeated by Nebuchadnezzar, who became master of
Egypt to the gates of Pelusium—Psammeticus II. or Psam-
mis—Pharaoh-Hophra or Ouaphre, called also Apries—His
treachery towards the Jews—Egyptians defeated by the Cy-
reneans—Revolt—Apries defeated by Amasis, and strangled
by his own people—Reign of Amasis Condition of Egypt.—
Amasis succeeded by Psammenitus—Persian Invasion under
Cambyses—Siege and capture of Pelusium—Egyptians defeat¬
ed in a general battle Capture of Memphis—Barbarity of the
Conquerors.—Fatal consequences of the invasion—Depressed
state of Egypt—Insurrections—Put down by the Persians—
Alexander the Great—Greek Dynasty.—Ptolemy Lagus, call¬
ed also Soter—Events of his Reign His Character—Ptole¬
my Philadelphus, surnamed Euergetes His Expeditions and
Conquests—Favour shown by him towards the Jews.—State of
the Egyptian empire at this period Ptolemy Philopater—
Dissolute character of this Prince His Cruelty—Conduct to¬
wards the Jews—Minority Ptolemy Epiphanes—Ptolemy
Philometor.—Euergetes II. called also Physcon—Disputed
Succession.—Various fortune of the struggle Interference of
the Romans in the Affairs of Egypt Death of Philometor—
Monstrous cruelty of Physcon.—His treatment of his wives ;
an Egyptian Henry VIII. in this respect Revolt—Physcon
restored—His Death—Ptolemy Lathyrus Cleopatra his mo¬
ther—Revolt quashed—Capture and destruction of Thebes—
Alexander II.—His barbarous conduct Ptolemy Auletes—
Events of his Reign—Policy of Rome respecting Egypt—
Pompey—Julius Csesar.—Mark Antony Conduct of Auletes.
—His Death—Cleopatra and her brother Ptolemy Dionysius.
—Expulsion of the former Restored by Caesar after Pharsa-
lia—Death of Caesar—The Triumvirate.—Defeat and Death Egypt,
of Antony.—Suicide of Cleopatra—Egypt reduced into a pro-
vince of t he Roman Empire.—Hadrian—-Severus.—Claudius 
Aurelian—Introduction of Christianity—State of Egypt under
Constantine.—Rise and Progress of Islamism.
The country latterly known by the name of Egypt was
anciently denominated twntD, Mitzraim, livn, Matzor, and
Dsyiarr, haretz Cham, the land of Cham. These names,
especially the first, occur frequently in Scripture, and,
according to the general opiniop, the country was called
Mitzrim, or Mitzraim, after the second son of Cham,
though some have been inclined to think that the second
son of Cham might have been called Mitzrim, after the
country. The name of Mitzrim, pointed by the Maso-
rites Mitzraim in the dual form, probably indicated the
two divisions of Egypt into Upper and Lower. Bochart
has clearly established that Tptra, Matzor, signifies a for¬
tress ; and that Egypt was so called either from its being
a region fortified by nature, or from the word tzor, which
signifies narrow, and is sufficiently descriptive of the val¬
ley of Upper Egypt. The first of these etymologies, how¬
ever, is to be preferred, because amongst the ancients Up¬
per Egypt was considered as a natural fortification. With
regard to Mitzrim, it is most probably a contracted mode
of writing Matzorim, the plural of Matzor ; and as it may
be considered as perilous to give it a dual form on the au¬
thority of the Masorites, the word Mitzrim, with its plu¬
ral termination, may therefore be held as denoting the
Upper, the Middle, and Lower Egypt. Amongst the
ancient inhabitants of the country, it was denominated
Chemi or Chame, either from Chmom, signifying heat, or
from Chame or Kame, signifying black, probably by rea¬
son of the burnt and black appearance of the soil. The
etymology of the word Egypt has occupied the attention
and puzzled the ingenuity of many learned writers. The
most common opinion is, that A/yu-rroj is composed of a/a
for ya/a, terra, land, and Fwttos, or rather Kcirrog, and con¬
sequently signifies the land of Kopt, or the Koptic land.
But this etymology has been objected to; first, by reason
of the alleged improbability that the whole country would
be so named from an obscure town in the Thebais; and,
secondly, because it wras the river, and not the land on its
banks, which was first called iEgyptus; objections which
appear to be insuperable. The more probable opinion is
that the word Aiguptos is a mere softening of Gups-Pta,
or Aigvps-Ptas, formed of gups or aigups, a vulture, and
Pta or Ptas, daemon ; the vulture being one of the prin¬
cipal symbols of the Ikh-Ptahor or Dcemon Ptah of the an¬
cient Egyptians. But be this as it may, there can be lit¬
tle doubt that, whatever be the true etymology of the
word Aiguptos or AEgyplus, the name of Copts or Kobths
is nothing else than a corruption of the Greek term; and
that by the name of Kobthi were designated, first, the
Egyptians in general, and afterwards the Christians of
Egypt in particular. But the natives of Egypt were not
known by the name of Copts until the time of Amru.1
The early history of Egypt claims a much higher‘anti¬
quity than that of any other country, excepting perhaps
China and Hindustan, and is consequently involved in
darkness the more impenetrable. It is utterly impossible
indeed to reconcile the accounts of different authors with
each other, or with any common standard; and even the
same authors are not always consistent with themselves.
But some idea may be formed of the comparative value
of the different catalogues of sovereigns, by observing
which of them is confirmed b)' the testimony of the great¬
est number of respectable and unconnected writers, and
1 Drummond’s Origbics, or Remarks on the Origin of several Empires, States, and Cities, vol. ii. chap. 2.
460 EGYPT.
Egypt, by inquiring, at the same time, what internal evidence
they afford of the truth or falsehood of their statements.
The only authorities on which dependence can be pla¬
ced respecting the early history of Egypt, are Herodotus,
Manetho, Eratosthenes, Diodorus Siculus, and Strabo, all
of whom had been for longer or shorter periods in the
country. Herodotus lived soon after the conquest of
Egypt by the great Persian conqueror Cambyses, when
the names of the later monarchs could scarcely have been
forgotten. The earlier part of his history is certainly of
a very apocryphal character ; but as he does not continue
the series of the kings further than Sesostris and Moeris,
almost all his names are therefore sufficiently recent to
be considered as within the province of legitimate his¬
tory. Manetho lived under Ptolemy Philadelphus, to
whom he dedicated his three books of the History of
Egypt; and there is little doubt that the extracts pre¬
served by Josephus, Eusebius, and Syncellus, although
some of these may have passed from one compiler to an¬
other, are in general perfectly authentic. How much of
the work was originally fabulous, and how much has been
distorted by transposition and anachronism, it is impossible
accurately to determine. But besides the original inad¬
missibility of so long a series of successive generations,
the invention of which may possibly be imputed to the
same national vanity which led the priests to boast to
Herodotus of three hundred and thirty kings between
Menes and Sesostris, there are several coincidences point¬
ed out by Marsham, in the names and qualifications of
princes mentioned at very remote periods, which tend
strongly to encourage the opinion that the originals were
respectively one and the same person. There are also
other instances which render it not improbable that se¬
veral of the persons enumerated may have been contem¬
porary sovereigns of different subdivisions of the country:
but, perhaps, this portion of Marsham’s theory has been
carried a little too far ; and, amidst so much confusion,
it is not to be wondered that all his learning and inge¬
nuity should have failed to establish any satisfactory re¬
sult. He holds the catalogue of Eratosthenes in high and
just estimation, although he was not acquainted with the
very strong argument in favour of its authenticity, de¬
rived from the agreement of many of the etymologies with
the acknowledged meaning of the terms in the Egyptian
language; an agreement, indeed, which renders it more
than probable that Eratosthenes, who lived in the reign of
Ptolemy Euergetes, did actually receive, these names from
the priests of Diospolis. This interesting catalogue has
been successively copied by Apollodorus, Africanus, Eu¬
sebius, and Syncellus; but how many of the names con¬
tained in it were really those of actual sovereigns of
Egypt, and how many had been negligently or ignorant¬
ly read and pronounced, it is by no means easy to ascer¬
tain. It may be observed, that scarcely any of them are
to be found in the works of other chronologers or histo¬
rians. Diodorus is, upon the whole, a very candid and
judicious writer; and although some modern critics have
entertained considerable prejudices against him, it will be
afterwards found that he had a correct knowledge of the
Egyptian institutions. The accuracy and good sense of
Strabo are so well known, that we cannot but regret the
paucity of historical facts respecting Egypt to be found
in his writings. Besides the works of these authors, there
is an anonymous chronicle copied by Africanus, and from
him by Syncellus, which affords a series of kings some- Eotp.
what shorter than that of Manetho, and also more regu-
larly filled; but it seems to be principally a compilation
from Manetho, with some reference to the contemporary
events of the scriptural chronology.1
Such being the principal sources of early Egyptian his¬
tory, we shall now proceed to the more immediate object
of this section, namely, to exhibit an outline of the civil
history of ancient Egypt. And here, in order to render
our narrative intelligible, it is proper to state both the an¬
cient and modern divisions of the country. These have
been suggested by the course of the river, and the gene¬
ral configuration of the valley of the Nile, between the
cataract of Assouan and the sea. Anciently this remark¬
able country was divided into three parts, namely, Upper
Egypt, called the Thebaid, because Thebes was its capi¬
tal ; Middle Egypt, called the Heptanomis, or Seven Go¬
vernments ; and Lower Egypt, or the Delta, extending to
the Mediterranean.2 The Arabs and Ottomans have
only changed the names of these divisions, which in fact
are marked out by the hand of nature. First, Upper
Egypt is called the Said, and includes the provinces
of Thebes, Djirdjeh, and Siout; second, Middle Egypt,
called the Vostani, consists of the provinces of Fayoum,
Benisouef, and Minyeh ; third, Lower Egypt, called Ba-
hari, or the maritime country, includes the provinces of
Bahyreh, Raschid or Rosetta, Gharbyeh, Menouf, Mas-
soura, Sharkieh, and the Cairo district, consisting of the
subdivisions of Kelioubeh and Atfihieh. The appellation of
Upper Egypt is sometimes taken in astrictly physical accep¬
tation, and made to include all the provinces above Cairo.
The first tribes who peopled Egypt, that is, the valley of
the Nile between the cataract of Assouan and the sea,
probably came from Abyssinia or Sennaar. The current
of population appears to have descended along the course
of the stream, and to have gradually overspread the valley
fertilized by its waters ; but it is impossible to fix the pe¬
riod of this first migration, which, however, must have
been very remote. The ancient inhabitants of Egypt be¬
longed to a race of men in most respects resembling the
Kennous or Barabras, the actual inhabitants of Nubia.
In the Copts of Egypt we find none of the characteristics
of the ancient population of that country. The Copts
are the product of a confused mixture of all the nations
who have successively domineered over Egypt; and it
would therefore be absurd to expect to find amongst them
the characteristic features of the ancient race. The first
settlers who arrived in Egypt were nomadic, and had
not more fixed dwellings than the Bedouins of the pre¬
sent day; they were then destitute of science, of arts, and
of definite forms of civilization. It was the work of ages
of favourable circumstances which led the Egyptians, at
first errant, to apply at length to agriculture, and to
establish themselves in a fixed and permanent manner:
then, and then only, arose the first towns, which in their
beginnings were only small villages, but, by the succes¬
sive development of civilization, became at length great
and powerful cities. The most ancient towns of Egypt
were Thebes (Luxor and Karnak) Esneh, Edfou, and the
others of the Said above Dendera. Middle Egypt was
then peopled; but Lower Egypt had neither inhabitants
nor towns until a later period. It was only in consequence
of prodigious works executed by the labour of man that
Lower Egypt became habitable.3
1 Young on Egyptian Literature and Antiquities, art. Historiography of Egypt.
2 The figure of Egypt may be compared to the head and horn of an unicorn, the delta being the head, and the long narrow valley
of the Nile the horn inserted, as it were, therein.
3 “ Notice Sommaire sur 1’Histoire d’Eg.vpte, redige'e a Alexandrie pour le Vice-roi, et remise a S. A. au mois de Novembre
1829,” being appendix No. 1 to the “ Lettres ecrites d’Egypte et de Nubie en 1828 et 1829, par Champollion le Jeune.” Paris, 1833.
EGYPT.
461
jr pt. The Egyptians in the early stage of their progress were
ruled by priests. The latter administered the government
in every district of Egypt under a high priest, who again
pretended to issue his orders in the name of God. This
form of government, which is called a theocracy, resem¬
bled that by which the Arabians were governed under
the first caliphs, though, in several respects, its construc¬
tion was much less perfect. From its peculiar character,
a government of this kind easily became unjust and op¬
pressive, and, for a very long period, it retarded the ad¬
vance of civilization. It had divided the nation into three
distinct parts or castes; first the priests, then the mili¬
tary, and, thirdly, the people. The people alone laboured,
and the fruit of all their toils was devoured-by the priests,
who kept the military in their pay, and employed them in
keeping in check the rest of the population. But a period
arrived when the military became weary of yielding a
blind obedience to the priests. A revolution broke out,
and the change which proved fortunate for Egypt was
brought about by a military chief, named Menei or Me-
nes, who became the head of the nation, established the
royal government, and transmitted the power to his de¬
scendants in the direct line. From this period the coun¬
try was ruled by kings, and the government became mild¬
er and more enlightened ; for the royal power found a
sort of counterpoise in the influence which the priesthood
necessarily possessed, now that it was confined to its pro¬
per province of inculcating the laws of morality, and
teaching the principles of the arts. Thebes still remained
the capital of the kingdom ; but king Me.nes, and his son
and successor Athothes, laid the foundations of Memphis,
which they rendered a strong city, and constituted their
second capital. It was built at a short distance from the
Nile; and its ruins have been found in the villages of Menf,
Mokhnan, and particularly Mit-Rhahinch.
As the reign of Menes forms the extreme limit of legi¬
timate curiosity in this interesting field of inquiry; and
as all correct notions of Egyptian chronology must in a
great measure rest on the determination of the period at
which that monarch assumed or exercised the supreme
power; various attempts have been made to fix this
important epoch, from the data furnished either by monu¬
ments or by lists of dynasties and kings as given by the
ancient autfiors. It will be sufficient for our present pur¬
pose, however, merely to state the results at which dif¬
ferent inquirers have arrived. Menes, then, commenced
his reign,
B. C.
According to Dr Hales, Ne-oo Analysis of Ancient) 0 ,. c)
Chronology, vol. iv. p. 418 \
According to Old Chronicle, New Analysis, vol. ) 00„,
iv. p. 407  f
According to Eratosthenes, Prichard’s Egyptian I
Antiquities  j
According to Eusebius, New Analysis, vol. iv.) oor o
p. 417 j
According to Julius Africanus, ibid 2218
According to Dr Prichard, Egyptian Antiquities,) 001 .
p. 91  >4414
j- or 2262
The mean of these different calculations is 2256, which,
therefore, may be taken as perhaps the closest approxima¬
tion to the truth. Amongst the principal authorities on
which the reign of Menes has been determined as above,
may be mentioned the statement of Josephus,1 that Menes
lived many years before Abraham, and that he governed
Egypt more than 1300 years before Solomon. But Abra¬
ham was born 2153 years, and the son of David ascended
the throne of Israel 1030 years before Christ; and these
facts, combined with the account which is given in the Egypt,
old chronicle of the dynasty of kings which proceeded
from Mitzraim, seem to warrant the conclusions of modern
chronologers. It is evident, therefore, that Champollion
has committed an egregious error in stating that, accord¬
ing to the ancient histories of Egypt, the epoch of the re¬
volution which placed Menes on the throne was about six
thousand years before the publication of Islamism. This
is very nearly the double of tbe truth as ascertained by
the very authorities to which he refers.
The actions of this monarch have been conveyed to us
through the obscure and uncertain channel of tradition.
On his accession he found the kingdom, like all priest-
governed countries, in a most deplorable condition. Ex¬
cepting the Thebais, the whole of it was a morass ; and,
though ruled by priests, the people were destitute of
every kind of religion, as well as sunk in utter ignorance.
According to Herodotus, Menes applied himself to reme¬
dy these evils. He diverted the course of the Nile, which
before his time had washed the base of the sandy ridge
near the borders of the Libyan desert, and thus protected
from the inundations of the river the ground on which
Memphis was afterwards erected. To accomplish this
object, he erected a mound about twelve miles south from
the future capital of Egypt; turned the course of the
stream, a large branch of which had previously made its
way through the valley of Fayoum, towards the Delta;
and Conducted it to the sea at an equal distance from the
elevated ground by which on either side the country is
bounded. Menes also acquired glory in war ; but his best
renown consists in having improved his country, and in¬
structed his subjects in the arts of life. His death is said
to have been occasioned by a hippopotamus.
We may here give an example of the fabulous extrava¬
gance of Egyptian chronology, as founded on tbe state¬
ments of the priests. Menes or Menas was the first mor¬
tal who sat upon the throne of Egypt, the country having
before bis time been governed by eight gods in succes¬
sion. But Herodotus mentions, that the priests recited
to him, from books, three hundred and thirty sovereigns,
successors of Menes, of whom eighteen were ^Ethiopian
princes, and one a queen called Nitocris. Now, allowing
thirty-three years for a generation, the joint reigns of three
hundred and thirty kings would amount to about eleven
thousand years ; a period which, according to the forged
records of these priests, must have intervened between
the reign of Menes and that of Sesostris. The statement
of Diodorus Siculus, however, is by no means so violently
opposed to truth and probability. He agrees with Hero¬
dotus in representing Menes as the first king of Egypt
who reigned after the gods; but he says that after Menes
fifty-two kings reigned during a period of fourteen hun¬
dred years, or about twenty-seven years at an average for
each reign. This statement, though it falls short of the
ordinary calculation, has at least a reasonable amount of
probability in its favour, and indeed seems to be a pretty
close approximation to the truth. Of the three hundred
and thirty monarchs mentioned by Herodotus, on the
authority of the sacred records, none except Moeris was
distinguished by any acts of magnificence or renown ; and
hence he prudently abstains from loading his pages with
the appellations and titles of this catalogue of royal lum¬
ber. It may, however, serve to assist the recollection of
the reader, on this obscure and intricate subject, if we
exhibit an abridged list of the kings who occupy the space
between the accession of the first mortal sovereign of
Egypt and the death of Mceris.
1 Judeeor. Antiquitat. lib. viii.
462
EGYPT.
First Dynasty, Egyptians, 253 Years.
Y. B. C.
Menes and his successors, ending with Timaus, 253...2412
Second1 Dynasty, Shepherd Kings, 260 Years.
1. Salatis, Silites, or Nirmaryada 19...2159
2. Baion, Byon, or Babya 44...2140
3. Apachnes, Pachman, or Ruchma 37...2096
First Pyramid begun about 2095
Abraham visits Egypt about 2077
4. Apophes 61...2059
5. Janias or Sethos 50...1998
6. Assis or Aseth  49...1948
Expulsion of the Shepherds 260...1899
Third Dynasty, Native Kings, 251 Years.
Alisphragmuthosis, &c  27...1899
Joseph appointed governor or regent  9... 1872
Jacob’s family settle in Goshen 215...1863
Death of Joseph 1792
Queen Nitocris   1742
Exode of the Israelites 251...1648
Fourth Dynasty, 340 Years.
1. Amosis, Thuthmosis, or Thummosis 25...1648
2. Chebron 13... 1623
3. Amenophis 1 20...1610
4. Amesses   21...1589
5. Mephres 12... 1567
6. Misphragmuthosis 25...1554
7. Thmosis or Thothmosis  9...1528
8. Amenophis II 30... 1518
9. Orus or Horus 36...1488
10. Acenchris 12...1452
11. Rathosis  9... 1440
12. Acencheres 1 12... 1431
13. Acencheres II 20... 1418
14. Armais or Harmais  4... 1398
15. Harnesses  1...1394
16. Harnesses Meiamun 66... 1393
17. Amenophis III. or Mceris 19... 1327
Death of Mceris 340...1308
During the long interval between the reign of Menes
and the death of Mceris, the most remarkable event which
occurred, and one, too, which forms the first distinct piece
of history we meet with respecting Egypt, was the inva¬
sion of the Pastors or Shepherds, which, according to the
chronology here adopted, took place more than two thou¬
sand years before the birth of Christ. This irruption, as
related by Manetho, happened in the reign of Timaus
king of Egypt, when God being displeased with the Egyp¬
tians, exposed them to a great revolution ; for a multitude
of men, of obscure origin, pouring from the East into
Egypt, made war on the inhabitants, who, being apparent¬
ly unwarlike, submitted almost without resistance. The
Shepherds, however, behaved with the greatest cruelty;
they burned the cities, threw down the temples of the gods,
put to death the inhabitants, and carried the women and
children into captivity. This people came from Arabia,
and were called Hycsos, or King-Shepherds. They held
Egypt in subjection for more than two centuries and a
half, at the end of which period they were compelled by
a king of Upper Egypt, named Amosis, or Thothrnosis, to
abandon the country. This prince’s father had, it seems, ^
gained great advantages over them, and shut them up in a Y
place named Abaris or Avaris, that is, the Pass (afterwards
called Pelusium), where they had collected all their cattle
and plunder. Here they were closely besieged by Thoth-
mosis with an army of 480,000 men ; but at last the kum
finding himself unable to reduce them by force, propos¬
ed a sort of capitulation, which was readily accepted: the
Shepherds in consequence withdrew from Egypt with
their families, to the number of 240,000 souls. Accord¬
ingly, they crossed the desert, and entered Syria; but
fearing the Assyrians, who were then very powerful, and
held Asia in subjection, they entered the land of Judaea,
and built there a city capable of containing so great a
multitude, which they called Jerusalem.
Such is the substance of Manetho’s statement, as pre¬
served by Josephus in his tract against Appion ; and, with
the exception of the concluding part, where he seems to
identify the savage invaders of Egypt with the peaceful
family of Jacob, its accuracy can scarcely be called in
question. It appears, indeed, that these barbarians hav¬
ing established themselves in Egypt, tyrannized over it
for several centuries; that the progress of civilization was
arrested, and the inhabitants ruined, by exactions and ra¬
pine ; that the barbarians having elected a chief, the latter
took the name of Pharaoh; and that it was under the
fourth of these foreign chiefs that Joseph the son of Ja¬
cob became the prime minister of Egypt, and afterwards
brought thither the family of his father, which thus be¬
came the source of the Jewish nation. But in process of
time different parts of Upper Egypt freed themselves from
the yoke of the strangers; and at the head of this resist¬
ance appeared the princes descendants of the Egyptian line
of kings whom the barbarians had dethroned. Of these
the most distinguished was Amosis, who, having collected
sufficient forces, drove them from Memphis, which they
had made their capital; attacked them in Lower Egypt,
where they were firmly established; and ultimately, by
means of the capitulation of Avaris or Avara, delivered
Egypt from their tyranny.
Various opinions have been entertained as to the origin
of the detested race which overthrew Thebes and tyran¬
nized over all Egypt. According to Bruce, the Shepherds
who invaded Egypt were no other than the inhabitants of
Barabra, and carriers to the Cushites, who lived farther
to the south. The latter had built many stately temples
in Thebes and other cities of Egypt; yet, according to
him, they had no other dwelling-places than holes or caves
in the rocks. Being a commercial people, they remained
at home collecting and preparing their articles, which were
dispersed by the Barabers or Shepherds already mention-
ed. These, from the nature of their employment, lived in
moveable habitations, as the Tartars do at this day. By
the Hebrews, he tells us, they were called Phut, but
Shepherds by every other people ; and from the name
Baraber the word Barabra is derived. By their employ¬
ment, which consisted in dispersing the Arabian and Afri¬
can goods all over the continent, they had become a great
and powerful people; and, from their opposite dispositions
and manners, were frequently enemies of the Egyptians.
To Salatis Bruce ascribes the destruction of Thebes in
Upper Egypt, so much celebrated by Homer for its gran¬
deur’and magnificence. In fact, he reckons three inva¬
sions of this people ; the first being that of Salatis already
mentioned, who overthrew the primary dynasty of Egyp¬
tian kings from Menes, and destroyed Thebes; the second
1 This is the 17th of Manetho.
EGYPT.
463
J, ti tj]at of Sabacon or So, a word which, according to him,
was not the name of a single prince, but of a people, and
signifies shepherd; and the third, when, after the building
of Memphis, 240,000 of these people were besieged as
above mentioned. But this hypothesis is in the highest
degree inconsistent; for how is it possible that the third
invasion, antecedent to the building of Jerusalem, could
be posterior to the second, if the latter happened only in
the days of Hezekiah ?
There is less doubt as to the destruction of these bar¬
barians. When forced to evacuate Egypt in virtue of the
capitulation entered into with Amosis, they appear to have
thrown themselves upon Syria, where several of their tribes
fixed themselves, and became the ancestors of the Philis¬
tines, who occupied the eastern shores of the Mediterra¬
nean, and occasionally extended their power as far as the
banks of the Euphrates.1 It is not a little remarkable that a
tradition of the conquest of the Shepherds is still preserv¬
ed among the tribes of Central India. In one of the sa¬
cred books of the Hindus, a record is preserved of two mi¬
grations from the East in remote times ; one of the Yada-
vas or Sacred Race, and the other of the Pali or Shepherds,
who were a powerful tribe, and governed the whole coun¬
try from the Indus to the mouth of the Ganges. Having
passed the shores of the Persian Gulf, they took posses¬
sion of Arabia, then crossed or turned the Red Sea, and
occupied the lands on its western shore. But to a legend
so wholly unsupported as this is, no weight or value can
be attached. Many circumstances, however, conspire to
render it probable that this people, whose memory was
held in the greatest abhorrence in Egypt, by reason of
their tyranny, were a Tartar or nomadic horde, and that,
when expelled from that country, they settled on the
shores of Syria, in the country which from them was call¬
ed Palesthan or Palestine. The exode of the Israelites
must not therefore be confounded with the expulsion of
the Shepherds.
Amenoph, the son of Amosis, and the first of that name,
having assisted in the expulsion of the Shepherds, with
whom he had concluded the capitulation above mentioned,
united all Egypt under his dominion, and raised the throne
of the Pharaohs, that is to say, of the kings of the Egyp¬
tian race. He was the chief or head of the eighteenth
dynasty. His entire reign, and that of his three succes¬
sors, Thothmosis I., Thothmosis II., and Mceris-Thothmo-
sis III. were devoted to the object of re-establishing a re¬
gular government, and raising up the nation, which had
been crushed by so many years of servitude under a fo¬
reign yoke. The barbarians had destroyed everything ;
all therefore had to be reconstructed. These great kings
spared no pains to raise up Egypt from its state of debase¬
ment ; order was re-established throughout the whole
kingdom; the canals, which had been neglected or de¬
stroyed, were repaired or re-formed; whilst agriculture
and the arts, encouraged and protected, soon brought
back abundance, and at once increased and perpetuated
the resources of the government. In a little time the
towns were rebuilt; edifices consecrated to religion ap¬
peared on all sides ; and several of the monuments which
are admired on the banks of the Nile belong to this inte¬
resting epoch of the restoration of Egypt by the wisdom
of its kings. Of this number are the monuments of Sem-
neh and Amada in Nubia, and several of those of Karnak
and Medinet-Abou, which are the works of Thothmosis I.
or of Thothmosis III. who is also called Mceris. This king,
under whom the two obelisks of Alexandria were erected,
is the Pharaoh who achieved the greatest undertakings; it
is to him that Egypt owes the existence of the great lake
of Fayoum. By immense works which he caused to be
executed, and by means of canals and sluices, this lake
became a reservoir which served to maintain, in the lower
country, a perpetual equilibrium between the inundations
of the Nile ; to supply water when these were insufficient,
or to withdraw it when they were excessive. Formerly it
bore the name of Lake Moeris; at present it is called Bir-
ket-el-Karoun. These kings, and several of their succes¬
sors, appear to have preserved in all its plenitude the royal
power which they had recovered from the Shepherd
chiefs ; but they used it only for the advantage of the
country, in correcting and reconstituting society, corrupt¬
ed by slavery, and in restoring Egypt to the first political
rank amongst surrounding nations.
At this period several nations of Asia had already at¬
tained a certain degree of civilization, and their power
was believed to endanger the tranquillity of Egypt. Mce¬
ris and his successors often took arms, and carried the war
into Asia or Africa, either to establish the dominion of
Egypt, or to ravage and enfeeble those states, and thus to
ensure the tranquillity of the Egyptian nation. Amongst
these conquerors may be reckoned Amenoph II., the son
of Mceris, who rendered tributary Syria and the ancient
kingdom of Babylon ; Thothmosis IV. who invaded Abys¬
sinia and Sennaar ; and, lastly, Amenoph III. who complet¬
ed the conquest of Abyssinia, and undertook great expe¬
ditions into Asia. There still exist monuments of this
king. It was he who caused to be built the palace of
Sohleb in Upper Nubia, the magnificent palace of Luxor,
and all that part south of the grand palace of Karnak at
Thebes. The two colossal statues at Kourna are under¬
stood to represent this illustrious prince. His son Horus
chastised a revolt of the Abyssinians, and continued the
works of his father ; but two of his children who succeed¬
ed him, having neither the firmness nor the courage of
their ancestors, lost in a few years the influence which
Egypt had exercised over neighbouring countries. King
Menephtha I., however, restored the glory of the country,
and carried his victorious arms into Syria, Babylonia, and
even the north of Persia.2
We come now to the era of his son Rhamses the Great,
known also in history by the name of Sesostris.3 He was
the first mighty warrior whose conquests are recorded with
any degree of distinctness. Much diversity of opinion
prevails as to the date of his reign. Some chronologers,
among whom is Sir Isaac Newton, are of opinion that he
Egypt.
1 In the language of Asia the word Pali denotes shepherds, and stun or sthan means country; so that Palis-tan literally signifies
shepherd-land, or the country of shepherds. But as Palistan is manifestly identical with Palestine, or the country of the Philistines,
it is hence not improbable that the warlike nation which so frequently disputed the possession of the Syrian border with the descen¬
dants of Abraham were the progeny of the fierce herdsmen who for more than two centuries and a half held Lower, Middle, and
even part of Upper Egypt subject to their despotic sway. (Russell’s Egypt, p. 69, 2d ed.)
3 Champollion, Notice Sommaire sur 1'Ilistoire d'Egyptc, 1829 ; Lettres icritcs d'Egypte, appendix.
3 This monarch has been designated by a great variety of names. Thus he has been called Sesostris, Sesoosis, Sesochis, Seson-
chosis, Sethosis, Sethos, Ramesses, Rameses, Ramestes, Rhampstes, Rhamses, Vexores, and ASgyptus. But most of these appella¬
tions were probably titular. Thus, Sesostris may be 2E-2I02-T-PH, Se-sios-t-re, which signifies filius domini, donum solis. Sesoosis
may, in like manner, be a corruption for 2E-2IOS-2IOS, Se-sios-sios, Jilius domini dominorum; and Ramesses, derived from PH, Re,
s°l, and ME2, mes, gignere, may have signified begotten by the sun. But it is impossible to render ancient Egyptian according to
the grammatical rules established in the Coptic language. (Drummond’s Origines, vol. ii. p. 500.)
EGYPT.
464
Kgypt. is the Sesak or Shishak who took and plundered Jerusa-
]em }n rejgn 0f Rehoboam the son of Solomon. Others,
however, place him still earlier; and Mr Whitson con¬
tends that he was the Pharaoh who refused to part with
the Israelites, and was at last drowned in the Red Sea.
Larcher, who builds his calculation on Herodotus, asserts
that Sesostris mounted the throne of Egypt 1356 years
before Christ; Hales places his accession to the crown
at the commencement of the thirteenth century before
Christ; and Sir William Drummond, who contests the
assertion of Larcher, fixes the commencement of his reign
at a period still more recent, namely, about the beginning
of the eleventh century anterior to our era. Mr Bryant,
again, endeavours to prove that no such person ever ex¬
isted ; but that in his history, as well as in that of many
ancient heroes, we have an abridgment of that of the
Cushites or Babylonians, who spread themselves over great
part of the then known world, and everywhere brought
the people in subjection to them. His reign is the most
extraordinary portion of the Egyptian history. The father
of Sesostris was told in a dream, by the god Ptha, that
his son, who was then newly born, should be lord of the
whole earth. Upon the credit of this vision, he got toge¬
ther all the males in the land of Egypt who were born on
the same day with Sesostris, appointed nurses and proper
persons to take care of them, and had them treated like
his own child ; being persuaded that they who were the
constant companions of his youth would prove the most
faithful ministers and soldiers in his riper years. As they
grew up they were inured to laborious exercises, and, in
particular, were never permitted to taste food till they
had performed a journey of upwards of twenty-two of our
miles. WRen the old king imagined they were sufficiently
educated and trained in martial exercises, he sent them,
by way of trial of their qualities, against the Arabians. In
this expedition Sesostris proved successful, and in the end
subdued that people, who had never before been conquer¬
ed. He was then sent to the westward, where he con¬
quered the greater part of Africa, and was only stopped
in his career by the Atlantic Ocean. Whilst he was ab¬
sent on this expedition his father died; and then Sesos¬
tris resolved to fulfil the prediction of Ptha at his birth,
by actually conquering the whole world. With this view
he divided the kingdom into thirty-six provinces, and en¬
deavoured to secure the affections of the people by gifts
both of money and land. He forgave all those who had
been guilty of offences, and discharged the debts of his
soldiers. He then constituted his brother Armais or Har-
mais regent, but forbade him to use the diadem, and com¬
manded him to offer no injury to the queen or her child¬
ren, and to abstain from the royal concubines. His army
consisted of 600,000 infantry, 24,000 cavalry, and 27,000
chariots. Besides these land forces, he had two fleets;
one of them, according to Diodorus, of four hundred
vessels. Of these fleets, one was designed to make con¬
quests in the west, and the other in the east; and there¬
fore the former was built on the Mediterranean, and the
latter on the Red Sea. The first of these conquered
Cyprus, the coast of Phoenicia, and several of the islands
called Cyclades; and the second subdued all the coasts
of the Red Sea ; but its progress was stopped by shoals Eg-
and other difficulties which the navigators of those days 'WY
were unable to pass, so that he seems not to have made
many conquests by sea.
With the land forces Sesostris marched against the
Ethiopians and Troglodytes, whom he overcame, obliging
them to pay him a tribute of gold, ebony, and ivory. He
then proceeded as far as the promontory of Dira, which
lay near the Straits of Babelmandeb, where he set up a
pillar with an inscription in sacred characters or hierogly.
phics. He then marched on to the country where cinna¬
mon grows, or at least to a country whence cinnamon at
that time was brought, probably some place in India; and
here he in like manner set up pillars, which were to be
seen many ages afterwards. As to his further conquests, it
is agreed by almost all authors of antiquity that he over¬
ran the greater part of the continent of Asia, and some part
of that of Europe. Having ci ossed the Ganges, he erected
pillars on its banks; and thence marching northward, he
ascended the plateau of Central Asia, subdued the Assy¬
rians and Medes, directed his course towards the Caspian
and the Black Sea, and invaded the Scythians and Thra¬
cians. Authors are not agreed that he conquered the na¬
tions last mentioned. Some even affirm that he was over¬
thrown with great slaughter on the banks of the Phasis, by
Timaus, prince of the Scythians, and obliged to abandon a
great part of his booty and military stores; but whether he
was successful or the reverse in these parts, it is a com¬
mon opinion that he settled a colony in Colchis. Herodo¬
tus, however, does not say whether the colony^ was design¬
edly planted by Sesostris, or whether part of his army, hav¬
ing refused to accompany him further, settled in that region.
From his own knowledge he asserts that the inhabitants of
the country were undoubtedly of Egyptian descent. This
was indeed evident from the personal resemblance they
bore to the Egyptians, who were of swarthy complexions,
with frizzled hair j1 but more especially from the conformity
of their customs, particularly that of circumcision. The
utmost limit of this monarch’s conquests, however, was in
Thrace or Rumelia; for beyond this country his pillars were
nowhere to be seen. These pillars he was accustomed to
set up in every region which he conquered, with the fol¬
lowing inscription, or one to the same purpose: “ Sesos¬
tris, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, subdued this coun¬
try by the power of his arms” Besides these, he left also
stat ues of himselfi two of which, according to Herodotus,
were to be seen in his time; the one on the road between
Ephesus and Phocaea, and the other between Smyrna and
Sardis. They were armed after the Ethiopian and Egyp¬
tian manner, with a javelin in one hand and a bow in the
other; whilst across the breast a line was drawn from one
shoulder to the other, with the following inscription:
“ This region I obtained by these my shoulders.” They
were mistaken for images of Memnon.
The reasons assigned by this warlike prince for return¬
ing into Egypt from Thrace, and thus leaving the conquest
of the world unfinished, were the want of provisions for
his army, and the difficulty of the passes. Most probably,
however, his return was hastened by the intelligence he
received from the high priest of Egypt, concerning the re-
1 these physical marks of the African race, although they may afford a proof that the founders of the Colchian colony were, if not
Africans, at least of African descent, yet warrant not the conclusion that the ancient Egyptians belonged exclusively to this fami¬
ly of mankind, ihat Africans, particularly the inhabitants of the countries now called Nubia and Abyssinia, served in the army of
Sesostris, seems to admit of little doubt; and it is by no means impossible that the founders of the Colchian colony were exclusive¬
ly of this race, which haying been subdued by Sesostris, and afterwards compelled to serve in his army, might naturally take the
first .opportunity that offered to detach themselves from a standard which to them was the emblem of subjection and humiliation.
But it is a remarkable fact, that of the bodies found in the mummy cases, almost all those "which have been unswathed and examined
have strong red hair, and a cast of features somewhat resembling those of a New Zealander, and are as remote as possible from the
general contour and expression of the negro countenance.
EGYPT.
Iypt. bellious proceedings of his brother, who, encouraged by
his long absence, had assumed the diadem, violated the
queen, and appropriated the royal concubines. On re¬
ceiving this news, Sesostris hastened from Thrace, and, nine
years after he had set out on his expedition, arrived at
Pelusium in Egypt, attended by an innumerable multitude
of captives taken from many different nations, and loaded
with the spoils of Asia. His brother met him at this city,
where, it is said, though with but little probability, Se¬
sostris accepted from the traitorous regent an invitation
to an entertainment. On this occasion he drank freely, as
old soldiers are wont to do, whilst the queen and the rest
of the royal family joined in the compotation ; but during
the entertainment Armais caused a quantity of dried reeds
to be laid round the apartment where they were to sleep;
and as soon as the party, filled with wine and wassail, had
retired to rest, he set fire to the reeds. Sesostris, however,
perceived the danger, and finding that his guards, over¬
charged with liquor, were incapable of assisting him, he
rushed through the flames, and was followed by his wife
and children. For this wonderful deliverance he made
several donations to the gods, particularly to the god of
fire; and he then took vengeance on his brother Armais,
who is said to be the Danaus of the Greeks, and who, be¬
ing now driven out of Egypt, withdrew into Greece, where,
under his new name, he acquired great renown.
This illustrious conqueror, the history of whose achieve¬
ments is so dashed and brewed with fable and romance, is
generally supposed to have been one of the best of princes,
as well as bravest of warriors. He employed all the riches
taken from the conquered nations, and the tributes he
received from them, in the execution of immense works of
public utility. He founded new cities, endeavoured to
elevate the ground of some, and surrounded others with
strong embankments of earth, to protect them from the in¬
undation of the river; he dug new canals, and to him is at¬
tributed the first idea of a canal for connecting the Nile
with the Red Sea; and he covered Egypt with a great num¬
ber of magnificent structures, many of which are still in
existence. Ihese are the monuments of Ibsambul, Derri,
Guircheh-Hanan, and Wady-Essebouah, in Nubia; and in
Egypt those of Kournah, of El Medineh near Kournah, a
portion of the palace of Luxor, and the grand hall with
columns in the palace of Karnak, which had been com¬
menced by his father. This last monument is the most
magnificent structure ever reared by the hand of man.
But Sesostris did not confine himself to these more than
Herculean labours. Not content with adorning Egypt
with sumptuous edifices, and desirous to promote the real
welfare of the people, he published a body of new laws,
the most important of which was that which gave to all
classes of his subjects the right of property in its fullest
extent. By this he divested himself of that absolute and
unlimited power which his ancestors had preserved after
the expulsion of the Shepherds; and immortalized his name,
w iich, in fact, was always venerated as long as there ex¬
isted in the country a man of Egypt acquainted with an-
cient lustory. Hence it was under the reign of Rhamses
the Great, or Sesostris, that Egypt arrived at the highest
pitch of political power and internal splendour.
Amongst the countries which were either subject or
tributary to him, this great monarch reckoned Egypt, the
whole of Nubia, Abyssinia, Sennaar, several countries of
the south of Africa; all the wandering tribes of the deserts
east and west of the Nile; Syria; Arabia, in which the
most ancient kings had establishments, near the valley of
Pharaoh; and also in the places now called Djebbel-el-
Mokatteb, El Magara, and Sabouth-el-Kadim, where there
appear to have existed brass-founderies ; the kingdoms of
Babylon and Nineveh, now called Mossul; a great part of
Anatolia, or Asia Minor; the Isle of Cyprus, and several
islands of the Archipelago ; and a considerable portion of
the country now known by the name of Persia. ' At this
period, when the star of the Pharaohs had reached its ze¬
nith, there existed regular and frequent communications
between the Egyptian empire and that of India. The in¬
tercourse between these countries, indeed, appears to have
been carried on with much activity; and the discoveries
which are daily made in the tombs of Thebes, of stuffs
of Indian fabric, of articles in wood the growth of India,
and of hard-cut stones which certainly came from that
country, leave no manner of doubt as to the commerce
which ancient Egypt carried on with India, at a period
when the European tribes and a great portion of the Asia¬
tics were still in a state of barbarism. It is impossible
indeed to explain the number and magnificence of the
ancient monuments of Egypt, except on the supposition
that the principal source of the immense wealth expend¬
ed in producing them consisted in the ancient commercial
prosperity of the country. Hence it is well ascertain¬
ed that Memphis and Thebes were the first centre of
that commerce, before Babylon, Tyre, Sidon, Alexandria,
Tadmor (Palmyra), and Bagdhad, all cities in the vici¬
nage, as it were, of Egypt, enjoyed that advantage and
distinction.
With regard to the internal condition of Egypt at this
period, it appears that the arts and the sciences, as well
as what may be denominated police, were then carried to
a high degree of advancement. The country was divided
into thirty-six provinces or governments, administered by
functionaries of different grades, according to a complete
code of written laws. The population amounted in all to
between five and seven millions. Of this a part specially
devoted to the study of the sciences, and to promote the
advancement of the arts, was charged, besides the cere¬
monies of worship, with the administration of justice, the
assessment and collection of the imposts invariably fixed
according to the nature and extent of each portion of
property measured beforehand, and with all the branches
of the civil administration. This was the instructed and
learned part of the nation, and it was called the Sacerdo¬
tal Caste. The principal functions of this caste were ex¬
ercised or directed by members of the royal family. Ano¬
ther portion of the Egyptian nation was specially entrust¬
ed with watching over the external defence, and guard¬
ing the internal tranquillity, of the country. It was in the
numerous families endowed and supported at the expense
of the state, and which formed the Military Caste, that all
the conscriptions and levies of soldiers took effect. They
regularly maintained the Egyptian army on the footing of
a war establishment, at the total strength of about 180,000
men.1 The third class of the population formed the Agri¬
cultural Caste. Its members devoted all their labour and
attention to the cultivation of the soil, whether as proprie¬
tors or as farmers; and the products belonged to them
en propre, subject only to the deduction of a portion des-
465
Egypt.
°f divisions of this army was trained to fight on cars or chariots drawn by two horses. This consti-
fantry of different arms vfz “the^old^Tf f,™P,er y 80 Ca!ledfJld no? then in Egypt. The remainder consisted of corps of in¬
archers tlio ui;., . ’i ' 16 80 ( 1frs Ene arme(l with a cuirass, a buckler, a lance, and a sword; and the light troops the
and performed movementsTn 'Vlt.h.hatchets or battle-axes. The troops were exercised in regular manoeuvres, marched
trunmet Tl,, • 11161118 111 hne by divisions and companies, and executed their evolutions to the sound of the drum and the
irmnpet. Ihese circumstances indicate an advanced civilization. See the article Ahmy.
VOL. VIII,
3 N
EGYPT.
466
Egypt, tined for the support of the king, and also for that of the
sacerdotal and military castes, which formed the principal,
and indeed the most certain, revenues of the state. Ac¬
cording to the statements of ancient historians, the an¬
nual revenue of the Pharaohs, including the tributes paid
by foreign nations, may be estimated at not less than from
L.27,000,000 to L.28,000,000 sterling. The artizans, the
workmen of all kinds, and the merchants, composed the
fourth class of the nation, or the Industrious Caste, which
was subjected to a proportional impost, and thus contribut¬
ed by its labours to defray the expense, as well as to aug¬
ment the wealth, of the state. The productions of this caste
raised Egypt to its highest pitch of prosperity. All kinds
of industry were in fact practised by the ancient Egyptians ;
and their commerce with other nations more or less ad¬
vanced, who formed the political world of that period, had
experienced great development.
Egypt carried on a regular and extensive commerce in
the grain which remained after supplying its own con¬
sumption. It derived great profit from its herds, and also
from its horses. It supplied the world with its linen fa¬
brics and with its cotton tissues, equalling in perfection
and in fineness any thing which India or Europe has yet
produced. The metals, of which Egypt contained no
mine, but which it derived from the tributary countries,
or by advantageous exchanges with independent nations,
came out of its workshops manufactured into various
forms, and changed either into arms, instruments, uten¬
sils, or into articles of luxury and dress, which were ea¬
gerly sought after by all the neighbouring nations. It
exported annually a considerable quantity of pottery of
every kind, as well as innumerable products wrought in
glass and in enamel; arts which the Egyptians had carried
to the highest pitch of perfection. Lastly, it provided the
neighbouring nations with papyrus or paper, formed from
the interior pellicles of a plant which several centuries
ago ceased to exist in Egypt.1 * The Egyptians had no
monetary system at all similar to ours. For small com¬
merce they had a money of convention ; but in considerable
transactions payments were made in rings of pure gold of
a certain weight and diameter, or in rings of silver of a
denomination and weight equally fixed. With them sil¬
ver was a legal tender as well as gold. In regard to the
state of the marine at this early period, we have not suf¬
ficient information to enable us to speak with confidence.
It appears, however, that Egypt had a navy composed of
large galleys, propelled both by oars and sails ; and it may
be presumed that the mercantile marine had also made
considerable advances, although it is not improbable that
commerce and navigation on an extended scale were car¬
ried on, in quality of brokers or agents, by a small tribu¬
tary people of Egypt, whose principal cities were Sour,
Said, Beirout, and Acre. In short, the internal prospe¬
rity of Egypt was founded on the great development of its
agriculture and its industry. In the tombs of Thebes and
of Sakkara are discovered at every step objects of im¬
proved and elaborate workmanship," showing that this
people wrere acquainted with all the comforts of life, and
all the enjoyments of luxury. No nation, ancient or mo¬
dern, has in truth carried further than the old Egyptians
the grandeur and richness of their edifices, or taste and
recherche in furniture, utensils, costume, and decoration.
Such was Egypt at the period of its greatest known splen¬
dour. This prosperity dates from the epoch of the last kings
of the eighteenth dynasty, to which belonged Rhamses the
Great or Sesostris ; a sovereign terrible to his enemies, but
the benefactor of the nation, which he governed with pru¬
dence, and improved by his wise institutions. His sue- Egypt!
cessors enjoyed in peace the fruits of his labours, and pre-
served the greater part of his conquests, which the fourth
of these in order, called Rhamses-Meiammon, a warlike and
ambitious prince, still further extended, his entire reign
being occupied with a series of successful enterprises
against the most powerful nations of Asia. This king
built the beautiful palace of Medinet-Abou at Thebes,
on the walls of which may still be seen sculptured and
painted all the campaigns of this Pharaoh in Asia, the
battles which he fought on land and on sea, the siege and
capture of several cities, and the ceremonies of his triumph
on his return from his distant expeditions. This conquer¬
or appears also to have improved the navy of Egypt, which
had been neglected by his immediate predecessors.
Under the Pharaohs who reigned after Rhamses sur-
named Meiammon, or Beloved of Ammon, Egypt enjoyed
a long tranquillity. During this period of profound re¬
pose, although the warlike and conquering spirit with
which the country had been animated during the preced¬
ing dynasties declined, Egypt must necessarily have im¬
proved its internal government, and advanced progressive¬
ly in art and industry; but its external dominion became
contracted from age to age, by reason of the increasing
civilization of the countries, which thus scarcely owned its
sway, and which, improved by their very connection with
Egypt, could not be kept in subjection except by means
of a military establishment out of all proportion to the re¬
sources and population of that country. A new political
world had in fact been formed around Egypt. The tribes
of Persia, incorporated into one nation, already menaced
the great united kingdoms of Nineveh and Babylon; whilst,
on the other hand, the latter, aiming at depriving Egypt
of important branches of commerce, disputed with that
country the possession of Syria, and employed the Arab
nations and tribes to harass its frontiers. In this con¬
flict, the Phoenicians, naturally the commercial agents of
these powerful rivals, sided sometimes with the one party
and sometimes with the other, according to the interest
of the moment; but the struggle was long and obstinate,
the commercial existence of one or other ol these power¬
ful empires being at stake.
The military expeditions of Pharaoh Chechonk I. and
those of his son Osorchon I. who overran Mestern Asia,
maintained during some time the supremacy of Egypt;
and it might long have enjoyed the fruits of these victo¬
ries, if an invasion of ^Ethiopians or Abyssinians had not
turned its whole attention to the south. But all its efforts
were unavailing. Sabacon, king of the Ethiopians, hav¬
ing seized upon Nubia, passed the last Cataract with an
army augmented by all the barbarous races of Africa, and
poured this savage horde like a torrent down the valley
of the Nile. After an unavailing struggle, in which its
native prince, Pharaoh Bok-hor, perished, Egypt yielded
to the conqueror. Sabacon began his reign with an act
of great cruelty, causing the conquered prince to be burnt
alive ; nevertheless, when he saw himself firmly7 established
on the throne of Egypt, he is said to have become a new
man, and in fact he is highly extolled for his mercy, cle¬
mency, and wisdom. Sabacon is probably the So men¬
tioned in Scripture, who entered into a league with Ho-
shea king of Israel against Shalmaneser king of Assyria..
Of Sabacon’s immediate successor little or nothing is
known. After him reigned Sethon, who was both king and
priest of Ptha. He gave himself up to religious contem¬
plation ; and not only neglected the military class, but de¬
prived them of their lands. They were so much incensed
1 The papyrus, called herd by the ancient Arabs, grew principally in marshy soils, and the cultivation of it proved a source of
wealth to those who lived on the banks of Lakes Bourlos and Menzaleh or Tennis.
EGYPT.
467
at this, that they entered into an agreement not to bear
arms under him ; and in this state of affairs Sennacherib
king of Assyria arrived before Pelusium with a mighty
army. Sethon now applied to his soldiers, but in vain ;
they unanimously persisted in refusing to march under
his banner. Being therefore destitute of all human aid,
he had recourse to Ptha, who, according to the legend,
promised, that if Sethon would but go out against the As¬
syrians, he should obtain a complete victory. Encouraged
by this assurance, the king assembled a body of artificers,
shopkeepers, and labourers, and with this undisciplined
rabble marched towards Pelusium. He had no occasion,
however, to fight; for the very night after his arrival at
Pelusium, an innumerable multitude of field rats having
entered the enemies’ camp, gnawed to pieces the quivers,
bowstrings, and shield straps; so that, next morning, when
Sethon found the enemy disarmed, and on that account
beginning to fly, he pursued them with terrible slaughter.
In memory of this extraordinary event, a statue of Sethon
was erected in the temple of Ptha, holding in one hand
a rat, whilst the words, “ Whosoever beholdeth me, let
him be pious,” appeared to be issuing from the mouth.
Soon after the death of Sethon, the form of government
was totally changed, and the kingdom divided into twelve
parts, over which as many of the chief nobility presided.
But this division subsisted only for a short time ; for Psam-
meticus I. one of the twelve, dethroned all the rest, fifteen
years after the division was made. The history of Egypt
now begins to be divested of fable; and from this time it
may be accounted as certain as that of any other ancient
nation. The vast conquests of Sesostris w*ere now merely
matters of tradition, and Psammeticus possessed only Egypt
itself. Indeed none of the successors of Sesostris, not even
that monarch himself, had made use of any means to keep
in subjection the countries which he had once conquered.
Perhaps his original design was rather to pillage than to
conquer ; and hence his vast empire speedily fell to pieces.
Psammeticus. however, endeavoured to extend his domi¬
nions by making war on his neighbours ; but by putting
more confidence in foreign auxiliaries than in his native
subjects of the military caste, the latter were so. much
offended that upwards of 100,000 fighting men emigrated,
in a body, passed the Cataracts, and took up their resi¬
dence in Ethiopia, where they established an independent
state. To repair this loss, Psammeticus earnestly applied
himself to the advancement of commerce, and opened his
ports to all strangers, wdiom he greatly caressed, contrary
to the maxims of his predecessors, who had refused to
admit them into the country. He also laid siege to the
city of Azotus in Syria, which held out for twenty-nine
years against the whole strength of his kingdom; a suffi¬
cient proof that, as a warrior, Psammeticus was by no
means very formidable to his enemies. He is said to have
been the first king of Egypt who drank wine. He also
sent to explore the sources of the Nile, and attempted to
discover the most ancient nation in the world by an ex¬
periment which has been often recorded. Having pro¬
cured two newly-born children, he caused them to be
brought up without hearing the sound of a human voice ;
imagining that these children would naturally speak the
original language of mankind. When, therefore, at two
years of age, they pronounced the Phrygian word for
bread, or some sound resembling if, he concluded that
the Phrygians were the most ancient people in the world.
This Pharaoh was but an indifferent logician.
Nechus, the son and successor of Psammeticus, and
the Pharaoh-Necho of Scripture, was a prince of an en¬
terprising and warlike genius. In the beginning of his
reign he attempted to cut through the isthmus of Suez,
between the Red Sea and the Mediterranean; but owing
to obstacles which nature had thrown in the way of such Egypt,
an undertaking, he was obliged to abandon the enter-
prise, after having lost 120,000 men in the attempt. After
this he sent a fleet, manned with Phoenician mariners, on
a voyage to explore the coast of Africa. Accordingly,
having left the Red Sea, he sailed round the continent of
Africa, doubling the Cape of Good Hope, and after three
years returned to Egypt by the Mediterranean, having of
course passed the Straits of Gibraltar. The most remark¬
able wars in which this king was engaged are recorded
in the sacred writings. He marched agamst the king of
Assyria; and being opposed by the king of Judaea, he de¬
feated and killed his opponent at Megiddo; after which
he set up King Jehoiakim, and imposed on him an annual
tribute of a hundred talents of silver and one talent of
gold. He then proceeded against the king of Assyria,
and having weakened him so much that the empire was
soon afterwards dissolved, he became master of Syria and
Phoenicia. But the end of his reign was unfortunate ; for
Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon, having come against
him with a mighty army, the Egyptian monarch boldly
ventured a battle, but was overthrown with great slaughter,
and Nebuchadnezzar became master of all the country as
far as the gates of Pelusium. His son Psammeticus II.,
called also Psammis, endeavoured to recover the provin¬
ces which had been detached from Egypt, but without
success.
But his successor Apries, the Pharaoh-Hophra of Scrip¬
ture, in Egyptian Ouaphre, was in some respects more for¬
tunate. He is represented as a martial prince, and in the
beginning of his reign as very successful. He took by storm
the rich city of Sidon ; and having overcome the Cypriots
and Phoenicians in a sea-fight, returned to Egypt laden
with spoil. It was probably this success which induced
Zedekiah, king of Judaea, to enter into an alliance with
Ouaphre against Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon; an
alliance the unfortunate result of which was foretold by
the prophet Jeremiah ; for when Nebuchadnezzar sat down
with his army before Jerusalem, Apries marched from
Egypt to relieve the city, but no sooner did he perceive
the Babylonians approaching him, than he retreated as
fast as he could, leaving the Jews exposed to the mercy of
their enemies. By this cowardly or treacherous conduct,
Apries justly brought upon himself the vengeance denoun¬
ced by the prophet. The Cyreneans, a colony of Greeks,
being strengthened by a body of their countrymen under
their third "king Battus, and encouraged by the Pythian
oracle, began to expel their Libyan neighbours, and divide
among themselves the possessions of those whom they
had driven out. In these circumstances Andica, king
of Libya, sent an embassy to Apries to implore his pro¬
tection against the Cyreneans. Apries complied with
this request, and sent a powerful army to his relief.
But the Egyptians were defeated with great slaughter;
and those who returned complained that the army had
been sent out in order to be destroyed, and that the king
might tyrannize without control over the remainder of
his subjects. This notion having caught the attention
of the multitude, an almost universal defection ensued.
Apries sent Amasis, a friend in whom he thought he could
confide, to endeavour to bring back the people to a sense
of duty. But he was betrayed by Amasis, who, taking
the opportunity of the ferment, caused himself to be pro¬
claimed king. Both parties now prepared for war. The
usurper had under his command the whole body of na¬
tive Egyptians, and Apries such lonians, Carians, and
other mercenaries as he could engage in his service.
The army of Apries amounted only to 30,000; but though
greatly inferior in number to the troops of his rival, yet
as he well knew that the Greeks were much superior in
468 EGYPT.
Egypt valour, he did not doubt of victory. The two armies met,
—■-v-w' and drew up in order of battle near Memphis, where a
bloody engagement ensued, in which, though the army of
Apries behaved with the greatest resolution, they were
at last overpowered by numbers, and utterly defeated, the
king himself being taken prisoner. Amasis now took
possession of the throne without opposition, and confined
Apries in one of his palaces, but treated him with great
care and respect. The people, however, were implac¬
able, and Amasis therefore found himself obliged to de¬
liver the prisoner into their hands. Apries was according¬
ly given up to those “ who sought his life,” and who no
sooner had him in their power than they strangled him,
and laid his body in the sepulchre of his ancestors.
During the reign of Amasis, Egypt is said to have been
perfectly happy, and to have contained twenty thousand
populous cities. That good order might be preserved
amongst such vast numbers of people, Amasis enacted a
law by which every Egyptian was bound once a year to
inform the governor of his province by what means he
gained his livelihood ; and if he failed in this, he was
liable to be put to death. The same punishment he de¬
creed to those who could not give a satisfactory account
of themselves. This monarch greatly favoured the Greeks,
and married a woman of Grecian extract. To many Greek
cities, as well as particular persons, he made considerable
presents. He likewise gave permission to the Greeks in
general to come into Egypt, and either settle in the city
of Naucratis, or carry on their trade upon the sea coasts;
granting them also temples, and places where they might
erect temples, to their own deities. He likewise received
a visit from Solon the celebrated Athenian lawgiver, and
reduced the island of Cyprus under his subjection.
This prosperity, however, ended with the death of Ama¬
sis, or rather before it. The Egyptian monarch having some¬
how incensed Cambyses, king of Persia, the latter vowed
the destruction of Amasis. In the mean time Phanes of
Halicarnassus, commander of the Grecian auxiliaries in
the pay of Amasis, received some private disgust, and leav-
ing Egypt, set out for Persia. He was a wise and able
general, well acquainted with every thing which related to
Egypt, and held in great estimation by the Greeks resi¬
dent in that country. Amasis became immediately sen¬
sible of his loss, and therefore sent after him a trusty
eunuch in a fast-sailing galley. Phanes was accordingly
overtaken in Lycia, but not brought back ; for having made
his guard drunk, he continued his journey to Persia, and
presented himself before Cambyses as the latter was me¬
ditating the destruction of the Egyptian monarchy.
But Amasis had not the misfortune to behold the cala¬
mities of his country.1 He died about 525 years before
Christ, after a reign of forty-two years, and left the king¬
dom to his son Psammenitus, just as Cambyses was ap¬
proaching the frontiers of the kingdom.
The new prince was scarcely seated upon the throne
when the Persian host appeared. Psammenitus drew to¬
gether what forces he could, in order to prevent the in¬
vader from entering the kingdom. Cambyses, however,
immediately laid siege to Pelusium, and made himself mas¬
ter of the place by a stratagem. Having placed in the
front of his army a great number of cats, dogs, and other
animals which were deemed sacred by the Egyptians,
he then attacked the city, and took it without opposition;
the garrison, which consisted entirely of Egyptians, not
daring to throw a dart or shoot an arrow against their IVy
enemies, lest their weapons should kill some of the sacred Wy ,
animals. Cambyses had scarcely taken possession of the
city, when Psammenitus advanced against him with a nu¬
merous army. But before the engagement, the Greeks
who served under Psammenitus, in order to show their
indignation against their treacherous countryman Phanes
brought his children into the camp, killed them in the pre¬
sence of their father and the two armies, and then drank
their blood. Enraged at so cruel an act, the Persians
advanced to the combat, which proved long and bloody;
but at the close of the day the Egyptians, overpowered
by numbers, gave way. Cambyses prevailed, and the na¬
tional independence of Egypt was for ever lost. Those
who escaped from the field fled to Memphis, where they
were soon after guilty of an outrage for which they after¬
wards paid dear. Cambyses sent a herald to summon
them, in a small vessel from Mitylene; but no sooner did
they observe this craft coming into the port, than they
flocked down to the shore, destroyed the boat, tore in
pieces the herald and all the crew, and afterwards carried
their mangled limbs into the city in a kind of barbarous
triumph. Not long afterwards, Memphis was taken by
assault, and given up to pillage; whilst Psammenitus fell
into the hands of an inveterate enemy, enraged beyond
measure at the cruelties committed upon the children of
Phanes, the Persian herald, and the Mitylenian sailors.
The conquerors, being still a barbarous race, carried every¬
where destruction and death. Thebes was sacked, its finest
monuments were demolished or laid in ruins, and the ico¬
noclastic fury of the conquerors raged even more fiercely
against the temples than the palaces of the land, which
was thus made desolate.
The rapid success of the Persians struck such terror
into the Libyans, Cyreneans, Barcaeans, and other depen¬
dents or allies of the Egyptian monarchy, that they imme¬
diately submitted. Nothing now remained but to dispose
of the captive king, and revenge on him and his subjects
the cruelties which they had committed. This the merci¬
less victor executed in the severest manner. On the tenth
day after Memphis had been taken, Psammenitus and the
chief of the Egyptian nobility were ignominiously sent into
one of the suburbs of that city ; and the king being there
seated, saw his daughter coming along in the habit of a
slave with a pitcher to fetch water from the Nile, and fol¬
lowed by the daughters of the first families in Egypt, all
in the same miserable garb, with pitchers in their hands,
drowned in tears, and loudly bemoaning their miserable
situation. When the fathers observed their daughters in
this distress, they all burst into tears, except Psammenitus,
who only cast his eyes on the ground and kept them fixed
there. After the young women came the son of Psammeni¬
tus, with two thousand of the young nobility, all of them
with bits in their mouths and halters round their necks, who
were led to execution. This was done to expiate the mur¬
der of the Persian herald and the Mitylenian sailors; for
Cambyses caused ten Egyptians of the first rank to be
publicly executed for every one of those who had been
assassinated. Psammenitus himself was afterwards re¬
stored to his liberty, and had he not showed a desire of
revenge, might perhaps have been entrusted with the go¬
vernment of Egypt; but being discovered hatching schemes
against the conquerors, he was seized, convicted, and con¬
demned to drink bull’s blood.
S°n regne fut heureux et paisible,” says Champollion; “ le commerce reprit un grand essor, et les richesses affluaient en
Egypte; non qu’elle fut forte par elle-meme, non qu’ell“ ^  :   . . •   
dans ce temps-la les rois de Babylone cessaient de menacer
Cyrus, qui attaqua impe'tueusement PAssyrie et en fit
bylone.” {Notice sur VHistone de I'Egypte.)
EGYPT.
469
iyp1- y
The Egyptians, now reduced to the lowest degree of
slavery, were placed at the mercy of satraps or governors
appointed by the conquerors. Their country became a
province of the Persian empire, and the body of Amasis,
their late king, being taken out of the grave, and mangled
in a shocking manner, was finally burnt. Never was con¬
quest more complete, desolation more universal, or tyranny
more fierce and unrelenting. It was the very frenzy of
barbarous fanaticism let loose, like some evil spirit long kept
in chains under darkness, to destroy the monuments of the
proudest civilization which the world had ever yet seen,
and which in some of its characteristics had far distanced
all future rivalry.1 In the moral chaos which ensued, the
arts and sciences almost entirely disappeared from that
very soil in which they had long flourished ; and the learn¬
ing of the Egyptians became merely a recollection or tra¬
dition of the past. But what was accounted by the super¬
stitious portion of the people more grievous than all the
rest, the sacred bull Apis was slain, and his priests were
ignominiously scourged; treatment which inspired the
whole nation with an unextinguishable hatred of the Per¬
sians. A similar spirit of vengeance dictated the attempt
to seize the consecrated fane of Jupiter Ammon, situated
in the great Oasis ; an attempt which cost Cambyses half
his army, and produced disaffection among the remainder.
As long as the Persian empire subsisted, the Egyptians
were never able to shake off the yoke. They revolted fre¬
quently, it is true, but in every instance they were ulti¬
mately overthrown with prodigious loss. The chiefs who
headed these insurrections gained partial successes, and
for a brief space even freed their country from servitude ;
but their generous efforts were soon exhausted against the
constantly increasing power of the Persian empire, and
the expected deliverance was not achieved.
But when Alexander (Iskander), at the head of an
army of Greeks, overturned the dominion of the Persians
in Asia, Egypt at length respired freely under this new
and enlightened master; and if he had lived he would
doubtless have raised it to something like its ancient
renown. He founded the city of Alexandria, which he
called after his own name, and destined to become the
centre of the commerce of the world, for which, from its
geographical position, it was eminently calculated; and
he was meditating other plans equally enlarged and com¬
prehensive, when all his projects were suddenly arrested
by death.
Having thus arrived at the point where commences the
history of the Greek rulers of Egypt, we shall, in order
to connect that which precedes with what is to follow,
exhibit a tabular view of the several Egyptian dynas¬
ties from the death of Mceris-Thothmosis III. to the ac¬
cession of the first Ptolemy, the head of the Lagidae. It is
proper to observe here, however, that this arrangement of
the dynasties, founded on the information contained in the
writings of Herodotus and Diodorus, differs very materi¬
ally from that of Manetho, which will be presented under
a subsequent head ; and that it has been adopted in this
place solely with a view to the illustration of the narrative,
to which it is more immediately applicable than the royal
canon of Manetho.
Fifth Dynasty, 342 Years.
Y. b. c.
1. Sethos, Sethosis, Sesoosis, or Sesostris 33...1308
2. Rampses or Pheron 61...1275
3. Cetes, Proteus, or Ramesses 50...1214
4. Amenophis IV 40... 1164
5. Rampsinites 42...1124
6. Cheops or Chemmis 50...1082
7. Cephrenes, Cephres, or Sesah 56...1032
8. Mycerimus or Cherinus  10... 976
His death 342... 966
Sixth Dynasty, 293 Years.
A chasm 151,
1. Bocchoris or Asychis  44.
2. Any sis  2.
3. Sabacon or So,)   50.
So,l
b i
Anysis again,
4. Sebecon or Sethos.
Sennacherib invades Egypt.
6.
40.
End of the period 293-
Seventh Dynasty, 148 Years.
1. Twelve contemporary kings 15.
2. Psammeticus 1 39.
3. Nechus or Pharaoh Necho 16.
4. Psammis  6.
5. Apries or Pharaoh Hophra 28.
6. Amasis 44.
Cyrus conquers Egypt 
7. Psammenitus. First revolt of Egypt 
148
Eighth Dynasty, Persian Kings, 112 Years.
1. Cambyses reduces Egypt, )
First Persian Administration, J  
2. Darius Hystaspes. Second revolt of Egypt  3
3. Xerxes reduces Egypt, { 9,
Second Persian administration, J  
4. Artaxerxes Longimanus. Third Revolt 4
Reduces Egypt, I
Third Persian administration, J  
Herodotus visits Egypt 
38.
43.
5. Darius Nothus. Fourth Revolt 112.
Ninth Dynasty, Egyptian Kings, 81 Years.
1. Amyrtaeus  6.
2. Pausiris or Busiris  6.
3. Psammeticus II  6.
4. Nephereus  6.
5. Acoris 14.
6. Nectanebo 12.
7. Tachus or Tachos  2.
8. Nectanebo II   11,
Ochus reduces Egypt, )
Fourth Persian administration, J   
18
Egypt.
.966
.815
.771
.769
.719
.713
.711
-673
.673
.658
.619
.603
.597
.569
.535
.525
.525
.487
.484
.460
.456
.448
.413
.413
.407
.401
.395
.389
.375
.373
.361
Alexander conquers Egypt 81...332
n a poetical “ Address to the Mummy in Belzoni’s Exhibition,” which appeared about the time when that enterprising but
un ortunate traveller exposed his Egyptian tomb and other curiosities to the view of the London public, and which has deservedly
een admired for its picturesque vigour combined with richness and felicity of historical allusion, the fury which marked the whole
career of the Persian conquest is indicated in the most graphic manner. Addressing the mummy, the poet asks 
Didst thou not hear the pother o’er thy head
When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses,
Marched armies o’er thy tomb with thundering tread,
O’erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis,
And shook the Pyramids with fear and wonder.
When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder ?
EGYPT.
470
Egypt. On the demise of Alexander the Great the Greek ge-
nerals divided amongst them his conquests, when Egypt,
together with Libya, and that part of Arabia which bor¬
ders on Egypt, were assigned to Ptolemy Lagus, as gover¬
nor, under Alexander’s son by Roxana, who was but new¬
ly born. But nothing was further from the intention of
this governor than to hold these provinces in trust for ano¬
ther. He did not, however, assume the title of king until
he found his authority too firmly established to be over¬
thrown ; nor did this happen until nineteen years after
the death ot Alexander, when Antigonus and Demetrius
had unsuccessfully attempted the conquest of Egypt.
Ptolemy then declared himself king, and became the head
of the Greek dynasty which governed Egypt for nearly
three centuries. From the time of his first establishment
on the throne, Ptolemy, who had assumed the cognomen of
Soter, reigned twenty years, which, added to the former
nineteen, make up the thirty-nine years during which it
is computed by historians that he reigned alone. In the
thirty-ninth year of his reign he associated one of his sons,
named Philadelphus, as his partner in the empire, at the
same time declaring him successor to the throne, in pre¬
judice of his eldest son, named Ceraunus; a preference
which he was induced to give by his extravagant affection
for Berenice, mother of Philadelphus. When the succes¬
sion had been thus settled, Ceraunus immediately quitted
the court, and fled into Syria, where he was received
with open arms by Seleucus Nicator, whom, in order to
evince his gratitude, he afterwards murdered.
The most remarkable transaction of this reign was the
embellishing of the city of Alexandria, which Ptolemy
made the capital of his new kingdom; and the establish¬
ment of the celebrated Alexandrian Library, in which
were deposited all the treasures of ancient learning. (See
the article Alexandria.) About 284 years before Christ,
died Ptolemy Soter, in the forty-first year of his reign, and
eighty-fourth of his age. He was the best as well as the
most accomplished prince of his race, and he left behind
him an exampleof prudence, justice, and munificence which
few of his successors chose to imitate. Learned himself, he
was a great patron and encourager of learning in others;
and whilst he proved himself one of the most eminent phi¬
losophers of his age, he also invited to his court, and placed
in the schools which he had established in Alexandria, all
those who were then most distinguished for scientific ac¬
quirements. To him learning and philosophy owe nume¬
rous and deep obligations; and for nothing are they more
indebted than the practical direction which he gave to the
pursuits of science, by withdrawing the speculations of the
learned from the entities and quiddities of metaphysics,
and the barren subtilties of scholastic systems of dispu¬
tation, in order to engage them in the more profitable stu¬
dies of history, geometry, medicine, and philosophy. In
this indeed consisted the true glory of his reign. The
employment to which he devoted his accomplished mind,
and the encouragement which he afforded to true learning,
reflect greater honour upon the memory of Ptolemy Soter,
than all the magnificence of the Serapeion, all the bril¬
liant utility of the Pharos, or the success which crowned
his arms and issued in the extension of his empire. Be¬
sides the provinces originally assigned to him, he acquired
those of Ccelo-Syria, Ethiopia, Pamphylia, Lycia, Caria,
and some of the Cyclades.
His successor, Ptolemy Philadelphus, added nothing to
the extent of the empire; nor did he perform any thing
worthy of notice except further embellishing the city of
Alexandria, and entering into an alliance with the Romans.
In his time Magas the governor of Libya and Cyrene re¬
volted, and held these provinces as an independent prince,
notwithstanding the utmost efforts of Ptolemy to reduce
him to obedience. At last an accommodation took place • E
and a marriage was proposed between Berenice, the only w
daughter of Magas, and Ptolemy’s eldest son. But before
this treaty could be carried into effect, Magas died; and
Apamea, the princess’s mother, afterwards did all in her
power to prevent the match. This, however, she was un¬
able to effect, though her intrigues produced a destruc¬
tive war of four years’ continuance with Antiochus Theus
king ot Syria, and the enacting of a cruel tragedy in the
family of that prince. Philadelphus conveyed the waters
of the Nile into the deserts of Libya, finished the Pharos
near the harbour of Alexandria, and laboured to improve
the navigable canal which connected the capital with both
the Red Sea and the Mediterranean. But he dishonoured
himself by resenting the advice given to his father by
Demetrius the librarian, who recommended to Lagus to
allow the succession to proceed in the natural course, and
to settle the crown on his eldest to the exclusion of his
second son.
About 246 years before Christ, Ptolemy Philadelphus
died, and was succeeded by his eldest son Ptolemy, who
had been married to Berenice, the daughter of Magas, as
above stated. In the beginning of his reign he found him¬
self engaged in a war with Antiochus Theus king of Syria.
In this, however, he proved victorious, and brought with
him two thousand five hundred statues and pictures,
amongst which were many of the ancient Egyptian idols,
which had been carried away by Cambyses into Persia.
These were restored by Ptolemy to their antient temples,
and in memory of this pious act the Egyptians conferred
on him the surname of Euergetes, or the Beneficent. In
the expedition against Theus he greatly enlarged his do¬
minions, made himself master of several countries situated
beyond Mount Taurus, and carried his arms to the confines
of Bactria. An account of these conquests was drawn up
by Ptolemy himself, and inscribed on a monument, to the
following effect:
“ Ptolemy Euergetes, having received from his father
the sovereignty of Egypt, Libya, Syria, Phcenice, Cyprus,
Lycia, Caria, and the other Cyclades, assembled a mighty
army of cavalry and infantry, with a great fleet and ele¬
phants out of Trogloditia and Ethiopia, some of which had
been taken by his father, and the rest by himself, and
brought thence and trained up for war. With this great
force he sailed into Asia, and having conquered all the
provinces which are situated on this side of the Euphra¬
tes, Cilicia, Pamphylia, Ionia, the Hellespont, and Thrace,
he crossed the river with all the forces of the conquered
countries, and the kings of those nations, and reduced
Mesopotamia, Babylonia, Susiana, Persia, Media, and all
the country as far as Bactria.”
On his return from this expedition, he passed through
Jerusalem, where he offered many sacrifices to the God
of Israel, and ever afterwards expressed great favour for
the Jewish nation. At this time the Jews were tributa¬
ries of the Egyptian monarchs, and paid them annually
twenty talents of silver. This tribute, however, Onias,
then high priest, had for a long time neglected to pay,
and the arrears in consequence now amounted to a very
large sum. Soon after his return, therefore, Ptolemy
sent one of his courtiers named Athenion to demand the
money, and instructed him to acquaint the Jews that he
would make war upon them in case of refusal. A young
man, however, named Joseph, nephew of Onias, not only
found means to avert the king’s anger, but even got him¬
self appointed receiver-general, and by his faithful dis¬
charge of that important trust continued in high favour
with Ptolemy as long as he lived.
Having at last concluded a peace with Seleucus, the
successor of Antiochus Theus king of Syria, Ptolemy Eu-
EGYPT.
ereetes attempted the enlargement of his dominions to
the south; and in this he was so successful that he made
himself master of all the coasts of the Red Sea, both on
the Arabian and Ethiopian shores, as far as the entrance
of the Strait of Dira or Babelmandeb. On his return he
was met by ambassadors from the Achaeans, who came to
implore his assistance against the iEtolians and Lacedae¬
monians. This the king readily promised ; but the envoys
having in the mean while engaged Antigonus king of Ma¬
cedonia to support them, Ptolemy was so much offended
that he sent powerful succours to Cleomenes king of Spar¬
ta, hoping thereby to humble both the Achaeans and their
new ally Antigonus. In this, however, he was disappoint¬
ed; for Cleomenes, after having gained very consider¬
able advantages over the enemy, was at last defeated in
the battle of Sellasia, and obliged to take refuge in Pto¬
lemy’s dominions. He was received by the Egyptian
monarch with the greatest kindness, and a yearly pension
of twenty-four talents was assigned him, with a promise
of restoring him to the Spartan throne; but before this
could be accomplished, the king of Egypt died, in the
twenty-seventh year of his reign, and was succeeded by
his son Ptolemy Philopater.
At this period the Egyptian empire had attained to a
great height of power; and if the succeeding monarchs had
been careful to preserve what was transmitted to them
by Euergetes, it is probable that Egypt might have been
capable of holding the balance against Rome, and, after
the destruction of Carthage, might have prevented that
haughty city from becoming mistress of the world. But
after the death of Ptolemy Euergetes, the Egyptian em¬
pire being governed only by weak or vicious monarchs,
rapidly declined; and henceforth it makes no conspicuous
figure in history. Ptolemy Philopater commenced his
reign with the murder of his brother; after which he gave
himself up to all manner of licentiousness, and the king¬
dom fell into a state of anarchy. Cleomenes the Spartan
king still resided at court; and being now unable to bear
the dissolute manners which prevailed there, he pressed
Philopater to give him the assistance which had been pro¬
mised for restoring him to the throne of Sparta. I his he
insisted upon the more, because he had received advice
that Antigonus king of Macedonia was dead, that the
Achaeans were engaged in a war with the Etolians, and
that the Lacedaemonians had joined the latter against the
Achaeans and Macedonians. Ptolemy, when afraid of hm
brother Magas, had indeed promised to assist the king of
Sparta with a powerful fleet, hoping by this means to
attach the latter to his own interest; but nowr when Ma¬
gas no longer stood in the wray, it was determined by the
king, or rather his ministers, that Cleomenes should not
be assisted, nor even allowed to quit the kingdom. Of
the disorders which ensued in the government, Antiochus
king of Syria, surnamed the Great, took advantage, and
attempted to wrest from the hands of Ptolemy the pro¬
vinces of Ccelo-Syria and of Palestine. But in this he
was unsuccessful, and might easily have been driven alto¬
gether out of Syria, had not Ptolemy been too much oc¬
cupied with his debaucheries to think of carrying on the
war. The discontent occasioned by this negligence soon
produced a civil war in his dominions; and the whole king¬
dom continued in the utmost confusion and disorder until
his death, which happened in the seventeenth year of his
reign and thirty-seventh of his age. A slave to his pas¬
sions, addicted to cruelty, and incapable of governing, he
at that early age sunk under a ruined constitution, amidst
the universal scorn and contempt of mankind.
In this reign the Jews were inhumanly persecuted.
The hatred of this people entertained by Philopater arose
out of a remarkable occurrence. Whilst engaged in his
Syrian expedition, the king of Egypt had attempted to
enter the temple of Jerusalem; but he was prevented do- ^
ing so by the Jews, a circumstance which filled him with
the utmost rage against the whole nation. On his return
to Alexandria, being resolved to make those who dwelt
in that city feel the first effects of his vengeance, he pub¬
lished a decree, which he caused to be engraved on a pil¬
lar erected at the gate of his palace, excluding all those
who refused to sacrifice to the gods worshipped by the
king; by which means the Jews were debarred from suing
for justice, or obtaining protection, when they happened to
require it. By the favour of Alexander the Great, Pto¬
lemy Soter, and Ptolemy Euergetes, the Jews at Alex¬
andria had enjoyed the same privileges with the Macedo¬
nians. In that metropolis indeed the inhabitants were
divided into three classes. In the first were the Macedoni¬
ans, the original founders of the city, and the Jews ; in the
second were the mercenaries who had served under Alex¬
ander ; and in the third the native Egyptians. By another
decree, however, Ptolemy now ordained that the Jews
should be degraded from the first rank, and enrolled among
the native Egyptians; but that he might not seem to be
an enemy to the whole nation, he declared that those who
sacrificed to the gods of the Egyptians should enjoy their
former privileges, and remain in the first class. Yet
notwithstanding this tempting offer, only three hundred
out of many thousand Jews who lived in Alexandria could
be prevailed upon to abandon their religion in order to
save themselves from slavery. Meanwhile, the apostates
were excommunicated by their brethren ; and this, being
construed as done in opposition to the king’s order, exas¬
perated him so much that he resolved to extirpate the
whole nation, beginning with the Jews who lived in Alex¬
andria and other cities of Egypt, and proceeding thence
even to Judea and Jerusalem itself. Accordingly he
commanded the Jews who lived in any part of Egypt to
be brought in chains to Alexandria, and there to be shut
up in the Hippodrome; and having sent for the master
of the elephants, he ordered that functionary to have five
hundred of these animals in readiness against the next day,
to be let loose upon the Jews. But when at length the
elephants were let loose, instead of falling upon the Jews,
they turned their rage against the spectators and soldiers,
great numbers of whom were destroyed; and this ele¬
phantine retribution, together with some strange appear¬
ances which were at the same time observed in the air,
so terrified the king, that he commanded the Jews to be
immediately set at liberty, and restored them to their
former privileges.
The death of Philopater was followed by a minority,
his son and successor Ptolemy Epiphanes being only five
vears old at the period of his demise. 'Ibis minority was
chiefly remarkable for having afforded the Romans an op¬
portunity of interfering in and powerfully influencing the
affairs of Egypt. When, owing to the extreme youth of
the Egyptian monarch, the kings of Syria and Macedonia
had resolved to dismember and divide his dominions, the
guardians of the young prince made application to Rome
to interpose her authority in the cause of justice, and to
prevent the aggrandisement of two grasping and unprin¬
cipled monarchs with the spoils of an unoffending country.
It was always the policy of Rome to mask her ambitious
views under the show of a regard to justice; and this ap¬
plication, which furnished the necessary pretence, whilst it
held out hopes of future advantage, appeared too inviting
to be refused. The request of the guardians was promptly
granted, and Marcus iEmilius Lepidus set sail for Alex¬
andria to assume the direction of affairs, whilst ambassa¬
dors were dispatched to Antiochus and Philip, to make
known to them the line of policy which the republic had
471
Egypt-
472
Egypt.
EGYPT.
resolved to pursue. But the peace which Rome thus dic¬
tated terminated when Epiphanes took the sceptre into
his own feeble hand. As he became corrupt, his sub-
. jects grevy discontented; various conspiracies were formed
against him ; and although these were discovered and de¬
tected, he at length fell by the hands of an assassin, in
the twenty-ninth year of his age, and the twenty-fourth of
his reign.
Ptolemy Epiphanes was succeeded by Ptolemy Philo-
metor, who was only six years old. In the beginning of
this reign a war commenced with the king of Syria, who,
in the preceding reign, had seized upon the provinces of
Coelo-Syria and Palestine. In the course of the war
Philometor was either voluntarily delivered up to Antio-
chus, or taken prisoner ; and the Alexandrians, despairing
of his ever being able to recover his liberty, raised to the
throne his younger brother, who took the name of Euer-
getes II., but was afterwards called Physcon, on account
of the prominentabdominal rotundity which by his gluttony
and sensual indulgence he had acquired. Physcon, how¬
ever, was scarcely seated on the throne, when Antiochus
Epiphanes, returning into Egypt, expelled him from that
country, and restored the whole kingdom, except Pelusium,
to Philometor. His design was to foment a war between
the two brothers, that he might have an opportunity of
seizing the kingdom for himself; and with this view he
retained possession of the city of Pelusium, by which, as
it formed the key of Egypt, he might at his pleasure enter
the country. But Philometor, apprised of his design, in¬
vited Physcon to an accommodation, which was happily
effected by their sister Cleopatra; and in virtue of the
agreement then entered into, the brothers consented to
reign jointly, and to oppose to the utmost of their power
Antiochus, whom they considered as a common enemy.
This family compact did not suit the views of the king of
Syria, who invaded Egypt with a mighty army; but the
Romans interfered, and prevented him from seizing on the
country.
T he two brothers were no sooner freed from the appre¬
hensions of a foreign enemy than they began to quarrel
with each other; and their differences soon reached such
a height that the Roman senate interposed. But before
the ambassadors employed to inquire into the merits of
the cause could arrive in Egypt, Physcon had driven Phi¬
lometor from the throne, and obliged him to quit the
kingdom. On this the dethroned prince fled to Rome,
where he was very kindly received by the senate, who
immediately decreed his restoration. He was reconduct¬
ed accoidingly, and on the arrival of the ambassadors in
Egypt, an accommodation between the two brothers was
negociated. By this agreement Physcon was put in pos¬
session of Libya and Cyrene, and Philometor of all Egypt
and the island of Cyprus; each of them being declared
independent of the other in the dominion allotted to them.
The tieaty, as usual, was confirmed with oaths and sacri¬
fices, and was broken almost as soon as made. Physcon
was dissatisfied with his share of the dominions, and he
therefore sent ambassadors to Rome to require that the
island of Cyprus might be added to his other possessions.
But this the ambassadors failed to obtain, and accordingly
Physcon proceeded to Rome in person. His demand was
evidently unjust, but the Romans, considering it as their
interest to weaken the power of Egypt, without further
ceremony adjudged to him the island in question.
Physcon set out from Rome along with two ambassa¬
dors ; and having arrived in Greece on his way to Cyprus,
proceeded to raise a number of mercenaries, with a design
to sail immediately for that island and conquer it. But
the Roman ambassadors having informed him that they
were commanded to put him in possession of it by fair
means, and not by force, he dismissed his army, and re¬
turned to Libya, whilst one of the ambassadors proceeded
to Alexandria. Their design was to bring the two bro¬
thers to an interview on the frontiers of their dominions*
and there to settle matters in an amicable manner. But
the ambassador who went to Alexandria found Philome¬
tor averse to comply with the decree of the senate; and*
in fact, he had recourse to so much evasion, that Physcon
sent the other also to Alexandria, hoping that the joint per¬
suasions of the two would induce Philometor to comply
But the king, after entertaining them at an immense
charge for forty days, at last plainly refused to submit
and informed the ambassadors that he was resolved to ad¬
here to the first treaty. Having received this answer, the
Roman ambassadors departed, and were followed by others
from the two brothers. The senate, however, not only
confirmed the decree in favour of Physcon, but renounced
their alliance with Philometor, and commanded his am¬
bassador to leave the city in five days.
In the mean time the inhabitants of Cyrene having
heard unfavourable accounts of Physcon’s behaviour du¬
ring the short time he reigned in Alexandria, conceived
so strong an aversion to him, that it was resolved to ex¬
clude him from their country by force of arms. On re¬
ceiving intelligence of this resolution, Physcon hastened
with all his forces to Cyrene, where he overpowered his
rebellious subjects, and established himself in the king¬
dom. But his vicious and tyrannical conduct soon es¬
tranged from him the minds of his subjects; and some of
them, having entered into a conspiracy against him, fell
upon him one night as he was returning to his palace,
wounded him in several places, and left him for dead.
Ihis he laid to the charge of his brother Philometor, and,
as soon as he had recovered, undertook another voyage to
Rome, where he made his complaints to the senate, and
showed them the scars of his wounds, accusing his bro¬
ther of having employed the assassins from whom he had
received them. Though Philometor was known to be a man
of humane and mild disposition, and therefore unlikely to
have been concerned in such an attempt, yet the senate,
offended at his refusing to submit to their decree concern¬
ing the island of Cyprus, listened to this false accusation,
and carried their prejudices so far as not only to refuse
an audience to his ambassadors, but to order them to
depart immediately from the city. At the same time they
appointed five commissioners to conduct Physcon to Cy¬
prus, and to put him in possession of that island ; enjoining
all their allies in those parts to supply him with forces for
that purpose.
Physcon having by this means got together an army
which appeared to be sufficient for the purpose, landed in
Cyprus; but being there encountered by Philometor in
person, he was entirely defeated, and obliged to shelter
himself in a city called Lapitho, where he was closely be¬
sieged, and at last obliged to surrender. Every one now
expected that Physcon would have been treated as he de¬
served ; but instead of punishing, his brother restored him
to the government of Libya and Cyrene, adding some
other territories instead of the island of Cyprus, and pro¬
mising him his daughter in marriage. Thus an end was
put to the war between the two brothers; the Romans
being ashamed any longer to oppose a prince who had
given such a signal instance of justice and clemency.
On the death of Philometor, occasioned by wounds re¬
ceived in battle, Cleopatra the queen intended to secure
the throne for her son. But some of the principal nobi¬
lity having declared for Physcon, a civil war was about to
ensue, when matters were compromised on condition that
Physcon should marry Cleopatra, that he should reign
jointly with her during his life, and that he should de-
%
1
E G Y P T. 473
•vpt. clare her son by Philometor heir to the crown. These
terms were no sooner agreed to than Physcon married
Cleopatra, and on the very day of the nuptials murdered
her son in her arms. But this bloody deed was only a
prelude to the cruelties which he afterwards practised on
his subjects. He was no sooner seated on the throne as
sole occupant than he put to death all those who had shown
any concern for the murder of the young prince : he then
wreaked his fury on the Jews, whom he treated more like
slaves than subjects, on account of their having favoured
the cause of Cleopatra; and even his own people were
treated with little more ceremony. Numbers were every
day put to death for the smallest faults, and often for no
fault at all, but merely to gratify the inhuman temper of
this tun-bellied despot. Towards the Alexandrians he
acted with the greatest barbarity, indulging all the san¬
guinary caprices of the most wanton cruelty. In a short
time, being wearied of his queen, who was his sister, he
divorced her, and married her daughter, also called Cleo¬
patra, whom he had previously ravished. In a word, his
behaviour was so exceedingly wicked that it soon became
quite intolerable to his subjects; and he was at length
obliged to fly to the island of Cyprus with his new queen,
and Memphitis, a son whom he had had by her mother.
After the flight of the king, the divorced queen was
placed on the throne by the Alexandrians; but Physcon,
fearing lest a son whom he had left behind should be ap¬
pointed king, sent for him into Cyprus, and caused him
to be murdered as soon as he landed. This barbarity so
provoked the people against him, that they pulled down
and dashed to pieces all the statues which had been
erected to him at Alexandria. The indignant act of the
people being attributed by the tyrant to the instigation of
the queen, he resolved to revenge it, by putting to death the
son whom he had by her. Accordingly, without the least
remorse, he caused the young prince’s throat to be cut;
and having put his mangled limbs into a box, he sent them
as a present to his mother Cleopatra. The messenger by
whom this horrid present was conveyed was one of Phys-
con’s guards; and the man had orders to wait until the ar¬
rival of the queen’s birth-day, which was to be celebrated
with extraordinary pomp, and in the midst of the general
rejoicing to deliver the present. The horror and detesta¬
tion occasioned by this unexampled piece of cruelty can¬
not be expressed. An army was soon raised, and the
command of it given to Marsyas, whom the queen had
appointed general, and enjoined to take all the necessary
steps for the defence of the country. On the other hand,
Physcon having hired a numerous body of mercenaries,
sent them under the command of Hegelochus against the
Egyptians. The twro armies met on the frontiers of Egypt,
and a bloody battle ensued; but at last the Egyptians
were entirely defeated, and Marsyas was taken prisoner.
Every one expected that the captive general would have
been put to death with the greatest torments; but Phys¬
con, perceiving that his cruelties only exasperated the
people, resolved to try whether he might not regain their
affections by lenity ; and therefore, having pardoned Mar¬
syas, he set him at liberty. In the mean time Cleopatra,
distressed by this overthrow, demanded assistance from
Demetrius king of Syria, who had married her eldest
daughter by Philometor, at the same time promising him
the crown of Egypt as his reward. Demetrius accepted
the proposal without hesitation, marched with all his forces
into Egypt, and laid siege to Pelusium. But as this prince
was no less hated in Syria than Physcon was in Egypt,
the people of Antioch, taking advantage of his absence,
revolted against him, and were joined by most of the other
oities in Syria. Demetrius was accordingly obliged to re¬
turn ; and Cleopatra, beinsc now in no condition to oppose
VOL. VIII.
Physcon, fled to Ptolemais or St Jean d’Acre, where her Egypt,
daughter the queen of Syria at that time resided. Phys- 's—
con was then restored to the throne of Egypt, which he
enjoyed without further molestation till his death, which
happened at Alexandria, in the twenty-ninth year of his
reign, and sixty-seventh of his age.
Physcon was succeeded by Ptolemy Lathyrus, about a
hundred and twenty-two years before Christ; but the
latter had not reigned long when his mother, finding that
he would not be entirely governed by her, stirred up the
Alexandrians, who drove him from the throne, and placed
on it his youngest brother Alexander. After this Lathy¬
rus was obliged to content himself with the government of
Cyprus, which he was still permitted to hold. But Ptolemy
Alexander, finding that he was to have only the shadow
of sovereignty, whilst his mother Cleopatra possessed all
the power, stole away privately from Alexandria. The
queen knowing well that the Alexandrians would never
suffer her to reign alone, employed every artifice to bring
back her son, who at last yielded to her entreaties; but
soon afterwards understanding that she had hired assassins
to dispatch him, he caused her to be murdered. The
death of the queen was no sooner made known to the
Alexandrians than, disdaining to be governed by a parri¬
cide, they drove out Alexander, and recalled Lathyrus.
The deposed prince for some time led a rambling life
in the island of Cos; but having got together a few ships,
he the next year attempted to return into Egypt, when,
being met by Tyrrhus, admiral of Lathyrus, he was de¬
feated, and obliged to fly to Myra in Lycia. From this
place he steered his course towards Cyprus, hoping that
the inhabitants would place him on the throne instead of
his brother; but Chareas, another admiral of Lathyrus,
having come up with him just as he was about to disembark,
an engagement ensued, in which Alexander’s fleet was dis¬
persed, and he himself killed. During these disturbances,
Appion king of Cyrenaica, the son of Ptolemy Physcon
by a concubine, having maintained tranquillity in his do¬
minions during a reign of twenty-one years, died, and by
his will left his kingdom to the Romans; a bequest by
which the Egyptian empire was still further reduced and
circumscribed.
Lathyrus being now freed from all competitors, turned
his arms against the city of Thebes, which had revolted
against him, and declared itself independent. The king
marched in person against the insurgents, and, having
defeated them in a pitched battle, laid siege to the an-'
cient metropolis of Egypt. The inhabitants, however,
defended themselves with great resolution for three years;
but at last, they were obliged to submit, and the city was
given up to be plundered by the soldiery, who everywhere
left the most melancholy traces of their rapine and cruelty.
This calamity completed the destruction of Thebes, which
until that time, notwithstanding all it had suffered under
the Persians, was a place of wealth and consequence;
but by the barbarous and vindictive policy of Lathyrus,
the venerable city was reduced to a heap of ruins. Its
fate was indeed peculiarly hard. First Memphis, and then
Alexandria, had arisen to obscure its ancient splendour,
and to attract each into its own bosom the wealth and po¬
pulation of the country; nor is it to be wondered that the
citizens of Thebes should have evinced a desire to recover
some share of the distinction of which they had been gra¬
dually deprived, and to secure to the Egyptians a seat of
government at a greater distance from the arms and in¬
trigues of warlike neighbours. But they paid dear for the
attempt to establish their independence, and the over¬
throw of Thebes, begun by the Persian, was completed by
the Greek.
About eighty-one years before Christ, Ptolemy Lathy-
3 o
EGYPT.
474
Egypt. rus was succeeded by Alexander II., the son of the Pto-
lemy Alexander for whom Lathyrus had been expelled.
This prince had met with many adventures. He was first
sent by Cleopatra into the island of Cos, with a great sum
of money, and all her jewels. But when Mithridates king
of Pontus made himself master of that island, the inhabit¬
ants delivered up to him the young Egyptian prince, to¬
gether with all the treasures. Mithridates gave him an
education suitable to his birth ; but Alexander, not think¬
ing himself safe with a prince who had shed the blood of
his own children, fled to the camp of Sylla the Roman dic¬
tator, who was then making war in Asia Minor. From that
time he lived in the family of the Roman general, till the
news of the death of Lathyrus reached Rome. Sylla then
sent him to Egypt in order to take possession of the
throne. But as the Alexandrians had before his arrival
chosen Cleopatra as their sovereign, it was agreed, by way
of-compromise, that Ptolemy should marry this queen,
and admit her as his partner in the throne. This was ac¬
cordingly done; but it proved a fatal marriage to Cleo¬
patra, for nineteen days thereafter the unhappy queen
was murdered by her husband. Nor did the cruelty of the
royal barbarian cease with the commission of this horrid
crime. During the fifteen subsequent years he showed
himself such a monster of wickedness, that a general in¬
surrection at length broke out amongst his subjects, and he
was obliged to fly to Pompey the Great, who was then car¬
rying on the war against Mithridates king of Pontus. But
Pompey having refused to concern himself in the matter,
he retired to the city of Tyre, where he died some months
afterwards.
While he remained at Tyre a sort of prisoner, Alexander
sent ambassadors to Rome, in order, if possible, to move
the senate in his favour. But having been seized with the
illness of which he died, before the negotiation was con¬
cluded, he, by his last will, made over all his rights to the
Roman people, declaring them heirs to his kingdom ; not
out of any affection to the republic, but with the view of
raising disputes between the Romans and his rival Aule-
tes, a son of Ptolemy Lathyrus, whom the Egyptians had
placed on the throne. The will was brought to Rome,
where it occasioned warm debates, some being for taking
immediate possession of the kingdom, whilst others thought
that no notice whatever should be taken of such a will, be¬
cause Alexander had not the right to dispose of his do¬
minions in prejudice of his successor, and to exclude from
the crown those who were of the royal family of Egypt.
Cicero, in particular, represented that such a notorious
imposition would debase the majesty of the Roman people,
and involve them in endless wars and disputes; that the
fruitful fields of Egypt would be a strong temptation to
the avarice of the people, who would insist on their being
divided; and that by this means the sanguinary quarrels
about the agrarian laws would be revived. These reasons
had some weight with the senate ; but what chiefly prevent¬
ed them at this time from seizing on Egypt was, that they
had lately taken possession of the kingdom of Bithynia in
virtue of the will of Nicomedes, and of Cyrene andf Libya
in consequence of that made by Appion. They perceived
that if they should, on a similar pretence, take possession
of the kingdom of Egypt, this might expose their design
of setting up a kind of universal monarchy, and cause a
formidable combination to be formed against them.
Auletes, who now assumed and disgraced the title of
Ptolemy, surpassed all the princes who went before him
in the effeminacy of his manners. The surname of Auletes
was given him because he valued himself on his skill in
performing upon the flute, and was not ashamed even to
contend for the prize in the public games. He took great
pleasure in imitating the manners of the Bacchanals; he
danced in a female dress, in the same measures which |>v
were used during the festivals of Bacchus ; and he acquir- v
ed a second surname descriptive of this particular ac¬
complishment. As his title to the crown was disputable
the first care of Auletes was to get himself acknowledged
by the Romans, and declared their ally; and this was ob¬
tained by applying to Julius Caesar, w-ho was then consul
and immensely in debt. Caesar, glad of such an opportu*
nity of raising money, made the Egyptian king pay dear
for his alliance. Six thousand talents, a sum equal to
about L.l, 162,500 sterling, were paid partly to Caesar him¬
self, and partly to Pompey, whose interest was necessary
for obtaining the consent of the people. Though the re¬
venues of Egypt amounted to twice this sum, yet it was
raised wdth great difficulty, and occasioned general dis¬
content ; and whilst the people were almost ready to take
up arms, a decree passed at Rome for seizing the island
of Cyprus. When the Alexandrians heard of the inten¬
tions of the republic, they pressed Auletes to demand
that island as an ancient appendage of Egypt; and, in
case of a refusal, to declare war against that haughty and
imperious people, who, they now saw, though too late,
aimed at nothing less than the sovereignty of the world.
But the king having refused to comply with this request,
his subjects, already provoked beyond measure at the
taxes with which they were loaded, flew to arms, and sur¬
rounded the palace. The king, however, had the good
fortune to escape their fury, and having immediately
quitted Alexandria, set sail for Rome.
But on his arrival in the metropolis of the world he
found that Caesar, in whom he placed his greatest confi¬
dence, was then in Gaul. He was, however, received with
great kindness by Pompey, who assigned him an apart¬
ment in his own house, and omitted nothing in his power
to serve him. But notwithstanding the protection of so
powerful a man, Auletes was forced to go from house to
house soliciting the votes of the senators ; and after he had
spent immense treasures in procuring, or rather in pur¬
chasing, a strong party in the city, he was at last permit¬
ted to lay his complaints before the senate. It would have
cost him less, and reflected more honour on his character,
had he followed the advice given him by Cato, who, hav¬
ing met the fugitive prince at Cyprus, advised him to re¬
turn to Egypt, and endeavour by more equitable conduct
to regain the affections of his people, instead of repairing
to Rome, where all the riches of Egypt would not be suf¬
ficient to satisfy the rapacity of the leading men. At the
same time there arrived an embassy from the Alexan¬
drians, consisting of a hundred citizens, who had been de¬
puted to make the senate acquainted with the reason of
their revolt.
When Auletes first set out for Rome, the Alexandrians,
not knowing what had become of him, placed on the
throne his daughter Berenice, and sent an embassy into
Syria, to Antiochus Asiaticus, inviting him to come into
Egypt to marry the queen, and to reign in partnership
with her. Before the arrival of the ambassadors, however,
Antiochus had died, upon which the same proposal was
made to his brother Seleucus, who readily accepted it.
This Seleucus is described by Strabo as monstrously de¬
formed in body, and still more so in mind. The Egyptians
nicknamed him Kybiosactes, or the Scullion; a sobriquet
which seems to have fitted him entirely. Scarcely was
he seated on the throne, when he gave a signal instance
of his sordid and avaricious temper. Ptolemy Lagus had
caused the body of Alexander the Great to be deposited
in a sarcophagus of massive gold. This the royal Scullion
seized upon; and thereby so provoked his wife Berenice
that she caused him to be murdered. She then married
Archelaus, high priest of Comana, in Pontus, who pre-
*
EGYPT.
475
tended to be the son of Mithridates the Great, but was, in
JX'' fact, only the son of a general in the service of that illus¬
trious monarch. #
On hearing of these transactions, Auletes was not a
little alarmed, especially when the ambassadors arrived,
which he feared would overturn all the schemes in favour
of which he had laboured and expended so much. The
embassy was headed by Dion, a celebrated Academic
philosopher, who had many powerful friends at Rome.
But Ptolemy found means to get both him and most of
his followers assassinated; and thus intimidated the rest
to such a degree that they durst not execute their com¬
mission, nor, for some time, even demand justice for the
murder of their colleagues. The report of so many mur¬
ders, however, at last spread a general alarm. But Aule¬
tes, certain of the protection of Pompey, did not scruple
to own himself the perpetrator of them; and though a
prosecution was commenced against Ascitius, one of the
assassins who had stabbed Dion, the chief of the embassy,
and the crime was fully proved, yet the ruffian was ac¬
quitted by venal judges, who had all been bribed by Pto¬
lemy. In a short time the senate decreed that the king
of Egypt should be restored by force of arms; and all the
great men in Rome were ambitious of this commission,
which, they expected, would be attended with immense
profit. Their contests on this occasion occupied a consi¬
derable time; and at last there was discovered a pro¬
phecy of the Sybil, which forbade the assisting an Egyp¬
tian monarch with an army. Ptolemy, therefore, wearied
out with so long a delay, retired from Rome, where he
had made himself generally odious, to the temple of Diana
at Ephesus, there to await the decision of his fate. At this
place he remained for a considerable time ; but as he found
that the senate came to no resolution, though he had so¬
licited them by letters so to do, he at last, by Pompey s
advice, applied to Gabinius, the proconsul of Syria, a
man of most infamous character, and ready to undertake
any thing for money. The application was successful;
and, though it was contrary to an express law for any go¬
vernor to go out of his province without positive orders
from the senate and people of Rome, yet Gabinius ven¬
tured to transgress this law, upon condition of being well
paidfor his pains. As a recompense for his trouble, however,
he demanded ten thousand talents; thatis,aboutL.l,937,500
sterling. Glad to be restored on any terms, I tolemy
agreed to pay the sum demanded; but Gabinius refused
to stir until he had received one half of it. 'Ihis obliged
the king to borrow it from a Roman knight called Gaius
Rabirius Posthumius, Pompey interposing his credit and
authority for the payment of the principal sum and in-
terest.
Gabinius now set out for Egypt, attended by the fa¬
mous Mark Antony, who at this time served in the army
under him. He was met by Archelaus, who since the
departure of Auletes had reigned in Egypt jointly with
Berenice, at the head of a numerous army; but the Egyp¬
tians were utterly defeated, and Archelaus taken prisonei
in the first engagement. Gabinius might now have put
an end to the war, but his avarice prompted him to dis¬
miss Archelaus, on the latter paying a considerable ran¬
som ; after which, pretending that the captive had made
his escape, fresh sums were demanded from Ptolemy^for
defraying the expenses of the war. For these sums Pto¬
lemy was again obliged to apply to Rabirius, who lent
him what money he wanted, on exorbitant interest; but
at last Archelaus was defeated and killed, and thus Pto¬
lemy again became master of all Egypt.
No sooner had Auletes regained possession of the throne,
than he put to death his daughter Berenice, and oppressed
his people by the most cruel exactions, in order to raise
the money he had been obliged to borrow whilst in a state Egypt,
of exile. These oppressions and exactions the Egyptians
bore patiently, being intimidated by the garrison which
Gabinius had left in Alexandria. But notwithstanding the
heavy taxes which Ptolemy laid on his people, it does not
appear that he had any serious intention of paying his
debts. Rabirius, who, as we have already observed, had
lent him immense sums, finding that the king affected
delays, undertook a voyage to Egypt in order to expostu¬
late with him in person. But Ptolemy paid little re¬
gard to his expostulations, and excused himself on ac¬
count of the bad state of his finances, at the same time
offering to make Rabirius collector-general of his revenues,
in order that, whilst thus employed, he might indemnify
himself. The unfortunate creditor accepted the employ¬
ment, in the hope of recovering his debt; but soon after¬
wards, upon some frivolous pretence or other, Ptolemy
caused him and all his servants to be closely confined.
This base conduct exasperated Pompey as much as Rabi¬
rius ; for the former had been in a manner secjurity for the
debt, as the money had been lent at his request, and the
business transacted at his country house near Alba. How¬
ever, as Rabirius had reason tp fear the worst, he seized
the first opportunity of making his escape, glad to escape
with life from a debtor at once so faithless and cruel. To
complete his misfortunes, he was prosecuted at Rome as
soon as he returned, first, for having enabled Ptolemy to
corrupt the senate with sums lent him for that purpose ;
secondly, for having debased and dishonoured the charac¬
ter of a Roman knight, by farming the revenues, and be¬
coming the servant of a foreign prince; and, thirdly, for
having been an accomplice with Gabinius, and sharing
with him the ten thousand talents which that proconsul
had received for his Egyptian expedition. But, by the
eloquence of Cicero, Rabirius was acquitted; and one of
the best orations to be found in the writings of that illus¬
trious Roman was composed on this occasion. Gabinius
was also prosecuted; and, as Cicero spoke against him,
he very narrowly escaped death. He was, however, con¬
demned to perpetual banishment, after having been strip¬
ped of all he was worth; and he lived in exile until the
time of the civil wars, when he was recalled by Caesar, in
whose service he lost his lifp.
Auletes enjoyed the throne of Egypt about four years
after his restoration, and at his death left his children
under the tuition of the Roman people. Among the infants
thus left to the protection of the republic were Cleopatra,
who afterwards became so famous, and her brother Pto¬
lemy Dionysius. As soon as these princes became of age,
they were placed on the throne, and associated in the
government; but their union was of short continuance,
and each being supported by a numerous party, their dis¬
sensions soon terminated in a civil war. In this contest the
queen was beaten, and compelled to seek refuge in Syria.
13ut not long after her misfortune Julius Csesar appeared
in Egypt: his victory at Pharsalia had given him Rome,
he was now undisputed master of the republic, and he had
come to Egypt to complete his conquest by quelling the
intestine commotions which had distracted that kingdom.
Cleopatra lost no time in repairing to Alexandria, and
having managed to obtain a secret interview with the Ro¬
man general, speedily secured his powerful favour by her
arts and caresses. This able but profligate soldier imme¬
diately restored her to power, and issued a decree in the
name of the senate, which in fact existed only in his own
person, ordaining that Ptolemy Dionysius and his sister
Cleopatra should be acknowledged as joint sovereigns of
Egypt. This arrangement, however, displeased the par-
tizans of the young king, who had recourse to a strata¬
gem, by which Caesar and his attendants narrowly escaped
476
Egypt
EGYPT.
destruction. A war soon afterwards ensued; Ptolemy
was defeated and killed; and the power of the Romans
was established by the right of conquest, no less than by
the title of guardianship.
In order to satisfy the prejudices of the Egyptians, Cleo¬
patra was now provided with a colleague; and her youngest
brother, then not more than eleven years of age, was placed
beside her on the throne. Such an appointment could not
possibly serve as any real restraint on the authority of the
queen, or as a limitation of her power, although this was
no doubt the object of the people in requiring it; but
notwithstanding that the control thus established was in a
great measure nominal, the apparent check was removed
by the murder of the unhappy boy, who fell a victim to
the remorseless jealousy which at the period in question
inflamed, whilst it dishonoured, the descendants of Pto¬
lemy Lagus. But the term of the dynasty which this
great man had founded was now approaching. The mur¬
der of Julius Caesar, and the subsequent defeat of Mark
Antony, raised the fortune of Octavianus above all rivalry
or competition, and at length invested him with the pur¬
ple, as the acknowledged head of the Roman empire.
Cleopatra, whose charms had enslaved the triumvir to his
ruin, escaped by a voluntary death from the vengeance of
the conqueror. Suspecting that he intended to degrade
her, by assigning her a place in the train of captives who
were to adorn his triumphal ascent to the capitol, the fa¬
vourite of Caesar and of Antony spared herself this igno¬
miny by means of the friendly poison of an asp. With
Cleopatra ended the line of the Greek sovereigns, and the
descendants of Ptolemy Lagus, the founder of the Greek
dynasty of Egypt, after having governed that country for
the space of two hundred and ninety years.
From this time Egypt became a province of the Roman
empire, and its history merged in that of the mighty
people by whose lieutenants it was henceforth governed.
Occasionally disturbed by intestine insurrections, and
sometimes a prey to foreign war, it was nevertheless main¬
tained against both domestic and external foes, until the
decline of the Roman power under the successors of Au¬
gustus rendered it necessary to abandon the extremities in
order to defend the heart of the empire, and to withdraw
the legions from distant provinces in order to protect from
the inroads of barbarians the countries situated on the
Danube and the Tiber. In the beginning of the second
century, the indefatigable Hadrian spent two years in
Egypt, and during this stay laboured with his accustomed
perseverance to revive among the natives a love of let¬
ters, and a taste for the beauties of architecture. At a
somewhat later period, Severus made a similar visit to the
land of the Pharaohs and Ptolemies, and, like his illustri¬
ous but eccentric predecessor, exerted himself to relieve
the burdens and ameliorate the condition of the people;
at the same time encouraging every attempt made to re¬
pair the ancient monuments, to replenish the libraries of
Alexandria with books, and the museums with instru¬
ments and works of art, and, above all, to withdraw stu¬
dious or contemplative minds from the dangerous and ab¬
surd pursuits of magic and judicial astrology. During the
reigns of Claudius and Aurelian, Egypt was slightly agi¬
tated in consequence of the pretensions of Zenobia, queen
of Tadmor or Palmyra, who, as a descendant of the Pto¬
lemies, declared herself sovereign of Egypt, marched her
armies to the frontiers of that country, and even gained
some advantages over the Romans; but her troops being
firmly opposed by the legions, at length sustained a total
defeat, when the queen herself was taken prisoner and
carried captive to Rome. At a subsequent period the Enj
Emperor Probus visited Egypt, where, under his auspices
many considerable works were executed; the navigation
of the Nile was improved ; and temples, bridges, porticos
and palaces were constructed, chiefly by the hands of the
soldiers, who acted as engineers, architects, and common
labourers. But on the division of the empire by Diocle-
tian, Egypt fell into a very distracted state ; Achilleus at
Alexandria, and the Blemmyes, a savage race of Ethio
pians, having defied the arms of Rome. Resolved to
punish the insurgents, the emperor opened the campaign
with the siege of Alexandria; he cut off the aqueducts
which supplied the city with water, and, notwithstandino-
a vigorous resistance, pushed, his attack with so much
steadiness and effect, that at the end of eight months the
besieged submitted to the mercy of the conqueror. Busi¬
ns and Coptos were even more unfortunate than Alexan¬
dria. I hese proud cities, one distinguished for its great
antiquity, and the other remarkable for its riches, acquired
by the transit of the commerce of India, having continued
their resistance to the last, wrere carried by assault and
utterly destroyed.
The introduction of Christianity into Egypt was at¬
tended by many excesses on the part of the people, and
even by some commotions which endangered the stability
of the government. The adherents of the ancient faith, the
worshippers of Ammon, of Knouphis, and of Ptha, natu¬
rally resisted the exposure of their idols, the desecration
of their temples, and the destruction of their most sacred
monuments; whilst, on the other hand, the ministers of
Christianity, with a zeal which far outran the limits of
discretion, wantonly insulted the opinions of the idolaters,
whose ignorance they disdained to enlighten, and some¬
times set at defiance the authority of the civil magistrate,
when interposed for the preservation of the public peace.
But after the conversion of Constantine the spirit of Chris¬
tianity grew milder as its ascendency became more certain,
and the power of the church was effectually exerted, in
co-operation with the provincial rulers, for supporting the
rights of the empire, and repelling the inroads of barba¬
rians ; nor was it until a new religion sprung up in Ara¬
bia, and gave birth to a dynasty of warlike fanatics claim¬
ing a direct descent from the new Prophet, that Egypt,
wrested from the hands of its European conquerors, was
forced to receive more arbitrary masters, and to submit to
a severer yoke.1 At this era, when the crescent arose in
its first splendour over the cross, we terminate our retro¬
spect of the ancient history of Egypt.
SECTION II.
HISTORY OF MODERN EGYPT.
New Religion and new Conquest—Islamism Its genius and
character—Progress of the Moslemin arms Conquest of Egypt
by Amru—Library of Alexandria burned by order of the Ca¬
liph Omar—State of the country during the contests for the
Caliphate Independent government established Achmed
Ebn-Tolun and his immediate successors—Dynasty of the Fa-
temite Caliphs..—Moez—Abu-el-Mansur Barar.—A1 Hakem.
—Al Taher.—A1 Mostanser Billah—Proceedings and Re¬
bellion of Bassasiri—Defeated and killed by Togrol Beg 
Declension of the Empire of the Caliphs Famine and pesti¬
lence—Intestine divisions—Extinction of the Fatemite Caliphs.
—Aladad—Landing of the Crusaders in Egypt—Alliance en¬
tered into between them and Shawer, Vizir of Aladad Nurod-
din, prince of Syria—Progress of the Crusaders Salah-eddin
or Saladin—Appointed Yizir by his uncle Nuroddin.—Usurps
1 Russell’s Egypt, pp. 01-95.
EGYPT.
477
the sovereignty of Egypt—Rebellion—Crusade under William
of Sicily-—Panic and Flight of his Army—Damascus, Aleppo,
and other places besieged and taken by Saladin—His trium¬
phal entry into Cairo Contests with the Crusaders in Pales¬
tine Saladin defeated—A fleet of European ships in the Red
Sea destroyed Great battle on the Jordan, where the Chris¬
tians were'defeated with prodigious slaughter—Tiberias, Pto-
lemais, and other places surrendered to the Sultan—Jerusalem
also taken after a brave defence—Loss sustained by the Chris¬
tians Siege of Ptolemais—Crusade under the Emperor of
Germany Progress of the siege—Arrival of Philip II. and
Richard Cceur de Lion in the camp before Ptolemais—Surren¬
der of the place Battle of Ascalon, and defeat of Saladin—
Truce of three years, &c Death of Saladin—Crusaders defeat¬
ed Successors of Saladin—Rise of the Mamlukes—The
Borghites, who also assumed the name of Mamlukes—Defeat¬
ed and nearly exterminated by Sultan Selim—Form of govern¬
ment given to Egypt by the Sultan—Powers conferred on the
Reys The Mamlukes* recover their ascendency, owing to the
neglect of Egypt by the Turks—Ibrahim Bey—Ali Bey—
Syrian campaign of Ali.—His death and character—Moham¬
med Bey Siege bf Jaffa—Pyramid of Heads—Fall of Acre.
—Death of Mohammed—Ibrahim and Murad Beys—Their
mutual jealousies and disputes—They agree to share the su¬
preme power between them—The expedition of Hassan Pasha,
and re-establishment of the authority of the Porte—Plague—
Return of Murad and Ibrahim from exile.—French Invasion of
Egypt**—Origin and objects of this enterprise—Battle of the
Pyramids Battle of the Nile—Bonaparte’s expedition to
Syria Jaffa St Jean d’Acre—Siege of the latter place ; de¬
feat and return of Bonaparte to Egypt—Battle of Aboukir,
and destruction of a Turkish army—Departure of Napoleon
from Egypt Desaix’s campaign in Upper Egypt.—Conven¬
tion of El Arisch.—Assassination of Kleber—Landing of the
British under Sir Ralph Abercromby—Battle of Alexandria.
—Subsequent operations—Capitulations of Cairo and Alexan¬
dria Policy of Great Britain in regard to Egypt—The Beys.
 Hassan Pasha His treacherous conduct—Massacre of the
Beys at Aboukir Remonstrances of the English—Departure
of the Capitan Pasha—Kusruf.—Affairs of Egypt—Battle ot
Damanhour, and defeat of Yussuf Bey—Mehemmed Ali—
His origin and early history.—Circumstances of his rise—
Mutiny of the Albanians—Taher Pasha—His fall—Mehem¬
med Ali and the Mamlukes—Ali Gezairli.—Defeated by the
Albanians and Mamlukes at Chalakan—Projects of Mehemmed.
—He foments discord among the Beys, whom he at length at¬
tacks.—Albanians ordered to return to their own country.—-Me¬
hemmed disobeys the mandate of the Porte, and is proclaimed
Pasha by the people and the troops—A body of Mamlukes
enticed into Cairo and massacred.—State of affairs—Arrival of
Saleh the Capitan Pasha The Albanians and the people again
declare in favour of Ali.—His formal investiture as Viceroy of
Egypt. The Mamlukes.—British expedition of 1807—Affairs
of Rosetta and El Hamad—Disastrous result of the expedition.
—State of affairs after the evacuation of Egypt by the British.
—Position of Ali Destruction of the Mamlukes resolved on.
—Dissimulation and treachery of the Viceroy—General mas¬
sacre of the Mamlukes.—Details of the butchery at the Citadel
of Cairo.—Conduct of Mehemmed Ali throughout the affair.—
Subsequent measures to complete their extermination.— 1 he
extinction of the Mamlukes as a body.—War with the Waha-
bis.—The Viceroy proceeds to Arabia—Wahabis defeated.—
Peace concluded Regular troops.—Views of the Viceroy—■
Mutiny of the Albanians—Change of system adopted—War
with the Wahabis renewed—Capture of Derayeh, and seve¬
rities of Ibrahim History of the formation of the Egyptian
regular army Labours of Colonel Seves and others—Expe¬
dition to Upper Egypt, Dongola, and Sennaar—Army aug¬
mented Capture of Mecca—Actual force of the Egyptian
army Schools and Colleges—Pay, clothing, and condition of
the troops Campaigns in the Morea.—Egyptian navy.—Its
actual strength—War with Turkey—Campaigns in Syria, and Egypt,
beyond Mount Taurus—Battle of Koniah—Intervention of
Russia—Conclusion of Peace Character and designs of Me¬
hemmed Ali.
We come now to the birth of a new religion, and we also
approach the era of a new conquest. Islamism, which ori¬
ginated in a free and warlike nation, breathed the fiercest
intolerance, and enjoined the destruction of infidels. Un¬
like the founder of the Christian religion, who, being a
simple preacher, exercised no power upon earth, Mahom-
med became a king, and having declared that the whole
universe ought to be subjected to his sway, commanded
his followers to employ the sabre to destroy the idolater
and the infidel, an injunction which they were not slack
in obeying. The idolaters of Arabia were soon converted or
exterminated ; the infidels in Asia, in Syria, and in Egypt
were attacked and conquered. As soon as Islamism had
triumphed at Mecca and Medina, it served as a rallying
point to the different Arab tribes, who were all imbued
with the fanatical spirit; and the result was, that a whole
nation, actuated by one fierce impulse, precipitated itself
upon its neighbours. The progress of the Arabs therefore
was rapid and irresistible. Inflamed by fanaticism, their
armies at once attacked the Roman empire and that of
Persia. The latter was speedily subjugated; the Mosle-
mins penetrated as far as the Oxus, obtained possession
of innumerable treasures, destroyed the empire of Chos-
roes, and pushed their conquests beyond the limits of
Persia. In Syria, the victories which they gained at
Aiquadiah and Dyrmonk put them in possession of Da¬
mascus, Aleppo* Amasia, Caesarea, and Jerusalem. By
the capture of* Pelusium and Alexandria they rendered
themselves masters of Egypt, now wholly Coptic, and de¬
cidedly separated from Constantinople through heretical
dissensions.
The conquest of this country was effected, in name of
the Caliph Omar, by his able and politic general Amru
Ebn-el-As. About the same time the famous library of
Alexandria, which had been founded by the great Pto¬
lemy, and which now formed the grand repository of an¬
cient learning and science, fell a prey to the religious
fanaticism of the conquerors. If, said the Caliph Omar,
in ordering it to be consigned to the flames, if this libiai y
contains only what is in the Koran, it is useless; if it
contains any thing else, it is dangerous. It must be con¬
fessed, that the spirit of destruction has seldom provided
itself with a more convenient or comprehensive principle
of self-justification. But this fact, and many others of the
same nature, ought not to make us forget what we owe
to the Arabian caliphs, the successors of Omar, who, so
far from being actuated by such barbarous hostility to
science, were constantly engaged in extending the sphere
of human knowledge, and in embellishing society by the
charms of their literature.1
The conquest of Amru, though it laid the foundation
of the Saracen power in Egypt, still left that country in
an unsettled state; whilst the frequent contentions for
the honours of the caliphate, which ensued during the
ninth century, occasionally afforded it opportunities ot
asserting and attempting to re-establish its independence.
1 Napoleon’s Memoirs, vol. ii. Egypt, Religion, It is nevertheless possible that the successors of Mahommed may have been at
iirst apprehensive lest the Arabs should suffer themselves to be enervated by the arts and the sciences, v nci weie carnet o so
righ a pitch in Egypt, Syria, and the Lower Empire. They had before their eyes the decline Of the empire of Constantine, owing
partly to perpetual discussions, scholastic and theological; and it is probable that this spectacle had preju ice rem agains
libraries, which, in fact, were principally filled with books of this kind. But whatever may have been the immediate cause of the
let which conferred such unenviable distinction on the name of Omar, it is certain that the Arabs were, for five hundred years, the
most enlightened nation of the world. It is to them we are indebted for our system of numeration, our organs, solar quadrants, p .
iulums, and watches; and nothing can be more elegant, ingenious, or moral, than the literature which owe 10 I
writers of Bagdad and Bassora. (Memoirs, ubi supra.)
478
Egypt.
EGYPT.
But no sooner had the struggle for supreme power been
' terminated by arms or by treaty, than the land of Miz-
raim, the inheritance of the Pharaohs and the Ptolemies,
was again compelled to receive the law from the con¬
queror. In the year 889, an independent government
was established in Egypt by Achmed Ebn-Tolun, who
had rebelled against A1 Mokhadi, caliph of Bagdad; and
it continued to be governed by him and his successors
for twenty-seven years, when it was again reduced by A1
Moktasi, who had succeeded to the caliphate. In about
thirty years afterwards we find it again an independent
state, united with Syria under Mahommed Ebn-Taj, who
had been appointed governor of these provinces. But
this government was also short lived; for in the year
968 Egypt was conquered by Jawhar, general of Moez
Ledinillah, Fatemite caliph of Kairwan in Barbary.
No sooner had Moez received information of the suc¬
cess of his general, than he prepared to take possession
of his new conquest. He ordered all the gold which he
and his predecessors had amassed, to be cast into ingots,
and conveyed on camels’ backs into Egypt; and, in order
to show his determination to abandon his dominions in
Barbary, and to make Egypt the place of his residence,
he caused the remains of the three former princes of his
race to be removed from Kairwan, and deposited in a
mosque erected for that purpose in Kahira, or the City of
Victory, the Grand Cairo of latter times. In order the
more effectually to establish himself in his new dominions,
and to fortify his conquest by all the force of religion, he
suppressed the usual prayers offered up in the mosques
for the caliphs of Bagdad, and substituted his own name
in their stead ; and this was complied with not only in
Egypt and in Syria, but even throughout all Arabia, the
holy city of Mecca alone excepted. The unity oflslamism
was thus interrupted, and a schism originated, which con¬
tinued for upwards of two hundred years, and was pro¬
ductive of continual anathemas, and sometimes destruc¬
tive wars between the caliphs of Bagdad and of Egypt.
Having thus fully established himself in his conquest,
Moez died in the forty-fifth year of his age, three years
after he had left his dominions in Barbary, and was suc¬
ceeded by his son Abu-el-Mansur Barar, surnamed Aziz-
Billah.
The new caliph haying ascended the throne at the age
of twenty-one, committed the management of affairs en¬
tirely to the care of Jawhar, his father’s general and
prime minister; and in 978 the latter proceeded to drive
out A1 Aftekin, the emir of Damascus ; but at the end of
two months the Egyptian general, who had laid siege to
that city, was obliged to raise it, on the approach of an
army under the command of A1 Hakem, which, not being
strong enough to engage in battle, he could not prevent
from effecting a junction with the forces of A1 Aftekin. He
therefore retreated with the utmost expedition towards
Egypt; but being overtaken by the two confederate ar¬
mies, he was soon reduced to the last extremity, and only
permitted to resume his march on condition of passing
under A1 Aftekin’s sword and A1 Hakem’s lance. To
this humiliating condition Jawhar was obliged to submit;
and on his arrival in Egypt he advised A1 Aziz to under¬
take an expedition in person against the combined army
under the command of A1 Aftekin and A1 Hakem. The
caliph followed his advice; and having advanced against
his enemies, overthrew them with great slaughter, at the
same time making A1 Aftekin prisoner. Jawhar was after¬
wards disgraced, and died a. d. 990, and of the Hegira 381.
About this time, also, A1 Aziz having received intelligence
of the death of the prince of Aleppo, sent a formidable
army to reduce that place. But Lulu, who had been
appointed guardian to the prince’s son, finding himself
pressed by the Egyptians, demanded assistance from the F
Greek emperor, who accordingly ordered a body of troops 'JJ
to advance to his relief. Manjubekin, general of A1 Aziz ^
being informed of their approach, immediately advanced
to give them battle, and an obstinate engagement ensued
in which the Greeks were overthrown with great slaugh¬
ter. Manjubekin then pushed on the siege of Aleppo-
but meeting with more resistance than he had expected’
and his provisions beginning to fail, he felt himself obliged
to raise the siege. Enraged at this proceeding, the caliph
threatened the general with vengeance, and commanded
him to resume the siege. Manjubekin obeyed, and con¬
tinued the siege for thirteen months, during which time
the place was bravely defended by Lulu ; but at last the
Egyptians, hearing that a numerous army of Greeks was
on its way to relieve the city, raised the siege, and fled
with the utmost precipitation. The Greeks then took and
plundered some of the cities possessed by A1 Aziz in Sy¬
ria ; whilst Manjubekin made the best of his way to Da¬
mascus, where he set up for himself. A1 Aziz, informed
of this revolt, marched in person with a considerable
army against the rebellious general; but being taken ill
by the way, he expired, in the twenty-first year of his
reign and forty-second of his age.
A1 Aziz was succeeded by his son Abu-el-Mansur, sur¬
named A1 Hakem, who, being only eleven years of age,
was put under the tuition of a eunuch of approved integrity.
Phis reign is only remarkable for the madness with which
the caliph was seized towards its close. This first mani¬
fested itself by edicts alike absurd and tyrannical, and at
length rose to such a height that he fancied himself a god,
and no fewer than sixteen thousand persons were found
to acknowledge him as such. They were mostly Dara-
rians, a new sect which sprung up about this time, and
were so called from their chief, Mohammed Ebn-Ismael,
surnamed Darari, who is supposed to have inspired the mad
caliph with this impious notion. Darari set up as a second
Moses, and did not scruple to assert that A1 Hakem was
the creator of the universe; for which blasphemy he was
stabbed in the caliph’s chariot by the hand of a zealous
Moslemin. I he sect, however, did not expire with its au¬
thor. A disciple of his named Hamza, being encouraged
by the mad caliph, spread it far and wide throughout his
dominions ; all the Mahommedan fasts, festivals, and pil¬
grimages, including that to Mecca, were abolished; and
the zealous Mahommedans became greatly alarmed, sup¬
posing that A1 Hakem designed entirely to suppress the
worship of the true God, and introduce his own in its
stead. But from this apprehension they were delivered
by the death of the caliph, who at the instigation of his
own sister was assassinated, in the year 1020.
A1 Hakem was succeeded by his son A1 Taher, who
reigned fifteen years, and left the throne to a son under
seven years of age, named A1 Mostanser-Billah. In the
year 1041, a revolt happened in Syria ; but A1 Mostanser
having sent a powerful army into that country, reduced
the rebels, and considerably enlarged the Egyptian do¬
minions in Syria. In 1054, an adventurer named A1
Bassasiri, having quarrelled with the vizir of A1 Kayem,
caliph of Bagdad, fled to Egypt, and put himself under
the protection of A1 Mostanser, who thinking this a fa¬
vourable opportunity for enlarging his dominions, supplied
Bassasiri with money and troops, by which means he was
enabled to possess himself of Arabian Irak, and to ravage
that province to the very gates of Bagdad. Alarmed at
the progress made by Bassasiri, A1 Kayem applied for
assistance to Togrol Beg, who possessing very extensive
dominions in the East, immediately complied with this re¬
quest, and soon arrived at Bagdad with a formidable army.
But nothing of importance happened till the year 1058,
EGYPT.
when Bassasiri, having found means to excite Ibrahim the
0 brother of Togrol Beg to revolt, the latter was obliged to
employ all his force against him. This gave Bassasiri an
opportunity of seizing on the city of Bagdad, where he
caused A1 Mostanser to be immediately proclaimed caliph.
The imperial palace was also plundered, and the caliph
himself detained a close prisoner. But this success was
short lived. In the year 1059, Togrol Beg having defeated
his brother Ibrahim, and taken him prisoner, caused him to
be strangled with a bowstring. He then marched to Bagdad,
which Bassasiri abandoned at his approach; upon which
the caliph A1 Kayem was delivered up and immediately
restored to his dignity. Bassasiri again advanced against
the city; but in a battle which took place between the
army of Togrol Beg and that of Bassasiri, the latter was
defeated and killed. Thus the hopes of A1 Mostanser
were entirely frustrated; and from this period we may
date the declension of the Egyptian empire under the
caliphs. They had made themselves masters of almost
all Syria ; but as soon as Bassasiri’s defeat and death were
known, Aleppo revolted, and several other places followed
its example. A1 Mostanser sent a powerful army against
the rebels, but it was entirely defeated, and his general
taken prisoner.
This disaster was soon followed by others still greater.
In 1066 a famine raged over all Egypt and Syria, and
multitudes of people died in Cairo from want of food. Nay,
to such a degree of misery were the inhabitants reduced,
not only in Cairo, but throughout all Egypt, that the car¬
casses of those who died were sold for food at an exorbi¬
tant price, and the most loathsome animals were greedily
devoured by a famishing people. The famine, as usual,
was followed by the plague; and this again by an inva¬
sion of the Turks under Abu Ali A1 Hasan-Naserod’dawla,
the general who had been sent against the rebel chief of
Aleppo, and defeated by him.. The caliph was besieged
in his own palace; and being in no condition to make re¬
sistance, the unfortunate prince was obliged to buy him¬
self off at the expense of every thing valuable left in his
exhausted capital and treasury. This, however, did not
prevent the merciless plunderers from ravaging all Lower
Egypt from Cairo to Alexandria, and committing the most
horrid excesses throughout the whole of that portion of
the country.
These events happened in the years 1067 and 1068. In
1069 and 1070 there occurred two other revolts in Syria;
so that this country was now almost entirely lost to Egypt.
In 1095 the caliph A1 Mostanser died, after a reign of
sixty years, and was succeeded by his son Abul Kasem,
surnamed A1 Mostali. The most remarkable event of
this prince’s reign was his taking the city of Jerusalem
from the Turks in 1098; but this success was of short du¬
ration, for the Holy City was the same year taken by the
Crusaders.
From this time till the year 1164, the Egyptian history
presents little else than a series of intestine broils and
contests between the vizirs and prime ministers, who had
in a great measure stripped the caliphs of their civil power,
and left them nothing but a shadow of spiritual dignity.
But these contests at last led to a revolution, by which
the race of Fatemite caliphs was totally extinguished.
One Shawer, having overcome all his competitors, be¬
came vizir of A1 Adad, or Aladad, the eleventh caliph of
Egypt. But he had not been long in possession of office
when A1 Dargam, an officer of rank, endeavoured to de¬
prive him of his dignity; upon which both parties had re¬
course to arms, and a battle ensued, in which Shawer was
defeated, and obliged to throw himself on the protection
of Nuroddin, prince of Syria. The latter having received
the fugitive graciously, and promised to reinstate him in
his office of vizir, Shawer, as an inducement to Nuroddin
to assist him more powerfully, told him that the Crusaders v
had landed in Egypt, and made considerable progress in
the conquest of that country; and added, that in the
event of being reinstated in his office, he would pay Nu¬
roddin annually the third part of the revenues of Egypt,
and besides defray the whole expense of the expedition.
Nuroddin bore an implacable hatred to the Christians,
and the more readily undertook an expedition against
them, that he was to be well paid for his holy zeal in de¬
fence of the true faith. He therefore sent an army into
Egypt under the command of Shawer, assisted by a gene¬
ral named Asadoddin ; and as Dargam had cut off many
generals whom he imagined favourable to Shawer’s inte¬
rest, and had weakened the military force of the king¬
dom, he was easily overthrown by Asadoddin, who rein¬
stated Shawer in the office of vizir. The faithless minis¬
ter, however, no sooner saw himself established in office
than he refused to fulfil his engagements with Nuroddin,
and thus forced Asadoddin to seize on Pelusium and some
other cities. Shawer then entered into an alliance with
the Crusaders, and Asadoddin was besieged in Pelusium
by the combined forces of the Christians and Infidels.
But Nuroddin having invaded the Christian dominions in
Syria, and taken a strong fortress called Harem, Shawer
and his confederates hearkened to terms of accommoda¬
tion, and Asadoddin was permitted to depart for Syria,
In the mean time, Nuroddin, having subdued the great¬
er part of Syria and Mesopotamia, resolved to make the
perfidious Shawer feel the weight of his resentment. He
therefore sent Asadoddin back into Egypt with a force suf¬
ficient to compel Shawer to fulfil his engagements; but the
vizir took care, before the arrival of Asadoddin, to acquit
himself of the obligation he had come under, and thus for
the present averted the threatened danger. But it was
not long until he gave Nuroddin fresh occasion to send
this general against him. That prince had now driven
the Crusaders almost entirely out of Syria; but he was
greatly alarmed at their progress in Egypt, and offended
at the alliance which Shawer had concluded with them,
and which he still persisted in observing. This treaty
was also thought to be contrived on purpose to prevent
Shawer from being able to fulfil his promise to Nuroddin,
of sending him annually a third of the revenues of Egypt.
Nuroddin, therefore, in 1166, again dispatched Asadoddin
into Egypt with a sufficient force, attended by his nephew
Salah-eddin, or Saladin, who afterwards became so celebrat¬
ed. The invaders entered the kingdom without opposition,
and having totally defeated Shawer and the Crusaders, made
themselves masters of Alexandria, and overran all Upper
Egypt. Saladin was left with a considerable garrison in
Alexandria; but after the departure of Asadoddin the
Crusaders laid siege to that city, and the Syrian general
was obliged to return to its relief. But the losses he had
sustained in his expedition induced him to agree to a
treaty with Shawer, by which he engaged to evacuate
Egypt upon being paid a sum of money. No sooner had
Asadoddin withdrawn, however, than Shawer entered into
a fresh treaty with the Franks, by which he was to attack
Nuroddin in his own dominions, whilst engaged in quelling
a revolt which effectually prevented his sending more for¬
ces into Egypt. This treaty so enraged the Syrian prince,
that he resolved to suspend for a time his other ambitious
projects, and exert his whole strength in the conquest of
Egypt.
By this time, however, the Crusaders had reduced Pelu¬
sium, and made considerable progress in Egypt, as well
as in some other countries, through the divisions.which
reigned amongst the Mahommedan prinqes. Their con¬
quests were marked by barbarities of which Infidels might
479
Egypt.
480
Egypt.
EGYPT.
well have been ashamed. Christians as well as Mahom-
J medans were put to the sword ; their prisoners were sold
as slaves; and the towns which they captured were given
up to be pillaged by a licentious soldiery. From Pelusium
they marched to Cairo, which was then in no posture of
defence, and in the utmost confusion on account of the di¬
visions which prevailed in it. But as soon as he heard of
their approach, the vizir caused the ancient quarter of the
town to be set on fire, whilst the inhabitants retired into
the other districts ; and he also prevailed upon the caliph
to solicit the assistance of Nuroddin, which, in truth, the
latter was much inclined of himself to grant, as it afforded
him a fair opportunity both for driving the Crusaders out of
Egypt, and for seizing the kingdom to himself. With this
view he had already raised an army of 60,000 horse, and
on receiving Aladad’s message he instantly gave them
orders to march. The Crusaders had now arrived before
Cairo, and so closely invested that place, that neither
Shawer nor the caliph were aware of the approach of the
Moslemin army which was hastening to their relief. The
vizir, therefore, finding it impossible to hold out for any
length of time, had recourse to his old expedient of trea¬
ties and promises; he sent the enemy 100,000 dinars, and
promised them 900,000 more, if they would agree to raise
the siege; terms which, as they dreaded the approach of
Asadoddin, were very readily accepted by the Crusaders.
The army of Nuroddin now approached the capital by
forced marches, and were everywhere received with de¬
monstrations of joy. On his arrival at Cairo, Asadoddin
was invited by Aladad to the royal palace, where he was
entertained in the most splendid manner; nor were Sala-
din and the other principal officers less magnificently treat¬
ed. Shawer, also, conscious of his perfidious conduct, was
not less assiduous in his attentions. But as he was be¬
lieved to have formed a scheme for having the general and
his principal officers seized and murdered during an enter¬
tainment, his head was struck off, and Asadoddin was made
vizir in his stead. Ihe latter did not, however, long enjoy
his new dignity; for he died some months after his instal¬
ment into office, and was succeeded by tne illustrious
nephew of Nuroddin.
Saladin, the new vizir, was the youngest of all the gran¬
dees who had aspired to that office, and he had already
given signal proofs of his valour and conduct. The cir¬
cumstances which determined the caliph to give him the
preference over so many competitors are not known; but
it is certain that some of them were highly displeased with
his promotion, and even publicly declared that they would
not obey him. In order, therefore, to gain over to his in¬
terest these disappointed aspirants, Saladin found it ne¬
cessary to distribute amongst them part of the treasures
left by his uncle; and by means of this powerful instru¬
ment of corruption he soon governed Egypt without con¬
trol, as had been customary with the vizirs before his time.
Soon after his instalment into office, he also defeated and
dispersed the negro guards of the royal palace, who had
opposed his election ; and having placed a strong garrison
in the castle or citadel of Cairo, his power became firmly
established. ^
For some time there subsisted between Nuroddin and Sa¬
ladin a good understanding, which contributed in no small
degree to raise the credit of the latter with the Egyptians.
But in 1169 Nuroddin sent him orders to omit the name of
Aladad, the caliph of Egypt, in the public prayers, and to
substitute that of the caliph of Bagdad in its stead. This was
not only a bold, but a dangerous attempt, as it might pro¬
duce a revolt in favour of Aladad ; and even if it did not,
it afforded Saladin an opportunity of engrossing what small
remnant of power had been left to the caliph. But Aladad
was not sensible of the disgrace intended him ; for when
Nuroddin’s orders were received, he lay on his death-bed v
past all hopes of recovery. On his demise, Saladin seized wi
all his wealth and effects, consisting of jewels of prodigious ~
size, sumptuous furniture, a library containing a hundred
thousand volumes, and many other valuable possessions
He caused his family to be closely confined in the most
retired part of the palace, and either manumitted his
slaves, kept them for his own use, or disposed of them
to others.
Saladin had now arrived at the highest pitch of wealth
power, and grandeur. He was, however, obliged to act
with great circumspection towards Nuroddin, who still
continued to treat him as his vassal, and insisted on the
most implicit obedience to his commands. Saladin relied
chiefly for counsel on his father Ayub, a consummate po¬
litician, who, ambitious of seeing his son raised to the
throne of Egypt, advised him to continue stedfast in his
resolutions, and, whilst he amused Nuroddin with feigned
submissions, to take every method in his power to secure
to himself the possession of so valuable a kingdom. Nu¬
roddin himself, however, was too great a master in the art
of dissimulation to be easily imposed on ; and though he
pretended to be pleased with Saladin’s conduct, he was
all the while busily occupied in raising a powerful army,
with which he intended the following year to invade Egypt.
But whilst he was meditating this expedition, he was'seiz¬
ed at Damascus with a distemper which put an end to his
life, in the year 1173.
Though thus freed from the apprehension of so formid¬
able an enemy, Saladin durst not yet venture to assume the
title of sovereign, more especially when he saw the suc¬
cessor of Nuroddin at the head of a powerful army, and
not less desirous than able to dispossess him. His first
care, therefore, was to secure to himself an asylum in case
he should be obliged to abandon Egypt; and having ac¬
complished this object by the conquest of a considerable
portion of Arabia Felix, he assumed the title of sultan or
sovereign of Egypt, and was acknowledged as such by the
greater part of the states. The zeal of the Egyptians for
the Fatemite caliphs, however, soon produced a rebellion,
ihe governor of a city in Upper Egypt having assembled
an army of blacks, and marched into the lower country,
was there joined by great numbers of other Egyptians;
but Saladin dispatched his brother Malek against the in¬
surgents, who were entirely defeated and dispersed. This,
however, did not prevent another insurrection under an
impostor, who pretended to be a son of the last Fatemite
caliph, and who had collected a body of 100,000 men;
but before they had time to do much damage, they were
surprised by the sultan’s forces, and entirely defeated, with
the loss of nearly three fourths of their whole number.
About this time Saladin gained a considerable advan¬
tage over the Crusaders under the command of William
II. king of Sicily. That prince having invaded Egypt
with a numerous army, supported by a powerful fleet, had
invested Alexandria both by sea and land. Saladin flew
to the relief of a place the preservation of which was of
so much importance to the success of his future plans,
and he had mustered a force which he deemed suflicient
to justify him in risking a battle ; but before he had time
to make the necessary dispositions, the Crusaders, seized
with a sudden panic, fled with the utmost precipitation,
leaving all their military engines, stores, and baggage be¬
hind them.
In the year 1175, the inhabitants of Damascus, jea¬
lous of the minister who had the tuition of the reigning
prince, and governed all with an absolute sway, entreat¬
ed Saladin to assume the sovereignty of that city and
its dependencies; and the application was no sooner
made than the sultan set out with the utmost celerity to
jj.pt. Damascus, at the head of a chosen detachment of seven
hundred horse. Having settled affairs in that city, he
appointed his brother Saif A1 Islam governor, and set out
for Hems, which he immediately invested. Having also
made himself master of this place, he then proceeded to
Hamah, which soon surrendered; but the citadel held
out for some time. Saladin pretended that he accepted
the sovereignty of Damascus and the other places he had
conquered, only as deputy to Almalek-el-Saleh, the suc¬
cessor of Nuroddin, who was then under age ; and that he
was desirous of sending Azzoddin, who commanded in the
citadel, with a letter to Aleppo, where the young prince
resided. This so pleased Azzoddin that he took the oath
of fidelity to Saladin, and immediately set out with the
sultan’s letter. But he had not been long at Aleppo be¬
fore he was thrown into prison by the minister’s orders ;
upon which his brother, who had been appointed governor
of the citadel of Hamah in his absence, delivered it up to
Saladin. The sultan then marched to Aleppo with a de¬
sign to reduce it; but being vigorously repulsed in seve¬
ral attacks, he was at last obliged to abandon the enter¬
prise. At the same time, Kamschlegin, Almalek’s minis¬
ter, hired the chief of the Batanists, or Assassins, to mur¬
der the sultan, and several attempts were in consequence
made on his life; but happily for Saladin all of them mis¬
carried.
After raising the siege of Aleppo, Saladin returned to
Hems, which the Crusaders had invested. On his ap¬
proach, however, they thought proper to retire; and the
sultan then made himself master of the castle, which be¬
fore he had not been able to reduce. This was soon fol¬
lowed by the reduction of Baalbec. And these rapid con¬
quests so alarmed the ministers of Almalek, that, enter¬
ing into a combination with some of the neighbouring
princes, they raised a formidable army, with which they
hoped to crush the sultan at once. Saladin, however,
dreading the event of a war, offered to cede to Almalek,
Hems and Hamah, and to govern Damascus only as his
lieutenant. But these terms were rejected, and a battle
ensued, in which the allied army were utterly defeated,
and the shattered remains of it shut up in the city of
Aleppo. This produced a treaty, by which Saladin was
left undisputed master of Syria, excepting only the city
of Aleppo and the territory belonging to it.
In 1176, Saladin having returned from the conquest of
Syria, made his triumphal entry into Cairo; and having
allowed his troops some time for repose, he began to en¬
compass the city with a wall of great extent, which how¬
ever he did not live to complete. Next year he led a nu¬
merous army into Palestine to operate against the Cru¬
saders. But here his usual good fortune deserted him.
His army was entirely defeated; forty thousand of his best
troops were left dead on the field; and the rest, having
no towns in which they could find shelter, betook them¬
selves to the desert between Palestine and Egypt, where
the greater part of them perished from want of water. Even
Saladin himself seemed to have been intimidated by this
disaster: for in a letter to his brother he stated that he
was more than once in the most imminent danger; and that
God, as he apprehended, had delivered him from peril, in
order to reserve him for the execution of some grand and
important design.
In the year 1182, the sultan, at the head of a formi¬
dable army, set out on an expedition to Syria, amidst the
acclamations of the people. He was, however, repulsed
wdth loss both before Aleppo and Almasel, after having
spent much time and labour in besieging these places. In
the mean time a powerful fleet of European ships appear¬
ed in the Red Sea, and threatened the cities of Mecca
and Medina. The news of this armament no sooner reach-
vol. vm.
ed Cairo, than Abubekr, Saladin’s brother, who had been Egypt,
left viceroy in the sultan’s absence, caused another to be fit-
ted out with all speed, under the command of Lulu, a brave
and experienced officer, who sailed in quest of the enemy.
A dreadful engagement ensued, but after an obstinate re¬
sistance the Christians were defeated, and the prisoners
butchered in cold blood. This proved so severe a blow to
the Europeans that they never again ventured to attempt
any thing in this quarter.
In 1183 Saladin continued to extend his conquests.
The city of Amida in Mesopotamia surrendered after a
siege of eight days; and Aleppo, which he now attacked
with better success than formerly, also capitulated. Af¬
ter the conquest of Aleppo, Saladin took three other cities,
and then marched against his old enemies the Crusaders.
Having sent out a party to reconnoitre the enemy, they
fell in with a considerable detachment of Christians, whom
they easily defeated, taking about a hundred prisoners,
with the loss of only a single man on their side. Ani¬
mated by this first instance of success, the sultan drew
up his forces in order of battle, and advanced against the
Crusaders, who had assembled their whole army at Sep-
phoris in Galilee. On viewing the sultan’s troops, how¬
ever, and perceiving that they were greatly superior in
strength to what had at first been apprehended, the Chris¬
tian leaders declined an engagement, nor could Saladin,
with all his skill and address, force them to accept battle.
But though it was found impossible to bring the Crusaders
to a decisive engagement, Saladin found means to harass
them greatly, and destroyed great numbers of their men;
he also carried off many prisoners, dismantled three of
their strongest cities, laid wraste their territories, and con¬
cluded the campaign with the capture of another strong
town. For three years Saladin continued to gain ground
on the Crusaders, yet without obtaining any decisive ad¬
vantage ; but in 1187 the fortune of war turned complete¬
ly against the soldiers of the Cross.
The Christians in fact now found themselves obliged to
venture a battle, on account of the ravages which the sul¬
tan committed on their territories, and the encroachments
which he daily made on all sides. Both armies therefore
resolved to exert their utmost efforts, and a fierce and
bloody battle ensued. Night prevented victory from declar¬
ing for either side; but the fight was renewed with equal
obstinacy next day, and the contest still remained unde¬
cided. On the third day the sultan’s men, finding them¬
selves surrounded by the enemy on all sides but one, and
on that also hemmed in by the river Jordan, so that all
retreat was cut off, fought with the courage of despair,
and at last gained a complete victory. Vast numbers of
the Christians perished on this bloody field. A large body
indeed succeeded in retiring to the top of a neighbouring
hill covered with wood; but Saladin’s troops having sur¬
rounded the hill, set fire to the wood, and obliged them
to surrender at discretion. Some of the captives were
butchered as soon as they had delivered themselves into
the hands of the enemy; and others, amongst whom were
Lusignan the king of Jerusalem himself, Arnold prince
of Alshabek and Alkarak, the masters of the Templars and
Hospitallers, and almost the whole body of the latter,
were thrown into irons. So great was the consternation
which this sad reverse produced amongst the Christians,
that one of Saladin’s men is said to have taken thirty of
them prisoners, and tied them together with the cord of
his tent, to prevent them from making their escape. The
masters of the Templars and Hospitallers, with the knights
acting under them, were brought into Saladin’s presence,
when he instantly ordered them to be cut in pieces. He
called these warlike monks assassins or batanists; and he
had been accustomed to pay fifty dinars for the head of
482 EGYPT.
Egypt, every Templar or Hospitaller which was brought him. Af-
ter the engagement Saladin seated himself in a magnificent
tent, and placing the king of Jerusalem on his right hand,
and Arnold prince of Alkarak on his left, he drank to the
former, who was at that time ready to expire from thirst,
and at the same time offered him a cup of snow water,
which was thankfully received. The king then drank to
the prince of Alkarak, who sat near him. But Saladin
interrupted him with some warmth : “ I will not,” said he,
“ suffer this cursed rogue to drink; for that, according to
the laudable and generous custom of the Arabs, would se¬
cure to him his life.” Then turning towards the prince,
he reproached him with having undertaken the expedition
whilst in alliance with himself, and also with having inter¬
cepted an Egyptian caravan in the time of profound peace,
and massacred the people of whom it w as composed. But
notwithstanding this, the sultan offered to grant him his
life if he would embrace Mahommedanism. The disgrace¬
ful condition was however rejected, and the sultan, with
one stroke of his scimitar, cut off the prince’s head. This
summary proceeding naturally alarmed the king of Jeru¬
salem ; but Saladin assured him he had nothing to fear, and
that Arnold had brought his fate on himself by his want
of common honesty.
The Crusaders being thus totally defeated and dispersed,
Saladin next laid siege to Tiberias, which in a short time
capitulated. He then marched towards Acca or Ptole-
mais, which likewise surrendered after a short siege. Here
he found four thousand Mahommedan prisoners in chains,
whom he immediately released; and as the inhabitants
carried on a very extensive trade, he also discovered there
not only vast sums of money, but likewise a great variety
of valuable merchandise, all of which he seized and ap¬
plied to his own use. About the same time his brother
Almalek attacked and took a very strong fortress in the
neighbourhood; after which the sultan divided his army
into three bodies, that he might with the greater facility
overrun the territories of the Christians, and thus in a short
time made himself master of Neapolis, Caesarea, Seppho-
ris, and other cities in the neighbourhood of Ptolemais.
His next conquest was Joppa, which was taken by assault
after a vigorous resistance. Saladin then marched in per¬
son against Tebrien, a strong fortress in the neighbour¬
hood of Sidon, which was also taken by assault after a siege
of six days, razed to the ground, and the garrison put to
the swrord. From Tebrien the victorious sultan proceeded
to Sidon itself, which surrendered almost on the first sum¬
mons. Berytus was next invested, and yielded to the con¬
queror in seven days.
Saladin, proceeding with his conquests, made himself
master of Ascalon after a siege of fourteen days, and then
invested the city of Jerusalem. The garrison was nume¬
rous, and made an obstinate defence; but Saladin having at
last made a breach in the walls by sapping, the besieged de¬
sired to capitulate. This was at first refused; but a strong
representation having been made by the Christian ambas¬
sador, who threatened that if an honourable capitulation
was refused them, the garrison would kill their wives and
children, massacre their prisoners, commit their property
to the flames, and then sally out and sell their lives as
dearly as possible, Saladin immediately called a council of
war, at which the general officers to a man declared it as
their opinion that it would be most prudent to allow the
Christians to depart unmolested. They judged according
to the maxim which recommends that a bridge of gold
should be made for a flying or a desperate enemy. The
sultan therefore allowed the garrison to march out freely
with their wives, children, and effects, upon receiving
ten dinars from every man capable of paying that sum,
five from every woman, and two from every young person
under age; whilst for the poorer class who were unable to Egyn
pay any thing, the rest of the inhabitants contributed the
sum of thirty thousand dinars.
Most of the inhabitants of Jerusalem were escorted by
a detachment of Saladin’s troops to Tyre; and soon after¬
wards he advanced with his army against that place. As
the port was blockaded by a squadron of five men of war
Saladin imagined that he might easily become master of it-
but in this he found himself mistaken; for one morning at
day-break a Christian fleet fell upon his squadron, and so
entirely defeated it that not a single vessel succeeded in
effecting its escape. About the same time Saladin himself
was vigorously repulsed by land; and after calling a coun¬
cil of war, it was thought proper to raise the siege.
In 1188, Saladin, though his conquests were not so rapid
and considerable as they had hitherto been, continued still
superior to his enemies. He reduced the city of Laodicea
and some other places, besides many strong castles; but
he met also with several repulses. At length he took the
road to Antioch; and having reduced all the fortresses,
many of them deemed impregnable, which lay in his way,
he intimidated Bohemond prince of Antioch so much that
the latter desired a truce for seven or eight months; a re¬
quest which, on account of the prodigious fatigues his men
had undergone, and the circumstance of his auxiliaries
now demanding leave to return home, Saladin was forced
to comply with.
The heavy losses they had sustained, however, proved
in some respects an advantage to the Christians, as they
were thus obliged today aside those animosities w’hich had
proved the ruin of their affairs, and to act with more con¬
cert and unanimity. The brave men who had defended
Jerusalem, and most of the other fortresses taken by Sala¬
din, having retreated to Tyre, formed there a very nume¬
rous body; a circumstance which proved the means of pre¬
serving that city, and also of re-establishing their affairs.
Accordingly, having received powerful reinforcements
from Europe, they were enabled, in 1189, to take the field
with thirty thousand foot and two thousand horse. Their
first attempt was upon Alexandretta, whence they dis¬
lodged a strong body of Mahommedans, and then made
themselves masters of the place with but little loss. They
next laid siege to Ptolemais; but Saladin, as soon as he
received intelligence of the fact, lost no time in marching
to the relief of that place. After several skirmishes a ge¬
neral engagement followed, in which the soldan was de¬
feated with the loss of ten thousand men. This enabled
the Christians to carry on the siege with greater vigour;
but so little acquainted were they with the methods of
attacking strong places, that Ptolemais was enabled for
two years to resist all their efforts, and was at last re¬
duced rather by famine than by active warfare or military
force.
This year the sultan was greatly alarmed on receiving
intelligence that the emperor of Germany was advancing
to Constantinople with an army of two hundred and sixty
thousand men, in order to assist the other Crusaders. This
prodigious armament, however, came at last to nothing.
The multitude was so reduced by sickness, famine, and fa¬
tigue, that scarcely a thousand men reached the camp be¬
fore Ptolemais. But the siege of that city was continued,
though without success on the part of the Christians. They
were repulsed in all their attacks ; their engines were burnt
with naphtha; and the besieged received supplies of provi¬
sions in spite of the utmost efforts of the besiegers, at the
same time that famine and pestilence raged in the Christian
camp, sometimes carrying off two hundred persons a day.
But in 1191 the Christians received powerful succours from
Europe. Philip II. of France, and Richard l. of England,
surnamed Cceur-de-Lion, arrived in the camp before Pto-
1
EGYPT.
483
I mt. lemais. The latter was esteemed the bravest and most
w enterprising of all the chiefs of the Crusade; and the
spirits of the soldiers were greatly elated by the thoughts
of acting under such an experienced commander. Soon
after his arrival the English sunk a Mahommedan ship of
large size, having on board upwards of six hundred sol¬
diers, and a great quantity of arms and provisions, which
was proceeding from Berytus to Ptolemais. Of the soldiers
and the sailors who navigated this vessel, only a single
person escaped, who, being taken prisoner by the English,
was dispatched to the sultan with the news of the disas¬
ter. But the besieged still defended themselves with great
resolution ; and the king of England happening to fall sick,
the operations of the besiegers were considerably delayed.
On his recovery, however, the attacks were renewed with
such fury that the place was every moment in imminent
danger of being taken by assault. But although Saladin
was informed of the condition to which it was reduced,
and although it formed his principal magazine of arms, he
found it impossible to march to its relief; and the inha¬
bitants were therefore under the necessity of surrendering
the place. One of the terms of the capitulation was, that
the Crusaders should receive a very considerable sum of
money from Saladin, upon the condition of their deliver¬
ing up the Mahommedan prisoners they had in their hands;
but Saladin refused to ratify this article, and, in conse¬
quence of his refusal, three thousand of those unfortunate
men were slaughtered at once by orders of the king of
England.
After the reduction of Ptolemais, Richard, now appoint¬
ed generalissimo of the Crusaders, took the road to Asca-
lon, in order to besiege that place; after which he intend¬
ed to make an attempt to recover Jerusalem. Saladin pro¬
posed to intercept him on his advance, and with this view
placed himself in the way with an army of three hundred
thousand men. On this occasion was fought one of the
greatest battles of that age, or indeed of any other. After
& terrible conflict, Saladin was totally defeated, with the
loss of forty thousand men; and Ascalon soon afterwards
fell into the hands of the Crusaders. Other sieges were
subsequently undertaken with success, and Richard even
approached within sight of Jerusalem; but by reason of
the weakened state of his army, and the dissensions which
prevailed in it, he found himself under the necessity of
concluding a truce with the sultan. In the year 1192
this was accordingly agreed to, for the term of three years,
three months, three weeks, three days, and three hours;
and soon after it was concluded the king of England set
out on his return to his own dominions.
In 1193 Saladin died, to the inexpressible grief of all
true Moslemins, who held him in the utmost veneration.
His dominions in Syria and Palestine were parcelled out
amongst his children and relations in petty principalities.
His son Othman succeeded to the throne of Egypt; but
although he possessed the ambition, he wanted the enter¬
prising genius of his father; and indeed Saladin had no
successor capable of rivalling, far less eclipsing his renown.
But Alcamel, to whom the sceptre devolved about the
beginning of the thirteenth century, shed a lustre on his
reign by repulsing the Crusaders, who for the fifth time
had invaded the kingdom of the sultans. Damietta had
yielded to the arms of the Christians; and, elated with
their success, they advanced up the Nile, doubtless medi¬
tating the entire conquest of the country, when a general
action took place, which in its issue proved disastrous, and
compelled the invaders to accept a treaty, the conditions
of which were more honourable to the generosity of the
Moslemin conquerors than to the ability of the Christian
commanders. Alcamel died at Damascus in 1238, and one
of his sons, by name Aladel, was raised to the throne. But
another claimant appeared in Nojmoddin, an elder bro¬
ther of the deceased prince, and a bloody contest would
probably have ensued, had not the young prince in the
meanwhile disappeared or died. This circumstance led to
the peaceable accession of Nojmoddin, who, like his pre¬
decessor, soon acquired great influence with the chiefs of
the Crusade; whilst Richard, earl of Cornwall, perceiving
that the sultan of Egypt possessed more power than the
Syrian lords of Karak and Damascus, concluded an alli¬
ance with him, and thereby insured protection to the nu¬
merous Christian pilgrims when wending their weary way
to the holy sepulchre.
Whilst affairs were thus unsettled, Nojmoddin entered
Syria, resolved, with the aid of the wild tribes who roamed
through the adjoining desert, to make himself master of
Damascus. A battle crowned his enterprise with success,
and opened a path to still more signal advantages, when
Louis the Ninth of France landed at Damietta with a new
host of Crusaders, and in the absence of the sultan made
considerable progress, taking several towns, and forcing
the inhabitants to fly into the upper part of the country.
Nojmoddin, then engaged in the siege of Emessa, hasten¬
ed to the relief of his subjects; but, overpowered by fa¬
tigue and anxiety, his strength failed, and he died by the
way, leaving the government to his son, an inexperienced
youth. Nojmoddin, however, left one who was able and
willing to avenge him. Apprehending no serious opposi¬
tion, the Crusaders, with their habitual want of precaution,
pushed recklessly into the interior, when, to their extreme
surprise, they suddenly found themselves in presence of
a formidable army, raised by the exertions of the sultan’s
widow, the celebrated Shagir Aldor. A battle was inevi¬
table ; and Louis, compelled to fight at a disadvantage, was
defeated and taken prisoner; whilst his followers, after
enduring the greatest privations, were compelled to throw
themselves on the compassion of the natives whose fields
they had desolated, whose houses they had plundered,
and whose hearths they had profaned.
The period at which we have now arrived is remarkable
for the accession to power of a race of slaves, who, trans¬
formed into soldiers, became alike celebrated for their mi¬
litary qualities, and formidable by their exactions, to the
country over which they domineered. It will be at once
understood that we allude to the Mamlukes. The origin
of this celebrated military caste dates from the time of
Saladin. As a usurper, the sultan naturally put little con¬
fidence in the native troops; and hence, distrusting the
fidelity of his subjects, he was led to place around his
person a guard of foreigners, composed chiefly of slaves
purchased or made captives in the provinces bordering on
the western shores of the Caspian. Under succeeding sul¬
tans the power of these armed attendants was increased
by new privileges ; and in a short time they, like the ce¬
lebrated pretorian bands at Rome, acquired or usurped
the entire disposal of the sovereign authority. In the year
1250 the reigning sultan, Malek-al-Salek, was dethroned
and slain by these mercenaries; in consequence of which
crime the Mamlukes became sole masters of Egypt, and
chose a sultan out of their own number. This was Ibeg,
who, having been named regent during the minority of the
young prince, married the queen-mother upon the death
of that boy, and finally, supported by his companions in
arms, stepped into the vacant throne.
The Mamlukes having obtained possession of the go¬
vernment, and neither understanding nor valuing any thing
except the art of war, every species of learning soon de¬
cayed in Egypt, and barbarism in some measure resumed
its ancient empire. Nor was their ascendency of long du¬
ration, notwithstanding their martial abilities. The fact
is, that originally they formed but a small part of the
Egypt.
EGYPT.
484
Egypt, standing forces of Egypt; and as a numerous army was
necessary in a country where, according to the funda¬
mental maxim of government, every native must be a slave,
they were at first at a loss how to act, being justly suspi¬
cious of the other portions of the regular force. But at
length they resolved to purchase Christian slaves, and
educate them in the same way as they themselves had
formerly been; and these were commonly brought from
Circassia, where the people, though they professed Chris¬
tianity, made no scruple of selling their children. When
they had completed their military education, these soldiers
were disposed of throughout the fortresses erected in the
country to keep down the inhabitants; and because in
their language a fort was denominated borge, the new mi¬
litia received the name of Borgites or garrison-troops. By
this expedient the Mamlukes hoped to secure themselves
in the sovereignty; but the result proved that they were
mistaken in their calculations. The old Mamlukes having
become proud, insolent, and lazy, the Borgites took ad¬
vantage of their degeneracy, rose upon their masters, de¬
prived them of the government, and about the year 1382
transferred it to one of their own number, by name Bar-
cok, under whom the Mamluke dynasty, properly so call¬
ed, was brought to an end, after having endured about a
hundred and twenty years.
The Borgites, as well as their former masters, now assumed
the name of Mamlukes, and became famous for their va¬
lour and ferocity of conduct. They were almost perpetu¬
ally engaged in wars either foreign or domestic; and their
dominion lasted till the year 1517, when they were at¬
tacked by Sultan Selim. The Mamlukes defended them¬
selves with incredible valour; but being overpowered by
numbers, they were defeated in every engagement. The
same year the city of Cairo was taken, after great slaugh¬
ter, and the Borgite sultan was obliged to fly. But having
collected all his force, he ventured a decisive battle, in
which he was defeated, the most romantic efforts of va¬
lour proving unavailing against the innumerable multitude
which composed the Turkish army. A great number of his
troops perished on the field ; and the unhappy prince him¬
self, seeing all hope utterly gone, took shelter in a marsh,
whence he was dragged by his pursuers, and soon after¬
wards put to death. Nor did the vengeance of the con¬
queror stop here. Having erected a throne on the banks
of the Nile, he caused the prisoners, amounting to up¬
wards of thirty thousand men, to be brought before him,
when he ordered them to be beheaded in his presence,
and their bodies to be thrown into the river. With the
death of Tuman Bey, and the wholesale butchery which
followed it, ended the glory, and almost the existence, of
the Mamlukes, who were now everywhere hunted out and
cut in pieces.
But notwithstanding these barbarous proceedings, Selim
did not attempt the total extermination of the Mamlukes,
though this would have been quite agreeable to the max¬
ims of Turkish policy. He seems to have considered, that
if he should establish a pasha in Egypt, with the same
powers with which those of other parts were invested,
such a lieutenant or viceroy would, by reason of the dis¬
tance from the capital, be under strong temptations to re¬
volt. He therefore devised a new form of government,
according to which, the power being distributed amongst
the different members of the state, an equilibrium might be
established, and the dependence of the whole upon himself
might thereby be secured. With this view he chose a di¬
van, or council of regency, consisting of the pasha or vice¬
roy, and the chiefs of the seven military corps. To the for¬
mer, who was to be in all cases president, it belonged to
notify to the council the orders of the Porte, to transmit
the tribute to Constantinople, and to provide for the safety
of government, both external and internal; whilst, on the F
other hand, the members of the council had a right to reject
the orders of the pasha, or even to depose him, provided '
they could assign sufficient reasons for so doing; and all
civil and political ordinances required to be ratified by them.
From the Mamluke Beys, who presided over the provinces'
were chosen the Sheikh-el-Belled, or governor of Cairo •
the Janizary Aga, or commander of the janizaries; the
Defterdar, or accountant-general; the Emir-el-Hado-ee
or conductor of the caravan to Mecca; the Emir-el-Sa,id,
or governor of Upper Egypt; and the Sheikh-el-Bekheri’
or governor of the scherifs. He then formed the whole
body into a sort of republic ; and with this view issued an
edict, setting forth that a republican government was grant¬
ed to the twenty-four sangiacs or governors of provinces.
These were, 1. That the sovereignty of the Porte should
be acknowledged by the republic, and, in token of obe¬
dience, its lieutenant should be received as the represen¬
tative of the sultan ; but if the said lieutenant should at¬
tempt to infringe any of its privileges, the republic might
suspend him from his authority, and send to the Sublime
Porte a complaint against him : 2. That in time of war the
republic should provide twelve thousand troops at its own
expense, to be commanded by a sangiac or sangiacs; 3.
That the republic should raise annually, and send to the
Sublime Porte, the sum of 560,000 aslany (afterwards aug¬
mented to 800,000, or about L.100,000), accompanied by
a sangiac, who should receive an acknowledgment for the
same; 4. That the same sum should be raised for the use of
Medina and Kiaba or Mecca: 5. That the janizaries should
not exceed fourteen thousand in time of peace, though
this number might be increased in time of war : 6. That to
the sultan’s granaries shpuld be sent annually a million
measures of corn, 600,000 of wheat, and 400,000 of barley:
7. That, on fulfilling these articles, the republic should have
a free government over all Egypt, independently of the
sultan’s lieutenant, but on condition of executing the laws
of the country, with the advice of the inoollah: 8. That
the republic should be in possession of the mint as hereto¬
fore, but on condition that it should be under the inspec¬
tion of the sultan’s lieutenant, in order that the coin might
not be adulterated : and, 9. That the republic should elect
a Sheikh-el-Belled out of the number of Beys, to be con¬
firmed by the sultan’s lieutenant; and that the said Sheikh-
el-Belled should be the sultan’s lieutenant, and esteemed
as the head of the republic. It was further provided, that
if the sultan’s lieutenant should be guilty of oppression, or
exceed the bounds of his authority, the Sheikh-el-Belled
should represent the grievance to the Porte; and in case
the peace of the republic should be disturbed by foreign
enemies, the sultan guaranteed it his protection free of all
expense.
Thus the power of the Mamlukes, which conquest and
massacre had broken, was in some measure re-established
by the arbitrary will or caprice of the conqueror; and it
continued to increase until at last the Turkish dominion
over Egypt became little better than a species of feudal
superiority, recognised in principle, but disregarded in prac¬
tice. But in order to understand how this transference of
authority was produced, it is necessary to attend to the
manner in which the race of Mamlukes was continued and
multiplied in Egypt. This was not in the ordinary way,
by marriage or descent; on the contrary, during all the
time the Mamlukes maintained a footing in Egypt, few of
them left subsisting issue, and almost all their children
perished in the first or second descent. The means by
which they were perpetuated and multiplied were the same
by which they were originally established, namely, by slaves
brought from the country whence they originally came.
From the time of the Moguls this commerce continued on
EGYPT.
t the banks of the Cuban and Phasis, in the same manner
V as it is carried on in Africa, by wars amongst the hostile
tribes, and the misery or avarice of the inhabitants, who
sold their children to strangers. The slaves thus procur¬
ed were first brought to Constantinople, and afterwards
dispersed throughout the empire, where they were pur¬
chased by the wealthy. When the Turks subdued Egypt
they should undoubtedly have prohibited this dangerous
traffic ; and their omitting to do so in a great measure dis¬
possessed them of their conquest, a consummation which
a series of great political errors had otherwise been long
preparing. In fact, the Porte had, for a considerable time,
neglected the affairs of this province, and, in order to
restrain the pashas, had suffered the divan to extend its
power till the chiefs of the janizaries and ayahs were left
without control. The soldiers themselves, having become
citizens by the marriages which they had contracted, were
no longer the creatures of Constantinople ; and a change
introduced into their discipline still more increased these
disorders. At first the seven military corps had but one
common treasury ; and though the society was rich, indi¬
viduals, not having any thing at their own disposal, could
effect nothing. But the chiefs, finding their power dimi¬
nished by this arrangement, had interest enough to get it
abolished, and to obtain permission to possess distinct pro¬
perty, lands, and villages. As these lands and villages,
however, depended on the Mamluke governors, it was ne¬
cessary to conciliate them, in order to prevent their exac¬
tions. From that moment the Beys acquired an ascen¬
dency over the soldiers, who till then had treated them
with disdain ; and this ascendency continued to increase,
as their government secured to them the possession of con¬
siderable riches, which they employed chiefly in creating
friends and multiplying dependents. They increased the
number of their slaves ; and after emancipating them, em¬
ployed all their interest to obtain various employments,
and procure advancement in the army. These upstarts,
retaining for their patrons the superstitious veneration
common in the East, formed factions implicitly devoted
to their will, and were ready at all times to execute their
commands.
Accordingly, about the year 1746, Ibrahim, one of the
kiayas or commanders of the janizaries, rendered himself
in reality master .of Egypt, having managed matters so
well, that of the twenty-four Beys or Sangiacs, eight were
members of his own household. His influence too was
augmented by always leaving vacancies in order to draw
the emoluments himself, whilst the officers and soldiers
of his corps were attached to his interest; and his power
was completed by gaining over to his interest Rodohan,
the most powerful of all the chiefs. Thus the pasha be¬
came altogether unable to oppose him, and the orders of
the sultan were much less respected than those of Ibrahim.
On his death in 1757, his family, that is, his enfranchised
slaves, continued to rule in adespolic manner. But hav¬
ing quarrelled amongst themselves, Rodohan and several
other chiefs fell in the contests which ensued, and the ut¬
most anarchy and confusion prevailed.
In 1766, while matters still continued in this state, Ali
Bey, who had been a principal actor in the disturbances,
gained a decided superiority over his rivals, and, under
the successive titles of Emir-el-Hadgee, and Sheikh-el-
Belled, he rendered himself absolute master of Egypt.
The birth of Ali Bey, like that of the Mamlukes in gene¬
ral, is extremely uncertain. It is commonly believed that
he was born among the Abazans, a people of Mount Cau¬
casus, who, next to the Circassians, are most valued by the
Turks as slaves; and that having been brought to a pub¬
lic sale at Cairo, he was purchased by two Jews, brothers,
named Isaac and Yussuf, who presented him to Ibrahim
485
Kiaya. At this time he is supposed to have been about Egypt,
thirteen or fourteen years old; and he was employed by
his patron in offices similar to those of the pages belong¬
ing to European princes. The usual education of Mam¬
lukes was also given him. He was taught to manage a
horse adroitly ; to fire a carbine or pistol with a sure aim ;
and to throw the djereed, a kind of dart or javelin used
in the diversions of the country. He was also instructed
in the exercise of the sabre, and taught a little reading
and writing. In all feats of activity he discovered such
fire and impetuosity, that he obtained the surname of
Djendali or Madman; and as he grew up he discovered
an ambition proportioned to the activity displayed in his
youth, but which served to moderate and restrain the
ardour of his disposition. About the age of eighteen or .
twenty he received his freedom, and his kind patron also
promoted him to the rank of kiachef or governor of a dis¬
trict, and at last elected him one of the twenty-four Beys,
at once the tyrants and oppressors of the unhappy Fellahs.
The death of Ibrahim in 1757 afforded him an oppor¬
tunity of satisfying his ambition; and he now engaged in
every scheme connected with the promotion or disgrace
of the chiefs, and had a principal share in the ruin of Ro¬
dohan Kiaya, as already mentioned. The post of Rodo¬
han was quickly filled by another competitor for his dan¬
gerous office, who, however, did not long enjoy his eleva¬
tion ; and in 1762 Ali Bey, who was then styled Sheikh-
el-Belled, having caused Abderrahman, the real possessor
of the office, to be exiled, managed to get himself elected
in his stead. But he soon shared the fate of the rest, and
was condemned to retire to Gaza. This place, however,
being then under the dominion of a Turkish pasha, proved
by no means either agreeable to or safe for Ali, who ac¬
cordingly betook himself to another asylum, where he
remained concealed until 1766, when his friends at Cairo
procured his recal. On this he appeared suddenly in that
city, killed four of the Beys who were inimical to his de¬
signs, banished the rest, and assumed the whole power.
Still, however, his ambition was not satisfied. Indulg¬
ing the loftiest aspirations of ambition, he determined to
throw off his dependence on the Porte, and to declare
himself sultan of Egypt. With this view he expelled the
pasha, refused to pay the accustomed tribute, and, in the
year 1768, proceeded to coin money in his own name.
The Porte being at that time on the eve of a war with
Russia, had not leisure to attend to the proceedings of
Ali; so that the rebel chief had leisure and opportunity
for forwarding his enterprise. His first expedition was
directed against an Arabian prince named Hammam, un¬
der pretence that the latter had concealed a treasure en¬
trusted to him by Ibrahim Kiaya, and that he had afford¬
ed protection to rebels. The command of the expedition
he entrusted to his favourite Mohammed Bey, by whom
the unfortunate prince was destroyed, and his territories
despoiled. Ali next set about executing a plan which had
been proposed to him by a young Venetian merchant, for
rendering Djidda, the port of Mecca, an emporium for all
the commerce of India; and he even imagined that he
would succeed in causing the Europeans to abandon the
passage to the East Indies by the Cape of Good Hope.
With this view he fitted out some vessels at Suez; and
having manned them with Mamlukes, commanded Hassan
Bey to sail with the squadron for Djidda, and attack it,
whilst a body of cavalry under Mohammed Bey advanced
against the town. Both these operations were executed
to his wish, and Ali became quite intoxicated with his
success. Nothing but ideas of conquest now occupied his
mind ; and without considering the disproportion between
his own force and that of the Grand Signior, he never
once doubted that he would be able to maintain himself
EGYPT.
486
Egypt- against all the power of the Porte. And circumstances, it
must be owned, were at this time favourable to his designs.
Sheikh Daher was in rebellion against the Porte in Syria,
and the pasha of Damascus had so exasperated the people
by his extortions that they were ready for revolt. Having
therefore made the necessary preparations, Ali, in 1770,
dispatched about five hundred Mamlukes to take posses¬
sion of Gaza, and thus to secure an entrance into Pales¬
tine. When Osman, pasha of Damascus, heard of the in¬
vasion, he prepared for war with the utmost diligence;
whilst the troops of Ali Bey were, it is said, ready to fly
at the first attack. But they were relieved from their
embarrassment by Sheikh Daher, who hastened to their
assistance; and Osman, dreading to encounter both, fled
without offering the least resistance, thus leaving the ene¬
my masters of Palestine. About the end of February
1771 the army of Ali Bey was put in motion. Its num¬
bers have been variously represented, but it is probable
that, including camp followers, a very numerous class in
the East, it exceeded forty thousand men. This force,
or rather armed multitude, commanded by Mohammed
Bey, the friend of Ali, took the road to Acre, leaving
wherever they passed frightful traces of their rapacity
and want of discipline. At Acre a junction was formed
with the troops of Sheikh Daher, consisting of fifteen hun¬
dred Safadins; Sheikh Daher’s subjects being so called
from Safad, a village of Galilee, originally under his juris¬
diction. These were on horseback, and accompanied by
twelve hundred Motualis cavalry under the command of
Sheikh Nasif, and about a thousand Moggrebin infantry.
Thus they proceeded towards Damascus, whilst Osman
prepared to oppose them by another army equally nume¬
rous and ill regulated.
The military operations in Syria in the year 1771 have
been described by Volney. The combined army of Ali
Bey and Sheikh Daher marched to Damascus. The pa¬
shas waited for them; they approached, and, on the 6th
of June, a decisive action took place. The Mamlukes and
Safadins rushed on the Turks with such fury, that, terri¬
fied at their onset, the latter immediately took to flight,
and the pashas were not the last in endeavouring to make
their escape. The allies became masters of the country,
and took possession of the city without opposition, there
being neither walls nor soldiers to defend it. The castle
alone resisted. Its ruined fortifications had not a single
cannon, much less gunners; but it was surrounded by a
muddy ditch, and behind the ruins were posted a few
. musketeers, who alone were sufficient to check this army
of cavalry. As the besieged, however, were already con¬
quered by their fears, they capitulated on the third day ;
and the place was to be surrendered next morning, when
at daybreak an extraordinary revolution took place.
This was the defection of Mohammed Bey himself,
whom Osman had gained over in a conference during the
night. At the moment, therefore, when the signal of sur¬
render was expecte-d, this treacherous commander sound¬
ed a retreat, and turned towards Egypt with all his caval¬
ry, flying with as great precipitation as if he had been
pursued by a victorious army. Mohammed continued his
march with such celerity that the report of his arrival in
Egypt reached Cairo only six hours before himself. Thus
Ali Bey found all his expectations of conquest disappoint¬
ed, and a traitor whom he durst not punish at the head of
his forces. A sudden reverse of fortune now took place.
Several vessels laden with corn for Sheikh Daher were
taken by a Russian privateer; and Mohammed Bey, whom
he designed to put to death, not only made his escape,
but was so well attended that he could not be attacked.
As his followers continued to increase daily in number,
Mohammed soon became sufficiently strong to march
towards Cairo; and in April 1772, having defeated the Ee
troops of Ali in a rencounter, he entered the city sword ^
in hand, whilst the latter had scarcely time to make his
escape with eight hundred Mamlukes. Ali proceeded to
Syria, which he reached with difficulty, and immediately
joined Sheikh Daher with the troops which accompanied
him in his flight. The Turks under Osman were at that
time besieging Sidon, but they raised the siege on the
approach of the allied army, consisting of about seven
thousand cavalry. Though the Turkish army was at least
three times this number, the allies did not hesitate to at¬
tack them; and having gained a complete victory, their
affairs now began to wear a more favourable aspect.
In the beginning of 1773, Jaffa, a place which had re¬
volted, capitulated, and Ali Bey began to think of return¬
ing to Cairo. For this purpose Sheikh Daher promised
to furnish him with fresh succours ; and the Russians, with
whom he had now contracted an alliance, made him a
similar promise. But Ali ruined every thing by his own
folly and impatience. Deceived by an astrologer, who
pretended that the auspicious moment indicated by the
stars had just arrived, and also misled by false information
insidiously conveyed to him by the agents of Mahommed,
who caused letters to be written to him urging his imme¬
diate return to Cairo, he set out with his Mamlukes and
about fifteen hundred Safadins sent him by Daher, without
waiting for further aid; but he had no sooner entered the
desert which separates Gaza from Egypt, than he was at¬
tacked by a body of a thousand chosen Mamlukes who
were waiting his arrival. They were commanded by a
young Bey named Murad, who being enamoured of the
wife of Ali Bey, had obtained a promise of the lady from
Mohammed, in case he should bring him her husband’s
head. As soon as Murad perceived the dust which an¬
nounced the approach of Ali Bey’s army, he rushed upon
the advancing force, defeated it, and took Ali Bey him¬
self prisoner, after wounding him in the forehead with a
sabre. Being conducted to the presence of Mohammed
Bey, Ali was treated by the latter with every appearance
of respect, and a magnificent tent was ordered to be erect¬
ed for him; but in three days thereafter he was found
dead, of his wounds, as was given out, though some af¬
firm, perhaps with good reason, that he was poisoned.
After the death of Ali, Mohammed Bey became undis¬
puted master of Egypt; but to the people this change of
despots proved to be one from bad to worse. At first he
pretended to defend the rights of the sultan; he remitted
the usual tribute to Constantinople, and he took the cus¬
tomary oath of unlimited obedience; after which he so¬
licited permission to make war against Sheikh Daher, the
ally of Ali Bey. This request, although springing out of
personal animosity, was nevertheless granted, and Moham¬
med made diligent preparations for war. Having procured
a considerable train of artillery, he provided foreign gun¬
ners, whom he placed under the orders of an Englishman
named Robinson; and, having completed the necessary
preparations, he, in the month of February 1776, appeared
in Syria with an army equal in number to that which he
had formerly commanded when in the service of Ali Bey.
Daher’s forces, unable to cope with so formidable a body,
abandoned Gaza, which Mohammed immediately took
possession of, and then marched towards Jaffa, the ancient
Joppa, situated on a part of the coast the general level of
which is very little above that of the sea. The city is built
on an eminence in the form of a cone, and about a hundred
and thirty feet in height. The houses distributed on the
declivity rise above one another like the steps of an am¬
phitheatre ; and on the summit is a small citadel, which
commands the town ; whilst the bottom of the hill is sur¬
rounded by a wall without a rampart, of twelve or four-
(
EGYPT. 487
Fpt. teen feet in height and two or three feet in thickness, but Ibrahim should retain the title of Sheikh-el-Belled, and Egypt.
^ without a ditch, and environed by gardens. The city was that the power which neither was inclined to relinquish
defended by five or six hundred Safadins and as many in- should be divided between them. But the Beys and other
habitants, who had only a few brass cannon, twenty-four chiefs who had been promoted by Ali Bey, perceiving their
pounders, without carriages, which they mounted as well own importance totally annihilated by this duumvirate,
as they could on timbers prepared in a hurry. resolved to shake off the yoke, and therefore united in a
Mohammed, finding he must have recourse to force, league for supporting what they were pleased to term the
formed his camp before the town, in the most irregular house of Ali Bey. This combination was managed with
and disorderly manner possible. Batteries were now so much silence and dexterity, that both Murad and Ibra-
erected upon a rising ground at the distance of about him were obliged to abandon Cairo. In a short time, how-
two hundred yards from the town, and the bombardment ever, having collected reinforcements, they returned and
commenced. A wall only three feet thick, and without a defeated their enemies; but notwithstanding this success,
rampart, was soon breached even by the ill-served artil- they were unable altogether to suppress the party which
lerv of Mohammed, and the Mamlukes advanced on foot had been formed against them. A new combination was
to the assault; but the besieged coolly waiting till they formed among the Beys, five of whom were sentenced to
arrived at the empty space betw-een the city and wall, banishment in the Delta. They pretended to comply
assailed them from the terraces and windows of the houses with this order, but took the road through the desert of
with such a shower of bullets, that the assailants retired, the Pyramids, and, though they were pursued for three
under a persuasion that the breach was utterly impracti- days, arrived safe at Minieh, a village situated on the Nile,
cable. Murad Bey brought them several times back to forty leagues above Cairo. Here they took up their resi-
the attack, but all his efforts were vain. Six weeks pass- dence, and being masters of the river, soon reduced Cairo
ed in this manner; and Mohammed, distracted with rage, to distress by intercepting its provisions. A new expedi-
anxiety, and despair, had thoughts of abandoning the en- tion, therefore, became necessary, and Ibrahim took the
terprise. But fortunately for him, the besieged, whose command upon himself. In the month of October 1783
numbers were diminished by the repeated attacks, became he set out with an army of three thousand cavalry, and
weary of defending the cause of Daher; and some per- the two armies soon came in sight of each other; but
sons having begun to treat with the enemy, it was at length Ibrahim thought proper to terminate the affair by negoci-
proposed to abandon the place, upon the Egyptians giving ation. This gave great offence to Murad, who, suspecting
hostages. Conditions were agreed upon, and the treaty some design against himself, immediately left Cairo. A
was on the point of being concluded, when, in the midst war between the two sovereign colleagues seemed now
of the security which this circumstance occasioned, some inevitable, and the armies continued for twenty-five days
Mamlukes entered the town. Numbers followed their in sight of each other, being only separated by the river,
example, and attempted to plunder ; the inhabitants de- But negociations were at length opened ; and the five ex¬
tended themselves, and the attack recommenced. The iled Beys, finding themselves abandoned by Murad, took
whole army then rushed into the town, which suffered all to flight. They wTere however pursued and brought back
the horrors of a successful assault; men, women, and to Cairo, and peace appeared to be re-established on a
children, young and old, were indiscriminately cut in better footing than heretofore; but the jealousy of the
pieces; and Mohammed, equally mean and barbarous, two rivals having produced new intrigues, Murad was once
caused a pyramid, formed of the heads of these unfor- more obliged to leave Cairo in 1784. He encamped, how-
tunate sufferers, to be raised as a monument of his in- ever, at the very gates of the city; and Ibrahim, dreading
glorious victory. his power, or overawed by his boldness, found himself
This disaster everywhere diffused the greatest terror obliged in his turn to retire to the desert, where he re-
and consternation. Sheikh Daher fled, and Mohammed mained till March 1785. A new treaty was then entered
soon afterwards became master of Acre, where he behav- into, by which the rivals agreed to share the supreme
ed with his usual cruelty, and abandoned the city to pil- power between them ; an arrangement which certainly
lage. The French merchants claimed an exemption, which afforded but little prospect of lengthened tranquillity,
was obtained with the utmost difficulty, and, but for a for- Matters were in this situation, when, in 1786, the Porte,
tunate accident, would have been of little consequence, having concluded a peace with Russia, resolved to reduce
Being informed that the treasures of Ibrahim, the kiaya Egypt once more to a state of subjection and obedience,
of Daher, had been deposited in that place, Mohammed With this view, Hassan Pasha, famous for his exploits in the
immediately demanded them, threatening the merchants Morea and in Cyprus, was dispatched by the sultan at the
with death if they were not instantly delivered up; and a head of a force amounting to twenty-five thousand men.
day was appointed for making the search; but before it Having effected a landing at Alexandria in the month of
arrived the tyrant had caught a malignant fever, of which July, Hassan made instant preparations for advancing to-
he died after a short illness. When his death became wards Cairo. But he was met near Mentorbes by Murad
known, the army, aware of the vengeance it had provok- at the head of his Mamlukes, and a furious battle imme-
ed, and being now without a head, made a precipitate and diately ensued. The victory, however, remained with
tumultuous retreat. This event occurred in the summer Hassan. The ground being still soft from the effects of
of 1776. Sheikh Daher continued his rebellion for some the inundation, the Mamlukes, whose horses sunk in the
time, but he was at last entirely defeated, and his head mud, were unable to charge with their accustomed impe-
sent to Constantinople by Hassan, the Turkish capitan- tuosity, and the Turkish infantry thus gained a decided
pasha or high admiral. advantage. Had it not been for this fortunate circum-
As soon as the news of Mohammed’s death reached stance, Hassan might have been shorn of some of his
Egypt, Murad Bey hastened to Cairo in order to dispute laurels in contending with that superb cavalry, by far the
the sovereignty with Ibrahim Bey, who had been entrust- finest and most enterprising in all the East. As it was,
ed with the government on the departure of Murad for Cairo opened its gates to the victorious pasha, who, after
Syria. Preparations for war were in consequence made appointing a governor, continued his march in pursuit of
on both sides ; but at last, finding that the contest would the Beys into the Sai'd. But finding the power of these
he attended with equal difficulty and uncertainty, they chiefs still in some measure unbroken, and experiencing
came to an accommodation, by which it was agreed that great difficulties in subsisting his army in the face of an
EGYPT.
488
Egypt, active and vigilant enemy, Hassan was induced, in the
course of the following year, to accede to a treaty, by
which the Beys were left in full possession of the country
from Barbieh to the confines of Nubia, upon condition of
their relinquishing all claims to the territory below the place
just mentioned. By this arrangement, he freed Lower
Egypt from the exactions of the Mamlukes, and secured
to the inhabitants of that part of the country the benefit
of something like a settled government. He also applied
himself to lighten their burdens, to redress their grievan¬
ces, and to fortify Cairo so as to enable it to hold out
against any sudden inroad of the disaffected Beys ; and his
whole conduct indeed was alike distinguished for wisdom
and moderation. But, in 1790, the plague appeared in its
most virulent type; and after committing frightful ravages
amongst the lower classes, who in all countries, and par¬
ticularly in Egypt, are the first victims of a pestilence, it
put an end to the life of Hassan Pasha. By this event
the authority which had kept the Mamlukes in check was
annihilated ; and, after a short interval, during which an
attempt was made to confirm the authority of the Porte,
( Murad and Ibrahim returned from exile, and once more
assumed the sovereign power, in defiance of all the mena¬
ces of the divan.
But the domestic contentions by which Egypt had so
long been distracted were now to be succeeded by foreign
invasion. From an exaggerated notion of the importance
of the British dominions in the East, which were regard¬
ed as a source of inexhaustible wealth to this country,
the possession of Egypt, the channel through which the
commerce of India ancientty flowed into Europe, had long
been viewed by the statesmen of France as a most desirable
acquisition for that country. Various arguments, some of
them plausible enough, were accordingly advanced in sup¬
port of this conclusion. In particular, it had been con¬
tended that the communication between India and the
southern parts of Europe, by the channel of the Red Sea,
was the shortest, the safest, and the most economical;
that the Nile might be connected with the Arabian Gulf
by means of a canal cut across the isthmus of Suez ; that,
independently of the commerce of India, the country on
the eastern shores of the Red Sea abounded in spices, per¬
fumes, and other valuable products ; that Africa had gold
dust and ivory to give in exchange for the more bulky
commodities of Europe ; and therefore that Egypt, if oc*
cupied by one of the maritime powers of the Mediterranean,
would prove a more valuable possession than all the British
territories in India. From the time of Leibnitz, who ad¬
dressed to Louis XIV. a memorial recommending the
occupation of Egypt for the purpose of destroying the
maritime and commercial ascendency of the Dutch, the
speculation which he had in some measure originated
continued to find favour with the statesmen of France;
and when the naval pre-eminence of Britain, which a
series of unexampled triumphs had placed on a firm basis,
put an end to all hope of disputing with her the empire Ea,
of the ocean, or again establishing a footing in India by w,
means of armies transported by fleets, the project of seizing
upon Egypt began to be anxiously discussed and seriously
meditated. Nor was this scheme viewed merely in con¬
nection with objects of commercial enterprise, or even
the extension of the colonial possessions of France. To
the bold and ardent minds that now predominated in the
French councils, it promised other and still more import¬
ant advantages. The subjugation of Egypt by a nation
whose territory bordered on the Mediterranean w^as con¬
sidered as the most effectual blow which could be struck
against the powTer of Turkey; whilst, by occupying that
country with a powerful military force, and, as a neces¬
sary consequence, adding to it the possession of Syria, a
position would be obtained from which the British posses¬
sions in India might be threatened, and perhaps in due
time attacked. Ideas the most gigantesque were formed,
and to men flushed with the confidence inspired by vic¬
tory all things seemed possible.
It is not certainly known with wThom originated the pro¬
ject of sending an expedition at this time to Egypt, and
various persons have claimed or received the merit of the
suggestion. It is beyond all doubt, however, that the
ardent mind of Napoleon entered into the scheme with
characteristic energy,1 and that the executive directory
acquiesced in it with a readiness which perhaps arose as
much from policy as conviction. The young soldier of
Italy had already become too great for a republic. In a
country which had recently witnessed so many revolu¬
tions, and where all distinctions are so liable to be eclips¬
ed by military glory, the man who had dictated to Austria
the preliminaries of Leoben could not but be an object
of dread to a feeble and unpopular government; and hence
it is at least a reasonable presumption, that the immediate
advantage of removing to a safe distance a dangerous
army and a still more dangerous military chief, weighed
fully as much with the executive directory as any of the
speculations to which we have alluded.
But be this as it may, an expedition was fitted out
with all possible secrecy, and on the 18th May 1798 it
sailed from Toulon. The squadron consisted of thirteen
sail of the line, six frigates, and a dozen brigs, sloops, and
cutters, having on board about forty thousand men of all
arms, under the command of Napoleon, who had been
named general-in-chief of the army of the East. After
doubling Cape Corso and Cape Bonara, the expedition ar¬
rived on the 10th of June before Malta, which, through
the degeneracy of the knights, surrendered almost with¬
out resistance ; and having left a garrison in the island, it
next steered for the coast of Egypt, which, after narrowly
escaping an encounter with the British fleet under Lord
Nelson, it reached on the 1st of July. The troops were
immediately landed near Alexandria, and on the evening
of the 5th that place was carried by assault. The gene-
1 Napoleon has himself explained the views with which this expedition was undertaken. ‘c There were three objects,” says he,
“ in the expedition to Egypt: ls<, To establish a French colony on the Nile, which would prosper without slaves, and serve France
instead of the republic of St Domingo and of all the sugar islands; 2c%, To open a market for our manufactures in Africa, Arabia,
and Syria, and to supply our commerce with all the productions of those vast countries; 3<%, Setting out from Egypt as from a place
of arms, to lead an army of 60,000 men to the Indus, to excite the Mahrattas and oppressed people of those extensive regions to
insurrection. Sixty thousand men, half Europeans, and half recruits from the burning climates of the equator and the tropics, earned
by 10,000 horses and 50,000 camels, having with them provisions for fifty or sixty days, water for five or six days, and a train of
artillery of a hundred and fifty field-pieces, with double supplies of ammunition, would have reached the Indus in four months.
Since the invention of shipping the ocean has ceased to be an obstacle, and the desert is no longer an impediment to an army pos¬
sessed of camels and dromedaries in abundance. The first two objects were fulfilled, and, notwithstanding the loss of Admiral Brueys
squadron at Alexandria, the intrigue by which Kleber was induced to sign the convention of El-Arisch, the landing of from 30,000
to 35,000 English commanded by Abercromby at Aboukir and Cosseir, the third object would have been attained ; a French army
would have reached the Indus in the winter of 1801-1802, had not the command of the army devolved, inconsequence of the
murder of Kleber, on a man who, although abounding in courage, talents for business, and good-will, was of a disposition wholly
unfit for any military command.” {Memoirs, vol. ii. part 2, p. 205.)
f
E G 1
. ral-in-chief then passed several days in laying down the
principles on which the city was to be fortified ; and, in
a short time, a complete system of works, capable of a
long defence, was formed under tbe able superintendence
of the principal French engineers.
Having given the necessary directions, and made suit¬
able preparations, Napoleon left Alexandria to advance
against the Mamlukes, who had resolved to dispute his
passage towards Cairo; at the same time repeating to Ad¬
miral Brueys, who commanded the French squadron, the
order previously given to enter the port of Alexandria, or,
in case he should consider that impossible, to proceed to
Corfu or Toulon. The first encounter with the Mamlukes
took place at Shebreis on the 13th July. Here they wait¬
ed the approach of the French army, which w as drawn up
so that each division formed a square, with the baggage
in the centre; and they soon spread over the w hole plain,
outflanking the wings, and seeking on all sides a weak
point to enable them to break the French line; but find¬
ing it everywhere equally formidable, and being opposed
with a double fire from front and flank, they wrere compel¬
led to retire with loss, after having made several fruitless
attempts to charge. The French army then continued its
advance, and wras approaching Cairo, when information
reached the general-in-chief that the Mamlukes, combin¬
ed with the troops of that city, and with a considerable
number of Arabs, janizaries, and spahis, were waiting for
them between the Nile and the Pyramids covering Ghizeh,
where they boasted that the success of the invaders would
terminate. Napoleon baited a day at Omedinar, to afford
the troops some repose, and enable them to get their arms
in readiness, and to prepare for battle. On tbe 21st, at
one in the morning, the army marched from Omedinar, and
at ten perceived Embabeh, and the enemy in line. Their
right was supported on the Nile, where they had traced out
a large entrenched camp, lined with forty pieces of cannon,
and defended by about twenty thousand infantry, consist¬
ing of janizaries, spahis, and militia from Cairo. On this
entrenched camp the Mamluke cavalry, amounting to be¬
tween nine and ten thousand horse, rested its right, and
extended its left in the direction of the Pyramids, crossing
the road to Ghizeh; whilst two or three thousand Arabs
maintained the extreme left, and occupied the space be¬
tween the Mamlukes and the Pyramids. These disposi¬
tions wrere formidable. But Napoleon, discerning that the
intrenched camp was merely sketched out, and that the
cannon were mounted on field carriages, and consequently
immoveable, concluded that the infantry would not quit
the intrenched camp, or that if they came forth it would
be without artillery. On these data he made his disposi¬
tions for battle; resolving to prolong his right, and to fol¬
low the movement of that wing with his whole army, at the
same time passing out of the range of the guns of the in¬
trenched camp. Murad Bey, who commanded in chief,
quickly divined the purpose of his antagonist; and com¬
prehending at once that the fortune of the day depended
on preventing the French from executing this movement,
and availing himself of bis numerous cavalry to attack
them on their march, he advanced at the head of about two
thirds of his horse, amounting to between six and seven
thousand, and fell upon General Desaix, who was moving
forward by the extremity of the French right. The
charge was made with such rapidity that Desaix was for
a moment compromised, and the squares appeared to be
falling into confusion. But as the head of tbe corps of
Mamlukes wras not numerous, and the mass did not arrive
r P T. 489
for some minutes, the delay was sufficient to enable De- Egypt,
saix to complete the formation of the squares, and to re-
ceive the charge with coolness. Regnier supported De¬
saix on the left, whilst Napoleon, marching on the main
body of the Mamlukes, placed himself between the Nile
and Regnier. The Mamlukes wrere received with dis¬
charges of grape and musketry, and some of the bravest
died almost on tbe bayonets of Desaix’s division; but
the mass, by an instinct natural to horse, turned round
the squares, and this frustrated the charge. In the midst
of the fire, the dust, and the smoke, part of the Mam¬
lukes regained the intrenched camp, against which the
divisions of Bon and Menou immediately advanced, whilst
General Rampon with two battalions occupied a defile
between Ghizeh and the camps. The most horrible con¬
fusion now prevailed at Embabeh. The cavalry had
thrown itself upon the infantry, which, seeing the Mam¬
lukes beaten, rushed into the djerms, caiques, and other
boats, in order to pass the Nile; then the Mamlukes,
perceiving that their retreat was in the wrong direction,
attempted to regain the Ghizeh road, but were driven
back by Rampon’s battalions on the intrenched camp,
where many of them fell. But many more were drowned
in attempting to pass the Nile ; and the intrenchments, ar¬
tillery, pontoons, and baggage, all became the prize of the
conquerors. Of this army of above sixty thousand men,
not more than two thousand five hundred horse escaped
with Murad Bey. Ibrahim fled into the eastern parts of
the Delta, whilst Murad, with the remnant of his Mam¬
lukes, retreated into the desert beyond Sakhara.1
But this victory was speedily counterbalanced by a sig¬
nal overthrow which the French experienced at sea. Ad¬
miral Brueys, neglecting or disregarding the orders given
by Napoleon to enter the port of Alexandria, had moored
his squadron, for defending the entrance of Aboukir Bay,
in a line of battle, flanked by numerous gun-boats, four
frigates, and a battery of guns and mortars on an island
in their van. But this position, though strong, had a de¬
fect of which the quick eye of Nelson enabled him to
take decisive advantage. On the 1st of August this great
commander appeared off the mouth of the Nile with a
squadron equal in force to that of the enemy, and in¬
stantly directed his course towards him. The French ships
were at single anchor, with springs on their cables, and
riding with their heads to wind, which was from the north¬
west. On this circumstance the plan of attack was formed.
About half the British ships got between the enemy and the
shore, either by cutting through their line or sailing round
the head of it; and the rest attacked on the outside. All
dropped their anchors close alongside of their opponents ;
and by this disposition some of the French line were dou¬
bled on, whilst all engaged on the land side were taken
unprepared. The battle began about six in the evening,
and was long and obstinately contested. After it bad
lasted several hours, the L’Orient of 120 guns, which car¬
ried the French admiral’s flag, blew up with a terrible ex¬
plosion, but not until the six headmost ships had surren¬
dered. Next morning at daylight the action recommen¬
ced ; but, with the exception of two sail of the line and
two frigates which escaped, theotherships were either taken
or destroyed. Never indeed was victory more complete.
Of thirteen sail of the line, nine were captured and two
destroyed, the Timoleon having shared the same fate as
the L’Orient. The loss on the part of the French was
necessarily great. Upwards of 5200 perished, and 3105,
including wounded, were sent ashore by cartel. The Bri-
1 It was at the commencement of the battle of the Pyramids that Napoleon addressed to his soldiers the words which afterwards
became so famous: “ From the tops of these Pyramids forty centuries look upon you.”
VOL. VIII. 3 Q
EGYPT.
490
Egypt- tish loss in killed and wounded amounted to 895. West-
cott was the only captain who fell.
After Cairo had surrendered to the French, Bonaparte
formed his army into three divisions, one of which, com¬
manded by General Desaix, was sent into Upper Egypt
in pursuit of the Mamlukes; another was left for the de¬
fence of Cairo; and at the head of the third he marched
in person in pursuit of Ibrahim Bey, who had taken his
route towards Syria with a rich caravan. In order to ren¬
der abortive the designs of Bonaparte, Britain formed an
alliance with the Porte; and the chief preparations for
carrying the concerted plan into effect were made in
Syria, under the direction of Djezzar, pasha of Acre.
The frontiers of Egypt towards Syria were to be attacked
by an army from Asia Minor; and this operation was to
be seconded by making a strong diversion towards the
mouths of the Nile, and by various attacks in Upper
Egypt with the remains of Murad Bey’s cavalry. Sir Sid¬
ney Smith left Portsmouth to superintend the execution
of this extensive plan, and to afford every assistance in his
power by means of the maritime force under his command.
In the mean time, the harbour of Alexandria was block¬
aded by a force of four sail of the line and five frigates,
under the command of Sir Samuel Hood ; it having been
found impracticable to burn or destroy the French fleet
of transports, without the assistance of a land force suffi¬
cient to attack Alexandria.
In order to destroy the preparations of the Djezzar Pa¬
sha, and disconcert the plans of Sir Sidney Smith, Gene¬
ral Bonaparte resolved to leave Egypt and march into
Syria; and although the result of the expedition proved
disastrous to the French interest, yet Bonaparte perhaps
never undertook an enterprise with more rational expec¬
tations of ultimate success. The town of Jaffa, the an¬
cient Joppa, was obstinately defended, but at last yielded
to the superiority of European tactics. Prom this place
the French general marched with his army in three divi¬
sions against St Jean d’Acre, to which he immediately
laid siege. But the pasha was powerfully encouraged to
make an obstinate resistance, by Sir Sidney Smith, who
appeared off Acre with the Tigre and Theseus seventy-
fours, and some smaller vessels; and in order to animate
him still more, he sent a French engineer of distinguish¬
ed merit, through wdiose means Sir Sidney had himself
been enabled to effect his escape from the Temple. But
although the fortress had been repaired by Colonel Philip-
peaux, the engineer alluded to, yet it is more than pro¬
bable that it could not have long held out against the skill
and intrepidity of Napoleon, had not his heavy artillery,
and siege equipage of every kind, been intercepted by
the British, whilst on their way from Jaffa. After a pro¬
tracted and bloody siege of sixty-one days continuance,
during which the French had repeatedly mounted the
breach, and been on the very eve of succeeding in their
attempts, having in the last assault effected a lodgment
in a tower within the body of the place, Napoleon wTas
obliged to abandon all hope of reducing Acre, the garri¬
son of which had been strongly reinforced, and, after sa¬
crificing his heavy artillery, to commence his retreat to¬
wards Egypt. The siege began on the 20th of March,
and was raised in the night between the 20th and 21st
of May 1799. The French army retreated by Kantura,
Caesarea, Jaffa, and Gaza ; then crossed the desert, and
stopped at El-Arisch, where Bonaparte left a garrison;
and reached Cairo on the 14-th of June, tw'enty-six days
after breaking up from before Acre, having been much
harassed in their retreat by the Syrians. The loss sus¬
tained by the French army during the four months of
the Syrian expedition is estimated at seven hundred men
who died of disease, five hundred killed in the different
actions, and about eighteen hundred wounded; in all two E
thousand nine hundred men hors de combat. But even
this is probably below the truth.
During the absence of General Bonaparte in Syria, no
method had been left unattempted in order to ruin the
interest of the French in Egypt, and kindle a rebellion in
that country; and to a certain extent these efforts had
been successful; but the presence of Bonaparte speedily
restored tranquillity. His army had no doubt suffered
severely in its retrograde march from Syria; but with
such zeal and activity did he direct his attention towards
its organization, that in the short period of three weeks it
was in a condition to resume active operations, a though,
according to the accounts then current, it had been com¬
pletely buried in the burning sands of the desert. After
affording the Turks all the assistance in his power, Sir Sid¬
ney Smith, on the 12th of June 1799, set sail from the bay
of Acre, and proceeded first to Beruta on the same coast,
whence he shaped his course to Lamica road in the island
of Cyprus, in order to refit his little squadron. Having
effected this object, he left Cyprus for Constantinople, in
order there to concert measures with the Porte for expel¬
ling the French from Egypt. But in the meanwhile an
event occurred which served for the time to confirm their
ascendency. When Napoleon set out on the expedition to
Syria, he left Desaix, with his division, to prosecute the
war against the Mamlukes; but Murad, having retired
before him as far as Syene or Assouan, baffled all the
attempts of the French general to bring him to action,
whilst he cut off detached parties, hung on the flanks and
rear of the invaders, and intercepted their supplies. Ac¬
cordingly, on his return from Syria, Napoleon, having re¬
established the shattered discipline of his troops, was pre¬
paring to march against Murad, who had ventured down
into the province of Fayoum, when he found himself sud¬
denly called upon to confront another and apparently more
formidable enemy.
On the 14th of July, the general-in-chief received in¬
telligence from Alexandria that a Turkish fleet of from a
hundred and twenty to a hundred and fifty sail had come
to anchor in the bay of Aboukir, landed a body of troops
on the shore of the peninsula, and carried the fort of
Aboukir by assault. He accordingly issued directions to
his officers to move towards the point threatened; and the
first rendezvous of the army was appointed at Rhamanieh,
on the left bank of the Nile. The advanced guard under
Murat took the route to Ghizeh, followed by the divisions
of Lannes and of Bon; Kleber’s division marched from
Damietta; Regnier, who was in Sharkieh, received orders
to march on Rhamanieh, after leaving a column of six hun¬
dred men to protect his communication ; and the whole, in¬
cluding Menou’s moveable column, together with the park
of artillery and the staff, moved on to Rhamanieh, which
Napoleon reached on the 20th of July. The general-in¬
chief was in hopes that he would be able to destroy the
army which had landed at Aboukir before that of Syria,
raised during the two months which had elapsed since he
quitted that country, could arrive before Cairo; and these
hopes were completely realized. After the French army
broke up from its position at the village of Birket, which
had been fixed as the centre of its movements, it assem¬
bled near the Wells, between Alexandria and Aboukir;
and Bonaparte fixed his head-quarters at the former place.
The Turkish army amounted to about eighteen thousand
men, and was receiving daily reinforcements; but it had
no cavalry. It had taken up a position on the peninsula
of Aboukir, which it was now engaged in fortifying by
means of two lines of entrenchments ; one joining the re¬
doubt in front of the village to the sea, and the other
three quarters of a league in advance, having the right sup-
EGYPT.
491
ported by a sand-hill commanding Lake Maadieh, and the
left extending to the Mediterranean, so that it could march
thence either on Alexandria or Rosetta. Concluding, from
the nature of these fortifications, that the Turkish army
wished to make this point its centre of operations, Napo¬
leon made his dispositions accordingly. Having set out
from Alexandria on the 24th, he proceeded to the Wells,
about half way across the isthmus, where he encamped,
and was there joined by all the troops which were at Birket.
By the mistake of a company of sappers the Turks now
learned, for the first time, that the general-in-chief and
the French army were opposite them, and accordingly
passed the whole night in making their final dispositions
to receive the attack which they knew to be inevitable.
The plan of the French general was to attack instantly,
and either to gain possession of the whole peninsula, or at
least to oblige the first line of the enemy to fall back on
the second, by which means the French would be enabled
to occupy the position of the first line, and to overwhelm
the Turkish army, thus hemmed in, with bombs, howitzer-
shells, and balls, of which there were immense supplies in
Alexandria. Accordingly, Lannes, with eighteen hundred
men, moved against the left of the enemy; Destaing, with a
like number of troops, prepared to attack the right; and
Murat, with all the cavalry and a light battery, divided
into three corps, remained opposite the centre, ready to
act according to circumstances. The skirmishers on both
wings soon engaged with those of the enemy, and in a
short time the battle became general. The Turks, how¬
ever, maintained the combat with success, until Murat,
having penetrated their centre at the head of his cavalry,
wheeled his left to the rear of their right, and his right to
the rear of their left, thus cutting off the communication
between the first and second lines. The first line now
fell into complete disorder, and rushed tumultuously to¬
wards the second, consisting of about nine thousand men ;
but being encountered by the French cavalry in the midst
of the plain, their right was driven into the sea, and their
left into Lake Maadieh, whilst the columns of Lannes and
Destaing advanced at the charge and vigorously pursued
them. An unprecedented spectacle was now exhibited.
To escape from the French cavalry and infantry, the fu¬
gitives threw themselves into the water, and were almost
all drowned, scarcely a hundred men out of ten thousand
having succeeded in getting on board the vessels. The
French now advanced to the attack of the second line,
and Lannes forced the entrenchments at the point of their
junction with the lake, at the same time making a lodg¬
ment in the first houses of the village of Aboukir. Mus-
tapha Pasha, who was in the redoubt, then made a sortie,
debouching with a strong body, and separating the French
right from the left, which he took in flank at the same
time that he placed himself in rear of the right; but his
attack was checked by the general-in-chief, who forced
him to give ground, and enabled Lannes to continue his
movement. Finding themselves thus cut olf, the Turks
instantly fell into the most frightful disorder, and, as Ge- Egypt,
neral Destaing was advancing at the charge against the
intrenchments on the right, they tried to regain the fort;
but, like the first line, the second was now encountered
by Murat’s cavalryj and had it not been for the village,
which afforded shelter to those who had time to reach it,
not a man of them would have escaped. As it was, three
or four thousand Turks were driven into the sea, and
Mustapha, with his whole staff, and from twelve to fif¬
teen hundred men were surrounded and made prisoners.
The French loss amounted to near three hundred men.
Sir Sidney Smith was a spectator of this dreadful over¬
throw, having arrived in Aboukir, and landed during the
action : he narrowly escaped being taken, and reached his
ship with great difficulty.1
The Turks had still left three or four thousand men,
who occupied the fort, and barricaded themselves in the
village. But as it was not thought possible to force the
enemy in the houses which he occupied without great loss,
protected as he was by the fort, a position was taken, and
the most advantageous points were fixed on for placing
heavy cannon, to raze the enemy’s defences without risk
of further loss. General Menou conducted the siege with
vigour and address, and after bombarding the fort for eight
days, until it exhibited nothing but a heap of ruins, the
son of the pasha and two thousand men laid down their
arms, and became prisoners of war. In the fort the French
found eighteen hundred men killed, and three hundred
wounded.
On the 26th, Napoleon returned to Alexandria, where
he first learned, as is said, from some English newspapers,
the reverses experienced by the French, particularly in
Italy and on the Rhine; as also the violent commotions
which were agitating the interior of France. This de¬
termined him to abandon the East and return to Europe,
in order to be in readiness to profit by events, and to take
advantage of that fortune in which he already placed un¬
bounded confidence. Berthier alone was entrusted with
the secret intentions of the general-in-chief, and proved
himself worthy of this confidence. Meanwhile, Admiral
Gantheaume was ordered to get ready two frigates with
the utmost expedition, but without being informed as to
their destination ; and Napoleon brought with him Gene¬
rals Lannes, Marmont, Murat, and Andreossi, together
with Monge and Berthollet of the Institute ; whilst Bes-
sieres and his guides received sealed notes, which were
not to be opened till a certain day and a certain hour,
at a particular point of the sea-shore, and which were
found to contain orders for immediate embarkation. Ano¬
ther sealed packet, which was to be opened on the day
after the frigates had sailed, contained the nomination of
General Kleber to the chief command, and of Desaix to
that of Upper Egypt.2
The departure of General Bonaparte appears to have
revived the courage of Murad Bey, and inspired him with
a determination to attempt something against the French.
1 In describing “ cette glorieuse journde,” a writer in the Dictionaire Historique, says, “ La deroute est complete; I’ennemi, dans
le plus grand desordre, et frappe de terreur, trouve partout les baionnettes et la mort. Dix mille hommes se precipitent dans la mer;
ils y sont fusilles et mitrailles.” (Vol. i. p. 10.)
2 Napoleon has been severely censured for his desertion, as it is called, of his companions in arms. But his own answer appears to
be quite decisive. “ Napoleon,” says he, “ returned to France, 1st, Because his instructions authorized him to do so ; he had carte-
blanche in all respects: 2rf/y, Because his presence was necessary to the republic: ‘Sdly, Because the army of the Last, which was
victorious and numerous, could not, for a long time, have any enemy to contend with ; and because the first object of the expedition
was accomplished : the second could not be attained so long as the frontiers of the republic should be menaced, and anarchy should
prevail in the interior.” (Memoirs, vol. ii. part 2, p. 212.) It Kleber had not been assassinated, and it Menou, than whom a less
military man never commanded, had not been at the head of the French army, Napoleon would probably have been spared the ie-
proach of deserting this army from a foresight of coming misfortunes. It is evident, indeed, that when he ieftF.gypt in August 1799,
he thought that country secured to France, and hoped one day to be able to realize the second object of the expedition. Kleber had
under his command 28,000 men, of whom 25,000 were in a condition to take the field; and there can be little doubt, we think, that,
at the head of such a force, he would have been able to maintain himself in the country.
492
EGYPT.
Egypt. But his enterprise proved unfortunate. Having descended
the Nile as far as El-Ganayur, he was repulsed by a divi¬
sion of the army of Upper Egypt, under the command of
General Morand; and being overtaken in his flight, his
camp was surprised at Samahout, a great number of Mam-
lukes were entirely cut off, two hundred camels with
spoils, a hundred horses, and a prodigious quantity of mi¬
litary implements, fell into the hands of the republicans;
and it was with the utmost difficulty that the bey himself
effected his escape. Thus signally defeated, Murad wan¬
dered through the inhospitable deserts of Upper Egypt
in search of an asylum and the means of subsistence. But
as he had proved an indefatigable enemy to the French,
and was dreaded even in his misfortunes, Desaix resolved
if possible to exterminate him ; and for this purpose he
caused two columns of infantry mounted on dromedaries
to be immediately organised, the one commanded by him¬
self in person, and the other by Adjutant-general Boyer.
On the 19th of October, after a forced march of three
days, these moveable columns overtook Murad in the de¬
sert of Sediman, and a combat immediately ensued. The
Mamlukes, animated with the hopes of gaining possession
of the dromedaries, fought with determined valour. But
their attack was met with such vigour on the part of the
French, that they were soon put to flight, and pursued
back to the deserts by their indefatigable antagonists.
On the 24th of September, a Turkish fleet of eighteen
vessels came to anchor before Damietta, and was so ra¬
pidly increased by constant reinforcements, that towards
the end of the subsequent month it amounted to fifty-three
vessels. This fleet was commanded by Sir Sidney Smith,
whose flag was hoisted on board of the Tigre. On the 1st
of November, four thousand Turks having effected a land¬
ing, wTere attacked by General Verdier at the head of only
a thousand men, and, notwithstanding their great supe¬
riority of numbers, were defeated with a loss of three
hundred men killed, eight hundred prisoners, including
Ismael Bey, the second in command, thirty-two stand of
colours, and five pieces of cannon. After a number of
other affairs, which were fought with various success, the
French seemed willing to evacuate Egypt upon certain
conditions ; and in December, General Kleber, upon whom
the chief command had devolved, made proposals of peace
to the grand vizir. These were communicated to Sir
Sidney Smith, and it was at length arranged that a con¬
ference should be held on board the Tigre, then at anchor
in the bay of Acre. Kleber appointed as commissioners
on the part of the French, General Desaix and M. Pous-
sielgue, who, towards the end of December, embarked for
the capital of Syria; but a gale of wind, which drove the
Tigre t;o sea, prevented the ship, for eighteen days, from
returning to the bay. The commissioners then made and
received certain propositions in writing, after which they
were landed ; and on the 24th of January 1800, these terms Eev
having been reduced into form, were mutually signed at
El-Arisch. By this convention1 it was stipulated That the
French army, with all its stores, artillery, and baggage
along with the ships of war and transports at Alexandria’
should be permitted to return to France unmolested by
the allied powers. But Vice-admiral Lord Keith, who
commanded in chief in the Mediterranean, refused to ra¬
tify the treaty entered into at El-Arisch ; and the French,
considering themselves as deceived and insulted, indig¬
nantly recommenced hostilities, and gained several advan¬
tages over the Turks. The British government, however,
becoming sensible of the advantage of clearing Egypt of
the enemy without bloodshed, at length agreed to accede
to the convention. But it was now too late. Kleber, in¬
dignant at the deception practised on him, had turned upon
the Turks at Heliopolis, routed the army of the grand
vizir with great slaughter, and driven the remains of it
into the desert of Syria; and Menou, who, on Kleber’s
assassination,2 had succeeded to the chief command, en¬
couraged by the hopes of receiving fresh supplies and
reinforcements from Europe, and considering that the
French had made themselves masters of all the strong
posts throughout Egypt, resolved to retain possession of
the country at every hazard, and to defend his positions
against any force which might be brought to oppose him.
Accordingly, after driving the wrecks of the grand vizir’s
army from Gaza, where they had endeavoured to rally,
and also threatening Syria with another inroad, he strong¬
ly fortified Alexandria, Damietta, dnd Rosetta, and not
only completed the lines which had been commenced at
Aboukir, but made several important additions, and put
every place into such a state of defence as enabled it to
bid defiance to any attack upon the part of the Turks.
In the mean time Great Britain was not idle. 'Having
organized an army destined to invade Egypt and compel
the French to evacuate that country, the command of it
was entrusted to Sir Ralph Abercromby, who had distin¬
guished himself both in the West Indies and in Holland.
In the beginning of March 1801 he appeared off Aboukir
Bay; but the weather having proved unfavourable, the
disembarkation of the troops did not commence until the
morning of the 8th. Meanwhile the French having march¬
ed from Alexandria, took up a position on the heights of
Aboukir, to oppose the landing of the British forces ; but,
by the admirable arrangements of the navy, the disem¬
barkation was effected in spite of all opposition, and the
enemy were dislodged from the sand-hills which com¬
manded the landing place, by the troops gallantly charg¬
ing up the heights the instant they were formed on the
beach. The action lasted two hours; but the French hav¬
ing only about four thousand men to oppose nearly three
times that number, were at length obliged to sound a re-
01 Napoleon affirms that “ intriguing persons had made Kleber sign” the “ capitulation” of El-Arisch (Memoirs, vol. ii. part 2, p.
214); and it is cei tain that the hrench officers generally were sick of the war in the East, and desirous to return to Europe. But as
to the assertion that Kleber negociated with the allies merely to gain time, and that he never intended to accede to the convention; an
assertion which has been reiterated in a great number ot works, from the Travels of 13r Clarke to the Memoirs of Bourrienne; it
betrays an entire ignorance of facts. Kleber had actually signed the capitulation, and was preparing to execute it on the part of the
b reach, when a notice arrived from Sir Sidney Smith that hostilities were to be continued in consequence of Lord Keith’s rejection
of the treaty. J his prompt intimation, alike honourable to Sir Sidney and worthy of the British character, was duly appreciated
Hle, ^rfn. " ken A became known to them that the Turks, apprised of the admiral’s refusal to ratify, intended to take advantage
or Kleber s ignorance, and to attack him whilst resting on his arms, in reliance on the faith of the treaty. The low morality of the
Osmanlees led them to regard the meditated act of treachery as perfectly allowable; and accordingly they never forgave Sir Sidney
for his generous integrity, considering him as one who had sacrificed their interests, if not betrayed their cause.
i nis gallant and experienced officer was treacherously assassinated by a janizary, whilst presenting a memorial for his perusal.
Suspicion at first fell on Menou, who, as a difference subsisted between him and Kltber, was supposed to have hired the assassin;
but the dying assertions of the murderer clearly established the injustice of this suspicion. If not impelled by mere fanaticism, the
assassin was most probably hired by the grand vizir; and the abominable treachery which the Turks are known to have contemplated,
after Ijord Keith s lefusal to execute the convention of El-Arisch, serves to countenance this supposition. The assassin himself was
impaled alive, his right hand was burned off, and his body was left to be devoured by birds of prey. Three sheikhs who were privy to
his designs, but did not divulge them, were also beheaded.
f
E G Y P T.
493
p pt. treat. The loss of the French on this occasion was esti-
mated at three thousand, and that of the British at fifteen
hundred men, in killed, wounded, and prisoners. A por¬
tion of the army then moved forward, and on the 13th a
sharp encounter took place, in which, owing partly to
ignorance of the country and the delusion created by the
mirage, several British regiments, including the 92d, suf¬
fered severely. But the battle which in a great measure
decided the fate of Egypt took place on the 21st of March,
about four miles from Alexandria. It began at daybreak,
by a false attack on the left of the British; but the ef¬
forts of the French were chiefly directed against the right
of their opponents, which they attempted to turn, and at
one time had nearly succeeded. Being at length repulsed,
however, they next attacked the centre, though with less
vivacity, and were here also defeated. None of these
attacks was made with sufficient continuity, or in a man¬
ner which deserved success, being rather partial onsets
than vigorous, decided, and sustained efforts directed to
the accomplishment of a definite object. Having failed
in his ill-directed attempts to penetrate the British line,
Menou at length retired upon Alexandria, leaving the
field of battle in possession of his adversaries. About two
hundred prisoners fell into the hands of the British ; but
as the latter were much inferior in cavalry to the enemy,
whose retreat was also covered by cannon planted on the
opposite heights, they were unable to pursue their advan¬
tage. The loss of the British was very considerable, but
the most irreparable part of it consisted in that of the
commander-in-chief, who was mortally wounded, and died
on the 28th. He was succeeded by General Hutchinson,
the second in command, to whom was committed the com¬
pletion of the conquest of Egypt.
The new commander-in-chief having invested Alex¬
andria, at length proceeded against the French, whom he
attacked on the 19th of May, near Rhamanieh, and forced
to retire towards Cairo. He had under his command four
thousand British troops, with an equal number of Turks
under the capitan pasha. He then directed his march
towards Cairo, from which the army of the grand vizir
was at this time distant only four leagues, and where the
main strength of the French army had now assembled.
With nine thousand chosen troops, the grand vizir, as¬
sisted by some British officers then in his camp, gained
an advantage over a body of from four to five thousand
French; Damietta soon fell into the hands of the allies;
and the successor of Murad Bey, who had died of plague,
having declared in favour of the British, joined General
Hutchinson with fifteen hundred cavalry. Belliard, who
commanded in Cairo, satisfied that without reinforce- Egypt,
ments from Europe the war could not be prosecuted
with any prospect of success, now proposed terms of ca¬
pitulation ; and, on the 27th of June, a convention was
accordingly concluded, by which the French agreed to
evacuate Cairo, on condition of being sent to France, with
their arms, cannon, baggage, and colours, without being
made prisoners of w ar. But Alexandria, which was strict¬
ly blockaded by General Coote, still held out; and Me¬
nou had somewhat hastily expressed a determination to
bury himself in the ruins rather then surrender. Such
vows, however, being generally made with a tacit mental
reservation, are seldom observed with literal fidelity. A
regular bombardment was commenced by the ships in the
harbour, and the batteries on land J the defences began
to give way; a practicable breach was made ; and the
besiegers were about to make preparations for the assault,
when Menou, who evidently waited for the moment when
he might yield without dishonour, signified his readiness
to listen to terms. A convention was accordingly entered
into, and on the 2d of September the garrison capitulat¬
ed on nearly the same conditions which had been granted
to General Belliard at Caito.
It is not a little remarkable in itself, and may serve to
illustrate the wisdom with which the affairs of this country
w'ere then managed, that after the campaign of 1801,
which cost Britain several millions sterling, ten thousand
of her best soldiers, and the commander-in chief of her
army, General Belliard at Cairo, and General Menou at
Alexandria, obtained almost the same capitulation which
Kleber, twenty months before (24th January 1800), had
signed at El-Arisch ; in other words, all these sacrifices
had been made to bring about the same result which, but
for the inexplicable opposition of Lord Keith, Sir Sidney
Smith would have effected without the expenditure of a
guinea or the loss of a single life. If ever glory w'as bar¬
ren, therefore, that which the British had gathered in the
expulsion of the French deserves such a qualifying epithet.
But, however this may be, Egypt, after having been for
more than two years the theatre of almost incessant con¬
flicts, was once more reduced under the government of
Turkey, and obliged to acknowledge the authority of the
Ottoman Porte ; a result, we may add, which proved as
evanescent as all the other objects of British policy re¬
garding that country.
•It would indeed be difficult to give any satisfactory ac¬
count of the views which Great Britain at this period en¬
tertained regarding Egypt. Her policy was too vacillat¬
ing to be reconciled with any fixed principle of action.
1 When General Hutchinson marched for Cairo, leaving General Coote to blockade Alexandria, the latter officer, wishing to
strengthen his position, and shorten the line of the blockade, had recourse to an expedient which wisdom and humanity must alike
condemn. In the pocket of General Itoiz, who had been killed in the action of the 21st of March, there was found a letter written by
Menou, expressing an apprehension that the British would cut the embankment along which was carried the canal of Alexandria,
and thereby admit the waters of the sea into Lake Mareotis, From this moment the project unhappily suggested in this letter be¬
came a favourite object with the army. By securing the left and part of the front, the duty would be lessened, the French cut off
from the interior, and a new scene of operations opened: these were the military advantages which the execution of this project
would ensure, and the army thought of nothing else. But there were nevertheless grave objections to the measure. The mischief it
wight do was incalculable ; the Arabs could give no information where the sea, if once let in, could be checked ; and the ruin of Alexan¬
dria might probably be the consequence. Besides, it was argued that the inundation, whilst it covered the British left, would also
secure the French front, except from a new landing. But every consideration yielded to the supposed urgency of the service, which
superseded all remoter considerations ; and the measure was determined on. To comprehend the precise nature of- the operation,
however, it is necessary to attend to the natural formation of the country. To the south and westward of Alexandria extends a val-
loy, running in the latter direction upwards of forty miles, and forming the bed of the ancient Lake Mareotis. Of this hollow space
a large portion was under the level of the sea, which, therefore, was only prevented flowing into it by the dike or embankment along
which runs part of the canal from the Nile to Alexandria. General Coote accordingly directed four cuts of six yards in width, and
ten yards asunder, to be made in this embankment; and his orders were executed with the zeal and alacrity generally displayed in
the work of authorized destruction. When the fascines which protected the workmen were removed, the water rushed in with a fall
0 'learly seven feet, and with such force that the portions of the dike intervening between the cuts were all washed away; yet
although the whole breach widened to the extent of a hundred yards, it was nearly a month before the valley filled and the water
aund its level. Thus a work which formed the pride as it had ever been the peculiar care of Egypt, which it had required the labour
a ages to construct and consolidate, and which all former invaders, however barbarous, had spared, was in a few hours destroyed by
1 *6 ruthless hands of British soldiers. (Stewart’s Military Service of the Highland Regiments, vol. i. p. 482, 2d edition.)
EGYPT.
494
Egypt. At first she seemed disposed to establish her power in
that country ; then she renounced all idea of such an es¬
tablishment ; her ambassador at Constantinople applaud¬
ed the destruction of the Mamlukes ; then hopes were
held out by her to the Beys, and whilst she neglected to
apprise them of the danger which impended over them,
she sought to save them when their ruin was inevitable.
But the Beys merited different treatment. They had re¬
solutely opposed the French from the first moment of the
invasion, and by the heavy losses which they had sustain¬
ed in this unequal contest, their power was so far reduced
as to leave them in some measure at the mercy of the
Turks. In assisting to expel the French from Egypt they
had thoughtlessly sacrificed their own means of self-de¬
fence. But this circumstance gave them an undoubted
claim to the protection of the British, whose allies they
had been in the contest; and their claim was distinctly
recognized by General Hutchinson, who interposed in their
behalf, and exerted himself to procure for them the most
favourable terms. The Capitan Pasha, however, had vowed
their destruction, and, as usual with Turks, he set about the
accomplishment of his object by means of dissimulation
and treachery.
Pretending to enter into the views of General Hutchin¬
son, who insisted that their rights and dignities should
be restored to the Mamlukes, on condition of their paying
the usual tribute to the sultan, Hassan reinstated Ibrahim
Bey, who was now at the head of their affairs (Murad hav¬
ing fallen a victim to the plague), in his former office of
Sheikh-el-Belled ; he also lavished favours and caresses
on the other chiefs, and sought by every means to gratify
their pride, and, above all, to allay their suspicions. In
this he was but too successful. Hassan enacted his part
so well, and seemed so sincere in his professions, that these
rough soldiers, forgetting all the lessons of former expe¬
rience, suffered themselves to be led as it were blindfold
into the snare which had been so artfully prepared for
them. Accordingly, having so far attained his object,
the Capitan Pasha invited the principal Beys of the house
of Murad, including Osman Bey Tambourgi, Osman Bey
Bardissi, Murad Bey Soghayr, and several others, to visit
his camp at Aboukir. After some hesitation, they resolv¬
ed to accept of Hassan’s proffered hospitality, and repair¬
ed to Aboukir, where they were received with every mark
of honour and distinction. Their tents were placed in the
demilune formed by the encampment of the troops, and
pleasure and amusement were the order of the day. The
time passed in paying visits of ceremony, and in military
promenades, and already a month had elapsed without
their receiving from the Capitan Pasha so much as even
a hint of his intentions respecting them, or of the object
of his invitation. This long silence alarmed them, and
they expressed their fears to General Hutchinson ; but
that officer, never suspecting the atrocity which Hassan
was meditating, assured them of the friendly dispositions
of the pasha, and the good intentions of the Porte, to¬
wards them. This assurance, however, was not sufficient
to quiet their fears ; their distrust increased every instant;
and several had resolved to quit the camp without taking
leave of the pasha, and to return to Cairo.
But the crisis was at hand. Whilst matters were in this
state, the Capitan Pasha and the Beys were invited to an
entertainment to be given at Alexandria on the occasion
of General Hutchinson’s resigning the command to Lord
Cavan, prior to his departure from Egypt. On the morn¬
ing of the day appointed for the festival the pasha had
the Beys to breakfast in his tent; and, after the repast, Egy
the whole party embarked on board some boats which had w)
been provided for the occasion. The pasha went in his
own cutter with the Beys and some of their Mamlukes,
whilst the other boats were appropriated to the officers of
his suite. When they had proceeded to a short distance,
the Capitan Pasha perceived a light skiff rapidly approach¬
ing : “ There,” said he to the Beys, “ are doubtless dis¬
patches for me from Constantinople.” Anon the skiff came
alongside, and a packet was handed to the pasha, which
he immediately broke open, and, on pretence of reading
his dispatches more at leisure, stepped on board the small
boat, which immediately dropped astern. Meanwhile the
other boats proceeded on their course, the skiff following
at a great distance ; when, on entering the lake of Abou¬
kir, the Beys suddenly discovered before them three large
sloops filled with soldiers armed and ready for action.
They now saw that they had been betrayed, and accord¬
ingly prepared to defend themselves. Mohammed Bey
Manfoukh drew his sabre, and the rest followed his exam¬
ple ; the sloops opened their fire, and these brave men
fought like lions against the Turkish soldiers ; but in this
unequal contest valour proved unavailing against numbers;
and discharges of artillery and musketry hurled destruc¬
tion amongst the boats. Osman Bey Tambourgi, Murad
Bey, Osman Bey el Achkar, Ibrahim Kiaya Sennary, and
several Mamlukes, were killed ; whilst Osman Bey Bardissi
and Ibrahim Bey Hussein w ere severely wounded. Those
who escaped the massacre were taken prisoners, and car¬
ried on board the ship of the Turkish vice-admiral, where
they were compelled to swear on the Koran that they
would not demand to be given up to the British, and would
remain in the hands of the Turks.
When the newrs of this catastrophe reached Alexandria,
General Hutchinson dispatched General Stuart to the Ca¬
pitan Pasha to reproach him with his abominable treach¬
ery ; and at the same time the British army left its camp,
and formed in order of battle opposite the Turks. The re¬
sentment of the troops knew no bounds, and they burn¬
ed to avenge so sanguinary a violation of the laws of hos¬
pitality. But the Capitan Pasha, alarmed at this demon¬
stration, lost no time in complying with the demands of
the British general; the prisoners and the wounded were
landed and conveyed to Alexandria; and to those who
had fallen the British army rendered the honours of mili¬
tary sepulture.1 The pasha then sent Isak Bey, his inter¬
preter and confidant, to endeavour to pacify the British
general, who had been greatly exasperated at the treach¬
ery of the Turk, and who, in a conversation which ensued
with the envoy, described the conduct of his master in the
only language fitted to characterize its atrocity.
As soon as the objects of his expedition had been at¬
tained, Hassan, not chusing to winter in the open road of
Aboukir, made the necessary preparations for embarking
the troops under his command, and having broken up his
camp, set sail for Constantinople. After his departure,
Mohammed Kusruf, his favourite *slave, who had been ap¬
pointed pasha of Cairo, repaired to the capital in order to
assume the reins of government. A Georgian by birth,
this minion of fortune had owred his elevation to his plau¬
sible manner’s and artful flatteries; but, from want of pru¬
dence and knowledge of mankind, he soon showed himself
unequal to the station to which he had been raised, and his
inexperience proved the cause of his subsequent misfor¬
tunes. As soon as he had taken possession of his pashahk,
Kusruf commenced military operations against the Mam-
1 Mengin, Histoire de I'Egypte sous le Gouvernemcnt de Mohammed-Aly, vol. i. pp. 13-16. Zeitschriftfur Kunst und Gesch. da Kricg-
January and February 1331. Abrege de VHistoire des Mamlottks, Bulletin des Sciences Militaires, vol. x- p. 219.
* 3
EGYPT.
t Ju|ces> wlio, having rallied under Osman Bey Bardissi, had
JrV retired into Upper Egypt, their usual asylum, where they
set the pasha at defiance. Having failed to induce them
to return and fix their residence in the capital, the lat¬
ter dispatched into the Said a corps of six thousand Alba¬
nians under the command of Taher, their chief, assisted
by the celebrated Mehemmed AH, then beginning to rise
into power, with orders to seize Elfi Bey, and to dislodge
the Mamlukes. But this expedition proved abortive. Ta¬
her returned without effecting any thing of consequence,
and all attempts at negociation proved equally unavailing.
Emboldened by this failure, the Mamlukes descended into
the province of Fayoum, which they plundered, and ex¬
tending their ravages into the provinces of Minyeh and
Benisouef, they at the same time threatened the capital
itself. In these circumstances, Yussuf Bey, kiaya of Kur-
sui1, having assembled a considerable force, and been join¬
ed by Taher with his Albanians, received orders to proceed
against the Mamlukes, and directed his march upon Da-
manhour, where part of them had encamped under the
command of Osman Bey Bardissi. A battle ensued in the
neighbourhood of this place ; the Mamlukes, with their
usual impetuosity, charged the left flank of the Turks,
which had been left uncovered ; the Turkish infantry, bro¬
ken by the shock, fell into irretrievable disorder, and the
sabres of the Mamlukes soon completed their overthrow.
The first charge decided the victory. The Turks were
miserably defeated, with the loss of about five thousand
men killed and wounded ; whilst the success of the Beys
cost them only between sixty and seventy men. But the
latter neglected to profit by their victory, and instead of
pushing directly for the capital, which was in no condi¬
tion to oppose them, they allowed the viceroy time to rally
the fugitives, and to place Cairo in a tolerable state of
defence.
The troops of Taher Pasha and of Mehemmed Ali, by
reason of their distance from the scene of action, had not
taken part in the battle of Damanhour, which in fact had
been fought by the Turks with only a part of their force,
and before the Albanians could join. This, however, did
not prevent Yussuf, who had escaped the sabres of the
Mamlukes, from attributing the loss of the battle to the
cowardice or disaffection of Mehemmed Ali, who, as he
alleged, had treacherously kept back his troops ; and al¬
though the accusation appears to have been groundless,
it was not on that account disregarded by Kusruf, who
had already seen cause to dread the commanding talents
and aspiring character of this remarkable person, and
who, accordingly, resolved to avail himself of the pretext
thus offered in order to effect his destruction. An at¬
tempt was accordingly made to bring him to trial for ne¬
glect of duty; but ere this could be effected, there broke
out a revolt, which soon became a revolution, and which
in its ulterior consequences has exercised the most power-
lul influence upon the destinies of Egypt. Before pro¬
ceeding, however, to notice the circumstances attending
this memorable revolt, headed by Taher Pasha, we shall
interrupt the progress of the narrative for a little, and, in
order that the connection of events may be preserved, take
a retrospective survey of the origin, early fortunes, and
gradual rise to distinction, of the remarkable individual
who has so deeply impressed the great lineaments of his
character upon the history of Egypt.
Mehemmed Ali, viceroy of Egypt, is a native of Caval-
la, an obscure village in llumelia, a district of Albania.
Having lost his father in early life, he entered the service
ot the governor of his native town, under whom he ap¬
pears to have received that species of training which qua¬
lifies a man to rise in such a country as Turkey, where
energy, intrepidity, and expertness in the use of arms, are
495
considered as the most valuable accomplishments. He Egypt-
commenced his career as a subordinate tax-gatherer, an
office to which his activity had recommended him; and,
in the discharge of his duty, he soon gave proofs of that
decision of character and of those resources of mind for
which he afterwards became so distinguished, exacting
the money he was ordered to raise with most impartial
rigour, and not sparing the blood nor even the lives of the
unhappy peasantry over whom his fiscal jurisdiction ex¬
tended, when they attempted, as sometimes happened, to
resist his demands. It has been said that the youth is fa¬
ther to the man ; and, upon the same principle, the Rume-
liot tax-gatherer may be described as father to the future
pasha and viceroy. On one occasion, the inhabitants of
a village having refused payment of the tax imposed on
them, at first threatened, then resisted, and at last broke
out into open revolt. Alarmed at this unusual boldness,
and dreading the effect of the example, the governor
sent for Mehemmed, who at once undertook to reduce
them to obedience. Having assembled a few men, whom
he hastily armed, the young collector accordingly pro¬
ceeded at their head to the refractory village, where, hav¬
ing announced that he was charged with a secret mission,
he entered a mosque, and summoned the principal inha¬
bitants to meet him in the house of prayer. Not suspect¬
ing any violence, the heads of the village obeyed his sum¬
mons ; but no sooner had they come within the walls than
he ordered them to be bound hand and foot, and imme¬
diately set off with his captives for Cavalla, pursued by
the villagers, whom, however, he overawed by threaten¬
ing, in case they made any attack, to put their friends to
instant death. This vigorous proceeding, evincing a cha¬
racteristic union of conduct and firmness, procured for
him the rank of Bulukbashi, and a rich wife, a relative of
his patron the governor. He next became a dealer in to¬
bacco and other merchandise, a business which he is under¬
stood to have followed with considerable success ; and as
mercantile pursuits are not held in Turkey to be incom¬
patible with military duties, Mehemmed, ever careful not
to neglect the latter, gradually worked his way up to that
degree of consideration which gained him the command
of the contingent of troops furnished by his native dis¬
trict to the army with which Turkey was then preparing to
defend Egypt against the French. In 1798, Bimbashi or
Major Mehemraed Ali reached Egypt with his contingent
of three hundred Albanians, and from the day of his land¬
ing in that country his rise was uniform and constant.
This command, which opened the field of future greatness
to Ali, has been attributed by some to the fact of his hav¬
ing married a rich wife, just as the fortunes of Bonaparte
have, by a similar class of reasoners, been ascribed to the
accident which, in the same year, led to his union with
the widow of General Beauharnois.
Not long after his arrival in Egypt, the Rumeliot tax-
gatherer and tobacconist, by his gallant conduct on the
field of battle, attracted the particular notice of the pasha,
who recommended him to Kusruf, the governor of Cairo.
This was his first step towards advancement in that coun¬
try where he was destined ere long to establish an un¬
disputed supremacy of power. Af ter the massacre of the
Mamlukes at Aboukir, he became a general of division in
the army of Yussuf Bey, and was marching at the head of
his division towards Damanhour, when the precipitation of
Yussuf brought on the battle with the insurgent Mamluke
chiefs, which terminated so fatally for the Turks. Yus¬
suf, as we have already seen, attributed his miserable de¬
feat to the alleged misconduct or disaffection of Mehem¬
med, whom he accused of having purposely delayed the ad¬
vance of his division ; and the charge, whether groundless
or not, was entertained by Kusruf, now pasha of Egypt,
496
EGYPT.
Egypt, who accordingly resolved to expel the young Albanian
general from that country. But he little kneW the cha¬
racter of the person with whom he had to deal. The pay
of the troops being considerably in arrear, they applied for
redress to the pasha, who referred them to the defterdar, or
minister of finance ; but the latter being in no condition to
satisfy their demands, told them to go toMehemmed Ali,
who, in his turn, assured them that he had not received a
piastre for the liquidation of their claims, and at the same
time encouraged them to persevere in their demand for
payment. Meanwhile the viceroy sent orders to Mehem-
med to appear before him in the night; but the latter,
not unacquainted with the object of such private inter¬
views, returned an answer stating that he would appear
on broad day in the midst of his troops. The danger of
the viceroy now became imminent. The soldiers demand¬
ed their arrears in an audacious tone, accompanied with
menaces, which Kusruf, reckoning on his means of repres¬
sion, had the imprudence to despise ; a revolt immediate¬
ly broke out; the artillery opened on the mutineers, who
replied by volleys of musketry directed against the palace
of the viceroy ; and a fierce conflict ensued. The soldiers
of Ali, w'ho had been cantoned in the environs of the capi¬
tal, now joined the insurgents, and the battle became ge¬
neral. At this moment, Taber Pasha, chief of the Albanians,
went to present himself before the viceroy, and to offer to be¬
come mediator between him and the exasperated troops.
But Kusruf refused to see him, and sent him orders to
return to his residence, without concerning himself about
what was passing. Taher, however, chose to follow a dif¬
ferent course. Repulsed by the viceroy, he now openly
took part with the mutineers ; and having, partly by force
and partly by stratagem, obtained possession of the cita¬
del, he attacked the palace, whence the viceroy was soon
forced to fly with his wife and one or two attendants to
Mansoura. In short, the revolt speedily became a revo¬
lution, and the vice-regal power passed from the hands of
Kusruf to those of Taher Pasha.
But the power which the Albanian chief had acquired
by mutiny was soon lost by misconduct. Taher governed
only twenty-two days, during which brief space he com¬
mitted all sorts of injustice and cruelty, and in particular
caused two Coptic intendants and a merchant of Da¬
mascus to be decapitated. His career was cut short by
two Turkish bimbashis, who anticipated the wishes of the
Porte, which, on receiving intelligence of what had occur¬
red in Egypt, dispatched a couple of capidgis-bashis for
the head of Taher. The Mamlukes, seconded by Mehem-
med Ali, now entered Cairo, and having formed an alli¬
ance with the Albanians, the government reverted into the
hands of their chiefs, Ibrahim Bey and Osman Bey Bar-
dissi, in conjunction with Mehemmed. The new allies then
marched an army against Kusruf Pasha; besieged and
took Damietta, into which the viceroy had thrown him¬
self with his adherents; and having made the latter pri¬
soner, conducted him back to Cairo. Meanwhile the Porte
observing Egypt about to slip a second time through its
fingers, lost no time in dispatching a new pasha, Ali Ge-
zalrli, to assume the direction of affairs; but as soon as
the intelligence of his arrival reached the confederate
chiefs, they quitted Damietta, marched against the intrud¬
er, and soon forced him to take refuge within the walls
of Alexandria. Whilst matters were in this state, discord
arose between the Mamlukes and Albanians. The latter
demanded their pay, which had fallen into arrear, from
Osman Bey Bardissi, and not receiving any satisfactory
answer, they quitted the camp at Da manhour, and return¬
ed to Cairo under the conduct of Mehemmed Ali. Os¬
man Bey Bardissi made the same movement with his
Mamlukes, and returned to Cairo, where he resumed the
direction of affairs. Profiting by this disunion, Ali Qe- V
zairli summoned the rebels to submit to his authority*
and, to his great surprise, the summons was obeyed. Fulj ^
of hope, and conceiving he had now the ball at his feet
Ali set out for Cairo at the head of a considerable force’
instead of an escort merely, as had been agreed on. But
the Mamlukes and Albanians, apprised of his design, took
up a position at Chalakan, near the Nile, where’they
awaited the arrival of the pasha. Ali here attempted to
negociate, and even tried to draw over to his side some of
the commanders of the confederate insurgents; but these
men, aware that they had gone too far to recede, treated
his advances with disdain ; and the Mamlukes having
charged with their usual impetuosity, overthrew the pa¬
sha’s force in an instant, and put to death Ali himself,
whom they overtook in his flight from the field of battle.’
As the undisputed ascendency of the Mamlukes might
in the end have proved fatal to designs which Mehemtned
Ali was now cherishing, the wily Albanian, who knew that
he was an object of dread and suspicion both to Turks and
Mamlukes, contrived to embroil Bardissi, the Hotspur of
the Beys, with some of his associates, and to fan the flame
of that discord which he had artfully kindled. These im¬
petuous and headstrong men fell into the snare which had
been laid for them ; they went to war amongst themselves,
and sought to exterminate one another, whilst Mehemmed
took care to keep alive the disunion by which he was so
soon to profit. At length, on the 12th of March 1801, he
threw off the mask, attacked Bardissi and Ibrahim in their
palaces, whence these brave men cleared a passage with
their swords; and recognized Kusruf, whom he took out
of prison in the citadel, as pasha of Egypt, intending, no
doubt, to use the latter as an instrument for promoting his
own ends. But shortly afterwards he again expelled the
unfortunate viceroy, who was promptly replaced by Kur-
sebid Pasha. Meanwhile the Beys having taken refuge in
Upper Egypt, commenced war against the Turks and Al¬
banians; and Elfi Be}r, who had been for some time in
England, having by this time returned, joined his brethren
in arms; but his counsels, though they served to delay,
could not avert the fate which now impended over the
Mandukes. An order issued by the Porte for the return
of the Albanians to their own country, brought on the
crisis which had been long prepared. Mehemmed, whose
designs were in a great measure matured, disobeyed the
mandate, upon the pretext that his services were still ne¬
cessary to repress the audacity and insubordination of the
Mamlukes. The people of Cairo rose, and the sheikhs
and ulemas having proclaimed Mehemmed Ali their pasha,
demanded his confirmation of the Porte, which was grant¬
ed. The Mamlukes were now summoned to submit to the
new governor; and as they hesitated or refused, a snare
was laid for them which proved fatal to many of their num¬
bers. Some sheikhs and Albanian captains with whom
the governor maintained a secret understanding, having
opened a communication with the Mamluke chiefs, pro¬
mised to deliver up to them the gates of Cairo on the
day of the festival of the inundation of the Nile. Ac¬
cordingly, on the 18th of August 1805, a large party of
Beys, who were devastating the environs of the city, pene¬
trated into the suburbs, and, meeting with no resistance,
entered Cairo itself, where all appeared equally tranquil.
Nothing was heard but the sound of their martial instru¬
ments, whilst the terrified inhabitants, having shut them¬
selves up in their houses, left the streets completely de¬
serted. Dividing their numbers into two parties, they
advanced resolutely, anticipating only a triumph; when,
all of a sudden, as soon as they had become entangled in
the narrow streets of the city, a rattling fire of musketry
opened upon them from the houses in which their ene-
EGYPT.
jr.pt. mies were concealed, and whence destruction showered
upon their ranks. Recovering from the astonishment
created by this unexpected reception, they rushed towards
the gates of the city; but these having been shut im¬
mediately after their entrance, all retreat was cut off, and,
with the exception of a small party who by some means
contrived to make their escape, the wdiole perished under
the musketry of an unseen enemy.
Ibrahim and Bardissi, more distrustful than their asso¬
ciates, had not participated in the imprudence to which
so many of their number had fallen victims,' and having
retired into Upper Egypt, the ordinary refuge of the con¬
quered, they defeated the troops of the pasha, and pre¬
vented the collection of the imposts; whilst Elfi, the most
powerful of the Beys, reigned in Fayoum, Ghizeh, and
part of Lower Egypt. Mehemmed Ali at the head of a
body of troops followed their movements as far as the
confines of the province of Keloubyeh ; but finding all his
efforts unavailing against so active and enterprising an
enemy, he returned to Cairo. The contest between Ali
and the Mamlukes continued to be carried on with vari¬
ous fortune, though, upon the whole, to the advantage of
the new governor; when the policy of England, the hat¬
red of Kurschid towards the pasha, the influence of the
gold of Elfi Bey at Constantinople, and the suspicions
entertained of Mehemmed, determined the Porte to re¬
establish the government of the Mamlukes. Accordingly,
on the 1st of July 1806, Saleh, capitan pasha, arrived at
Alexandria with 3000 men of the Nizam-jedid, and or¬
dered Mehemmed to quit Egypt for the pashalik of Sa-
lonica. A capidgi-bashi was also dispatched to Cairo to
command the attendance of Ali at Alexandria, where, it
was pretended, he would be formally invested with his new
government. But the Rumeliot peasant was not the man
to fall into so obvious a snare. Having worked his way to
the eminent station which he then occupied with only five
hundred men at his disposal, it was not likely that he would
descend from the vantage-ground on which he stood, when
surrounded by fifteen hundred resolute Albanians, ready
to die in his defence. Accordingly he appealed both to
the attachment of the people of Cairo, and to the affec¬
tion of the Albanians; nor did he appeal in vain. The
former declared loudly in his favour; and the latter, draw¬
ing their sabres, swore to conquer or die along with him.
“ Cairo,” said he, “ is to be publicly sold; whoever will
give most blows of the sabre will win it, and remain mas¬
ter. ’ In this coin his Albanians were quite prepared to
pay down the price of the Egyptian capital upon the short¬
est notice. But no actual collision took place. Elfi Bey,
who had promised fifteen hundred purses (L.30,000 ster-
ling) to the grand vizir, failed to perform his engagement;
dissensions broke out between him and the other Beys,
who dreaded lest the protection of England should render
him too powerful; and the Porte, finding itself on the eve
of a war with Russia, was in no condition to engage in a
contest in Egypt. Saleh accordingly received instructions
to treat with the pasha upon the principle of recognizing
his power; and shortly afterwards Mehemmed Ali receiv¬
ed from the Porte his formal investiture as viceroy of
Egypt. Seeing all his hopes thus frustrated, Bardissi died
of grief at Monfalou, Elfi Bey soon followed him to the
tomb, and his troops having disbanded, part of them en¬
tered the service of the viceroy, whose force was further
increased by a battery of ten pieces of English artillery
served by European cannoniers.1
The remains of the Mamlukes, who, as usual, had taken
s tieiter in Upper Egypt, did not now exceed two thousand
497
five hundred horsemen, exclusively of the Arabs their Egypt,
allies; and the viceroy was preparing to proceed against
them, in the hope of effecting their extermination, when
he received dispatches from Constantinople, announcing
the commencement of hostilities between Great Britain
and the Ottoman Porte, and soon afterwards found him¬
self called to contend with a new enemy. The English
ministry having resolved to send a second expedition to
EgypC a body of about five thousand men from Sicily
landed near Alexandria on the 17th and 18th of March
1807, the whole being under the command of Major-Ge¬
neral Mackenzie Fraser. The object of this ill-fated ex¬
pedition was to unite with the Beys, and, by their assist¬
ance, to prevent Egypt from falling again into the hands
of the hrench, whose ambassador at Constantinople was
understood to exercise a predominating influence in the
politics of the Divan. But whatever may have been the
views entertained by the British government, nothing
short of the most profound ignorance of the state of Egypt,
the broken and dispirited condition of the Mamlukes, and
the actual amount of the Turkish forces in that country,
can account for their sending out such a handful of men,
whom, if their calculations had been founded on the
slightest knowledge, they must have been sensible theyr
were exposing to almost certain destruction. The dis¬
embarkation of the troops was completed on the 18th,
and Alexandria, after a trifling resistance, surrendered on
the 20th of March. A strong detachment under Gene¬
rals Wauchope and Meade was then sent to take posses¬
sion of the fort and heights of Abou-Mandour, on the left
bank of the Nile, above Rosetta, and afterwards to occupy
Rosetta itself. The first part of this service was accom¬
plished without opposition ; and the second proved a mise¬
rable failure. Having imprudently carried his detachment
into the streets of Rosetta, which are only a few feet wide,
with high, flat-roofed houses on either side, pierced by
windows like loop-holes, and forming abetter defence to a
weak enemy than a walled town, Wauchope, who had been
allowed to enter without interruption, was suddenly as¬
sailed with vollies of musketry from every part, whilst
the troops were unable to return a single shot with any
effect, and, after an unavailing struggle, were forced to
retire with the loss of nearly three hundred officers and
soldiers killed and wounded. General Wauchope paid for
his temerity with his life, and General Meade was wound¬
ed. This repulse disconcerted the whole enterprise, and
the troops retired to Aboukir, whence they were ordered
to Alexandria. But the general being still anxious, if
possible, to get possession of Rosetta, he resolved to make
a second and more methodical attempt to carry that town.
Batteries were accordingly constructed; a line was taken
up between the Nile and the gate of Alexandria; a chain
of posts was established between Lake Etko and El Ha¬
mad ; and when all was ready the batteries opened against
the town. But their fire made little or no impression on
the heavy and strong masses of building; the Turks and
Albanians gave themselves no concern about the fate of
the inhabitants, who were the principal sufferers; and as
the houses contained scarcely any furniture, all attempts
to set the town on fire proved abortive. At this period
much was expected from the co-operation of the Mam¬
lukes, who, it was thought, would descend from Upper
Egypt and keep the Turks and Albanians in check; but,
like all the other calculations connected with the expedi¬
tion, this proceeded upon utter ignorance of the real state
of affairs, and was destined to encounter speedy and se¬
vere disappointment. The enemy daily increasing in num-
Vol^vih VHnt°ire dCS Mamlouks- Bulletin des Sciences Millt. tom. x. p. 222. Zcitschrift fur Kunst und Gesch. dcs Kricg. 1831.
3 R
498
EGYPT.
Egypt.
bers and boldness, surrounded and cut off the post at El
Hamad, which had been placed beyond the reach of sup¬
port ; the others, being similarly circumstanced, speedily
shared the same fate ; and no alternative remained but
to retire to Alexandria, in the face of a victorious enemy,
with a powerful cavalry, of which he boldly but ineffec¬
tually endeavoured to avail himself. The retreat was
ably covered by Colonel, now Lieutenant-General Sir John
Oswald, with the remains of the 35th and 78th regiments,
whose firm front and steady fire checked the advance of
the enemy, particularly at Etko, where he suffered a sharp
repulse, and discontinued all further attacks. The troops
remained at Alexandria until the 22d of September, when
the whole embarked for Sicily. In this wretchedly-plan¬
ned and worse-conducted expedition, which tarnished the
glory of the British arms on the very ground where six
years before they had triumphed over the veteran soldiers
of France, the loss was necessarily great; and the prisoners
were treated with every species of contempt and barbari¬
ty, whilst no less than four hundred and fifty heads of
their comrades who had fallen were publicly exposed at
Cairo.1
The evacuation of Egypt by the English proved a stun¬
ning blow to the Mamlukes, who, seeing all hope of re¬
gaining their former ascendency at an end, sunk into a
state of extreme discouragement, and sought to forget
their misfortunes by abandoning themselves to miserable
and degrading pleasures. Their military ardour seemed
in a great measure quenched; they had no longer any
success against their enemies, yet their pride prevented
them from making a tender of submission. They felt that
resistance was hopeless, yet they shrunk from any acknow¬
ledgment of the weakness of which they were but too
conscious. Matters were in this state when Mehemmed,
moved only by considerations of policy, resolved upon
their final destruction. Menaced at once by the Bedou¬
ins and the Mamlukes, he could not advance a step in any
direction without danger. His people, incessantly pillag¬
ed and ransomed, were ready to break out into open
revolt; whilst, to add to his embarrassments, the Porte,
seconded by all true Moslemins, pressed him to march
against the Wahabis, who had seized upon the holy cities
of Mecca and Medina, and put to scorn the armies of
Persia and Turkey. He saw that he might beat the Mam¬
lukes, but he could not destroy them as long as they
could retire to the desert and live at the expense of the
inhabitants; and, on the other hand, whilst he was no
stranger to the motive which induced the Porte to urge
him to engage in an expedition against the fierce secta¬
ries of the Arabian desert, which, it was confidently hop¬
ed, would end in his destruction, he was convinced that
a refusal on his part to march against the enemies of the
true faith, and to attempt the deliverance of the holy cities,
would for ever ruin him in the opinion of all good believ¬
ers. In these circumstances, and impelled by the most
powerful motives, he resolved to prepare the way for the
distant enterprise prescribed to him, by exterminating the
enemy at his doors.2
But in order to succeed in his object, it was necessary
to draw the Mamlukes to some place whence flight might
be impossible; and in laying the snare the utmost caution
and prudence were requisite, as a single false step, or the
slightest precipitation, on his part, would have alarmed the
suspicions of his intended victims, and baffled the whole
scheme. Mehemmed accordingly commenced by gaining
over to his side Selahin Elfi, whom he appointed com¬
mandant of Ghizeh, and loaded with valuable presents. £<?■
The Mamlukes could not resist the effects of this ex- ^ g'
ample; all of them sighed after Cairo, and wished to ex¬
change their wandering and comfortless mode of life for
the pleasures of the capital. The aged Ibrahim warned
them of the fate which awaited them, if, without due pre¬
caution, they placed themselves in the power of the perfi¬
dious pasha; and the projects of the latter were several
times baffled by the cautious and experienced Bey. But
the profound dissimulation and artful management of
Mehemmed ultimately prevailed over the admonitions of
the veteran chief; and, about the beginning of 1811, the
greater part of the Beys, with their suites, repaired to
Cairo. Here they celebrated in festivities the remem¬
brance of their ancient power, and appeared even to brave
the pasha himself, who, having assembled an army to
march against the Wahabis, was preparing to review it
previously to its departure. At length the first of March
arrived. This was the day named for the investiture of
Toussoun, the viceroy’s favourite son, upon whom the
Porte had conferred the dignity of pasha of two tails,
and who had been appointed by his father to the com¬
mand of the army destined to serve in Arabia. Four per¬
sons only were admitted into the secret. At the time ap¬
pointed, all the grandees, military chiefs, and Mamlukes,
arrayed in their splendid uniforms, proceeded to the cita¬
del, and were ushered into the hall of audience, where
they offered their congratulations to the pasha, who re¬
ceived them with great apparent affability. When the ce¬
remony had concluded, the signal for departure was made
by the viceroy, and the column, in the midst of which
were the Mamlukes mounted on their superb chargers,
descended by a narrow road cut out of the rock, and
leading from the citadel to the gate of El Azab and the
square of Roumeyleh. As soon as the head of the column
had entered Cairo, the gate of El-Azab was shut, and the
chief of the Albanians, Saleh-Koch, apprized his soldiers
in a few words that the pasha commanded them to ex¬
terminate the Mamlukes. Without uttering a single word
the Albanians immediately ascended the steep sides of
the road, which they promptly lined; and scarcely had
this moment apprized the Mamlukes of the danger which
menaced them, when a terrible fire was directed against
them from the ramparts of the citadel, as well as from the
heights which commanded the road. Confined in this
gulf, into which there now rained a deluge of fire, the Mam¬
lukes sprung from their horses, which became unmanage-
ble; tore away the lower garments which impeded their
movements; and attempted, in their turn, to mount the
rocky acclivities on either side of the road. But all their
efforts were unavailing. Half-naked, with their sabres in
their hands, they clambered up the heights, and died fran¬
tic with rage and despair at not being able to reach their
enemies.
Scarcely had the column begun to defile from the cita¬
del when the pasha’s movements betrayed his anxiety;
and on hearing the first discharges of musketry his agita¬
tion redoubled, his visage became deadly pale, and his lips
quivered. It was indeed a terrible moment. He knew
the value of his enemies; success might be doubtful; his
orders might not be well executed; the frantic energy of
despair might overthrow all his combinations. He was in
the very crisis of his fate; his own existence and that of
his family depended on the issue of the combat, which he
had so treacherously commenced; and no safety remained
for him except in the complete execution of the general
1 Stewart’s Military Service of the Highland Regiments, vol. ii. p. 274, 277> Mengin, Hist, de VEgypte, tom. i. p. 280, 281.
2 IVTeugin. Russell. Bulletin dcs Sciences MUit. ubi supra. Zeitschrift, &c. 1831.
»
EGYPT.
499
j pt. massacre which he had planned, not only in Cairo, but
^throughout all Egypt. Whilst matters remained in sus¬
pense, therefore, a thousand appalling apprehensions ap¬
pear to have arisen in his agitated mind. At length heads,
the usual signal of victory, were brought, and laid at his
feet. But the sight of these bloody trophies, though it
appears to have somewhat abated his terrors, did not re¬
store serenity to his countenance. In a little time Men-
drici, one of the pasha’s physicians, entered his apartment,
and warmly congratulated him on the success of his en¬
terprise. “ The affair is finished,” said the Genoese, with
an air of gaiety ; “ this is a day of rejoicing for your high¬
ness.” Mehemmed made no answer to the heartless re¬
mark of the Italian, but looking around in a dark and sus¬
picious manner, seemed apprehensive lest some Mam-
luke, escaped from the carnage, should come to avenge
upon him the slaughter of his comrades. Twenty-three
Beys and more than a thousand Mamlukes were the vic¬
tims of this bloody day. Having finished their task of
butchery, the Albanians entered Cairo in triumph, and,
under the pretext of searching for Mamlukes, penetrated
into the houses and committed all sorts of excesses. For
two days the city was abandoned to pillage, and not less
than five hundred houses were sacked by the licentious
soldiery. At length Mehemmed descended from the
citadel with an escort, and, preceded by executioners,
traversed the city, where he re-established order, and re¬
ceived the felicitations of the sheikhs and the ulemas, over
the bloody corpses of his enemies.1
Such was the tragical scene which formed as it were the
denouement of the complicated drama of intrigue, dissi¬
mulation, treachery, and cruelty in which Mehemmed had
all along been the principal performer ; and thus was in a
great measure attained the object to which all his actions
had constantly tended, namely, the destruction of the
Mamlukes. The remains of this unfortunate militia, pur¬
sued by the viceroy’s troops, passed the Cataracts, and
threw themselves into Nubia ; but being quickly followed,
they were overtaken in their retreat, and again defeated
with great loss. Their repeated misfortunes, however, seem
at length to have restored to them somewhat of their ori¬
ginal energy ; for, issuing from the deserts, they afterwards
appeared in Dongola, and took possession of the country,
of which, however, they were only able to occupy a part.
Ibrahim, the oldest of the Beys, died at the age of eighty-
four. But the Mamlukes, though now reduced to a small
number, had not yet exhausted the hatred of Mehemmed.
His son Ismael, in carrying his arms into the interior of
Africa, attacked them once more in 1820, and compelled
them to abandon their new country. This was the finish¬
ing blow. The few who had escaped so many casualties
dispersed, and from this time the Mamlukes as a body
ceased to exist. Originally formed in the middle ages,
this intrepid cavalry ever afterwards entertained for in¬
fantry the contempt which that arm then merited; and its
fall is principally to be ascribed to the circumstance that,
whilst infantry had been greatly improved in discipline
and stability, it had neglected to make any corresponding
change either in its organization or manner of fighting.
Hence the French infantry wrested Egypt from its hands,
and the Albanian infantry completed its ruin. Still, con¬
sidered merely as a body of horse, the Mamlukes con¬
tinued to the last to maintain the reputation which they
had originally acquired, as at once the finest and most
daring cavalry which the world had ever seen.
The massacre of the Mamlukes, and the measures sub¬
sequently adopted for completing their destruction, hav¬
ing effectually secured the viceroy against all danger from
the enemies whom he most dreaded, he now found himself
at liberty to devote his attention to the state of affairs in
Arabia. Thither Toussoun Pasha had, as already stated,
been sent to command the army destined to act against the
Wahabis ;2 and the campaign, though somewhat inauspi-
ciously commenced, had already been attended with some
1 Mengin, Histoire dc, I'Egyptc sous Mahommed-Aly, tom. i. pp. 3G3, 364, et seqq.; Life and Adventures of Giovanni Finati, vol. i.
p. 101, et seqq.; Abrege dc VHistoire dcs Mamlouks; Bulletin, tom. x. pp. 223, 224. The account of the massacre, contained in the
“Adventures of Finati,” differs in some particulars from the less picturesque but probably more accurate account of Mengin, who
was on the spot at the time, and an eye-witness of part of the tragedy. In the text we have chiefly followed the Abrege, which ap¬
pears to have been compiled, with singular care and accuracy, from the best Suthorities.
Many anecdotes have been told of the conduct of the Mamlukes on this dreadful occasion ; but the most remarkable is that which
relates to Amim Bey, brother to the celebrated Elfi, and the only one of the Beys who escaped the massacre. Being detained by business,
lie was too late to occupy his proper place in the procession, and he only arrived in the citadel when the troops were defiling through
thegate on their return to the city. Having reined up his charger, he waited until the column had entered the hollow road, in¬
tending to join his own body ; but seeing the gate suddenly closed, and all retreat intercepted, whilst discharges of musketry imme¬
diately followed, the gallant chief, preferring to be dashed in pieces rather than to be slaughtered by concealed enemies whom it was
impossible to reach, urged the charger which he rode until the horse clambered upon the rampart, when, spurring the noble animal
to desperation, he leaped headlong down the precipice, a height of more than forty feet. The horse was killed on the spot, but the
rider remained unhurt, and, having made his way into the city, at length succeeded in effecting his escape to Syria. The desperate
leap which Amim took from the parapet of the citadel has been compared to leaping out of a four-pair-of-stairs window. According
to another account, the Bey was received and sheltered by some Arabs, who, notwithstanding the offer of a large reward, refused
to deliver him up. (Finati, p. 64.)
2 In the year of the Hegira 1110, or of our era 1691, a sheikh of the village of El-Ayeyneh had a son, named Mohammed-Abd-el-
vfahab, whom he destined to succeed him. The youth was initiated by his father in the elements of Islamism, and afterwards sent to
college at Bassorah, there to complete his studies. Having finished his education, and performed the pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina,
he returned to his native country, but afterwards withdrew to Horymla, where he took unto himself a wife. In this new retreat he un¬
dertook to reform the manners of the inhabitants, who, however, far from relishing his maxims, forced him to take refuge amongst his
countrymen. But he did not remain long among the latter, having been banished by orders of the governor of the province of El-Has-
san, who was incensed at an act of barbarity which he had caused to be committed. In this conjuncture, Abd-el-Wahab accepted an
asylum which had been offered him at Derayeh or Deraeyeh, the capital of the Nedjd, by Mohammed-ebn-Souhoud; and it was in
tins city that he commenced the exposition of those principles of reform which were soon to exert so powerful an influence over Ara-
'a. Ihe emir Souhoud had calculated that, favoured by a change of religion, he might be enabled to extend his possessions; nor was
'e disappointed in his expectations. From all parts ardent sectaries came to offer their arms and their services to the inspired sheikh ;
and m a short time the villages of El-Ayeyneh, Horeymla, El-Ammaryeh, and Manfouah had received his doctrine. On his part,
ouhoud directed his views towards the Nedjd, and made incursions into the neighbouring provinces, most of which were attended
''ith success. The emir died in 1765, leaving the power to his son Abd-el-Aziz, who had already signalized himself in several mili-
exPe(l>fi°ns, the command of which had been entrusted to him by Ebn-Souhoud. This young prince, aided by his son, enlarged
he dominions which had been left to him by his father, and greatly increased the Wahabite power. He imposed tribute on his
neighbours, took possession of El-Ryad and El-Delem, seized on the province of El-Kharg, and ruled over all the surrounding tribes,
emg a witness of these triumphs, which ensured the success of his reform, and grateful for the services which Souhoud the son of
bd-el-Aziz rendered to his cause, Mohammed-Abd-el-Wahab collected the principal inhabitants of Derayeh, in order by their means
500
EGYPT.
K<o’pt. success. After the battle of Safra, Toussoun had been
compelled to retire to lambo; but having received rein¬
forcements from Egypt, he resumed the offensive, and ad¬
vanced towards Medina, of which he soon made himself
master. Having dispatched one of his officers to Con¬
stantinople with the keys of Medina, and large presents
of money, jewels, and coffee for the sultan, Mehemmed
set out in person for Arabia; and having crossed the Red
Sea, he proceeded to Djidda, where he was received with
the utmost kindness and hospitality by the Scherif Gha-
leb, in return for which the latter was arrested by order
of the pasha, deprived of his office, and sent as a prisoner
to Cairo, probably from a suspicion of entertaining trea¬
sonable designs. But whatever may have been the cause,
the palace of the scherif was plundered of immense trea¬
sures, part of which were applied to the support of the ar¬
my, and part also transmitted in the shape of presents to
the sultan. When the latter, however, came to understand
how these had been acquired, he dispatched a capidji with
a firman ordaining the viceroy to restore the property to
the rightful owner. From Djidda, Mehemmed proceeded
to Mecca, in order to pay his devotions at the shrine of
the Prophet; and having thus acquired the character of
Hadji, he assumed the command of the army, which, un¬
der Toussoun, had recently experienced some reverses,
His presence in the camp restored discipline and confi¬
dence among the troops ; disorder ceased, their spirits re¬
vived, and, anticipating victory under such a leader, they
longed for an opportunity of revenging their losses, and
obliterating the recollection of their defeats. Nor did it
suit the views of the viceroy to baulk their wishes in this
respect. As soon as he found himself in a condition to take
the field, he concentrated his forces, and marched against
the Wahabis, whom he routed and put to flight. The main
body of the Turkish army then entered the country of the
Nedjd, whilst Toussoun, at the head of a division, march¬
ed on El-Rass, which he took by a stratagem, but was
afterwards obliged to evacuate from want of provisions.
The Wahabis, finding that the fortune of war had thus
turned against them, now made proposals of peace; and,
with a view to a negociation, an armistice was agreed to.
But as it soon became evident that their principal object
was to gain time, Toussoun, who, in the interval, had re¬
ceived reinforcements and supplies of all kinds from Me¬
dina, resolved to march against the enemy and to give them
battle. This brought the latter to their senses; a nego- e .
ciation was opened, and as Mehemmed had urgent rea- /
sons for treating, peace was speedily concluded between
him and Abdallah-ebn-Souhoud, chief of the Wahabis-
after which the pasha immediately took his departure for
Egypt, where his presence had become necessary. In the
depths of the Arabian desert he had received intelligence
of the return of Napoleon from Elba; and as he foresaw
that this event would plunge Europe again into war, and
knew that, even to the moment of his fall, Bonaparte had
cherished the hope of recovering Egypt, he set out with
all haste from Medina, sailed from Djidda for Cosseir, and
arrived at Ghizeh on the 18th of June 1815, the day of
the battle of Waterloo. The following morning he made
his public entry into Cairo.
Mehemmed Ali, well aware that tactics often supply
the place of numbers, and that bravery without discipline
is alike unmanageable and unavailing against regular
troops, had long had the intention of clothing and instruct¬
ing his troops in the European manner; and indeed, from
the period of his first accession to power, he had encou¬
raged the formation and training of Turkish and Albanian
troops according to the Frank discipline. But it was only
after his return from Arabia that his determination was
manifested in a formal manner. Having secured the ser¬
vices of several French officers who had been trained in
the school of Napoleon, he repaired to Boulak on the 2d
of August, and, after some preparatory exhortations, he
began to exercise the troops of his son Ismael. These he
put through some evolutions, at the same time declaring
that he wished to establish among them the nizam-jedid,
and that whosoever should disobey his orders would be
severely punished and then expelled from the army. The
troops murmured, but Mehemmed remained firm. A regu¬
lar course of drilling was immediately commenced, and en¬
forced with all the rigour of oriental despotism, whilst the
success of his arms encouraged him to persevere. But
excessive pressure at length wrenched off the head of the
screw, and the spring recoiled with tremendous force.
The soldiers mutinied, murdered their officers, plundered
Cairo, and marched in a body towards the citadel for the
avowed purpose of putting Ali to death. Fortunately the
pillage of the bazars attracted their attention in the first
instance; the chiefs of the government, who were quite
unprepared for an attack, had time to recover from their
to ensure to this prince the succession of Abd-el-Aziz; and he died several years afterwards (14th June 1787), at the advanced age
of ninety-rive. Ilut this event did not diminish the zeal of the followers of his doctrine; and such was the terror which the Afgha¬
nis inspired on all sides, that the towns in the neighbourhood of Bassorah were obliged to implore the protection of the Pasha of Bag¬
dad, who, in 1786, caused a considerable army to march against the heretics. The troops of the pasha were however repulsed by
Souhoud, who, encouraged by this success, ventured the following year to make an incursion into the province of El-Irak, situated
between Bassorah and Bagdad, where he committed dreadful ravages with impunity. The Scherif Ghaleb, who had long struggled
i;1 rV? aSa),nst the growing powmr of these formidable enemies, was constrained to make peace with their chiefs; and Salem-ebn-
Schekban of I>yeheh felt himself equally obliged to submit to the prince of Derayeh. Intoxicated with these successes, Aziz now wished
to attack the Persians as well as the Turks; and accordingly he sent his son at the head of 20,000 men, who directed their march upon
Keibe.eh. On the 20th of April 1810, the AVahabis took possession of this city, which the Persians account sacred, as containing the
tomb of All, and put all the male inhabitants to the sword. Souhoud, thinking that he had not yet done enough, next directed his
march towards Mecca, forced the Scherif Ghaleb to fly, and interrupted the most sacred ceremonies of Islamism. Meanwhile the
saciilege which Abd-el-Aziz had committed in the eyes of the Persians did not pass unpunished ; for a fanatic having undertaken to
avenge the violation of the tomb of Ali, proceeded to Derayeh, and poignarded the prince whilst he was reciting his prayers in the
mosque. But Souhoud in his turn swore to avenge the death of his father. Accordingly, having assumed the chief command of the
H ahabis, he marched the following year against Bassorah, without being intimidated by the menaces of the Shah of Persia. The
Scherit Ghaleb thought the moment favourable for striking a blow in retaliation of the injury he had sustained; but the check
which his arms experienced constrained him to sue for peace ; and soon afterwards he was under the necessity of submitting entirely
to Souhoud. The latter, at the head of 40,000 men, now made a pilgrimage to Medina, in order at the same time to prevent the arrival
of the caravans; and left in that city one of his generals whom he appointed governor. From Medina he proceeded to Mecca, and
after having there piously fulfilled all the duties of the pilgrimage, he caused the tomb of the Prophet to be broken open, and unscru¬
pulously took possession of the riches it contained. Such acts of sacrilege, boldly committed, and frequently repeated, roused the
indignation of the whole Moslemin world; and the viceroy of Egypt was in consequence enjoined by the Porte, as above mentioned,
to inarch against the audacious heretics. I he Wahabis are a sect of Mohammedan Socinians, who regard all pilgrimages, relics,
ablutions, and other outward ceremonies or symbols, as rank idolatry, and who, professing the principles of pure deism, reduce the whole
duty of man as a religious being, to prayer and good works. (Mengin, Hist, de VEgyjptc sous le Gouverncmeiit dc Mohammed Aly^ tom. h
p. 378, et seqq. For an admirable account of the AVahabis, see also Anastasias.)
1
EGYPT. 501
surprise; and the pasha, apprised of the revolt while at
his palace of Ezbekyeh, caused arms and ammunition to
^ he distributed amongst the inhabitants of the Frank divi¬
sion of the capital. His palace was indeed attacked ; but
the guard, having thrown up entrenchments, repulsed the
assailants; artd the viceroy had previously quitted it for the
citadel, which he entered by the mountain gate, accompa¬
nied by a numerous escort. Here he was in comparative
safety; but he had nevertheless to endure many bitter
hours of anxiety and suspense ; and, as he could not know
how far the mutinous spirit had extended, nor confide even
in those around him, he must have felt that he was liable
every' moment to be dragged forth and torn in pieces.
When the fury of the revolt had somewhat exhausted it¬
self, and the sated indignation of the mutineers had mo¬
mentarily subsided, Mehemmed re-appeared ; and the full
force of his character may be understood from the union
of wisdom and firmness which he displayed on this criti¬
cal occasion. He showed neither fear nor anger, distrust
nor indignation; but immediately issued a proclamation,
pledging himself, if the troops would return to their duty,
to disdontinue the obnoxious system, to grant a general
amnesty, and to indemnify the merchants and inhabitants
who had been pillaged, for the losses they had sustained.
This declaration produced the desired effect; the troops
gladly availed themselves of the proffered pardon, coupled
as it was with the promised abandonment of the European
discipline; Cairo was restored to tranquillity; and as the
number implicated in the guilt of disafrection was too
great for punishment, even by way of example, the vice¬
roy wisely judged it prudent to adhere strictly to the con¬
ditions of the amnesty he had proclaimed. No pains were
spared by the government, however, to discover the prime
movers and ringleaders of the revolt; and notwithstand¬
ing the assertion of Finati, that no clew was ever obtained
that could lead to the detection of the principal instiga¬
tors of the mutiny, there is some reason to believe that
they were not unknown to the pasha; for it was observ¬
ed that, shortly afterwards, several persons died sudden
deaths, and many of the chiefs and Beys disappeared, no
one knew how or by what means.
The treaty which had been hastily concluded with the
Wahabis proved of short duration; indeed scarcely had
the Egyptian army retired, when the fierce and warlike
heretics of Derayeh again flew to arms. At the head of
forty thousand of these sectaries, Souhoud marched to
Medina, which he obliged to open its gates; and follow¬
ing up his success, he proceeded to Mecca, which he
took with as little difficulty. At the latter city he broke
open the tomb of the prophet; abstracted numerous jew¬
els, such as diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, which had
long been venerated by all true believers ; melted the
golden vessels, chandeliers, and vases ; and having expos¬
ed the whole to public sale, distributed the money amongst
his soldiers. Nor was the former city treated with more
respect by these Mahommedan schismatics, who despised
all outward show and parade in matters of religion, placing^
their whole reliance on the joint efficacy of prayer and of
good works. As might have been expected, such bold
acts of sacrilege excited against Souhoud the indignation
of every true Moslemin ; and the government at Constan¬
tinople, fully as much alarmed at the progress of his arms,
as shocked at his impieties, immediately sent orders to
the viceroy of Egypt to chastise the daring heretic, and
to deliver the holy cities out of his hands. An army was
accordingly assembled and marched into Arabia under the
command of Ibrahim Pasha, Toussoun having fallen the
victim of either disease or poison. Notwithstanding the
niotley composition of his force, Ibrahim, who now enter¬
ed upon that career of victory which has since rendered
him so celebrated as a commander, succeeded in accom- Egypt,
plishing all the objects contemplated by the expedition,
Having concentrated his troops at Henakeyeh, he march¬
ed on El Mayoueh, which he occupied in force, at the
same time baffling an attempt made against it by the Wa¬
habite chief; and soon afterwards laid siege to El-Rass,
which he thrice assaulted, but without success. The situ¬
ation of the Turkish army now became critical; but al¬
though Ibrahim felt himself under the necessity of raising
the siege, he nevertheless rejected proposals of peace
which were made by Abdallah-ebn-Souhoud. But though
baffled before El-llass, the Egyptian commander took in
succession Khabra, Aneyzeh, Boureydeh, and laid siege
to Chakra, which capitulated in a few days. He then
marched against Dorama, which he carried by assault, and
sacked, putting the inhabitants mercilessly to the sword._
From Dorama he proceeded to Derayeh, the capital of
the Wahabis, which he besieged. This was the grand
operation of the campaign, and here accordingly he met
with the most determined resistance. For three months
did the brave defenders successfully repulse every attempt
to take the town; and all the efforts of Ibrahim would
have been unavailing had not want at length compelled
them to surrender. With the capture of this place the
campaign against the Wahabis terminated ; but not so the
severities of Ibrahim, who is remembered as the scourge
of Arabia and the destroyer of Derayeh. In a moment
of passion the viceroy had threatened to exteiminate the
heretics, and not to leave one stone upon another of then-
city. The former part of this menace Ibrahim found it
impossible to execute, but the latter was cairied into
effect to the fullest extent. The unfortunate Souhoud
was sent as a prisoner to Constantinople, where he was
beheaded like a common malefactor, notwithstanding the
viceroy had interceded for his pardon ; those of the inha¬
bitants who had escaped the sword were driven into the
desert, where many of them perished; and Ibrahim, hav¬
ing spread far and wide the terror of his name, returned
in triumph to Egypt. ,
But excessive severity generally defeats its object. I he
cruelties of Ibrahim, so far from extinguishing the Waha¬
bite reformation, appear only to have, inflamed and exas¬
perated the spirit of resistance by which it was animated.
Hence in 1824 the war was renewed with as much fero¬
city as ever, and protracted during the three following
years, in which it was carried on with various success.
Latterly, however, owing to the struggle made by the
Greeks to recover their liberty, and the consequent deten¬
tion of the troops under Ibrahim in the Morea, the con¬
test was allowed to slumber, and at length it terminated
with the capture of Mecca, which was effected under the
direction of a French officer. Achmet Pasha, who.com¬
manded in chief, was very inferior to Ibrahim both in ge¬
nius and enterprise ; and although he frequently defeated
the enemy, he wanted the skill and address necessary to.
enable him to profit by victory. The only relation of
these campaigns is that of Planat, which is exceedingly
meagre, and, excepting an itinerary of the marches and
countermarches of the pasha* contains few particulars de-
serving of attention. .
The mutiny at Cairo, though it had had the effect of in¬
terrupting the execution of the viceroy’s scheme foe intro¬
ducing the European discipline, did not lead to the aban¬
donment of the design. Mehemmed was resolved to pos¬
sess a regular army trained on the European model, and
when he found the Turks and Albanians unmanageable,
he applied himself to the natives of Egypt. He had the
good sense to attribute his first failure to the imprudent
rigour which he had employed ; and, therefore, he lesolve
to change his system, and to make his military projects
502
Egypt.
EGYPT.
popular by rendering them desirable. His next object was
- to secure the services of an European officer properly qua¬
lified to lay the foundation of that revolution in tactics
which he now meditated; and in Colonel Seves he was for¬
tunate in finding an officer exactly suited to his purpose.
In 1818 or 1819 Seves, the son of a miller at Lyons, for¬
merly a lieutenant-colonel of cavalry in the French army,
and aide-de-camp to Marshal Ney, an officer of approved
courage and of an intrepid and enterprising character, hav¬
ing been persecuted in his own country, and forced to ex¬
patriate himself, went to seek an asylum in Egypt; and he
was living in great misery at Alexandria, when the pasha
arrived there some time after his landing. Having learned
that a superior French officer had come to seek an asy¬
lum in his territory, Mehemmed, who was then meditating
the project of reform which he afterwards adopted and
carried through with so much success, sent for Seves, re¬
ceived him graciously, and granted him an allowance of
L.200, without any definite employment. The only duty
which he had at first to perform was to answer the ques¬
tions which the pasha frequently put to him respecting
the Emperor Napoleon, his victories, his armies, and the
French empire. Several months passed in this way, and
Seves was puzzling himself to account for so much muni¬
ficence without any apparent motive, wdien Mehemmed,
who had been long meditating an excursion into Upper
Egypt and Sennaar, sent for him, and inquired if he would
undertake to organize some regular battalions in the Egyp¬
tian army. Happy to be employed, and pleased to have
an opportunity of testifying his gratitude towards his be¬
nefactor, Seves at once agreed to make the attempt; and
being provided with money and invested with unlimited
power, he at once applied himself to the task which he
had undertaken. He associated with himself several
French and Italian non-commissioned officers, who were
exercising various professions at Alexandria, and with
their assistance commenced his work. His first battalions
wrere raised out of a great number of vagabond Turks and
Arabs, the only class indeed to which he could apply;
and out of these the instructors selected the most intelli¬
gent, in order to form them into model platoons, and also
prepare them to act as sub-instructors. Seves and his as¬
sistants had to surmount the greatest difficulties, obliged
as they were to take man after man without distinction,
and thus to enact a sort of pantomime. The repugnance
of the Turks to these innovations was inconceivable, and
often manifested itself by the most violent acts. The
lives of the instructors, indeed, were frequently in danger;
and several musket-balls were fired point blank at Seves,
who escaped as if by a miracle. But he was not to be
intimidated in the discharge of his duty; and, amidst
dangers of every kind, he w^ent straight to his object with
unflinching intrepidity and perseverance.1 At length, in
about a year, several battalions appeared in line, armed
with English, Austrian, and French muskets, and with
sabres of all sorts and models.
Such was the nucleus of the disciplined army which
Mehemmed Ali now possesses, and which has amply re¬
warded him, by its brilliant successes, for the liberality and
wisdom which presided in its formation. Nor did the
viceroy lose any time in making a trial of the new bat-
talions.r in the long-projected expedition to Upper Egypt.
Ismael Pasha, his second son, assumed the command of the
army; Seves, however, directed the campaign; the reeu v
lar troops carried all before them ; and Upper Egypt was Wv
conquered.^ The viceroy had promised a brilliant recom- ^ ^
pense to Seves if the Egyptian army returned victorious
from Sennaar; but, in point of fact, Mehemmed gave him
none, and in this he obeyed the imperious law of neces¬
sity. I he instructors could hold no command in the
army unless they embraced Islamism ; their authority was
confined to the ground on which the troops were ma¬
noeuvred, and, in actual service, to the council of war. The
pasha durst not trample under foot the prejudices of his
subjects, whose fanaticism he was far from sharing; whilst
appreciating the merit of Seves, afterwards known by the*
name of Soliman, he felt the necessity of giving that officer
a superior command in the army. To reconcile every
thing therefore, he proposed to the Frenchman to abjure
the Christian religion, at the same time promising him a
brilliant fortune, the title of Bey, and other temptino- ad¬
vantages, in the event of compliance. Seves, however,
rejected the viceroy’s proposition, and was immediately
dismissed from all his employments. But, partly by po¬
verty, and partly also by the influence of Drovetti, con¬
sul-general of France, his scruples were at length over¬
come, he became a Moslemin, was raised to the dignitv
of Bey, and received the command of a regiment of in¬
fantry. But although Soliman-Bey (Seves) was endowed
with the energy and capacity necessary to conduct the in¬
struction of the Egyptian army, nevertheless, it was only
after the arrival of General Boyer, in the year 1824, that
it really began to assume consistence. In a short time
this officer performed wonders. The army increased in
numeiical force, in moral, and in discipline; the instruc¬
tors, respected and well treated, laboured with increased
zeal and success; and when the troops were ordered to
take the field, these men marched at their head against
the enemies of the pasha. To Domergue, a French offi¬
cer, born at Carcassonne, the viceroy owed the conquest
of Mecca and of the country of the Wahabis; whilst, on
the other hand, it was the Marquis of Livron, agent of
the pasha in France, who supplied every thing necessary
for the materiel of the army, and who provided the pasha
with artillery instructors and with surgeons.2
The preparations for the war in the Morea determined
the pasha to augment his regular troops; and a great num¬
ber of Piedmontese and Neapolitan refugees having about
this time arrived in Egypt, Ali soon acquired a formida¬
ble and well-appointed army. It was in part destroyed,
however, during the campaign in the Morea; but he after¬
wards added nine regiments of cavalry, and at present it
is finer and stronger than ever.
According to an authentic statement published in 1831,
the Egyptian army is composed of a general staff; of in¬
fantry, including artillery ; and of cavalry. Ibrahim Pa¬
sha is commander-in-chief of the army; and the sons or
relations of the pasha are the only lieutenant-generals with
the title of pasha. Each brigade of infantry or cavalry has
its general. Two regiments compose a brigade, and the
regiments of guards are each commanded by general offi¬
cers. Ihe total number of the latter, therefore, is fifteen,
with rank equivalent to that of major-general. The artil¬
lery has two generals with the title of Bey, one of whom
is the director, and has the inspection of founderies, labo¬
ratories, workshops, arms, and the like. The infantry is
7hoen f-V°lley TT- a,ba11 whizzed Past the ear °f Seves, so close as almost to graze the skin. Without
bet aying t e slightest emotion, or taking the least notice of the circumstance, he ordered the party to re-load their pieces, and
mere y say mg, Y ou are very bad marksmen, gave the word to fire. They did so; and no ball was now heard to hiss through the
?ir’, TfVf “ol courage of the 1 renchman disarmed their resentment; and, from being an object of the deepest hatred, he became the
idol of their admiration. (Planat, Ihstoire dela Regeneration dc I'Egypte, p. 28.1
2 Oc I'Egypte et de son Organisation Militaire. Paris, 1831.
EGYPT.
t composed of a regiment of guards and fourteen regiments
JrV of the line, each consisting of four battalions of a thousand
men: thus making a total of fifty-six thousand. The ar¬
tillery, with the train, consists of one regiment of six
thousand men, and the engineers of two battalions of six
hundred each, besides a company of artificers two hun¬
dred strong, and a company of gendarmerie of the same
force. The cavalry, which has only been formed since
1828, is by no means equal to the infantry. It is com¬
posed of a regiment of guards, of four squadrons, each
consisting of four troops, into which Turks only are ad¬
mitted, and eight regiments of the line, forming four
brigades, making, with supernumeraries, four thousand
five hundred men and horses. The total strength of the
Egyptian army is therefore 67,600 infantry, and 4500
cavalry.1
This army is recruited by a stern system of impress¬
ment, the most arbitrary and iniquitous which can well be
conceived; yet, excepting at the moment of its operation,
it is scarcely felt as an evil. Once with the regiment, the
young soldiers soon become reconciled to their new mode
of life; they acquire a taste for the service, and speedily
forget, in the enjoyment of the comforts provided for them,
the violence which tore them from their miserable homes.
They are excellently clothed, have abundance of whole¬
some food, and even exercise a sort of superiority over their
countrymen. A soldier is a kind of authority ; he in fact
makes the law ; and the people tremble before an uniform.
Hence in this army, thus recruited by violence, there are
scarcely any desertions. Besides, the Arabs, of whom it
is principally composed, are intelligent, observing, inqui¬
sitive, brave; they love the service, both for its immedi¬
ate advantages, and also because promotion from the low¬
est to the highest ranks is thrown open to all; they feel
that they are men, and already begin to lay aside that
fanaticism which at first opposed the most formidable ob¬
stacle to the success of the viceroy’s plans. The only
danger to which Mehemmed is exposed appears to con¬
sist in the tendency of such elements to too great a tran¬
sition, and in the formation of opinions incompatible with
the existence of even an enlightened despotism. But
whilst the reins of discipline are held by a steady and
vigorous hand, there will be little ground for alarm on this
score; though any undue relaxation would, in all proba¬
bility, be productive of the greatest misfortunes. The
chief hazard to Mehemmed’s system arises from this, that
it is so closely connected with, and dependent upon his
personal character. But he may leave a successor worthy
of his talents.2
With a view to the consolidation of his military reforms,
the viceroy has established a number of schools and col¬
leges, the principal of which we shall now briefly advert
to. The school of the staff is at Kaukeh. It contains an
indeterminate number of pupils, and is provided with pro¬
fessors of mathematics, fortification, and design ; branches
which, however, are as yet but indifferently taught. A
cavalry school has been organized at Ghizeh, in the palace
of Murad Bey, and is under the orders of a French cavalry
officer named Varrin. It contains a hundred pupils, who,
503
during a course of two years, are instructed in military Egypt,
equitation, hippiatrics, and cavalry evolutions; but hi-
therto no great progress has been made in any of these
branches. At Bouzah-a-Bel there is a school of surgery,
the object of which is to supply the regiments with sur¬
geons. The pupils show address and good will; but their
teachers allege that, when left to themselves, they be¬
come good for nothing. This school is under the direc¬
tion of Dr Clot of Marseilles, a man of great merit and
undoubted knowledge. A school of pharmacy has also
been opened at the same place, under the superinten¬
dence of an Italian named Alexandri. The school of ve¬
terinary surgery is likewise established at Bouzah-a-Bel,
and is under the management of a Frenchman named
Hamont, an elbve of the school of Alfort, and a man of
merit. Besides these, there was a school of military music
at Kaukeh, for training regimental bands; but, in 1829,
Ibrahim Pasha ordered it to be suppressed, probably from
motives of economy; and the only establishment of the
kind at present in existence is a school of trumpeters, in
the camp of Soliman-Bey, where a hundred pupils are
trained according to the French mode.
The pay, appointments, and clothing of the Egyptian
army are not only equal, but in several respects superior,
to those of any army in Europe. The monthly pay of a
general, or, to speak more correctly, the pay from one
moon to another, is L.120 besides rations; that of a co¬
lonel is L.90, that of a lieutenant-colonel L.30, that of
a captain L.10, and that of a lieutenant L.3, exclusively
of rations. A. general receives fifteen rations a day, a com¬
mon soldier one, and the intermediate grades in propor¬
tion to their relative positions in the scale of rank. The
pay of the non-commissioned officers is likewise ample;
and that of the common soldier is eighteen piasters a
month, besides his daily rations and his clothing. The
ration is composed of bread, rice, oil, butter, beans, salt,
and meat, and is served out twice a week. The clothing
of the army is excellent, and the dress of the officers su¬
perb. The uniform of the generals, as well as that of the
Turkish officers, is scarlet embroidered with gold ; all the
difference consisting in the quantity and richness of the
embroideries. The distinctive marks of military rank are
crescents and stars. Those of a lieutenant-general are
crescents eni’iched with diamonds, in the middle of which
are placed three stars, also in diamonds ; those of a briga¬
dier-general are the same crescents with two stars only;
those of a colonel are the same crescents with only one
diamond star ; those of a lieutenant-colonel are two cres¬
cents in gold with a star in diamonds; those of a major
are two crescents with stars in gold; those of a captain
two crescents and stars in silver; and those of lieutenants
and sub-lieutenants a crescent in silver. These decora¬
tions are placed on both breasts, and have a very brilliant
effect. On occasions of ceremony, the superior officers
also wear scarlet pelisses, fastened with two large clasps
of gold set with emeralds. The loins are begirt by a sash ;
and the Turkish papooshes have given way to a less volu¬
minous and more convenient nether habiliment, which is
made fast under the knees, and fitted close to the legs.
1 Military men will no doubt remark the great disproportion between the infantry and cavalry of the Egyptian army; but it
ought to be kept in view that we only speak here of the regular army, and not of the whole forces which Mehemmed Ali has at his
disposal; and that, moreover, the battalions of infantry had been ten years in line ere the model squadron of cavalry began to be or¬
ganized. When the cavalry was formed, Captain Thurlet of the 13th regiment of French chasseurs, happening to be in Egypt, was
charged with its organization ; but as this was a task beyond his ability to execute, the Marquis de Livron was commissioned to en¬
gage three chefs d'escadrons to complete the instruction of the brigades, and accordingly sent out Deschales, Petit, and Toucheboeuf-
Clairemont, who are now the only superior officers attached to the cavalry. The subaltern officers were taken from the infantry,
from the schools, and from the counting-houses of Alexandria, where a number of discharged military men, whom the Restoration of
1815 had forced to quit France, were employed as clerks. The horses of the cavalry are in general excellent, and they are classed in
squadrons according to their shades of colour. (De PEgypte et de son Organisation Militaire. Paris, 1831.)
2 De PEgypte et de son Organisation Militaire. Bulletin des Sciences Milit. tom. x. p. 270.
504
Egypt.
EGYPT.
In point of arms and equipment the infantry, cavalry, ar-
/ tillery, and engineers resemble the corresponding branches
of the French service, upon which, indeed, the whole has
been modelled ; and the same observation applies to the
mode in which the troops are disposed, whether in can¬
tonments or in camps. Nor are the men any longer liable
to arbitrary punishments. Every soldier charged with a
breach of military discipline must be tried before he can
be bastinadoed, and some other penalty less degrading,
as confinement, degradation, or hard labour, is generally
inflicted. Officers, again, when accused of a dereliction
of duty, are placed under arrest; and the question of
their guilt or innocence is commonly left to the deter¬
mination of a court-martial. By these wise provisions
the moral character of the Egyptian army has been rais¬
ed to a level with that of the best troops in Europe ;
and its devotion (as already stated) has been further
secured by the impartiality with which promotion is be¬
stowed, and by the highest grades of the service being
thrown open to the ambition of the humblest soldier in
the ranks.1
Nor in thus organizing a powerful army has the viceroy
neglected to provide himself with a respectable navy. His
ambition, indeed, has all along been to raise Egypt to the
rank ot a naval power; and it was no doubt principally
with this view that he seems to have early resolved to
possess himself of Syria ; a country which, from its exten¬
sive line of coast, and its internal resources for ship-build¬
ing, afforded every facility for the development and exe¬
cution of his plans. As early as the year 1824., he had
accordingly either acquired by purchase, or caused to be
built for his service, a considerable number of ships of
war; and, notwithstanding the disaster which befel his
squadron at Navarino in October 1827, he prosecuted his
original design with such systematic perseverance, that
he not only repaired the loss he had sustained, but greatly
augmented his marine both in number and in force. Ac¬
cording to the most authentic information which we have
been able to obtain, therefore, the Egyptian navy consists
at present (1833) of twelve sail of the line, one of which
is a first-rate carrying a hundred guns, about as many
trigates, some of them double-banked, and a great num¬
ber of corvettes, brigs, schooners, and sloops of war; a
naval force equal, if not superior, to that of the Porte
itself, and which, in fact, during the Syrian campaign of
Ibrahim, defeated the Turkish fleet off Tripoli, thereby
contributing in the most essential manner to the success
which crowned the pasha’s enterprise.
The superiority of troops disciplined according to the
European method was strikingly evinced by the results of
the expedition to Upper Egypt and Nubia, and still more
by those of the concluding campaigns against the Wahabis,
which fully realised the most sanguine expectations of the
viceroy. But the prowess and efficiency of that army which
had been alike victorious in the deserts of Arabia, and in
those of Dongola and Kordofan, were destined to be fur¬
ther proved on a much more celebrated theatre of action.
The sultan having required the pasha of Egypt to assist
with his forces in putting down the insurrection in Greece,
an expedition consisting of sixty ships of war of all sizes,
and a hundred transports, having on board seventeen
thousand infantry, eight hundred cavalry, and artillery
both for service in the field and for sieges, together with
ammunition and provisions for a long campaign, sailed
from Alexandria in July 1824, the whole being under
the command of Ibrahim Pasha; but having touched at
Rhodes, in the hope of effecting a junction with the Ca-
pitan Pasha commanding the Turkish fleet, and the ships
of war having suffered considerable damage in an encoun¬
ter with the Greek squadron under Canaris, it did not
reach Modon in the Morea until the end of February 1825.
The events of the three campaigns which followed belong
rather to the history of Greece than to that of Egypt, ft
will be sufficient to state here that Ibrahim was successful
at nearly every point; that the strong places of the Morea
had, almost without exception, yielded to his arms; and
that his father was believed to cherish a design of estab¬
lishing his own power in the Peloponnesus; when the
treaty of London changed the aspect of affairs, and the
naval battle of Navarino, fought on the 20th of October
1827, proved a most “ untoward event” for the viceroy’s
designs, depriving him of the fruits which he expected to
reap from Ibrahim’s victories, aud completely isolating the
Egyptian army, which depended for its chief supplies on
Alexandria. The final deliverance of the Morea was effect¬
ed by the French expeditionary force of fifty thousand
men under General Maison, which, having cleared the
country of the Egyptians, delivered it up to the provision¬
al government which had received or assumed the reins
of authority in Greece.2
But if, yielding to the pressure of superior force, Me-
hemmed was compelled to quit his hold of the Morea, still
he was not altogether a loser ; for, during the campaigns
in the Peloponnesps, his army acquired experience in all
sorts of military operations, and may be said to have in
some measure prepared itself for achieving those brilliant
successes which lately shook the Ottoman empire to its
foundations, and humbled the pride of Sultan Mahmoud.
From the commencement of the contest with Turkey till
the decisive conflict at Koniah, in which tacticos and ir¬
regular troops were equally overthrown, and the road to
Constantinople completely uncovered, its career was one
of uniform victory. The fate of Syria was decided by the
battle of Damascus, which proved the great inferiority of
the Turkish infantry ; Aleppo opened its gates; the bar¬
rier of Mount Taurus, hitherto regarded as a rampart of
Constantinople, was crossed; and, descending into the
plains of Anatolia, Ibrahim swept onward like a torrent,
until, arrested for a moment at Koniah by an enemy re¬
solved to make a last effort to retrieve its reverses, he
there completed the series of his winged victories, and
beheld “ Stamboul’s diadem” almost within his grasp.
The rest is too well known to make it necessary for us to
enter into details. Denied the aid which he solicited from
Great Britain, the sultan was reduced to the humiliating
necessity of applying for help in his day of need to the
power whose ambitious designs he had the most reason
to dread ; whilst Russia, eager to avail herself of the op¬
portunity thus offered, of giving to her aggrandising po¬
licy in regard to Turkey a protective rather than an ag¬
gressive character, lost no time in responding to the sul¬
tan’s demand ; and, in a short space, the strange spectacle
was exhibited of a Muscovite corps d’armee cantoned in
the vicinity of Constantinople, and of a Muscovite fleet
at anchor in the Bosphorus. The sultan was saved; peace
was concluded; and the whole of Syria, with its depen¬
dent territories, rewarded the successful rebellion of Me-
hemmed AH.
The individual by whom all this and more has been
accomplished would, even under the most favourable cir¬
cumstances, have been accounted an extraordinary man;
and amongst Turks he is certainly to be regarded as little
less than a prodigy. His own greatness, indeed, is the
immediate result of a creative power vigorously but skil-
5
1 Bulletin dcs Sciences Militaire, tom. x. p. 274.
2 Planat, Hist, de la Regeneration de I'Egypte, p. 258 et seqq.
*
EGYPT.
505
. t. fully exerted, and almost invariably directed towards the
JJO accomplishment of some object calculated to promote im¬
provement and advance civilization ; nor has the general
policy of his government been less distinguished for abili¬
ty, address, and energy, than was the conduct of those
great measures by means of which he regenerated Egypt,
and laid the foundations of his own supremacy. His army-
alone is a wonderful achievement; his fleet scarcely less
so: and if the brilliant victories of the one have reward¬
ed that wisdom which knows how to amend a fault, and
that liberality which, when judiciously exercised, is all-
powerful in its influence on the human mind, the day is
probably not distant when the triumphs of the other will
cause the flag of Egypt to be alike respected in the Me¬
diterranean and the Indian Ocean. But it is not by the
splendour of his winged victories, nor the extent of his
rapid conquests, that the name of Mehemmed Ali will be
honoured and distinguished. His are much higher and
more difficult achievements than mere feats of arms;
his is a nobler and more enviable glory than that which
is reaped amidst the strife and carnage of the battle¬
field. It was the proud boast of Napoleon that he found
France in the kennel, and placed her in the van of Eu¬
rope. But with more truth and less ostentation might
Mehemmed Ali say the same thing concerning Egypt.
Napoleon, indeed, found confusion, but, as observed by
an able writer, still it was the confusion of brilliant ma¬
terials. Not so the Albanian, who out of a mere chaos
of ignorance, treachery, and ferocity, has formed a king¬
dom possessing a disciplined and victorious army of se¬
venty-five thousand regular troops, with a respectable
marine of twelve ships of the line and more than thrice
that number of frigates and other vessels of war. Nor
is this all. He has organized a vigilant police, by means
of which Egypt, formerly a land of violence and blood¬
shed, has been rendered as safe as any part of England
or France; he has established an active and vigilant ad¬
ministration of the laws, by which persons and property
enjoy security; he has constructed roads, formed canals,
and introduced manufactures; he has improved agricul¬
ture, extended commerce, and reared an industrious po¬
pulation ; and, notwithstanding all the cost of his vari¬
ous establishments, and the heavy expenditure incident
to a state of frequent warfare, he has forestalled none of
his ordinary revenues. During his reign the exports and
imports of Egypt have accordingly risen from a mere Egypt-
trifle to several millions annually. Eager to obtain useful
information himself, he has diffused a thirst of knowledge
amongst his subjects, by making the possession of it the
indispensable condition of advancement either in civil
or military employments; he has ministered to the men¬
tal wants of his people by the erection of schools and col¬
leges in various parts of his dominions; and he has, from
time to time, sent young men into Europe, not to ape its
fashions or copy its manners but to study the laws, insti¬
tutions, and practical working of modern civilization, and
to carry back the results of their observation for the im¬
provement of their own country. His government, it is
true, is a naked despotism, and, wi.th all its general wis¬
dom and beneficence, exhibits some of the worst features
of that species of government; whilst the unhappy Fellahs
are still ruled, if not oppressed, by a rough coercive hand,
and exposed to exactions indicating a short-sighted cupi¬
dity on the part of their rigorous taskmaster. But, on the
other side, it must be admitted that the strong arm of ab¬
solute power, guided by a stern and resistless will, could
alone have effected that renovation which has been pro¬
duced in Egypt; and as to his exactions and monopolies,
Mehemmed Ali may easily silence rebuke on this head by
pointing to many scarcely less odious or objectionable than
his own which are still selfishly upheld in some of the
most enlightened communities of Europe. And let it also
be remembered that, as establishments must be main¬
tained, the chief cause of the severity of his imposts has
been the extent of his improvements, by which in time
their rigour will be mitigated; and that monopoly is the
price which must in the first instance be paid for the in¬
troduction of new and more effective modes of industry.
Nor have the actual results belied the calculations on
which this enlightened and vigorous ruler has proceeded.
A country long devoted to misrule now teems with la¬
bour, and produces cotton and flax which may compete
with the best in our markets; it exports silk, sugar, to¬
bacco, and various other commodities, besides grain; and
as long as personal security is maintained by an impar¬
tial administration of the law, these will continue to mul¬
tiply in a land where an annual renewal of the soil, irriga¬
tion, and sunshine are certainties. Such are the triumphs
which have been effected by the Albanian peasant, who
has established an independent empire in Egypt.1 He is
1 Mphpmmed Ali is now in the sixty-third vear of his age ; he is rather short in stature, thick set, and inclined to embonpoint ;
his countenance is large, his forehead high, his nose aquiline, and his general expression indicative both of firmness and penetration ;
he bears himself with easy dignity, without the smallest approach to hauteur or reserve, and, for a Turk, is remarkably social and
communicative ; and hie dues? is dually plain, the only expense whieh he indulges in matters connected w.th pe™n,l dec„mt,„„
being lavished upon his arms, which are richly studded with diamonds. In a word, his appearance and demeanour immediately im¬
prest strangers with a conviction that he is no ordinary man ; whilst his eager and inquisitive curiosity, continually on the alert in
quest of information, shows that he has not only appreciated the importance of knowledge generally, bu^ le^rn®d ° q
solid basis of power. The following anecdotes of this remarkable person have been collected by Dr Russell, from the works ot recent
Onour mAvM being announced,’ savs Dr Richardson, ‘ we were immediately ushered into his presence, and found him sitting
on the corner of the divan, surrounded by his officers and men, who were standing at a respectful distance. He recei ved us sitting,
but in the most gracious manner, and placed the Earl of Belmore and Mr bait upon his left hand, and his lordship ^ ®
self at the top of the room on his right. The interpreter stood, as well as the officers and soldiers, who remamed m tlie room lur ng
the whole time of the visit. He began the conversation by welcoming us to Cairo, and prayed that God might
us prosperity. He then inquired of the noble traveller how long he had been from England, and what was the obJect his
to Egypt; to all which he received satisfactory answers. His highness next adverted to the prospect before him-theN
covered fields, the pyramids of Djizeh, the bright sun, and the cloudless sky—and remarked, with a certain triumphant humour on
his lip, that England offered no such prospect to the eye of the spectator.’ He was told that the scenery of England was yery fine
‘ “ How can that be,” he shortly rejoined, “ seeing you are steeped m rain and fog three quarters of the year ? Hemext turned the
conversation to Mr Leslie's elegant experiment of freezing water m the vacuum of an air-pump; which he hfd ad¬
mired prodigiously in description, and seemed to anticipate with great satisfaction a glass ot lemonade and lced ,
friends, as the happiest result of the discovery. Talking of his lonlship’s intended voyage up the Nile, he Pol^lj ^red to render
every possible facility ; cautioning him at the same time to keep a sharp look out when among the Arabs, who, he beiievedwouldnot
take any thine from'him or his party by violence, but would certainly steal it they found an opportunity of doing it without the risk
of detection. ° He then related^ number of anecdotes touching the petty larcenies of that most thievish race ; some ®
by no means without contrivance or dexterity. But the one which seemed to amuse both himself and his fnends he most, was that
of a traveller, who, when eating his dinner, laid down his spoon to reach for a piece of bread, and by the time he brought back his hand
VOL. VIII. S
50G
EGYPT.
Egypt, believed to cherish schemes of ambition still more gigan-
tic than any which his past career has disclosed. The
caliphate and an Arabian empire have, it is thought, long
floated before his wishful eye; and there can be little
doubt that, in the event of a new rupture with Turkey,
Bagdad and the holy cities would be irrecoverably lost
to the Porte, and restored to the successors of the Sara W
cens. Wherever the Arabic language is understood the'
power of Egypt seems destined to prevail.1 But our bu-
siness here is not w ith speculation, but facts.
the spoon was away ; the knife and fork soon shared the same fate ; and the unfortunate stranger was at length reduced in tv, ,
necessity of tearing his meat, and lifting it with his fingers and thumb, like the Arabs themselves. Many persons were near Ht
one saw the theft committed ; and all search for the recovery of the property was in vain. We now took leave of the viceroy w"0
him in the gi-eatest good humour; he said we might go everywhere, and see every thing we wished, and that he honed to'hav7iug
pleasure of seeing us again.’ In reference to the freezing experiment, we may mention, that Mehemmed Ali, very soon nffpr u,Q •
now described, obtained from England, through Mr Salt, the requisite apparatus. The machine on its arrival was conveyed tn h!
palace, and some Nile water was procured for the purpose. He hung over the whole operation with intense curiosity • andVv.r*
after several disappointments, a piece of real ice was produced, he took it eagerly in his hand, and danced round the room for inv lf£
a child, and then ran into the harem to show it to his wives. ^ •'
. “ No on<?,ha1s attempted to conceal that there is in the temper of Mehemmed Ali, intermingled with many good qualities „
tincture ol barbarism and fierceness. Impatient of opposition, and even of delay, he occasionally gives himself up to the most viS
bursts of passion ; and m such moments there is hardly any cruelty which he will not perpetrate or command. For instance some
time ago he had ordered that the dollar should pass for a fixed number of piasters, and it was mentioned in his presence that the
rate was not strictly followed. His highness expressed some doubt of the fact, when the head interpreter carelessly observed that a
Jew broker, whom he named, had a few days before exchanged dollars for him at the rate asserted. ‘ Let him be hanged immedi
- ’ exclaimed the pasha ! The interpreter, an old and favourite servant, threw himself at his sovereign’s feet denrecatW hil
own folly, ana imploring pardon for the wretched culprit. But all intercession was in vain ; the viceroy said his orders must K
disregarded, and the unfortunate Jew was instantly led to his death. We find proofs of a similar sally at Djidda, where he annLrl
to have used his own hands to inflict a punishment which he thought it inexpedient to remit. Hoseyn Aga, the agent for the Fast
India Company, resident in that town, was, says a recent traveller, a remarkably fine-looking man, displaying an air of dignity mixed
with hauteur; handsonielv clad, too, though the heavy folds of his muslin turban were studiously drawn over his right eye’ to con
ceal the loss of it, for Mehemmed All one day in a fit of rage pulled it out. Yet these men are friends—great friends iust at
present, and will remain so as long as it may be convenient and agreeable to both parties to consider each other in that light. P.nt
the master of Egypt is not at all times so ferocious. For example, when Mrs Lushington was at Alexandria, intelligence was
brought to him that a small fort at the entrance of the harbour had been taken possession of by certain Franks, and that The Turks
belonging to it had been made prisoners. Some consternation prevailed among his people; but instead of being anm-y, he laughed
heartily, and swearing by his own eyes—his favourite oath—that they must be English sailors, he directed his interpreter to write
to their captain to order his men on board ship again. Upon inquiry it proved as the pasha had anticipated ; the men had landed
got drunk, and crowned their liberty by seizing on the fort, and confining the unfortunate Turks, who, indolently smoking their
pipes, never could have anticipated such an attack in time of profound peace. He evinced equal self-command, and still more mag¬
nanimity, when he first heard of the event which destroyed his infant navy and humbled his power. We allude to the battle of
Navanno. He had not finished the perusal of the unwelcome dispatches, when he desired a European consul to assure his country-
men and all the other Franks that they should not be molested, and that they might pursue their wonted occupations in perfect
security. _ Among the ships lying in the harbour was the wreck of one of the pasha’s own vessels. The captain had committed some
crime which was represented by his crew to the viceroy, who ordered him immediately on shore to answer his accusers. Conscious
ot guilt, he pietended sickness, till a second message from the same quarter left him no alternative; and unable longer to shun his
fate, he sent all his crew ashore, and calling to an old and faithful servant, the only person on board, he bade him lump out of the
t lf S6a; 3t th,e fa?f tl!Tie’ having loaded two pistols, he fired into the magazine, and blew up the ship and himself together.
?tory w<as related to the pasha, he said, ‘ These are Frank customs ; this is dying like an Englishman !’
There is something characteristic in the following notice by Sir Frederick Henniker, who remarks, that the pasha appeared to him to
have a vulgar low-born lace, but a commanding intelligent eye. ‘ He received us in the court-yard, seated on a sofa, and wielding a pipe,
dressed like a private individual, as lurks of real consequence generally are, excepting on gala days. The vice-consul and myself sat
down on the sofa with him. I ipes are not offered except to equals; coffee served up,—no sugar, even though the pasha himself has a ma-
nufactory of that article,—the attendants ordered to withdraw ; no pride, no affectation, even though the pasha is an upstart. Remain¬
ed nearly an hour discoursing on English horses, military force, the emerald-mines at Cossier, his son’s victory over the Wahabis, and
his expected triumphal entry. —It is generally stated, that since Mehemmed Ali has felt himself secure in the pashalik he has ceased
to be cruel. Seldom now does he take away life, and never with torture ; and if his subordinate officers were as well disposed as
i self, the people, notwithstanding the oppressive taxes, would feel their property more secure. One instance of his prompt justice
IVUch astomshinent; although a slower and more regular method would not, it is probable, in a nation so completely disor-
ganized, have produced an equal effect. A kiachief who had not been long accustomed to the government of the viceroy punished one
H Ww death\ Ide '''as caJled before Mehemmed, who asked him by what authority he had committed this outrage.
He thought it enough to urge in his defence that the man was his own servant. True, retorted the pasha, but he was my subject;
311 'a11., lL samf 11 l,as®et sentence that the culprit should be immediately beheaded,—an effectual warning to the rest of the
grandees present. I his act of severity has saved the lives of many of the Arabs, who, in former times, were sacrificed by their Turkish
masters on the most trifling pretences. In short, Mehemmed is well spoken of by most European travellers, though in general they
estimate his character by too high a standard—the principles and habits of their own countries. There is only one author whose
impression was rather unfavourable : ‘I sat in the divan,’ says he, ‘ with my eyes fixed on him ; I wanted to examine the coun¬
tenance of a man who had realized in our day one of those scenes in history which, when we have perused it, always compels us to lay
b0°^ ourselves- f here he sat—a quick eye, features common, nose bad, a grizzled beard,’looking much more
mi ' ’ iac I1(lu 16 " 0111 complexion of that period of life. They tell you he is not sanguinary ; men grow tired of shedding
blood as well as of «ther pleasures ; but if the cutting off'a head weuld drop gold into his coffers, he’would not be slow to give the
signal. His laugh has nothing in it of nature; how can it have ? I hear it now—a hard, sharp laugh, such as that with which
strong heartless men would divide booty torn from the feeble. I leave him to his admirers.’-‘ In the SsJges of the table,’ says Mr
Larne, he is still an Osmanlee; knives, forks, and other useful appendages, never make their appearance at his meals. About five
} eais ago some mg is i travellers were graciously received by him, and pressingly invited to dine. But not even in compliance with
the taste of his guests would he depart from his own habits; for, wishing to show a noble lady particular attention, he took a large
,i n1 m I1’!, hanu’ ar,C,‘ p01t1e -V 1)Iaced U before her- Perfectly dismayed at the compliment, and the sight of the savoury
morsel whmh rested on her plate, she turned to her companion, who was more used to oriental manners, and earnestly asked what
f. ,waSj 0 c °*, "a 1 to sule’ was reply* She looked at the pasha ; his fine dark eve seemed to rest on her with a most
kmd and complacent expression ; and there was no help for it but to follow the excellent advice given her by her more experienced
mend. ( View of Ancient and Modern Egypt, p. 35«, et seqq.)
v, i RevieV’\v.?X’ 11 *; P- et seqq. We have great pleasure in acknowledging that, for the leading features of the cha-
nfn? m A,Ieu mn'e< Al’,aS albove ‘Ehneated, we have been indebted to a very able article in this journal on the state and relations
of the 1 urkish empire. We have merely filled up, as it were, the masterly sketch drawn by the reviewer.
SECTION III.
E G Y P T.
507
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY OF EGYPT.
General description and physical conformation of the country.—
Its divisions—Is Egypt the gift of the Nile ?—Opinions of
Savary, Bruce, Shaw, Yolney, and others on this subject 
Various depth of the alluvial soil—Attempts to ascertain the
mean rate of the deposition of mud or sediment by the river 
Speculations of the French philosophers—Supposed difference
of level, and conclusions thence deduced as to the comparative
antiquity of existing monuments—The Nile—Its branches 
Silpposed position of the source of the Bahr-el-Abiad, or true
Nile.—Its alleged communication with the Niger—Course of
the river The Cataracts or Rapids—Nature of these—Phy¬
sical aspect of the country—The mouths, ancient and modern,
of the river—Its navigation—The soil—Lakes and canals 
The periodical inundation of the Nile—Cause of this phenome¬
non Modes in which the waters of the inundation are distri¬
buted for the purposes of irrigation—Air and climate of Egypt*
 Etesian Winds—Hot Winds—The Khamsim of Egypt, the
Samiel of Arabia, and the Simoom of the Desert—Interesting
particulars connected with these winds given by Volney and
Bruce.—Diseases—Plague.—Ophthalmia—Hydrocele Cu¬
taneous distempers.—Malignant Fevers—Treatment Geo¬
logical structure and characteristics of Egypt.
Egypt occupies the north-eastern portion of Africa, and
is bounded on the north by the Mediterranean, on the east
by the Red Sea, on the south by Nubia, and on the west
by the deserts of Libya. Its physical configuration has
been generally described at the commencement of this ar¬
ticle. “ Pour se peindre en deux mots I’Egypte,” says Vol¬
ney, “ que Ton se represente, d’un cute une mer etroite
et des rochers, de 1’autre d'immenses plaines de sable, et
au milieu un fleuve coulant dans un vallee longue de cent
cinquantes lieues, large de trois a sept, lequel, parvenu a
trente lieues de la mer, se divise en deux branches, done
les rameaux s’egarent sur un terrain libre d’obstacles, et
presque sans pente.”
Egypt is divided into Upper, Middle, and Lower. Upper
Egypt extends from Nubia to the province of Cairo;
Middle Egypt comprehends the province of Cairo, and the
lateral provinces; and all the country included between
the territory of Cairo, the Mediterranean, the isthmus of
Suez, and Libya, forms Lower Egypt. Upper Egypt is
only a long narrow valley, confined between two chains of
mountains running from north to south, which commence
at the last cataract of the Nile, and on reaching Cairo se¬
parate to the right and left as if to enable the Nile to ex¬
tend its arms; the eastern chain taking the direction of
Mount Colzum, and the western terminating in some
sand hills near Alexandria. The former terminates on
the borders of the valley by an escarpment, which in some
places has the appearance of a very elevated wall or ram¬
part, intersected at intervals by ravines; whilst the latter
generally terminates in a gentle slope, excepting at the
elbow formed by the Nile in the direction Kenneh, where
it becomes more precipitous towards Siout.
The mountains which form the boundaries of this val¬
ley are the more deserving of attention, because from them,
under the Pharaohs, the Ptolemies, and the Antonines,
were obtained the materials not only for those stupendous
monuments, which, even in their state of ruins, still make
Egypt a land of wonders, but also for many of the public
buildings of Italy, the remains of which attest alike the
munificence of the Roman emperors, and the genius of
the Roman artists. Beyond these mountains are deserts
bounded by the Red Sea on the east, and by other parts
of Africa on the west.
hour leagues from the Nile, and opposite Cairo, these
mountains are only a ridge of rocks of about forty or fifty
Ret in height, dividing Egypt from the plains of Libya;
and this ridge accompanies the course of the river, at a Egypt,
greater or less distance, like embankments intended to
confine the general inundation.
Lower Egypt, comprehending all the country from Cairo
to the sea, forms a triangle nearly equilateral, at least if
it be reduced to the space included between the two arms
of the Nile, which discharge themselves into the sea, the
one at Rosetta and the other at Damietta. The base of
this triangle is estimated at about seventy leagues. The
name of Delta, which the Greeks gave to this part of
Egypt, was applied on account of its resemblance in point
of form to the fourth letter of their alphabet.
With respect to the formation of the Delta, it has been
the opinion of many, even in very ancient times, that it
was produced by the mud brought down by the inunda¬
tions of the Nile; and this notion was adopted by Savary,
who argues strenuously in support of it. In those early
ages in which history has fixed no epoch, a certain people,
according to him, descended from the mountains near
the Cataracts, into the valley overflowed by the Nile,
which was then an uninhabitable morass overgrown with
reeds and canes. In what manner, or from what motive,
these people were induced to descend from their ancient
habitations to take up their residence amidst bogs, or how
they found means to penetrate into a morass which is de¬
scribed as impenetrable, we are not informed, neither is
it to our present purpose to inquire. At that time, howr-
ever, the sea, it seems, washed the base of those moun¬
tains where the Pyramids were afterwards built, and ad¬
vanced far into Libya. It covered also part of the isth¬
mus of Suez, and the whole of what is now called the Delta
formed a great gulf. But after many ages the Egyptians,
by what means is not stated, formed canals to carry off’
the stagnant waters of the Nile ; opposed strong embank¬
ments to check its periodical inundations; and, tired of
dwelling in the caverns of rocks, built towns and cities
upon spots elevated either by nature or art. Already the
river was confined within its bounds, the habitations of
men were placed out of the reach of its inundations, and
experience had taught the people to foresee and announce
them, when one of the kings of Egypt undertook to alter
the course of the river. After running a hundred and
fifty leagues between the barriers already described, the
river, meeting with an insurmountable obstacle to the
right, turned suddenly to the left, and, taking its course
to the southward of Memphis, spread its waters through¬
out the sands of Libya. But the prince here spoken of
caused a new bed to be dug for it to the eastward of
Memphis, and, by means of a large dyke, obliged it to re¬
turn between the mountains, and discharge itself into the
gulf which bathes the rock on which the castle of Cairo
is built. The ancient bed of the river was still to be seen
in the time of Herodotus, and may even, it is alleged, be
traced at this day across the deserts, passing to the west¬
ward of the natron lakes. To the herculean labours of
this nameless monarch, Egypt, according to Savary, is in¬
debted for the Delta. A regurgitation of the sea being
occasioned by the enormous weight of the waters of the
Nile, which precipitated themselves into the bottom of
the gulf, the sands and mud carried along with them were
collected into heaps; and thus the Delta, at first incon¬
siderable, arose out of the sea, from whose domain it was,
so to speak, conquered. In short, it was a gift of the
river, and it has since been defended from the attacks of
the ocean by raising embankments along its base. Five
hundred years before the Trojan war, the Delta was, ac¬
cording to Herodotus, in its infancy, eight cubits of water
being then sufficient to overflow it. Strabo informs us
that boats passed over it from one extremity to the other;
and that its towns, built upon artificial eminences, resem-
Egypt- bled the islands of the iEgean Sea. At the time when
Herodotus visited this country, fifteen cubits were neces¬
sary to cover all Lower Egypt; but the Nile then over¬
flowed the country for the space of two days’ journey to
the right and left of the island, or Delta strictly so called.
Under the Roman empire sixteen cubits produced the
same effect; when the Arabs got possession of the coun¬
try seventeen cubits were requisite; and at this day eigh¬
teen are necessary to produce a plentiful crop. Some¬
times, however, the Nile rises to the height of twenty-two
cubits ; and the cause of this phenomenon is the accumu¬
lation of mud. Thus, in the space of rather more than
three thousand two hundred years, the Delta, according
to Savary, was elevated fourteen cubits.
It is natural to imagine, he adds, that the Delta has in¬
creased in length as well as in elevation. Under the reign
of Psammeticus, the Milesians, with thirty vessels, landed
at the mouth of the Bolbitinic branch of the Nile, now
that of Rosetta, where they fortified themselves, and built
a town called Metelis, which, in the Coptic vocabularies,
has preserved the name of Messil. But this town, for¬
merly a sea-port, is now nine leagues distant from the sea;
and to this extent the Delta, according to him, has in¬
creased in length from the time of Psammeticus to the
present day. Homer, in his Odyssey, makes Menelaus
state, that in the stormy sea which washes Egypt there is
an island called Pharos, the distance of which from the
shore is such that a vessel with a fair wind may make the
passage in a day. But from the manner in which he
speaks of the Delta in other places, we may suppose that
the island of Pharos, in his time, was not less than twenty
leagues distant from the Egyptian coast, though it now
forms part of the harbour of Alexandria. Great rivers
occasion prodigious changes on the surface of the globe ;
sometimes elevating, at their mouths, islands which in
time become portions of the continent. It is thus, accord¬
ing to Savary, that the Nile has formed almost all Lower
Egypt, and created out of the waters the Delta, forming
an equilateral triangle whose base is about seventy
leagues ; it is thus that the Meander, constantly repell¬
ing the waves of the Mediterranean, and gradually filling
up the gulf into which it falls, has placed in the middle
cf the land the town of Miletus, formerly a celebrated
harbour; it is thus that the Tigris and the Euphrates,
descending from the Armenian hills, and sweeping with
them in their course the sands of Mesopotamia, are im¬
perceptibly filling up the Persian gulf.
Such are the reasons assigned by Savary for the opinion
that the greater part of Lower Egypt had been produ¬
ced by the operation of the Nile. But his theory has
been strenuously contested by other travellers, particu¬
larly by Bruce, who has discussed the subject at consider¬
able length. He begins by observing, that as the upper
country of Egypt is merely a valley bounded by rugged
mountains, it may hence seem natural to imagine that the
Nile, overflowing the lower part, would be more ready to
wash away the soil than add to it. It is stated by Dr
Shaw, and confirmed by Bruce, that there is a gentle slope
from the middle of the valley towards the foot of the
mountains on either side, so that the middle, in which is
the channel of the Nile, is really higher than any other
portion of the valley. Large trenches are cut across the
country from the channel of the river, and at right an¬
gles with its bed or channel, as far as the base of the
mountains. As the river swells the canals become filled
with water, which, descending to the base of the moun¬
tains, runs out at the farther extremity, and overflows the
adjacent level country. When the water, having attain¬
ed the lowest ground, begins to stagnate, it does not ac¬
quire any motion, by reason of the canals being at right
angles with the channel of the Nile, unless in the case of
excessive rains in Ethiopia, when the water by its reeur
gitation again joins the stream. In this case the motion
of the current is communicated to the whole mass of wa¬
ters, and every thing is swept away by them into the sea'
It has been asserted that there was a necessity for mea¬
suring the height of the inundation, on account of the
quantity of mud brought down annually by the waters, by
which the landmarks were so covered that the proprietors
could not distinguish their grounds after the river had
subsided. But whatever might be the reason of this co¬
vering of the landmarks in ancient times, it is certain that
the mud left by the Nile could not be the cause in the
time of Herodotus, or during any period of time mention¬
ed by that historian. He assigns only one foot of increase
of soil throughout Egypt in a hundred years, from the
mud left by the river; and the increase during one year,
therefore, being only the hundredth part of a foot, could
not possibly cover any landmark whatever. Besides, the
Egyptian lands are at this day separated by huge blocks
of granite, which frequently have gigantic heads; and
these, at the rate mentioned by Herodotus, could not be
covered in several thousand years. Besides, the Nile does
not now bring down any great quantity of mud. Through¬
out Abyssinia, the channel of every torrent has been worn
to the bare rock, and almost every rivulet runs in a hard
stony bed, all the loose earth being long ago washed away;
so that an annual and equable increase of the earth from
the sediment or deposit of the waters is impossible. Bruce
made a great number of trials of the water of the Nile
during the time of its inundation, in different places. At
Basboch, when just leaving the cultivated parts of Abys¬
sinia, and about to enter Sennaar, the sediment was com¬
posed of fat earth and sand, and its quantity was exceed¬
ingly small. At the junction of the Nile and Astaboras
the quantity of sediment was very little augmented; it
consisted still of the same materials, though sand predo¬
minated in its composition. At Syene the quantity of
sediment was almost nine times greater than before; but
it was now composed almost entirely of sand, with a very
small quantity of black earth. He also made a similar ex¬
periment at Rosetta, which however was not so often re¬
peated as the others; but the result of the whole was,
that in the strength of the inundation the sediment con¬
sisted mostly of sand, and, towards the end, it was in a
great measure composed of earth. Had the Nile brought
down the quantities of mud which it has been said to do,
it ought to have been most charged with it at Syene, as
there it contained the whole that was to be conveyed by
it into Egypt. Instead of this, however, the principal
part of the sediment at this place consisted of sand;
which is accounted for from the vast quantities raised by
the winds in the deserts between Gooz and Syene, and
swept along the descending valley of the Nile towards
Middle and Lower Egypt.
Bruce further adopts and argues in favour of the opi¬
nion that there has been a continual decrease of water
since the creation of the world. In this case, therefore,
if the land of Egypt had been continually increasing in
height, whilst the water which was to cover it decreased,
there must have been frequent famines on account of the
want of a sufficient inundation. But so far is this from
being the case, that, according to the testimony of several
Arabian manuscripts, there had not, when Bruce was in
Egypt, been one scarce season from the lowness of the
inundation for thirty-four years, though during the same
space famine had been three times experienced in conse¬
quence of too great an abundance of water. If there had
been such an increase of land as Herodotus and others
suppose, it must now have been very perceptible in some
EGYPT.
of the most ancient public monuments. This, however, is
by no means the case. The base of every obelisk in Up¬
per Egypt is to this day quite visible, excepting where
covered by drift-sand. Near Thebes there are still extant
two colossal statues, plainly designed as nilometers, and
which ought by this time to have been almost covered
with earth ; but, notwithstanding the length of time these
monuments have remained there, they are still bare to the
very base.
The strongest argument which the advocates for the
increase of land in Egypt make use of is, that the mea¬
sures by which the quantity of inundation is determined
are smaller now than they were in former times; and
these small measures are said to have been first intro¬
duced by the Saracens. But, as Bruce observes, such an
expedient could not have answered any good purpose, as
no decrease of the measure could have augmented the
quantity of corn produced by the ground. Savary admits
that, to render his calculation concerning the increase of
land in Egypt absolutely exact, it would be necessary to
determine the precise length of the Greek, Roman, and
Arabian cubit, and even to know the different alterations
which that measure had undergone among the nations
who employed them; but this nicety he considers as un¬
necessary, regarding the general fact to be fully establish¬
ed by what he had said before. Bruce, however, has treat¬
ed the subject with much greater accuracy. From the
situation of Canopus, the distance between Egypt and Cy¬
prus, and the extension of the land to the northward, he
concludes that no addition of any consequence can have
been made to it for three thousand years past. The only
argument left for the increase of land, therefore, must be
derived from the nilometer. The use of this instrument
was to determine the quantity of the inundation. The
first step was to ascertain what space of ground was over¬
flowed in a given number of years ; and this being deter¬
mined by mensuration, the next point was to determine
the produce of the ground upon an average. Having thus
become acquainted with the greatest and least crops pro¬
duced, together with the exact extent of ground over¬
flowed, they were furnished with all the necessary prin¬
ciples for constructing a nilometer ; and nothing now re¬
mained but to erect a pillar in a proper place, and divide
it exactly into cubits. This was accordingly done; the
pillar was first divided into cubits, and these again were
subdivided into digits. The first division of this kind
was undoubtedly that mentioned in Scripture, and called
the cubit of a man, being the length of the arm from the
middle of the round bone in the elbow to the point of the
middle finger; a measure still in use among all rude na¬
tions. But as no standard could be found by which this
measure might be exactly determined, authors have differ¬
ed very much concerning the true length of the cubit
when reduced to our feet and inches. Ur Arbuthnot
reckons two cubits mentioned in Scripture, the first con¬
taining one foot nine inches and •^j^ths of an inch, and
the second one foot and ^f^j-ths of a foot; but Bruce is of
opinion that both these estimates are too large. He found,
by mensuration, that the Egyptian cubit was exactly one
foot five inches and three fifths of an inch; and Herodo¬
tus mentions that in his time the cubit used for determin¬
ing the increase of the Nile was the Samian cubit, con¬
taining about eighteen of our inches. The latter also in¬
forms us, that, in the time of Mceris, the minimum in¬
crease of the inundation was eight cubits, at which time
all Egypt below the city of Memphis was overflowed ; but
that in his own time sixteen, or at least fifteen cubits, were
necessary to produce the same effect. But to this account
hruce objects, that Herodotus could have no certain in¬
formation concerning the nilometer, because the priests,
509
who alone had access to it, refused to tell him anything Egypt,
of the matter. Herodotus also states, that in the time
of Moeris a great lake was excavated in order to carry off
the waters of the inundation ; and this superfluous quantity
Bruce supposes to have been conveyed into the desert for
the use of the Arabs, whilst by such a vast drain the rise
of the water on the nilometer would undoubtedly be di¬
minished. But even granting that there w*as such a dif¬
ference between the rise of the water in the time of Mce¬
ris and in that of Herodotus, it does not appear that any
thing like it has ever since occurred. Strabo, who tra¬
velled into Egypt four hundred years after the time of
Herodotus, found that eight cubits were then the mini¬
mum, as well as in the time of Moeris. From some passa¬
ges in Strabo, however, it appears that it required a par¬
ticular exertion of industry to cause this quantity of water
to produce a plentiful crop; but there is not the least rea¬
son to suppose that the very same industry was not ne¬
cessary in the time of Mceris; and hence it cannot be
maintained that any increase of land is indicated by the
nilometer. About a hundred years afterwards, when the
Emperor Hadrian visited Egypt, we learn from unques¬
tionable authority that sixteen cubits were the minimum
when the people were able to pay their tribute; and that
in the fourth century, under the Emperor Julian, fifteen
cubits were the standard of contributions. Both of these
accounts correspond with that of Herodotus. But Proco¬
pius, who lived in the time of Justinian, informs us that
eighteen cubits were then requisite as a minimum.
From these accounts, so various and so discordant, it is
obvious that no certain conclusion can be drawn. It is
not easy indeed to determine the reason of this difference
in point of fact. The only conjecture which can be offered
is, that as it appears a smaller quantity of water will, by
proper management, answer the purpose of producing a
plentiful crop, so it is not unreasonable to suppose that at
different periods the industry of the people has varied so
much as to occasion the difference in question. This would
undoubtedly depend very much upon the governor for the
time ; and indeed Strabo informs us that it was by the great
care of the governor Petronius that such a small quantity
of water was made to answer the purpose. From the
whole of the above statements, however, it is probable
that no increase of land was indicated by the nilometer
from the time of Moeris to that of the Emperor Justinian.
On the conquest of Egypt by the Saracens, their barba¬
rous and stupid caliph destroyed the nilometer, causing
another to be built in its stead ; and afterwards fixed the
standard of paying tribute considerably below what it had
usually been. The Egyptians were thus kept in continual
terror, and constantly watched the new nilometer, to ob¬
serve the gradual increase or decrease of the inundation.
On this he ordered the new nilometer to be destroyed,
and another to be constructed, and all access to it to be
denied to the people ; a prohibition which was continued
to Christians until the time of the present viceroy. From
his own observations, however, Mr Bruce concludes that
fifteen cubits are now the minimum of the inundation;
and as this coincides with the accounts given in the times
of Elerodotus and Hadrian, he infers that, from the ear¬
liest ages to the present time, the same quantity of water
has been necessary to overflow this country.
With respect to what has been urged by Savary con¬
cerning the former distance of the island of Pharos from
the mainland to which it is now joined, and also regard¬
ing the city of Metelis having been once a sea-port, Vol-
ney proves that he has quoted Strabo unfairly', and conse¬
quently that no stress whatever should be laid upon a garb¬
led authority. The principal, indeed the only evidence,
which remains, therefore, is the passage already quoted
EGYPT.
510
Egypt, from Homer, in which it is stated that the island of Pharos
was as far distant from one of the mouths of the Nile as a
vessel could sail in one day before the wind. But it is to be
observed that, when Homer speaks of the distance of this
island, he does not mean its distance from the shore op¬
posite, as Savary has translated him, but from the river
Nile ; and, further, that by a day’s sail we must not under¬
stand the indefinite distance which the vessels, or rather
boats, of the ancient Greeks, could navigate in a day,
but an accurate and determinate measure of five hundred
and forty stadia. This measure has been ascertained by
Herodotus, and is the precise distance between Pharos
and the Nile, allowing, with M. d’Anville, twenty-seven
thousand toises to five hundred and forty stadia. It is
therefore far from being proved that the increase of the
Delta or of the continent was so rapid or extensive as has
been represented ; and, if such an opinion were maintain¬
ed, it would still be impossible to explain how the land at
this point, which has not gained half a league since the
days of Alexander, should have gained eleven in the much
shorter period which elapsed from the time of Menelaus to
that of the Macedonian conqueror. The utmost extent of
the encroachment of the land upon the sea, however, may
be learned from the words of Herodotus ; who informs us,
that the breadth of Egypt, along the sea-coast, from the
Gulf of Plinthine to the Lake Serbonis near Mount Ca-
sius, is three thousand six hundred stadia, and its length
from the sea to Heliopolis fifteen hundred stadia. For,
allowing the stadium of Herodotus to have been equal to
between fifty and fifty-one French toises, it follows that
the fifteen hundred stadia just mentioned are equal to
seventy-six thousand toises; which, at the rate of fifty-
seven thousand to a degree, gives one degree and nearly
twenty minutes and a half. But, from the astronomical
observations of Niebuhr, the difference of latitude between
Heliopolis and the sea is one degree twenty-nine minutes
at Damietta, and one degree twenty-four minutes at Ro¬
setta ; and hence, supposing the measures of the histo¬
rian and the observations of the traveller to be both ac¬
curate, there is a difference of three minutes and a half,
or a league and a half of encroachment on the one side,
and eight minutes and a half, or three leagues and a half,
on the other.
The doctrine, therefore, that Egypt is absolutely the
gift of the Nile, a doctrine which w as originally proposed
by Herodotus, appears to be wholly untenable. From the
facts above stated, indeed, we may conclude, first, that the
apparent augmentation of the land, arising from the en¬
croachment of the river on the sea, has, in a long tract of
ages, been exceedingly trifling; and, secondly, that even
this superficial increase may be in a great measure, if not
altogether, attributed to errors arising from the compari¬
son of the ancient wdth the modern standards of measure¬
ment. But although the surface of Egypt may have un¬
dergone little change in point of extent, from the suppos¬
ed encroachments of the river, there can be little doubt
whatever that the alluvial deposits made by the Nile dur¬
ing its periodical inundations must, in the course of ages,
have become considerable. Accordingly, the men of sci¬
ence who accompanied the French expedition to Egypt
undertook to measure the depth of alluvial matter actual¬
ly deposited; and, proceeding on the data thus obtained,
they attempted to deduce the mean rate of accumula¬
tion, and thence to form conjectures respecting the com¬
parative antiquity of a number of the monuments situat¬
ed on the banks of the river. By sinking pits at different
distances, and in a variety of places, both on the margin
of the stream and on the outer edge of the stratum of
alluvial matter, they ascertained that the surface of the
soil slopes downward from the banks of the river to the
base of the hills on either side; that the thickness or E
depth of the deposit is generally about ten feet near the w?
current, but decreases gradually in proportion as it recedes ^
from the stream ; and that beneath the mud there is a
bed of sand, analogous to that of the adjoining deserts on
which the alluvial deposit, is, as it were, superimposed.
Thus the surface of the valley has acquired a convex form"
similar to that observed in the plains which border on the
Mississippi, the Ganges, and other great rivers, where the
alluvial deposits are generally most considerable on the
margin of the currents. This being the case, then, the next
step was to ascertain the mean rate of accumulation or
deposition of alluvial matter in a given period of time,
in order thence to form a sort of chronometrical scale, by
which the age in which any monument or work of art in
the immediate neighbourhood of the river had been erect¬
ed might be determined by approximation. Assuming that
in the original erection of monuments, whether temples,
palaces, or statues, the men by whom they were construct¬
ed would not place their foundations or bases below the
level of the river at ordinary or average inundation, and
adopting as the standard of comparison the received chro¬
nology of the world, it is obvious that, from the total depth
of the alluvial deposit, the mean secular accumulation would
be at once obtained, and that this, again, would give the
number of ages which had elapsed since any monument
situated as we have already described had been founded.
But there is another mode of arriving at the same or
similar results. We learn from Herodotus, that unless the
river rose fifteen or sixteen cubits, it did not overflow its
banks, and no contributions were levied; and under the
Arabs sixteen cubits was the lowest elevation which would
allow of an assessment. But the accumulation of soil has
raised the standard ; and unless the water rise consider¬
ably higher, there is now no chance of an abundant harvest.
In 1779, which was a bad year, the water rose at the
mikyas or nilometer, sixteen cubits and two inches; but in
1800 it reached eighteen cubits three inches. Now, sup¬
posing this height to be exactly equivalent to the standard
of sixteen cubits at the time the mikyas was erected (a. d.
847), the difference between the two numbers (two cubits
and three inches) will give the increase of elevation in
the bed of the river since the year 847; so that we have
1*49 metres, or 3*77 feet, as the numerical expression for
the accumulation of soil in about nine centuries and a half,
or nearly four inches in a century. Again, at Elephantine
near the southern extremity of Egypt, the ancient nilo¬
meter mentioned by Strabo is still standing, and the
highest measure marked upon its scale is twenty-four
cubits; but the water, when at its greatest elevation, now
rises 2*413 metres, or nearly eight feet, above that mark,
whilst, as appears from an inscription on the wall, it rose
only 0*31 of a metre, or 1*01 foot, above the same point at
the commencement of the third century of our era. The
difference, then, between these numbers (2*11 metres,
or 6*9 feet), gives the accumulation of soil in the bed of
the river, at that place, during sixteen hundred years,
that is, supposing no increase to have taken place in the
absolute quantity of water in the river; and from this it fol¬
lows that the secular or centenary accumulation amounts
to 0*132 of a metre, 0*434 of a foot, or rather more than
five inches. The approximation of the results thus obtain¬
ed from independent data affords a very strong presump¬
tion in favour of their accuracy; and we shall probably
come very near the truth in assuming the mean of both,
or four inches and a half, as the average secular accumu¬
lation. Among the dates thus ascertained, we shall now
proceed to mention some of the most remarkable.
And, first, the depth of the soil around the colossal
statue of Memnon at Thebes gives only 0*106 of a metre,
EGYPT.
.pu or rather less than four inches, as the rate of secular ac-
^ cumulation, whilst the mean of several observations made
in the valley of Lower Egypt gives 0*126 of a metre, or
rather more than four inches. But the basis of the statue
of Memnon, having been placed on an artificial mound,
must have been originally raised above the level of the in¬
undation ; and, from excavations made near it, the French
ascertained that the original height of the terrace was
six metres, or 19*686 feet, above the level of the soil. A
similar result was obtained from examining the founda¬
tions of the palace at Luxor and, in both cases, no doubt
remained that the foundations of these edifices were above
the level of the river at ordinary or average inundations.
Taking 0*126 of a metre, therefore, as the mean secular
accumulation of alluvion, the depth of the soil round the
statue of Memnon, divided by this quantity, gave 4760 as
the number of years which had elapsed since the monu¬
ment in question had been erected, or 2960 years before
Christ., But, according to the system of chronology found¬
ed on the Samaritan text and the Septuagint version of the
Scriptures, the deluge occurred in the year 3716 before
Christ; and, therefore, according to the above calculation,
and proceeding on the data we have mentioned, the erec¬
tion of this colossal statue took place 756 years after the
flood, which is also the approximate date of the foundation
of Thebes.1 2 Again, the alluvial deposit collected around
the base of the obelisk of Luxor indicates, in the same way,
that it was erected about fourteen centuries befpje the
Christian era. Thirdly, the causeway which traverses the
plain of Siout, or Lycopolis, furnishes similar data for con¬
cluding that it was founded nearly twelve hundred years
anterior to the same epoch. Lastly, the pillar or obelisk
at Heliopolis, six miles from Cairo, appears, from the same
sort of evidence, to have been raised about the period last
mentioned; but as the waters of the inundation recede
more slowly on the plain of the Delta than in the valley
of Upper Egypt, the accumulation of alluvial soil will con¬
sequently be more rapid there than higher up the stream,
and hence the foundations of edifices and monuments will
be at a proportionally greater depth than those of the
same antiquity in the middle and upper provinces.3
It is obvious, however, that no great reliance can be
placed on such calculations as those of which we have here
endeavoured to give some account, and that several ele¬
ments of error enter into the premises from which they
have been deduced. In the first place, the experiments
made by the French to ascertain the depth of the alluvial
soil were too few in number, and too hastily performed, to
render it safe to adopt the results obtained as the basis of
reasoning. Secondly, the deposition of mud or soil in the
valley of Egypt must have proceeded more rapidly in an¬
cient times than it does in the present day, when all the
rocks over which the Nile and its tributaries now flow
have long been washed bare, or even than it has done ever
since its effects first became an object of inquiry and exa¬
mination. Thirdly, it is impossible to ascertain whether
the measures referred to by the ancient historians were
511
always of the same standard, or whether, in fact, there Egypt,
was any fixed standard at all. And, lastly, the variations
in the different systems of chronology are, independently
of all other considerations, a double source of uncertainty
in such calculations as those which we have been consider¬
ing. In fact, the very thing to be proved is in some mea¬
sure taken for granted, and the assumption contained in the
premises is merely reproduced in the conclusion. At the
same time, in as far as any value may be attached to the
dates thus ascertained, they unquestionably serve to nega¬
tive the extravagant chronology of the ancient Egyptians,
and to reduce it within those limits which history, both
sacred and profane, has assigned to the early civilization
which took root on the banks of the Nile. Further, it is
manifest that, though the level of the land has been raised,
its superficial extent towards the sea has not been mate¬
rially increased, and that there appears to be but little
ground for the apprehension expressed by Dr Shaw, that
in process of time the whole country will be raised to such
a height as to prevent the river from overflowing its banks,
and that Egypt, deprived of the annual inundation, will,
from being the most fertile, become one of the most bar¬
ren parts of the universe.4 “ As the formation of land in
the Delta,” says Dr Russell, “ proceeds at a quicker rate
than in the higher parts of the basin, the issue of water
into the sea becomes year after year less rapid, and con¬
sequently less copious ; the current is retarded by the ac¬
cumulation of mud ; the mouths are successively choked
by the increasing masses of sand and soil; and hence, in
the course of ages, the stream, creating a barrier against
its own escape, will be thrown back upon the more elevat¬
ed portion of the valley, and become the willing servant
of the agriculturists from Rosetta to the Cataracts.”5
The soil of Lower Egypt is so horizontal and so equal,
that at the moment when, on approaching it from the sea,
the date trees are discovered in the horizon, the mariner
is still about twenty miles distant from the coast; and if he
penetrates the country by one of the branches of the Nile,
he ascends by so gentle an inclination that he cannot ad¬
vance more than a league in the hour. The aspects of the
plain vary but little. These are, palm trees, isolated or
in clusters, which become fewer as you advance ; villages
built of earth, and having an air of ruins; a surface without
apparent limits, which, according to the season of the year,
is a sea of fresh water, a marshy plain, an expanse of ver¬
dure, or an immense field covered with sand, over which
the eye wanders fatigued by the monotony of the prospect.
In advancing towards the apex of the Delta, or the point
where the bifurcation of the Nile takes place, there are
discovered towards the west three isolated masses, which
from their forms are immediately recognized as the Pyra¬
mids. A little further on commences the valley of the
Nile, which is prolonged towards the south, between two
chains of heights nearly parallel, for about a hundred and
fifty leagues. By its extent, its arid aspect, and its ste-
rility, the eastern bank of the river justifies the denomi¬
nation of desert which it has received ; whilst the western
1 This word is an European corruption of El-Oksor or El-Ocsor.
* According to the reckoning in the Hebrew text, the deluge occurred 2348 years before Christ; and hence, comparing the above
calculation with this chronological estimate, the celebrated metropolis of the Thebaid was founded 812 (2980—2348) years before
the flood. Klaproth, however, has shown that, in this matter, a preference ought to be given to the Samaritan text, or even to
the Septuagint version, inasmuch as a singular approximation to the former is obtained by taking a mean between it and the
Hindu and Chinese epochs. (Asia Polyglotta, 25, 29.)
3 Encyclopedia Metropolitana, art. Egypt. “ To form these calculations,” says the able and learned writer whom we have here fol¬
lowed, with such accuracy as would render them less liable to controversy, more time and observation would be requisite than
could be given by the French during the short period they continued in undisturbed possession of Egypt; one general and impor¬
tant consequence, however, arising from their inquiries can hardly be overlooked or denied, viz. that the dates thus obtained are
as remote trom the extravagant chronology of the ancient Egyptians as they are consistent with the testimony of both sacred and
profane history with regard to the early civilization of that country.”
4 Shaw’s Travels, vol. ii. p. 235. 4 Russell's View of Ancient and Modern Egypt, p. 42.
512 EGYPT.
Egypt, bank, which is only the crest of a rock covered with sand,
presents the appearance of a mound or causeway. In short,
let the reader imagine on one side a narrow sea and rocks,
on the other immense plains of sand, and in the middle
a river, flowing through a valley of a hundred and fifty
leagues in length, and from three to seven in width, which
at the distance of thirty leagues from the sea separates into
two arms, the branches of which wander over a soil almost
free from obstacles and void of declivity, and he will be
enabled to form a tolerable idea of this singular country.
At the same time, the change of the seasons communicates
variety even to the narrow valley of the Nile. Towards
the winter solstice vegetation appears ; the verdure of the
meadows delights the eye; a multitude of odoriferous
shrubs perfume the air; and Egypt forms then a delici¬
ous garden. At the vernal equinox tire soil, subjected to
all the influence of a sky without clouds, and of continual
winds, which often blow with great violence, becomes dry
and dusty; whilst, at a still later period, namely, after
the periodical inundation, by which it is almost entirely
renovated, it is only a vast marsh.1
The Nile, which is the largest river of the old world,
and may be described as the great artery of Egypt, has
its true sources in a region to which the restless foot of
adventure has not yet penetrated ; and little more is
known of them now than in those days when they excited
the curiosity of Ca;sar, and occupied the researches of
Eratosthenes. The learned librarian of Alexandria, indeed,
distinguished three principal branches of the Nile. The
first or most easterly, being identical with the Tacaze
of the moderns, flows down the northern side of the table¬
land of Abyssinia; the second known branch, or the Bahr-
el-Azrek, after making a circuit or detour on the table-land
of Abyssinia, descends through the plains of Sennaar ; and
both are tributaries of the Bahr-el-Abiad or White River,
which is the true Nile, and probably has its sources in
the elevated chain to the south of Darfur, called Djibel-
el-Kumri or Mountains of the Moon. The hypothesis of
a connection between the Niger and the Nile has been
destroyed by recent discoveries, which leave no longer
any doubt that the former discharges itself into the sea by
several mouths between the Bights of Benin and Biafra.
Browne, indeed, has positively asserted that the rivers
Misselad and Bar-koolla run from south to north ; but even
this fact, which is generally admitted, does not allow us
to suppose any other communication between the Nile and
the Niger than may be formed by canals, like those of the
Cassiquiari in Guiana, winding along a table-land, where
the sources of the Misselad and Bar-koolla are at a short
distance from each other and from those of the Nile; or,
perhaps, as it has been affirmed that travellers have passed
by water from Timbuctoo to Cairo, it may be supposed
that the sources of all these rivers are sufficiently near to
admit of intercommunication by means of temporary lakes
formed during the rainy season. But the Bahr-el-Abiad, or
true Nile, whatever be its source, receives two large rivers
from Abyssinia, and then turning to the southward, makes
an extensive sweep through the country of Dongola. But at
three different points of its course it is intersected by moun¬
tains, and at each it has forced a passage for itself through fV
the rocky barrier. The second cataract in Nubia is the ^
most violent and the most difficultly navigable. The third
is at Syene or Assouan, the point where the Nile enters
Egypt. The height of this cataract, which has been greatly
exaggerated bysome travellers, varies according to the sea¬
son, and is generally about four or five feet. The Cataracts
are in fact rapids rather than falls; and at the second of
which an admirable description has been given by Belzoni
the water rushes onward with great velocity. The ridges of
rock which formerly crossed the line of the river, and gave
rise to the celebrated falls the sound of which was heard at
the distance of many a league, and stunned the neighbour¬
ing inhabitants, have been insensibly worn down by attrition,
until the falls have disappeared, and rapids only remain.2
From Syene to Cairo the river flows along the valley, be¬
tween two mountain ridges, one of which extends to the
Red Sea, and the other terminates in the deserts of Libya.
The river occupies the middle of the valley as far as the
strait called Djibbel-Silsili, about forty miles in length, at
the mouth of which it runs along the right side of the
valley, which is bounded by a steep line of rocks cut into
peaks, whilst the ridge on the left is accessible by a slope
of varying acclivity. The mountains which confine the
basin of the Nile in Upper Egypt are intersected by defiles,
which on one side lead to the shores of the Red Sea, and
on the other to the Oases. Near Benisouef, the valley,
already much widened on the west, presents on that side
an opening, through which is obtained a view of the fertile
plains of Fayoum, forming a sort of table-land, separated
from the mountains on the south and west by a wide val¬
ley, a portion of which, being always laid under water, is
hence called Birket-el-Karoun. Near Cairo, the chains
which limit the valley diverge on both sides, whilst in
front opens the vast plain of the Delta; and at Battu-el-
Bahara the river separates into two branches, one flowing
to Rosetta, the other to Damietta, and forming together
two side, of the equilateral triangle called the Delta;
which, however, was larger in former times, being bounded
on the east by the Pelusiac branch, which is now choked
up with sand, and on the west by the Canopic branch,
which is partly confounded with the canal of Alexandria,
and partly lost in Lake Etko.3
In ancient times the Nile discharged itself into the sea
by seven different mouths or embouchures. The first of
these was the Canopic mouth, which flowed into the sea
near Canopus, a town situated 120 stadia or fifteen miles
to the east of Alexandria, and corresponds with the pre¬
sent outlet of Lake Etko, or, according to others, with that
of the Lake of Aboukir or Maadieh, through which the Nile
then flowed ;4 the second was the Bolbitic or Bolbitine,
from Bolbitine, a towm on its banks, near the place where
Rosetta now stands; the third, the Sditic, from Sais, con¬
founded by Strabo with Tanis, probably the opening into
the present Lake Burlos; the fourth, the Sebennytic, from
Sebennytus, the course of which is supposed to be marked
by the canal of Shibin-el-koum ; the fifth, the Phatnitic,
Pathmetic, dr Bucolic, which passes by Damietta, and now
forms the eastern branch of the Nile ; the sixth, the Men-
1 liifaud, Tableau dc VEgypte ct de la Nubie, p. 3, 4.
A similar effect, which time will produce on the cliffs of Niagara,” says Dr Russell, “ will be attended with a similar result
on the chain ot lakes that terminate in Erie, the contents of which will at length find their way to the ocean along the bed of the
St Lawrence. In the remote ages of the future, the immense valleys now occupied by the Superior, Michigan, and those other
inland seas which form so striking a feature in North America, will be covered with flocks, herds, and an agricultural population, and
^ a ^ne r^ver passing through their centre. In this way the interior of every continent is drained, while new tracts
of alluvial land are added to its extremities.” {View of Ancient and Modern Egypt, p. 43.)
3 ^!^Ee‘Brun, Geography, vol. iv. p. 20, Eng. transl. Girard, Memoires sur VEgypte, tom. iii. p. 13.
This was also called the Ilcraclcotic and Eaucratic mouth; the one from a Ileracleion or temple of Hercules, and the other from
Naucratis, a town on its banks. (See Coote’s Plan du Nouveau Canal d'Alexandria dit Mahmoudyeh, annexed to Mengin’s Hist, de
1'Egypt e.)
EGYPT.
513
j .pt, desian, so named from Mendes, a town sacred to the Egyp-
tian Pan, which is lost in Lake Menzaleh, the mouth of
which is represented by that of Dibeh; and the seventh,
the Pelusiac, which seems to be represented by what is now
the most easterly mouth of Lake Menzaleh, near the spot
where are still to be seen the ruins of Pelusium.1 But the
septem ostia Nili, or seven mouths of the Nile, are at pre¬
sent reduced to two, namely, the Bolbitinic and Phatnitic,
or those of Rosetta and Damietta; and of the other five
scarcely any distinct vestiges are now traceable, except a
canal or two, which are only navigable during part of the
year.
The depth and rapidity of the Nile vary according to
the particular place and the season of the year. In its or¬
dinary state, the river, from its mouth to the Cataracts,
carries no vessel exceeding sixty tons burden. At Dami¬
etta it is seven or eight feet deep when the waters are low ;
but at Rosetta the depth does not exceed four or five feet
in the same state of the river. When the waters are high,
the depth at both embouchures is increased about forty-
one feet, and corvettes carrying twenty-four guns can
then sail up as far as Cairo. During the inundation the
navigation is facilitated by means of agents which act in a
contrary direction ; for whilst the strength of the current
carries vessels rapidly from the Cataracts to the bogaz
or embouchure, the strong northerly winds, which prevail
during nine months of the year, enable them with their sails
set to ascend the river with almost equal rapidity. When
the river is low7, and the stream consequently less powerful,
these winds, which are constant during the time they pre¬
vail, often render it impossible for vessels to make their
way downwards even with their sails furled; and hence the
practice at such times is to row down the stream during
the night, when the wind has subsided, and to halt some¬
where during the day; whilst, on the other hand, the
vessels which are upward bound sail during the day, and
come to an anchor during the night. The passage from
Cairo to the Mediterranean occupies from eight to ten
days; but, by means of steam navigation, it might easily
be performed in less than half that time. When both
voyages are practicable, it is an interesting sight to see
the numerous boats impelled by opposite agents, passing
one another with almost equal rapidity. The mouths of
the Nile are of difficult navigation even during the high
state of the river, the shifting sand-banks constantly cre¬
ating unforeseen dangers. With the aid of a little ad¬
dress, combined with courage, the Cataracts are some¬
times passed; the lowest in particular being, as above stat¬
ed, a rapid rather than a fall, and the others, though more
perilous, partaking of the same character.
It has already been observed, that the soil of Lower
Egypt chiefly owes its existence to the deposition of mud
or earth by the Nile, which has also formed the banks at
the different mouths of that river. The mud of the Nile
first covered the low ground nearest to its bed or channel,
whilst the increase of soil from the deposition of mud was
more gradual in its progress in distant parts; and hence
arose the formation of lakes. But these in their turn
were gradually filled up by the land formed out of the
deposited mud of the river, which consequently increased
the boundaries of Lower Egypt, by taking from the sea;
yet as the tendency of the sea is to resist such encroach¬
ments, it is probable that the ground formed by the depo¬
sited mud of the Nile will no longer continue to increase
in one direction without diminishing in another. The
experience of centuries has fully evinced, that the sea
has actually taken more from the extent of Egypt than
has been compensated by the mud of the Nile. By the
simple operation of physical causes, it may be concluded,
that if nature and art do not co-operate, if the water be
permitted to increase, and the channels of the different
branches be augmented, the sea will continue to snatch
new lands from the inhabitants ; and this appears to be
the inevitable doom of Egypt, unless counteracted by the
labour and ingenuity of man. A large proportion of the
land formerly watered by the branches of the Nile already
described, is now the bed of Lake Menzaleh. Lake Bour-
los, as we have seen, is not far from the mouth of what
was formerly called the Sebennytic branch, and Lake
Maadieh is near the mouth of the ancient Canopic arm.
But Lake Mareotis was at too great a distance from the
Nile to be filled up with the mud which it deposits, and
its waters were diverted from the lake by a canal which
had been cut for the conveyance of water to the city ol
Alexandria ; and hence, having no communication with
the sea, its waters were gradually evaporated, and it con¬
tinued nearly, if not altogether dry until those of the
sea were let into it by the British during the siege of
Alexandria, in the manner already described. There are
also a few lakes which owe their origin to the redundant
waters of the Nile diffusing themselves over hollow places
in which they are confined, and which only disappear by
the gradual process of evaporation. In addition to the
branches and chief canals already mentioned, there are
numerous lesser canals in Lower Egypt which convey the
waters of the inundation, s^hilst dykes in different dis¬
tricts serve to retain them. By these waters the more
elevated grounds are fertilized, and then other cantons in
succession, after which they are poured into the lakes, or
are lost in the sea.
The cause of the fertility of Egypt is the Nile, without
which, as it almost never rains in that part of the world,
the whole country would soon become an uninhabitable
desert. Swelled by the rains which fall in Abyssinia, the
river begins to rise about the month of May ; but the in¬
crease is inconsiderable till towards the end of June, when
it is proclaimed by a public crier through the streets of
Cairo. About this time it usually rises to the height of
five or six cubits ; and when it has attained sixteen, great
rejoicings are made, and the people cry out that God has
given them abundance. This commonly takes place about
the latter end of July, or at farthest before the 20th of Au¬
gust ; and the sooner it occurs, so much the greater are
the hopes of a good crop. Sometimes, though rarely, the
necessary increase does not take place till a later period
of the season. In the year 1705 the river did not swell
to sixteen cubits till the 19th of September; and the con¬
sequence was that the country was depopulated by famine
and pestilence. In ordinary circumstances, however, the
rise of the Nile commences at the summer solstice, or to¬
wards the end of June; it attains its greatest height at
the autumnal equinox, or towards the end of September;
it then remains stationary for several days, and at length di¬
minishes, but at a less rapid rate than that at wdiich it rose.
But as the Nile of itself cannot overflow the whole country
so as to fertilize it, there are cut from it across the coun¬
try innumerable canals, by which the water is conveyed
to distant places; and almost every town or village has
Egypt.
1 In the time of Herodotus, the river, it appears, divided, near the point of the Delta, into three principal arms : the Canopic (1)
on the west, the Pelusiac (7) on the east, and the Sebennytic (4) in the middle; whilst from the latter there issued two smaller
wms, the Sai'tic (3) on the west, and the Mendesian (6) on the east. These were considered as natural channels; but the two
remaining arms, namelv, the Bolbitinic, between the Canopic and Sa'itic, and the Bucolic, to the west of the Mendesian, were arti¬
ficial.
VOL. vm. 3 T
514
EGYPT.
Egypt, one of these canals. In those parts of the country which
the inundation does not reach, and where more water is
required than it can furnish, as for irrigating of gardens, re¬
course is had to artificial means for raising it from the river.
In former times Archimedes’ screw was employed for this
purpose; but it is now disused, and instead of it the Per¬
sian wheel, and other engines of more modern and approv¬
ed construction, have been introduced. The rise of the
inundation is measured, as has already been observed, by
an instrument adapted for the purpose, and called a nilo-
meter. This is placed between Gizeh and Cairo, on the
point of an island in the middle of the river, but some¬
what nearer to Gizeh. It consists of a round tower with
an apartment, in the middle of which is a cistern neatly
lined with marble. The bottom of this cistern reaches to
that of the river, and there is a large opening by which
the water has free access to the inside. The rise of the
water is indicated by an octagonal column of blue and white
marble, on which are marked twenty cubits of twenty-two
inches each. The two lowermost of these have no sub¬
divisions ; but each of the rest is divided into twenty-four
parts called digits; and the whole height of the pillar is
thirty-six feet eight inches. When the river has attained
its proper height, all the canals are opened, and the whole
country is laid under water. During the time of the
inundation a certain vertical motion of the waters takes
place; but notwithstanding this, the Nile is so easily mana¬
ged, that many fields lower than the surface of its waters
are preserved from injury merely by a dam of moistened
earth seldom more than eight or ten inches in thickness.
This method is used particularly in the Delta when it is
threatened with a flood.
As the Nile does not always rise to a height sufficient
for the purposes of agriculture, the former sovereigns of
Egypt expended great labour in cutting proper canals,
and in forming lakes or reservoirs, in order to supply the
deficiency. Some of these are still preserved, but until
the reign of the present viceroy great numbers had been
rendered useless through the indolence or barbarity of
his predecessors. Those which convey the water into
Cairo, the province of Fayoum, and Alexandria, were for¬
merly most attended to by the government; but now all
are equally under its superintendence, and kept in a state
of good repair. A number of other canals, under the
care of those who derive advantage from them, proceed
from that arm of the Nile which flows past Damietta,
and fertilize the province of Sharkieh, which, forming part
of the isthmus of Suez, is the most considerable of Egypt,
and the most capable of a great increase of cultivation.
The plains of Gaza, situated beyond this province, and
possessed by the Arabs, would be equally fertile were it
not for the propensity of these people to destroy every
thing within their reach. A number of other canals run
through the Delta; and the remains of those which wa¬
tered the provinces to the eastward and westward show
that in former times these were the best cultivated parts
of Egypt. We may also presume, from the extent of the
ruins of Alexandria, the construction of the canal, and the
natural level of the lands which encompass the Lake Ma-
reotis, and extend westward to the kingdom of Barca, that
this country, now almost a desert, was once sufficiently
rich in productions of every kind to furnish the city of
Alexandria with its whole subsistence.
The air and climate of Egypt are extremely hot, not
only from the height of the sun, which in summer ap-
proaches to the zenith, but from the want of rain, and the
vicinity of those burning and sandy deserts which lie to
the southward. In the months of July and of August F
Reaumur’s thermometer stands, in the shade, at the height W
of twenty-four or twenty-five degrees above the freezing *
point; and in the southern parts it is said to rise still
higher. Hence the two principal seasons to be distin¬
guished in Egypt are the cool and the hot, or spring and
summer, with a very short winter in the north. “La tem¬
perature de 1’Egypte,” says Rifaud, “ varie selon la lati¬
tude et 1 epoque de 1’annee ou 1’on fait des observations.
Dans le nord, le thermometre descend en hiver jusqu’i
deux ou trois degres au-dessus de zero; dans les chaleurs
il descend rarement au-dessous de 22 degres. Dans le
sud, vers Ecouan (Assouan) on a constate des chaleurs
de 34 degres a I’ombre, et le thermometre, place dans le
sable, marquait jusqu’a 54 degres au soleil.1 The sum¬
mer continues during the greater part of the year, name¬
ly, from March to November, or even longer; and by the
end of February the sun is intolerable to a European even
at nine o’clock in the morning. During the whole of this
season the air seems to be inflamed, the sky sparkles, and
profuse perspiration takes place, even without the least
exercise, and although covered with the lightest dress.
But this heat is tempered by the inundation of the Nile,
the fall of the night dews, and the subsequent evaporation;
so that some of the European merchants, as well as the
natives, complain of the cold in winter. The dew which
we speak of is not formed regularly throughout the sum¬
mer, as with us, the parched state of the country not af¬
fording a sufficient quantity of vapour for this purpose. It
is first observed about the end of June, when the river
has begun to rise, and consequently a greater quantity of
water is converted into vapour by the heat of the sun,
which being soon condensed by the cold of the night air,
descends in copious dews.
It might naturally be imagined, that as, during three
months in the year, Egypt is a wet and marshy plain, the
excessive evaporation and the putrefaction of the stagnant
waters would render it exceedingly unhealthy. But this
is by no means the case. The great dryness of the air
causes it to absorb vapours of all kinds with the utmost
avidity; and these rising to a great height, are carried off
by the winds either to the southward or northward, with¬
out having time to communicate any of their deleterious
effects. I his dryness is so remarkable in the internal parts
of the country, that meat exposed to the open air does not
putrefy even in summer, but soon becomes hard and dry
like wood. In the deserts dead carcasses dried in this
manner, and which have become so light that one may
easily raise that of a camel, are frequently met with. In
the maritime parts, however, such dryness of the air is not
to be expected, and the same degree of moisture which is
usually met with in such situations prevails. At Rosetta
and Alexandria, iron cannot be exposed to the air for
twenty-four hours without rusting. The air of Egypt is
also strongly impregnated with saline particles. The
stones, says Volney, are corroded by natron or mineral al¬
kali ; and in moist places crystallizations are to be found
which might be taken for saltpetre. The wall of the Jesuits’
garden at Cairo, built with earth and bricks, is everywhere
covered with a crust of natron, as thick as a crown piece;
and when this garden has been overflowed by the waters
of the kalidj or canal, the ground, after they have been
drained off, sparkles on every side with crystals, certainly
not brought thither by the water, which shows no indica¬
tion of salt either to the taste or by distillation. But what¬
ever may be the quantity of salt contained in the earth,
Volney’s opinion of its being produced by the air can
1 Tableau de FEgypte et de la Nubie, p. 9, 10.
EGYPT.
vpi. scarcely be maintained. The salt in question is exces-
sively fixed, and cannot be dissipated into the air without
the violent heat of a glass-house furnace; and even after
this has been done, it cannot remain diffused throughout
the atmosphere, but must quickly descend. No experi¬
ments have ever shown that any salt was or could be dif¬
fused in the air, except volatile alkali, which is now known
to be formed by the union of two permanently elastic
fluids; and it is certain that a saline air would quickly
prove fatal to the animals who inhaled it. The abundance
of this kind of salt in Egypt only shows, therefore, that
by some unknown operation the heat of the sun forms it
out of the two ingredients of earth and water, though we
do not yet understand the manner in which it is effected,
nor are we able to imitate this natural operation. To
this saline property of the earth is ascribed the excessive
quickness of vegetation in Egypt, which is so great that
a species of gourd called kara will, in twenty-four hours,
send forth shoots of four inches in length; but, probably
from the same cause, no exotic plant is found to thrive in
Egypt. The merchants are obliged annually to send to
Malta for their garden seeds; and though the plants thrive
very well at first, yet if the seed of them be preserved,
and sown a second year, they become too tall and slender.
By reason of the extreme dryness of the air, Egypt is
in a great measure exempted from the phenomena of rain,
hail, snow, thunder, and lightning. Earthquakes are also
seldom heard of in that country ; though they have some¬
times proved very fatal and destructive, particularly one
which happened in the year 1112. In the Delta it never
rains in summer, and very seldom at any other season. In
1761, however, such a quantity of rain unexpectedly fell,
that a great number of houses built of mud walls tumbled
down, in consequence of being soaked with the water. In
Upper Egypt the rain is still less frequent; but the people,
sensible of the advantages which result from it, always re¬
joice when any falls, however insufficient it may be to sup¬
ply their wants. But this want of rain is supplied by the
water of the inundation, and by the heavy dews already
mentioned. The latter originate partly from the waters
of the inundation, and partly also from the sea. These
dews are more or less copious according to the direction of
the wind. They are produced in the greatest quantity by
the westerly or northerly winds, which blow from the sea;
but the south and south-east winds, blowing over the arid
deserts of Africa and Arabia, produce none whatever.
The periodical return of winds from a certain quarter is
a very remarkable phenomenon in this country. When
the sun approaches the tropic of Cancer, they shift from
the east to the north ; and during the month of June they
always blow from the north or north-west. They continue
northerly all the month of July, only varying sometimes
towards the east, and sometimes in a contrary direction.
About the end of the latter month, and during the whole of
August and September, they blow directly from the north,
and are of hut moderate strength, though generally weaker
in the night than during the day. Towards the end of Sep¬
tember they return to the east, though they do not abso¬
lutely fix in that point, but blow more regularly from it
than from any other except the north and north-west. As
the sun approaches the southern tropic they become more
variable and tempestuous, blowing most commonly from
the north, north-east, and west, which they continue to do
throughout the months of December, January, and Feb-
ruary; and, during that season, the vapours raised from
the Mediterranean condense into a mist, and even some¬
times into rain. Towards the end of February, and during
515
the succeeding month, the winds blow more frequently Egypt,
from the south than from any other quarter. During the
whole of the months of March and April they blow from
the south, south-east, and south-west; sometimes from
the north and east, the latter winds being most prevalent
about the end of that month, and continuing during the
whole of May. “ Les vents d’ouest et de nord-ouest,” says
Rifaud, “ poussent vers 1’Egypte les sables des deserts de
1’Afrique. Ces sables, apres avoir franchi la chaine Libyque,
descendent dans la vallee, et retrecissent de plus en plus
la bande de terrain cultivable. Ces sables, uniquement
composes de grains quartzeux, s’accumulent en dunes en
quelques er.droits.”1
It is to the long continuance of the north winds, formerly
denominated the Etesian winds, that Egypt probably owes
its extreme dryness, as well as part of the inundation by
which it is fertilized. From the month of April till July
there appear to be two immense currents in the atmo¬
sphere ; the under one blowing from the north, and the
upper one from the south. By the former the vapours are
raised from the Mediterranean and the southern parts of
Europe, whence they are carried over Abyssinia, and dis¬
solve on the lofty chains of the interior in immense de¬
luges of rain ; whilst by the latter the superfluous vapours,
or those raised from the country of Abyssinia itself, are
carried northward toward the sources of the Euphrates,
where the clouds coming from the south, and descending
into the lower part of the atmosphere, dissolve in like man¬
ner into rain, and produce an inundation of the Euphrates
similar to that of the Nile, and immediately succeeding it.
Bruce had an opportunity of ascertaining this fact in the
month of June 1768; for whilst on a voyage from Sidon
to Alexandria, he observed great numbers of thin white
clouds moving rapidly from the south, and in direct oppo¬
sition to the Etesian winds.
Besides the ordinary winds here spoken of, Egypt is visit¬
ed with the destructive blasts common to all tropical coun¬
tries which have extensive deserts in their neighbourhood.
The most destructive of these has been distinguished by
various names, such as poisonous wind, hot wind, Samiel,
the wind of Damascus, Khamsin, and Simoom. These
are different names for the same wind, which is denomi¬
nated Khamsin in Egypt, Samiel in Arabia, and Simoom
or Seimoum in the desert. “ Des que ce vent de sud com¬
mence a souffler, I’atmosphere se trouble ; une teinte pour-
pre plus ou moins vive la colore ; le ressort de fair et son
elasticite cessent; une chaleur seche et brulante les rem-
place, en meme temps que des tourbillons, semblables aux
emanations d’une fournaise ardente, se succedent par in-
tervalles. Lorsque cet etat de I’atmosphere n’est que
faible, il cause un mal-aise general, dont tous les etres or¬
ganises se ressentent; a un degre plus intense, il rend ma-
lade, et peut meme causer la mort.”2 Blasts of this de¬
scription are in Egypt denominated “ winds of fifty days,”
because they most commonly prevail during the fifty days
preceding and following the equinox; though, were they
to blow constantly during one half of that time, an univer¬
sal destruction would be the consequence. Of the effects
of these winds travellers have given various descriptions.
Volney states that the violence of their heat may be com¬
pared to a large oven at the moment of drawing out the
bread. They always blow from the south, and are un¬
doubtedly produced by the motion of the atmosphere
over extensive tracts of hot sand, by which it is deprived
of its moisture, and heated as if it had passed through a
furnace. When they begin to blow, the sky (as stated by
Rifaud in the passage already quoted) loses its usual se-
1 Tableau deVEgypteet de la Nubie, p. 10.
Tableau de VEgypte et de la Nubie, p. 8.
516 EGYPT.
Egypt remty, and assumes a dark, heavy, and alarming aspect;
even the sun himself lays aside his usual splendour, and
„ becomes of a violet cglour. This terrific appearance seems
not to be occasioned by iy real haze or cloud in the at¬
mosphere at that time, but solely by the vast quantity of
fine sand carried along by these winds, and which is so
excessively subtile that it penetrates everywhere- The
motion of this wind is always rapid, but its heat is not
intolerable till after it has continued for some time. Its
pernicious qualities are evidently occasioned by its ex¬
cessive avidity for moisture. It dries and shrivels up the
skin; and the lungs being also powerfully affected by it,
suffocation and death sometimes ensue. The danger is
greatest to those of a plethoric habit of body, or who have
been exhausted by fatigue; and putrefaction soon takes
place in the bodies of such as have fallen victims of “ the
hot breath of the desert.” Its extreme dryness is such
that water sprinkled on the floor evaporates in a few mi¬
nutes; all the plants are withered and stripped of their
leaves ; and, in the case of human beings, fever is instant¬
ly produced by the suppression of perspiration. It usual¬
ly lasts three days, but is altogether insupportable if it
continue beyond that time. The danger is greatest when
the wind blows in squalls, and when travellers happen to
be exposed to its fury without any shelter. The best
method in this case is to stop the nose and mouth with a
handkerchief. Camels, by a natural instinct, bury their
noses in the sand, and remain in this position until the
gust has passed by. The inhabitants who have an oppor¬
tunity of retiring to their houses, instantly shut them¬
selves up, or descend into pits made in the earth, till the
destructive breath of the desert be overpast.
The description of a blast of this kind which overtook
Bruce in the desert of Nubia is still more striking than
that given by Volney. Pillars of moving sand, raised by
the winds in the desert, were observed by the traveller on
this occasion in all their terrific majesty. Sometimes they
appeared to move slowly; at other times they rushed on
with incredible swiftness, so that they could not have been
avoided by the fleetest horse. Sometimes they approached
so near that they threatened destruction to the whole
company. Frequently the tops, having reached an im¬
mense height, so as to be lost in the clouds, suddenly
separated from the columns, and dispersed themselves in
the air; sometimes the whole column broke oft' near the
middle, as if it had received a cannon shot; and the size
of some of the columns was such that at the distance of
three miles they appeared about ten feet in diameter.
Next day, however, they seemed of a smaller size, but
more numerous, and sometimes approached within two
miles of the party. The sun was now much obscured,
and the transmission of his rays gave the columns of sand
an appearance resembling pillars of fire. This was pro¬
nounced by the guide to be a sign of the approaching Si¬
moom or hot wind ; and he directed, that when it arrived,
the peopleshould fall upon theirfaces andkeep their mouths
on the ground, in order to avoid inhaling this pernici¬
ous blast. On his calling out that the Simoom was com¬
ing, Bruce turned for a moment to the quarter whence it
came, which was the south-east. It appeared like a haze
or fog of a purple colour, but less bright than the purple
part of the rainbow, and seemed about twenty yards in
breadth, and twelve feet above the ground. It moved
with such rapidity, that before he could turn round and
fall prostrate, he felt the vehement heat of its current
upon his face; and even after it had passed over, which
was very quickly, the air that followed was of such a
heat as to threaten suffocation. Bruce had unfortunately
inhaled some portion of the pernicious blast; by which
means he almost entirely lost his voice, and became sub¬
ject to an asthmatic complaint, from which he did not re- e,t
cover for nearly two years. The same phenomenon occur-
red twice afterwards during the journey through this de- '
sert. The second time, the blast came from the south a
little to the east, and seemed to have a shade of blue
blended with the purple, its edges being less perfectly de¬
fined ; and it resembled a thin smoke, having about a yard
in the middle tinged with blue and purple hue. The third
time, it was preceded by an appearance of sandy pillars
more magnificent than any which had yet been observed •
and the sun shone through them in such a manner as to
give to those which were nearest the appearance of being
spangled with stars of gold. The Simoom which followed
had the same blue and purple hue as before, and was fol¬
lowed by a most suffocating wind, which lasted for about
two hours, and reduced our travellers to the lowest de¬
gree of weakness and despondency. This wind always
came from the south-east, whilst the sandy pillars, which
prognosticated its approach, kept to the westward, and
occupied the vast circular space inclosed by the Nile to
the west of the route followed by the travellers, sweeping
round by Chagre towards Dongola. The heaps of sand
left by them when they fell, or raised by the whirlwinds
which carried them up, were twelve or thirteen feet in
height, and exactly conical in shape, tapering to a fine
point, whilst their bases were well proportioned.
Though the climate of Egypt is far from being unhealthy,
yet there are not a few diseases which seem to be pecu¬
liar to that country, and originate either in the constitu¬
tion of the atmosphere, or in the manner of living among
the inhabitants, fill lately the plague was supposed to
be one of these native diseases ; but it is now agreed that
this distemper never originates in the interior parts of
Egypt; it always begins at Alexandria, and passes thence
successively to Rosetta, Cairo, Damietta, and the rest of
the Delta. It is likewise observed that its appearance is
almost invariably preceded by the arrival of some vessel
from Smyrna or Constantinople ; and if it has been very
violent in either of these cities, the danger of Egypt is
just so much the greater. In fact, it is found to be in
reality a native of Constantinople, whence it is exported
by the absurd negligence of the Turks, who refuse to take
any precautions to prevent the spreading of the infection.
As they sell even the clothes of the dead, and as ships
laden with this pernicious commodity used to be sent to
Alexandria, it is no wonder that it should have made its
appearance in the latter place. As soon as it is found to
have reached Cairo, the European merchants shut them¬
selves up with their families in their khans or lodgings,
and take care to have no further communication with the
city. But there is a remarkable difference between the
plague at Constantinople and that which occasionally ap¬
pears in Egypt. In the former place, it is most violent in
summer; but in the latter, winter is the season of danger,
the disease always disappearing in the month of June. It
is also observed, that the water-carriers of Egypt, whose
backs are constantly moist, from the nature of their occu¬
pation, never take the plague. Every fourth or fifth year,
Egypt was till latterly visited with rids dreadful scourge.
A malady which seems to be peculiar to Egypt is blind¬
ness. This is so common at Cairo, that out of a hundred
persons whom Volney accidentally met on the streets he
reckoned twenty quite blind, ten without the sighf of one
eye, and twenty others with their eyes red, purulent, or
blemished. Almost every one wears a fillet, which is a
token of an approaching or convalescent ophthalmia, hi
considering the causes of this disorder, Volney reckons the
sleeping upon terraces as a principal one. The south wind
cannot, according to him, be the cause, otherwise the Be¬
douins would be equally subject to it with the Egyptians
EGYPT.
517
ypt. themselves ; but the principal cause, he thinks, is the poor
and little nutritive food on which the natives are obliged
to subsist.1 The cheese, sour-milk, honey, confections of
grapes, green fruits, and raw vegetables, which are the or¬
dinary food of the common people, produce in the stomach
a disorder which physicians have observed to affect the
sight; and the raw onions, especially, which they devour
in prodigious quantities, have a peculiarly heating qua¬
lity. Bodies thus nourished abound in corrupt humours,
which constantly seek a discharge ; and, diverted from
the ordinary channels by habitual perspiration, these hu¬
mours fly to the exterior parts, and fix themselves where
they find the least resistance. They therefore naturally
attack the head, because the Egyptians, by shaving it
once a week, and covering it with a prodigiously hot head-
gear, principally attract to it the perspiration ; and if the
head receive ever so slight an impression of cold on being
uncovered, this perspiration is suppressed, and falls upon
the teeth, or still more readily on the eyes as being the
tenderest part. The ancient Egyptians, who went about
bareheaded, are not mentioned by physicians as having
been so much afflicted with ophthalmia as the modern;
and the Arabs of the desert, who cover their heads slight¬
ly, especially when young, are but little subject to this
disease. In Egypt, blindness is often the consequence of
small-pox; a disorder which, until lately, when vaccina¬
tion was partially introduced by Mehemmed Ali, used to
be very frequent and fatal. Another cause of this distem¬
per may perhaps be found in the fine impalpable sand
which is carried about by the wind, and also in the into¬
lerable brilliancy of the sunbeams reflected from a burn¬
ing and sandy soil impregnated with nitrous salt.
Besides these, there are two diseases less commonly
met with in Egypt; namely, a cutaneous eruption, which
returns annually, and a swelling of the testicles, which
often degenerates into an enormous hydrocele. The for¬
mer comes on towards the end of June or beginning of July,
making its appearance in red spots and pimples all over
the body, which occasion a very troublesome itching, and
is probably occasioned by the waters of the Nile, which
towards the end of April become putrid. The hydrocele
most commonly attacks the Greeks and Copts, and is at¬
tributed to the quantity of oil which they make use of, as
well as to their frequent hot bathing. In the spring sea¬
son malignant fevers occasionally prevail. In the treat¬
ment of these bleeding is found prejudicial, whilst vege¬
table diet, and bark in large quantities, have been found
useful.
We have already described the geographical configura¬
tion of the valley of the Nile, with its natural boundaries
consisting of two elevated ridges between which the river
flows for about a hundred and fifty leagues. These moun¬
tain chains are on many accounts highly deserving of atten¬
tion, but on none, perhaps, more than by reason of their
geological structure and characters. After passing through
a district of primitive formation, they enter that of the se¬
condary and floetz-trap kind, and terminate in deposits be¬
longing to the most recent species of stratified rocks.
The granite or southern district extends from Philce to
Assouan, in 24° 8' 6" N. and 33° 4' E., and consists for the
most part of syenite or oriental granite, in which may still
be observed the quarries whence the ancient Egyptians Egypt,
detached the stupendous monoliths required for their co-
lossal statues and obelisks. The granite is occasionally
diversified by alternations of gneiss, porphyry, clay-slate,
quartz, and serpentine, erroneously described as a green-
coloured marble, containing imbedded in them a variety
of carnelians and jaspers; and there has also been observed
in this district a granular foliated limestone or marble,
exhibiting various hues, as white, grey, yellow, blue, red,
and, when combined with serpentine, forming the rock
known by the name of verde-antico. From the quarries
of Philce, Elephantine, and Syene, were obtained the beau¬
tiful oriental or rose-coloured granite, called syenites by
Pliny, from the place near which it abounded, but differing
from the syenite of modern mineralogists. In this rock
two thirds of the mass consists of felspar, varying in colour
from a pale pink to a brick red ; and the remainder is com¬
posed of mica exhibiting a metallic lustre, and diaphanous
quartz, with sometimes a small quantity of hornblende, in
which case it becomes the syenite of Werner. Pliny de¬
nominates it Thebaic stone, not from there having been
any quarries of this rock in the neighbourhood of Thebes,
but from the frequency of its occurrence in the gigantic
monuments of the ancient capital of Egypt. The rose-
coloured variety seems chiefly confined to the vicinity of
Elephantine, though it is also found unmixed for some
distance on both sides of the river. As syenite is con¬
nected by numerous shades and gradations both with the
common granite and also with the succeeding species of
rock, so we have accordingly the granitello of lapidaries
when it is fine grained,' grey syenite when the felspar is
of that colour, black and white granite when the felspar
is white and the mica black, and Egyptian or oriental ba¬
salt when it has been extracted from veins in which the
mica and hornblende prevail in black homogeneous masses,
with scarcely any admixture of felspar. The hardness of
this stone is such as to preserve its surface uninjured by
exposure to the atmosphere. But the remarkably perfect
state in which the monuments of Egypt are found ought
perhaps to be ascribed to the uniform dryness of the air,
and the almost total absence of rain; and this is rendered
more probable by the circumstance, that in the Delta, es¬
pecially near the sea, where showers occasionally fall, and
the atmosphere is charged with a greater quantity of mois¬
ture, the process of decomposit ion has commenced, and in
some places made considerable progress.2
Between Assouan and Esneh, in 25° 19' 39" N. is the
argillaceous sandstone or middle district, which supplied
slabs for most of the temples ; and beyond it the northern
or calcareous district stretches to the southern angle or
vertex of the Delta. At Esneh, indeed, the rocks assume
the calcareous character, and retain it until they merge
into the plain below Cairo, at the southern limit of the
lower division of Egypt. From this last chain were quar¬
ried, not only the solid part of the Pyramids, but also ma¬
terials for many public buildings, which, as they proved
excellent stores of lime and stone for the Arabs and other
barbarians who for so many centuries desolated Egypt,
have long since been destroyed. The steep perpendicular
cliffs of this limestone formation impart to the portion of the
country where it prevails a hard and monotonous aspect,
1 This is no doubt one cause of the distemper; but liifaud has shown that there are others. “ On a attribue' la frequence des
ophthalmias en Egypte aux vents qui soufflent periodiquement; je croirois plutot pouvoir trouver la cause de cette maladie dans
1 habitude ou sont les Egyptians de coucher sur les terrasses pendant neuf mois de 1’annee- II faut considerer que les campagnes de
1 hgvpte sont d’immenses plaines, oil la lumiere est tres vive ; leur terrain est sec, friable, et brulant, particulierement en ete ; il est
argilleux et crayeux, contenant le nitrate de potasse, le natron, et le muriate de soude. D’ailleurs, les jours sont d’une chaleur ex¬
cessive, tandis que les nuits sont fraiches, humides, et nebuleuses. Ces circonstances physiques reunies ne peuvent agir sur 1’organe
de la vue sans y causer des desordres. On a remarque que les ophthalmies sont plus communes en ete qu’en hiver, et que les ani-
niaux y sont sujets aussi-bien que 1
* Encyclopaedia Metropolitana, art.
Egypt.
EGYPT.
518
EgJ'P1* contrasting unfavourably with the bold and picturesque
V—forms of the mountains in the south, which offer new
points of view in continual succession, and give an agree¬
able variety to the landscape, even when the inundation is
at its greatest height. The limestone of this region exhibits
a splintery or conchoidal fracture, is grey or variegated
in colour, and contains numerous petrifactions of shells,
corals, and fishes. A similar rock occurs in the ridges
bounding the transverse valley which leads to Cosseir;
and in the same mountain district there are hills of lime¬
stone conjoined with gypsum. Here also the sand is partly
calcareous and partly quartzose, thus indicating the com¬
position of the strata from the debris of which it has been
formed. The site of the ancient capital of Egypt is at the
lower limit of the middle or sandstone district, and from
the quarries of Djibbel-el-Silsileh or the Mountain of the
Chain, were obtained the materials used in the construc¬
tion of its stupendous temples and palaces. Here the sand¬
stone terminates and the freestone begins; the hills are
no longer parallel, but diverge in various directions; and
on the first level of any extent below the Cataracts are
found the ruins of Thebes, covering a large portion of the
valley. From this point the calcareous chain continues
on each side of the valley to the summit or vertex of the
Delta, where the hills open to the east and west, uniting
with the Libyan chain on one side, and inclining towards
the mountains of Arabia Petraea on the other. But though
generally calcareous, this chain, especially near the desert,
is occasionally intersected by isolated masses of sandstone.1
But the most singular portion of Egypt, in a geological
point of view, is that which is comprehended in the Bahr-
bilama or waterless sea, and the basin of the natron lakes.
These two valleys run parallel to each other. The moun¬
tain of natron skirts the whole length of the valley of that
name, but it contains none of the rocks which are found
scattered about in the valley, such as quartz, jasper, and
petrosilex. In the direction of this valley is a series of
six lakes, the banks and waters of which are covered with
crystallizations consisting of muriate of soda or sea salt,
and carbonate of soda or natron. When a volume of water
contains both these salts, the muriate of soda is the first
to crystallize, and the carbonate of soda is then deposited
in a separate stratum; but the two crystallizations some¬
times affect separate localities in insulated portions of the
same lake. The ridge which separates the basin of the
natron lakes from the valley of the Bahr-bilama consists
chiefly of natron mixed with muriate of soda, which salt is
also found in the valley of the wilderness in thin compact
layers supported by strata of gypsum, and in other deserts,
where it occurs in a state of crystallization, sometimes
under the sand, but much more frequently upon the sur¬
face. The valley of the Bahr-bilama, separated, as al¬
ready described, from that of natron, is about eight miles
in breadth. In the sand with which its surface is every¬
where covered, trunks of trees have been found in a state
of complete petrifaction. It is thought by some that a
branch of the Nile once passed in this direction.2
Of the more precious minerals found in Egypt we shall
only give a brief enumeration. The topaz, which is said to
have attracted the attention of some ancient kings, is still
found in various places, particularly in an island called
Zamorget, or the island of topazes, in the Red Sea. Eme¬
ralds were anciently obtained by means of excavation, in
the mountainous ridge which skirts the western shores
of the Arabian Gulf, and constituted an article of com¬
merce among the Romans; and Bruce speaks of an island F,™
of emeralds in the same sea, but, upon examination, it was
found to produce nothing more valuable than fluor spar.
Chrysoberyl is also enumerated amongst the mineral pro¬
ductions of Upper Egypt. The rarest varieties of quartz
to be met with in any part of Africa are the Egyptian
avanturine, and the rock-crystal of the northern shores.
Chalcedony and carnelian have been picked up on each
bank of the Nile, both in the upper and lower provinces.
Agate belongs to the rocks which diversify the monotony
of the desert to the eastward of Cairo. Jasper occurs in
veins of considerable thickness in the clay-slate which
bounds the upper part of the valley of the Nile, between
Esneh and Siout; but a finer kind, for which Egypt has
long been celebrated, is found both in the sandy waste be¬
tween Cairo and Suez, and also in that part of the coun¬
try below Benisouef, where it occurs imbedded in a spe¬
cies of conglomerate. Actynolite, epidote, and hornblende,
to which may be added heavy spar, or sulphate of barytes,
are frequently to be met with in the transverse valleys
which diverge from Upper Egypt towards the Red Sea,
particularly in the valley of Cosseir.
The mountains of Egypt, and those of the countries
immediately contiguous thereto, have been so imperfectly
explored that we are still ignorant of the amount and di¬
versity of their metallic treasures. But, from the early
advancement of the useful arts in Egypt, and particularly
from the gigantic labours of the Anakim of ancient days,
in not only detaching but working into a great variety of
forms enormous blocks of the hardest granite, it may
safely be concluded that iron was not unknown to them,
that it must have been found at no great distance from
the great works in which it was employed, and that the
subjects of the elder Pharaohs were also acquainted with
the method of converting it into steel. Their quarries
whence gigantic blocks were detached, their obelisks
covered with hieroglyphics frequently cut in relief, and
their statues chiselled out of the hardest rock, indicate,
in a manner not to be misunderstood, that instruments of
the best temper must have been placed in the hands of
their workmen and artists, and that they wrought with
tools of the finest steel, which, of course, they must have
known how to prepare. With regard to the precious
metals, although Africa affords a considerable quantity of
gold, which is obtained in the form of dust, or collected
by washing from the sand of rivers or the alluvial soil of
valleys between ranges of mountains, yet the position of
Egypt deprives it, in a great measure, of this source of
wealth. But in the countries above the Cataracts, par¬
ticularly in Kordofan, there are several tracts where this
metal is found in considerable quantities ; and hence, pro¬
bably, arose the opinion, so prevalent amongst the an¬
cients, that Ethiopia was a country which abounded in
gold. In our time, however, the supply of this metal
received at Cairo and Alexandria is derived from that
elevated region which contains the sources of the Gam¬
bia, the Senegal, and the Niger, and from the district of
Bambouk, situated to the north-west of the lofty range
which forms as it were the back-bone of the African con¬
tinent. Of silver, copper, lead, and antimony, no traces
whatever are to be found below Abyssinia. To Egypt
nature having given the Nile, seems to have considered
that precious gift, annually renewed, as an adequate com¬
pensation for the want of products far less available to the
wants and necessities of man.3
1 Encyclopaedia Metropolitana, art. Egypt. Russell, View of Ancient and Modern Egypt, p. 466.
2 Memoires sur VEgypte, tom ill. p. 255. Denon, tom. ii. pp. 49, 158, 195, 208. Andreossy, Mtmoire sur la Vallee desLacsdc Natron,
dans la Description de VEgypte, tom. i. Malte-Rrun, Geography, vol. iv. p. 29.
* Murray, Historical Account of Travels and Discoveries in Africa, vol. ii. pp. 424, 438. Lyall, Principles of Geology, vol. i. p- 238.
EGYPT.
519
t These geological notices are, we admit, exceedingly im-
perfect. But hitherto travellers have, from various causes,
bestowed much less attention on the geology of Egypt
than the subject unquestionably requires; and, even in
Lyall’s Principles of this science, all that we meet with
respecting either the valley of the Nile or the Delta is at
once so meagre and superficial that it deserves to be sig¬
nalized only for its want of satisfactory information. As yet
no extensive or connected series of observations has been
made in regard to the direction and inclination of the strata,
either in the mountainous ridges within which the Nile is
confined, or in the transverse valleys which branch off to¬
wards the Red Sea on the one hand and the Oases on the
other; and although we are reminded of the usual mi-
neralogical distinctions, and meet with much learned phra¬
seology about primitive, secondary, fleet?:, and alluvial for¬
mations, yet we search in vain for any thing like systematic
views based on accurate observation, and are thus compel¬
led to rest satisfied with conjecture, where, if facts had been
supplied, we might have been in a condition to reason on
established philosophical principles. Egypt is therefore a
field which is still in a great measure unexplored by the
scientific geologist, but it is nevertheless one which will
amply repay the judicious and persevering labourer ; and
we trust that the period is not distant when a regular
mineralogical survey will be executed of a country which,
all circumstances considered, is certainly one of the most
remarkable and interesting upon the face of the earth.
SECTION IV.
POLITICAL GEOGRAPHY AND ACTUAL STATE OF EGYPT.
Ancient and modern divisions of Egypt—Relative positions of
the provinces of each division.—Population—Turks, Copts,
Arabs—Distinction between the Arabs and Copts Descent of
the latter—The Coptic language.,—Turks—Greeks—Jews 
Total population—Civil government of Egypt Court and
household of the Viceroy Local authorities Tenure of
land—Mode in which it is cultivated—Condition of the Fel¬
lahs or Cultivators.—Canal of Mahmoudyeh, between the Nile
and Alexandria—Circumstances which led to and attended the
construction of this great work.—Trade of Alexandria Pro¬
gress of the cultivation of cotton, and the introduction of cot¬
ton manufactures—Quantity of raw cotton exported Silk,
flax, sugar, tobacco, and other commodities.—System of mono¬
poly and pre-emption—Its disadvantages and probable results.
—Indian trade—Imports and exports.—Caravans—Statistics
of Egypt.—Comparative condition of that country before and
under the government of Mehemmed Ali.—Its future pros¬
pects.—General reflections.
In modern as well as in ancient times, Egypt is divided
into three principal parts: namely, the Bahhari, corre¬
sponding to the Delta or Lower Egypt; the Vostani, corre¬
sponding to the Heptanomis, or Middle Egypt; and the
Said, corresponding to the Thebaid, or Upper Egypt. This
division is indicated by the course of the river and the
configuration of the country. The Bahhari, or Lower
Egypt, includes the provinces of Bahhireh, Rosetta or
Raschid, Gharbieh, Menouf, Manssourah, and Sharkieh.
The Vostani, or Middle Egypt, comprehends those of
Cairo, Gizeh, Attafieh, Kelioubeh, Fayoum, and Beni-
souef. The Said, or Upper Egypt, consists of the pro¬
vinces of Siout, Djirdjeh, and Kenneh or Thebes.
The province of Bahhireh occupies the north-western
province of Egypt, but is not comprised in the Delta pro¬
perly so called. Its limits are the Mediterranean towards
the north, and on the east and south-east the branch of
the Nile between Darasoueh and Rosetta; whilst a line,
exterior to Lake Mareotis, commencing at the Arabs’
tower, and sweeping to the south-east, would complete
the circumscription of the province. The principal places
of Bahhireh are, Alexandria and Aboukir on the coast,
and, ascending the Rosetta branch of the Nile, the towns
of Dei'rout, Rhamanieh, and Damanhour. To the west and
south-west of this province is the valley of natron, or the
valley of the waterless sea. The province of Rosetta is
inconsiderable, and stretches along the right bank of that
arm of the Nile which terminates at the bogaz. Its most
important point is the town of Rosetta. Gharbieh extends
from the sea on the north, where it borders with the pro¬
vince of Rosetta, to that of Menouf on the south. The
capital of Gharbieh is Mehallet-el-Kebir; and this pro¬
vince also contains the towns of Fouah, Samanhout, Tin-
tah, and Zephteh. Lake Bourlos is situated in this province.
Menouf is at the vertex of the angle formed by the two
branches of the Nile which proceed, the one to Rosetta,
and the other to Damietta. The capital is Menoufyeh, to
the south-west of which are the village of Melik and the
fort of Taoueh. The province of Manssourah extends
to the right of the Damietta branch of the river, and is
bounded on the north by Lake Menzaleh. In proceed¬
ing from the north to the south, the traveller successively
reaches the village of Esbeh, and the towns of Damietta,
Farescout, and Manssourah. On the eastern bank of Lake
Menzaleh is the town of the same name. Sharkieh is situ¬
ated to the east of the canal of Moez. This canal, which
is the ancient Tanitic branch of the river, commences at
the place where the ruins of Abril are observed, close
to Banha, and runs north-east into Lake Menzaleh, at no
great distance from the site of the ancient Pelusium. The
country between Abril and Pelusium is one of the most
fertile in Egypt, and contains several rich towns and vil¬
lages, such as Guenieh, Heiheh, Karf-Four-Nigheh, and
others. The eastern part of the province of Sharkieh
is traversed by the road which leads from Cairo to Syria.
Belbeis is the most considerable town which the traveller
meets with in this direction; then come the group of
Hora'in, and the canton of Salahieh, on leaving which he
crosses the isthmus of Suez, and reaches El-Arisch, and
lastly Gaza, the first town of Syria on the side of Egypt.
Such are the different provinces of Lower Egypt, with their
relation to one another in point of position.
Passing on to Central Egypt we come to Cairo, the capi¬
tal of the country. This city stands at the distance of half
a league from the Nile, and extends in an easterly direc¬
tion towards the mountains, about two leagues. It is three
or four leagues in circumference, and contains many fine
places or squares, nearly three hundred mosques, and from
four hundred thousand to four hundred and fifty thousand
inhabitants. Boulak, a town situated on the eastern bank
of the Nile, is close to Cairo, of which it is the entrepot
or port. Here all the boats which come from Lower Egypt
discharge their cargoes. Gizeh or Djizeh is situated on
the western bank of the Nile, at a short distance from the
Pyramids, which are hence called the Pyramids of Gizeh
or Cairo. The town of Gizeh, though of moderate extent,
is, in the estimation of Europeans, the most agreeable in
all Egypt. The province of Fayoum is situated to the
south-west of Gizeh, and is very populous and fertile. Its
capital is Medina, a town of some importance. A portion
of Fayoum is constantly submerged. At the distance of
two leagues from the bridge of Illaoun is the junction of
the two great canals which supply it with water. These
are the Bahr-Yussuf and the Darout-Scherif. The Bahr-
Yussuf extends fifty leagues from the point of the Said,
where it commences, to that of Fayoum, where it ter¬
minates. The province of Benisouef is situated to the
south-east of Fayoum. Its capital, Benisouef, distant
thirty-eight leagues from Cairo, is one of the most im¬
portant towns in Egypt. The other places of note are Be-
Egypt.
ypt- beh, Fechneh, Abou-Girgeb or Abou-Djirdjeh, and Che-
roneh.
Having arrived at the confines of the Said, the travel¬
ler, if, without leaving the valley of the Nile, he traverse
the three provinces of which it is composed, will succes¬
sively reach Minyeh, in latitude 28° 29', and Benesef; the
islands of Sohorrah and Gerabieh; Saoudi, Abouzir, Tou-
nah, Achmopein, and Salam. Siout, a kind of capital, is
situated in latitude 28° 51'; and farther on is Djirdjeh, an¬
other large town. Then come the towns of Bardys, Belyneh,
Hayou, and Uendera, in latitude 26° 10', opposite to which
isQueneh or Kenneh. Medinet-Abou, Karnak, and Luxor,
are situated in latitude 25° 44' 15". Still ascending, we
next reach Assfoun, then Esneh in latitude 25° 17', and
lastly Edfou, which is six leagues south of Esneh. Assouan,
in latitude 24° 2?', is a town at a short distance from the
ancient Syene, and the island of Philce. Four leagues
above Kenneh, and nearly opposite Dendera, the ancient
Tentyra, is the entrance of the valley of Cosseir, which
leads to the port of the same name on the Red Sea.
The population of Egypt is chiefly composed of Turks,
Copts, and Arabs, intermixed with Greeks, Jews, and
Syrians. The schismatic Copts are estimated at a hun¬
dred and sixty thousand, and the Catholic Copts at five
thousand souls. But the Arab class is by far the most
numerous. It comprehends, first, the posterity of those
who came to establish themselves in this country at the
epoch of the invasion of Amru in 640, and who appear
to have divided amongst them the lands of Lower Egypt,
to the prejudice of the conquered Greeks; secondly, the
Arabs who at subsequent periods came to join the first in¬
vaders, and who settled in Upper Egypt; and, thirdly, the
Bedouins, who, instead of applying themselves to agricul¬
ture and commerce, live a wandering life, in families or in
tribes, dwelling in tents, which they pitch sometimes on
the borders of the Nile and sometimes in the desert, and are
equally ready to use the arms which they constantly carry
about, either for the purpose of plunder or for that of self-
defence. The Copts are descended from the people enslav¬
ed and dispossessed by the Arabs ; that is, from a mixture
of Egyptians, Persians, and particularly Greeks, who, under
the Lagidae and the Constantines, so long occupied Egypt.
This people differ from the Arabs and from the Turks in
their religion, which is a form of Christianity; they differ
also in the features of their visage, which exhibits the
negro type, and in the colour of their skin, which is of a
dingy and as it were smoked yellow. In the Arab the
head is of a fine oval form, the forehead large, the eye
brilliant but deep set in the head, the nose developed, and
the mouth well formed, whilst the bright sunburnt hue of
the skin is wholly different from the tarnished colour of
the Copts. But as the negro type, if we may judge from
the monuments, was that of the ancient Egyptians, and as
this type, which is quite distinct from that of the Arabic
race, still predominates amongst the Copts, it may hence
be inferred that the latter, though a people of mixed ori¬
gin, have never in any sensible degree amalgamated with
the former, and that in the main they are the descendents
of the ancient inhabitants of the country. To the Arabs,
indeed, the Copts bear nearly the same relation that the
Gauls did to the Franks under the first race of French
kings ; but the permanence of the ancient type shows that
the admixture with Persians and Greeks had only been
partial, and that amongst this people alone can we hope to
find any distinct traces of the forms and language which
obtained in Egypt in the days of Rhamses, Mmris, and
Amenophis. Even the name which they still bear seems
to betray their origin.1
That the Coptic language has been formed from that of
ancient Egypt, of which it may in one sense be considered
as a precious remnant, is proved beyond dispute by the
researches of Etienne-Quatremere and Klaproth.2 But still
the modern idiom represents the ancient form of speech
in a very incomplete and imperfect manner; and, besides,
all that we possess in the former is confined to fragments
of the Bible and of the lives of the saints, together with
some Copto-Arabic glossaries of a comparatively recent
date. The language itself has, moreover, ceased to be
spoken; and all that portion of its vocabulary which oc¬
curred in the treatises composed by the monks of the The-
baid, is now irrecoverably lost. In the Christian versions
all the pagan expressions relative to the ancient religion
of the country were also carefully avoided by the transla¬
tors, who preferred introducing Greek terms; and, from
the list of words comprehended in the lexicons, there
must further be deducted a great number of Arabic terms,
w hich only found a place there because the original names
had been altogether lost. The Coptic, therefore, as it now
exists, is only a mutilated and imperfect fragment of a lan¬
guage through which various traces and lineaments of an
elder form of speech are more or less faintly reflected;
and, like the people from whom it derives its name, it is
of mixed origin and impure descent, though not so cor¬
rupted, however, as to obliterate the characteristic type
of the more ancient language, out of the remains of
which it was principally formed. Two dialects of this
language have been distinctly recognised, namely, the
Bashmuric and the Theban; but, to say nothing of its
scanty vocabulary, its general character is that of a rude
and almost monosyllabic idiom. It is totally devoid of in¬
flexions ; its grammatical modifications are few and limit¬
ed ; and the accidents of gender and case are expressed
by prefixes, in which respect it exhibits some affinity to
the Hebrew and other oriental languages, particularly the
Ethiopic.3
Ihe religion of the Copts is that form of Christianity
which was derived from the sect of the Eutychians; and
the head ol their church is the patriarch of Alexandria,
who is elected by the great body of the clergy, and is
everywhere implicitly obeyed. The officiating ministers
are supported by the voluntary contributions of their
flocks; and no person can be ordained who is unmarried,
nor is any one who has been ordained permitted to marry
a second time. But the monks from whose number the
bishops are uniformly chosen are bound by their vows to
observe strict celibacy; they are supposed to be dead to
the world, and are hence prohibited from forming any
connexion at variance with this supposition. The Copts
practise the rite of circumcision, as well as auricular con¬
fession and other ceremonies or observances common both
to the eastern and western churches. The great body of
them are therefore schismatics; but, as we have already
stated, there are at Cairo about five thousand who have
conformed to the Roman Catholic communion, and who
receive instruction under the direction of certain mem¬
bers of the College of the Propaganda at Rome.
j Hie monosyllable Q01)t or ^0pt js evi(iently the root of the word A*-rTn-ro;, or A/-ron-r«f, JEcrvptus. This, we think, has been
made sufficiently apparent at the commencement of the present article. (See D’Herbeiot, Bibiiotheuue Orient, v. Kebt and Kibt.
Matte-lirun, Geography, iv. p. 10C. Kircher, Prodromes Koptus. Herodotus, Euterpe.)
Ltienne-Quatremere, liecherches sur la Langue et la Litterature Egypticnne. Klaproth, Examen Critique des Travaux defeu M-
Champolhon sur les Huroglyphes. Adelung, Mithridates, continued by Vater.
* Edinburgh Review, vol. iviii- p. 471.
E G Y P T.
ypt. Of tlie Turks little need be said here. After the taking
0f Constantinople by Mahommed II. they extended their
conquests to the south, and in their turn made themselves
masters of Egypt. But a power formed in Egypt as early
as the sixth, and destroyed by the Turks at the beginning
of the seventeenth century, resumed its ascendency after
this long minority, and, excepting some short intervals,
during which the Ottoman government displayed extra¬
ordinary vigour, domineered over the country, until the
period of the French invasion in 1798, when it received a
blow from which it never afterwards recovered. It was
however reserved for Mehemmed Ali to complete the work
which the French had begun, and not merely to’destroy
the power, but almost to annihilate the very race, of the
Mamlukes. The Turks in Egypt are like the Turks every¬
where else ; men of grave features, sleek forms, fine dark
eyes, large noses, handsome mouths, thin lips, short necks,
and indolent habits; haughty, obstinate, prejudiced, and
reserved, but, when stimulated by fanaticism or revenge,
as fearless as the Damascus blades, which they use with
so much expertness and address. The Greeks domiciled
in Egypt to the regular features unite all the ingenuity
and versatility which distinguished their ancestors; and
they are charged, we fear not altogether unjustly, with a
certain degree of sharpness, if not chicanery, in their mer¬
cantile transactions. The Jews in Egypt have the same
physiognomy as in Europe, and are there, as everywhere
else, devoted to the pursuits of commerce, but despised,
insulted, buffeted, and oppressed in a manner which would
exhaust the patience of almost any other race of men in
existence. In the large towns they enter into competition
with the Copts for situations in the customs, and for the
management of property belonging to the rich ; and, in
consideration of gain, they are content to endure every
species of contumely which insolent brutality, inflamed by
religious hatred, may choose to inflict upon them. There
are three thousand of this people in Cairo, where they in¬
habit a district which bears the distinction of their name,
and is remarkable as the spot where, by reason of its
crowded and filthy state, the plague commonly makes its
first appearance.
Upon the whole, the inhabitants of modern Egypt may
be rated and classed as follows :
Copts 160,000
Arab Fellahs 2,250,000
Bedouin Arabs 150,000
Arabian Greeks 25,000
Jews 20,000
Syrians 20,000
Armenians 10,000
Turks and Albanians 20,000
Franks or Levantines   4,000
Mamlukes 500
Ethiopians and others 7,500
Total 2,667,000
Egypt, formerly a dependency of Turkey, is now in
reality, if not altogether in name, independent of the
Forte, and is governed with absolute and unlimited autho-
r>ty by a man who, still retaining the title of pasha or vice-
roy, is content, under that denomination, to exercise all
the rights and powers of a sovereign prince. The ancient
form of the administration has, however, been preserved ;
and the present ruler, aware of the influence exerted on
the minds of men by custom and names long familiar, has
been careful to innovate as little as possible on the modes
by which the country has hitherto been governed, or on the
521
denominations of the government. The first administra- Egypt,
tive functionary is the kiaya-bey, or prime minister ; under
whom are placed all the secondary authorities, invested
with powers conferred on them by the viceroy, and to
whose office or tribunal all representations and private
complaints, as well as the greater part of litigious disputes,
are carried. The aga of the janizaries is charged with
maintaining good order, and watching over the conduct
of the troops. The wali, or aga of the police, exercises
similar f unctions : he is the head of the gendarmerie ; and
his principal duty is to observe public women, and to pur¬
sue and seize all thieves and robbers. The direction of
the markets, and the examination of weights and measures,
are entrusted to the mohteseb, or aga of subsistence. The
bash-aga, or superintendent of the civil police, causes the
orders of the government to be executed, the streets to be
patrolled day and night, and the coffee-houses and other
public places to be watched by spies in his employment.
In each quarter or district of the capital there is also a
headsman or overseer, who is empowered to settle differ¬
ences by arbitration, and is responsible for the peace and
good order of his neighbourhood. All sorts of exactions,
whether in the shape of fees or presents, have been abo¬
lished, and adequate salaries allotted in their stead; nor
is it permitted to any officer, except the wali, who retains
his former rights over prostitutes and thieves, to levy con¬
tributions on any pretext whatsoever. By the vigilance
of the police, civil and military, and the activity of the dis¬
trict magistrates in removing bad subjects and allaying
disturbances of every kind, the streets of Cairo have been
rendered as safe as those of London, excepting only in the
case of military tumults, which are now of rare occurrence;
and by the extension of the same system throughout the
country, crimes have been repressed, security afforded to
person and property, and order established, in a land which
was formerly filled with anarchy and violence.1
The administration of justice has in like manner been
improved, by being purified from some of the enormous
abuses which formerly prevailed ; but still, in Egypt as in
other countries much farther advanced, the poor litigant
contends at a great disadvantage with his rich adversary,
and the law is even yet sometimes scandalously eluded in
favour of the powerful. The cadi is the supreme judge,
and holds his appointment only for a year; but he has
under him sheikhs and other men of the law, who are not
removeable. The procedure before this judge is, as might
be expected, exceedingly simple. The nature or rele¬
vancy of the process is first inquired into; parties are
then fully heard, and witnesses, if necessary, examined ;
after which the members of the court deliver their opi¬
nions, and according to these the cadi at last decides.
When the cadi is an easy, pacific man, the sheikhs convert
their own houses into cdurts or tribunals, and arrogate
to themselves the right of dispensing justice; but they
discontinue their usurpations whenever they observe the
supreme judge evince dispositions adverse to their in¬
terested views. The cadi also exercises the functions of
a notary, and passes all contracts for the sale of real pro¬
perty, denominated heggeh, exacting a fee or duty of two
per cent, upon each. The average cost of a lawsuit is
stated at four per cent, of the value in dispute ; and of
this proportional charge, which is paid down whenever
judgment is pronounced, the cadi allows one fifth to the
lawyers employed in his tribunal, and judiciously keeps
the remaining four fifths to himself. He has, besides,
other emoluments, which, added to the fees thus exacted,
render his situation worth from five to six hundred purses,
3 u
VOL. VIII.
1 Mengin, Hiatoire de VEgyptc sous Mohammed-Aly, tom. ii. p. 255 et seqq.
522
EGYPT.
Egypt, or between L.2000 and L.3000 a year. With regard to
his assessors, they are not considered as at all scrupu¬
lous about the means of improving their incomes ; and in
truth they are accused of resorting to practices incompati¬
ble with the slightest pretension on their part to judicial
purity.
Besides the public functionaries above mentioned, there
are others attached to the household or court of the vice-
roy; which is composed of the kiaya-bey or head of the
civil administration, the khaznadar or treasurer, the divan-
efFendi or inspector of provisions, the selikdar or master
of the household, the anaktar-aghassi or keeper of the
wardrobe, the commandant of the citadel, and the super¬
intendent of customs and excise, who are all paid by fixed
salaries, so considerable in amount that some of them have
been enabled to realize fortunes. The viceroy has also a
body-guard, consisting of several hundred Mamlukes, and
about six hundred yeomen of the palace ; so that the esta¬
blishment of his household, including subordinate func¬
tionaries in the civil and military departments, cannot be
much short of fifteen hundred individuals. Many of these,
however, are persons whom, on account of their merit, he
has sought to attach to his service by placing them on his
establishment, and who either hold nominal offices, or are
kept as mere retainers until an opportunity offer for em¬
ploying them to advantage.
The Said is governed by a pasha of .two tails, who re¬
sides at Siout; and other pashas and beys are also placed
at the head of the different branches of the administration,
as already stated. Each province is divided into cantons ;
and these cantons are placed under the authority of the
kiachefs and kaimacans, with whom are conjoined in office
the cherbalettes for the direction of rural economy, and
the cadis for administering justice. Each canton has also
its scheraf for the collection of the contributions, which he
transmits quarterly to the treasury of the grand divan;
but the collections of Upper Egypt are, we believe, cen¬
tralized at Siout, whence they are remitted to Cairo.1
It is exceedingly difficult, not to say impossible, to ascer¬
tain by what precise tenure land was held under the princes
of the native dynasties by whom Egypt was anciently go¬
verned; but, judging from some papyral writings which mo¬
dern ingenuity has deciphered, as well as from certain hints
both in sacred and profane history, it seems evident that,
in the days of the Pharaohs, a distinct property in the soil,
however modified or affected, was recognized by the Egyp¬
tian monarchs. This, in fact, is attested by the title-deeds
which have been found in the mummy-chests or coffins;
and it may also be inferred from tbe transaction mention¬
ed in Scripture, where Joseph transferred to the crown a
large portion of land, giving to the famished peasantry, in
return for their fields, a certain quantity of corn. It may
also be observed in support of the opinion here stated, that,
in the great Turin papyrus deciphered by Count Pollon,
there is a very intelligible intimation of something like a
law of prescription for securing persons wdiose right has
not been challenged within a given time (thirty-eight
years), in the undisturbed possession of their property; a
circumstance which seems perfectly conclusive as to the
existence of a distinct property in the soil, however that
right may have been modified or restricted by the funda¬
mental laws of the monarchy. This rule, by which un¬
challenged possession for a given period of time was sus¬
tained against a claim founded upon title alone without
possession, appears to have been first laid down in a royal
edict or decree, which is denominated “ the benevo¬
lent,” and to which accordingly distinct reference is made
in the very remarkable monument to which we have al- Etm,
luded. For a long period subsequent to the Macedonian
conquest, however, the territorial domain of Egypt appears
to have been occupied on conditions somewhat analogous
to those implied or involved in the system of fiefs or feu¬
dal tenures, which was at one time universal throughout
Europe : the actual property of the soil was vested in the
vassal; but a certain portion of the annual produce, or an
equivalent for such portion, was made payable to the in¬
dividual on whom the monarch, theoretically the proprie¬
tor of all the lands in the kingdom, had conferred the
usufructuary interest, if not the feudal superiority.
Before the accession of the present viceroy, the repre¬
sentative of the Ottoman Porte was satisfied with levying
a miri or land-tax, proportioned to the estimated value of
the soil in point of quality and other advantages, and he at
the same time acknowledged a quasi-right of ownership in
the occupants, subject only to the payment of the territorial
impost. But at present nearly all the lands, as well as the
commerce and manufactures, of Egypt, belong to Mehem-
med Ali; who, having assumed possession of the territorial
property of the country, granted, in name of compensation,
to the former holders who were thus deprived, annuities
or pensions for life, but left them nothing which they
could transmit to their children or their heirs. The lands
which were seized in this way belonged either to the
Mamlukes, whom it was the policy of the viceroy, if not
wholly to extirpate, at all events to disconnect and detach
from every means of regaining power; or to certain esta¬
blishments for feeding the poor, and supporting mosques,
fountains, public schools, and other similar institutions; or,
lastly, to the ancient class of proprietors in feu-hold, whose
principles or management were not such as to secure the
confidence of the viceroy. But even the owners of those
lands which have as yet escaped seizure are not the mas¬
ters of the crops which they raise ; they cannot dispose of
any part of the produce until the agents of the government
shall have had the pre-emption of such portion as they
may think fit to take at a price fixed by themselves; and,
besides paying the established miri, or land-tax, they are
bound to supply all the families attached to the court with
agricultural produce at half its current price in the mar¬
ket, whilst the viceroy regulates the price of such surplus
as can be spared for exportation.
With regard to those lands of which the absolute pro¬
perty is now vested in the viceregal government, they are
let or farmed out in portions at fixed rents to the cultiva¬
tors, who may sow as they please, or not sow at all, but who,
whether the seasons be propitious or the reverse, must pay
the stipulated rent, which is exacted with the utmost ri¬
gour ; and as this is invariably fixed at the highest limit to
which it can possibly be carried, the condition to which
the Fellahs or cultivators have in consequence been redu¬
ced is one of extreme misery and wretchedness. This un¬
happy class, which seems destined to be equally oppress¬
ed whoever be master, and which feels the government
of Mehemmed to be even more grinding in its exactions
than either that of the Turks or the Mamlukes, whom
he superseded, is almost the only one which has derived
no benefit from the various reforms he has introduced;
and its situation would in fact be altogether intolerable and
hopeless, were it not that the large standing army, which
is principally recruited from the native population, opens
up a field for the development of talent and enterprise,
and holds out a certain and not very distant prospect
of amelioration in the condition of this degraded caste.
The natural fruits of such a system, however, are gene-
Ilifaud, Tableau de VKgypte et die la Nubic, p. 23.
*
EGYPT.
t. ral abundance and individual misery ;—the traveller sees
with astonishment the richness of the harvests contrasted
with the wretched state of the mud villages inhabited by
the peasantry; and whilst he is convinced that no coun¬
try is more prolific than Egypt of all those products which
minister to the wants of man, he is also satisfied that there
is none perhaps where the great body of the people are
upon the whole more miserable.1
In Egypt there are about four millions of feddans2 of
land in cultivation. A feddun produces three ardebs or
six quintals of cotton at the least, the same quantity of
flax, from twelve to thirteen okes, or from fifteen to six¬
teen kilogrammes, of refined indigo, seven or eight ardebs
of sugar, and other articles in proportion. Cultivation may
be divided and classed as follows :
Cotton 200,000 feddans.
Flax 100,000
Hemp 100,000
Indigo 100,000
Itice 100,000
Sugar canes 100,000
Dates, olives, &c 500,000
1,200,000 feddans.
The remainder of the land in cultivation, amounting to
2,800,000 feddans, is either appropriated to the raising of
grain or to the purposes of horticulture. The total quan¬
tity of corn annually produced in Egypt has been estimat¬
ed at three millions of ardebs, or six millions of quintals.
Besides this, the country furnishes nitre, salt, natron, and
soda; and about two hundred thousand ox and buffalo
hides are annually collected for exportation. If to these
products, then, be added the amount of the duties levied
on industry and commerce, the gross return for all
Egypt may be estimated at 68,600,000 great piastres, or
L.14,500,000 sterling. According to this calculation, the
net revenue of the viceroy ought to be 25,000,000 great
piastres, or L.S^TSjOOO sterling; but if due allowance
be made for contingencies, and if we take into account
that this revenue is raised by means of extortion on the
one hand, and monopoly on the other, we shall not pro¬
bably err in making an abatement of 5,000,000 piastres
from the nominal amount, and estimating it at L.4,000,000
sterling. Egypt has also woollen, qotton, linen, and silk
manufactures, some few of which were in a state of con¬
siderable activity even before Mehemmed Ali introduced
his new system; but notwithstanding the powerful sti¬
mulus which the viceroy has given to the industry of his
subjects, and the great improvements which have thence
resulted, it is manifest that, in manufactures, it is vain for
a people situated like the Egyptians to attempt to compete
with the capital, machinery, and skill of Europe; more espe¬
cially as the nature of their climate, and the extreme fe¬
cundity of their soil, will always enable them to make ad¬
vantageous exchanges, and to purchase superior articles at
much less cost than inferior ones can be manufactured in
their own country. The true policy of Mehemmed Ali
is therefore to abandon entirely the system of monopoly
to which he has hitherto clung with such blind tenacity;
to render commerce perfectly free; to abstain religiously
from interfering with the circulating medium, the altera¬
tions in which have hitherto been productive of so much
evil; and, above all, to encourage and promote agricul¬
ture, which must ever remain the grand source of wealth
to a country which, possessing a fertile soil, enjoys con¬
stant sunshine and the means of perpetual irrigation.
523
With all his defects, however, Mehemmed Ali, if he has Egypt,
not outstripped his age, is at least prodigiously in advance
of the people over wTiom he rules ; and he is disliked by
the more influential classes of his subjects for those very
qualities which have raised him so high in the estimation
of Europe. The indulgence which he has granted to re¬
ligious sects of every denomination; the introduction of
vaccination, and other improved surgical practices bor¬
rowed from Europe; and, above all, the establishment of
a school of anatomy, where the waxen models procured
from Italy have at length been superseded by actual dis¬
sections ; these are innovations which have shocked the
prejudices and alai'med the ignorance of the bigoted and
fanatical Moslemins. But Mehemmed, who in fact appears
only to be a Turk,among Turks, is not a man to be deterred
from the pursuit of objects the accomplishment of which
he foresees will be productive of great and certain advan¬
tages ; and by his admirable management, combined with
the outward observance of the rules of Islamism in his own
person, he has overcome difficulties and surmounted ob¬
stacles which would have altogether appalled any ordinary
man. Accordingly, whilst he has embellished mosques,
decorated fountains, constructed reservoirs, and erected
colonnades in honour of saints, for the gratification of the
faithful, he has at the same time executed works of great
public utility, some of which are calculated to confer last¬
ing benefits on the country he now governs, and to accele¬
rate more and more the development of its industry.
One of the most remarkable of these is the canal of
Mahmoudyeh, which connects the harbour of Alexandria
with the river Nile, near Fouah, and establishes a water
communication between the capital and the principal port
of Egypt. This magnificent work, which was opened on
the 7th of December 1819, is forty-eight miles in length,
ninety feet in breadth, and about eighteen feet in depth,
and affords a means of conveyance by which the whole
produce of the country may, without danger or delay, be
brought to the place of exportation. A circumstance which
occurred in 1817 first suggested to the pasha the idea of
this great undertaking. In the winter of that year, when
a scarcity prevailed all over Europe, multitudes of vessels
resorted for grain to Egypt, where the crops had been un¬
usually abundant ; but owing to the difficulty of the bar at
the Rosetta mouth of the Nile, and the tempestuous wea¬
ther which prevailed along the coast, little or none of it
could be conveyed in time to Alexandria; and hence, of
about three hundred vessels which had assembled at that
port, some were obliged to return in ballast, whilst others
sailed with only half cargoes. This circumstance, which
occasioned a heavy loss, and produced numerous disputes
amongst the agents and merchants, suggested to the
pasha the advantage of having a navigable canal to con¬
nect the main branch of the Nile with the port of Alex¬
andria ; and with his usual energy and decision he resolved
to proceed as soon as possible with the undertaking. For
this purpose he caused all the labourers in Egypt to be
put in requisition, and a month’s pay to be advanced, in
order to enable them to provide necessaries; and to each
village he allotted the extent of work which, it was ex¬
pected, they were to perform. The Arabs, under their
respective chiefs or sheikhs, were accordingly marched
down in vast numbers to the line of the intended canal,
along which they were distributed; and it is said that as
many as two hundred and fifty thousand men were at one
time employed at the work. The greatest Pharaoh of the
olden time, including even Mceris himself, could not have
1 Mengin, ubi supra. Itifaud, Tableau de VEgypte, p. 24.
2 A feddan is a land-measure equal to about one third of an acre.
524
Egypt.
EGYPT.
acted with greater energy than was displayed by the vice¬
roy on this occasion. The whole excavation was complet¬
ed in less than two months, at the end of which time the
great mass of the labourers were permitted to return to
theii homes; but, in the autumn, several thousands were
employed in facing certain parts of the excavation with
masonry, equalizing the cut throughout, and thus render¬
ing the whole navigable for vessels of considerable ton¬
nage. 1 he work having been carefully finished, was open¬
ed at the time above specified ; and the increase of trade
at the port of Alexandria has already proved the wisdom
of the undertaking, and liberally rewarded the viceroy for
his exertions.1 J
The following view of the actual trade of Alexandria,
extracted from the second edition of a most valuable and
instinctive woik,~ contains much important information,
and at the same time affords conclusive evidence of the
rapidly improving state of Egypt:
“ The imports principally consist of cotton stuffs, tim-
. i, hardware, iron and tin, tobacco, machinery, ammuni¬
tion, silk goods, woollen staves, &c. The exports consist
of raw cotton, wheat and barley, rice, linen, flax, linseed,
sugar, coffee (from the lied Sea), drugs, gums, sal-am¬
moniac, caffron, wax, &c.
Ihe principal articles of importation into this coun¬
try from Egypt are cotton, flax and linseed, senna, and
gum. Of these, cotton is by far the most important.
We began to import it in 1823; and since then the im¬
ports have been as follows :
Years.
1824
1825
1826
Bales.
Years.
Bales.
Years.
Bales.
38,022 | 1827 22,450 j 1830 14752
111,023 j 1828 32,889 I 1831 38,124
47,621 I 1829 24,739 I 1832 41,183
..hi mi ■ im.^—m
“ In 1832, the French imported 25,807 bales of Eo-yn.
turn cotton; the imports at Trieste during the same 'year
were about o0,000 bales, and those at Deghorn and Ge-
noa were together about the same as at Trieste. The
hale ol Egyptian cotton weighs about 220 lbs. This im¬
portant trade owes its existence almost entirely to the
exertions of the pasha, by whom the cotton plantations
2^ ^ established. The cotton exported is all long-
staple, but of two sorts; one called in Egypt makko and
in England common Egyptian; the other, the produce
of sea-island seed called in Egypt Sennaar, and in Eim-
-and sea-island Egyptian. Besides these two descrip-
t ons, Egypt produces from 15,000 to 20,000 bales of
shm Ostap,e cotton, similar in quality to that of Smyrna
and chiefly consumed in the country. The cotton brought
from Egypt is found to be amongst the most useful that F
is grown; that raised from sea-island seed ranks next to
American sea-island. The exports from this country to ^
Egypt principally consist of cotton goods and twist, earth¬
enware, iron and steel, arms and ammunition, &c. * Their
real value amounted in 1831 to L.122,832; but besides
what goes direct, a good deal of British produce finds its
way to Egypt at second hand from Malta, Smyrna &c
Constantinople and the islands of the Archipelago are the
great markets for the wheat and other grain exported
from Egypt, the quantity sent to them being sometimes
very large. The supplies are, however, extremely uncer
tam. Every thing in Egypt depends on the Nile • and
when it does not rise to the usual height, the crops are
very much below an average. Beans are extensively
cultivated, and have sometimes been brought to Enfland
but rarely, if ever, with advantage to the importers. &Thev
are veij/ inferior to English beans, and are peculiarly sub
ject to the worm. No oats are raised in Egypt, the horses
being entirely fed upon barley. Besides cotton, the pasha
has turned his attention to the culture of sugar, indi™
&c. The first has long been raised in Egypt, but the
exports are not very considerable. Silk is grown to
some extent. The date-palm thrives in every part of
Egypt, and the fruit is largely exported. It is singular,
that notwithstanding the luxuriance of many of its ve°'e-
table productions, Egypt should be entirely destitute°of
timber.3
“ In 1831, there entered the port of Alexandria 1215
ships, of the burden of 198,299 tons. Of these the Aus¬
trian were the most numerous; next the English and
Ionian; and then the French, Sardinian, Spanish, &c.
“ Money. Accounts are kept at Alexandria, as at
Cairo, m current piastres, each piastre being equal to 40
paras or medini, and each medino to 30 aspers. The
medino is also divided into 8 borbi, or 6 forli. A purse
contains 25,000 medini. The piastres struck in 1826
contain a great deal of alloy; 15i or 16 piastres = 1 Spa-
mfli dollar; hence 1 piastre = 3|d. sterling, very nearly.
ayments in transactions of any importance are generally
made in Spanish dollars. J
“Weights and Measures. The yard, or pik, =26-8
English inches; hence 100 piks = 74-438 English yards.
Ihe measures for corn are the rhebebe, and the quillot or
-TUn1 r former = 4'364 English bushels, the latter
— 4-7^9 ditto. The cantaro or quintal = 100 rottoli, but
tne rottolo has different names and weights : 1 rottolofor-
joro — -9347 lb. avoirdupois; 1 rotlolo zaidino = 1-335 lb.
ditto ; 1 rottolo zauro or zaro = 2-07 lbs. ditto ; 1 rottolo
nnna — 1-67 lb. ditto.4
Duties. With the exception of the commercial mo¬
nopolies of the pasha, and the arbitrary principles on
unattended with much suffering” and even a considerable mortiin(Ac* ‘£^reat wor^ in 80 short a space of time could scarcely be
ers feL a sacrifice to the unsparing urgency of the viceroy on tin' I ’ l.V lS-stateme^ °* some writers, that twenty thousand labour-
pay must have enabled the workmen to repair to the intended .Y'1 mam^est exaggeration. The advance of a month’s
muneration they received while employed in excavating- the mml r> °t- °l)eiations without much inconvenience ; and the liberal re¬
command. It any extraordinary mortality occurred thereforo it ' IS f e ah°rded them better subsistence than they can ordinarily
women and children, who, as in the patriarchal time=; accomn-inm i1?!118 lavf, a^eih not uPon the labourers, but upon the crowds of
it has been found imnossihlo i n i ‘ .COT? Pdmed (hem to the neighbourhood of Alexandria. This practice, which
irv
cases, distant homes. SomethingofThe « P~ ^
whilst it is inconceivable that any such mortality as that nLS V , G ?farml Alexandria, on the occasion referred'to. But
highly probable that their followers may have suffered sevemlv . a ^ ccilj1< hnwe taken place amongst the labourers employed, it is
mg, the current story is believed, partly because it affords a iweVovt ast.he I\rants are accused of having suggested the undertak-
Mhgenoe, the oclum, which naturally efourt attack"” .,,” &A their superiar in.
and private Information.
E G Y P T.
j,t. which he fixes the prices of commodities, there is nothing
^ objectionable in his policy as to commerce. The duties
on imports are only three per cent. We believe, how¬
ever, that a small increase of the customs duty would
compensate the pasha for the abolition of most of his mo¬
nopolies ; and there can be little doubt that his subjects
would be materially benefited by the change.”
The increase of trade which is here shown from recent
and authentic documents has been the result of the zeal,
energy, and perseverance displayed by the viceroy. But ac¬
cident also contributed to promote his success. A French¬
man named Jumel having one day discovered in the gar¬
den of a Turk a plant of the cotton-tree, immediately
turned his attention to the subject of its cultivation, and
in a short time propagated it with so much success that
the discovery of this plant may be considered as having
changed the commerce and statistics of Egypt. So rapid
was the progress made that, in a few years, the same in¬
dividual who had discovered the solitary specimen just
mentioned, and who had made the government acquainted
with its manifold uses, both as an article of domestic ma¬
nufacture and of foreign trade, erected at Boulak, near
Cairo, a large establishment for spinning, weaving, dye¬
ing, and printing cotton goods, and introduced the latest
improvements in machinery which had been made either
at Rouen or Manchester, including, we believe, power-
looms. In this extensive manufactory, which is formed
on the model of the best establishments of the kind in Eu¬
rope, steam is the principal moving power employed, and
the whole is lighted up with gas prepared for the purpose
on the spot. At Siout there is also a cotton manufactory,
which, not long ago, was in full operation, affording em¬
ployment to eight hundred men and boys, who earned
ten, fifteen, twenty, or thirty paras, and sometimes three
piastres, a day ; and similar establishments were about to
be erected in other parts of Egypt.1 The principal diffi¬
culties experienced arise from this, that during the preva¬
lence of the desert winds, which are charged with an im¬
palpable sand, the machinery is liable to be disordered by
the dust which then fills the air, and penetrates into the
wheel-work and finer parts of the mechanism, disturbing
and sometimes altogether stopping the movements; whilst,
owing to the excessive dryness of the atmosphere, the
wood-work is apt to get warped or rent, and the threads,
becoming brittle, snap asunder with the least tension. But
these disadvantages are in some measure compensated by
the cheapness of labour in a country where the people,
often in a state of famine, are obliged to be content with
a scanty and miserable existence, and where the supreme
ruler is directly interested in keeping down wages to the
lowest possible point. In fact, it is only by this grinding
and oppressive system, which renders labour in the cotton
factories of Egypt one of the worst kinds of slavery, and
but little preferable to that imposed by the Spanish con¬
querors of South America on the unhappy natives, that
the viceroy can ever hope to compete with the manufac¬
turers of Europe, or to undersell the merchants of India.
Whenever the wages of labour in Egypt shall, from what¬
ever cause, experience a rise, and the master manufacturer
is no longer backed by absolute power, the whole fabric,
which has been reared at an enormous cost, will fall to
pieces of its own accord, and the dilapidated state of the
cotton factories on the banks of the Nile will present to
the eye of the traveller another practical proof of the ab¬
surdity of all attempts to force manufactures in a country
where population can only be profitably employed in the
cultivation of the soil.
525
Ihe cotton now produced in Egypt is of a very superior Egypt,
quality to that which was formerly grown in the country,
and the wool is considered as little if at all inferior to the
best American. In the year 1822 the crop yielded near¬
ly six millions of pounds ; and a portion of it, sent to Liver¬
pool on trial, was sold at the rate of a shilling a pound.
The produce of the crop of 1823 was still more abundant ;
so much so, indeed, that, after supplying the demand in
the ports of the Mediterranean, about fifty thousand bags
were exported to England. This auspicious commencement
only served to stimulate the energy of the viceroy. Tracts
of ground long neglected were brought jnto cultivation,
by clearing out the old canals and digging others for the
purpose of irrigation; new species of cotton plants were
obtained; improved modes of culture were adopted; the
quality of the article was ameliorated in proportion as the
quantity raised was increased; and so greatly has this
branch of industry been extended, that the amount of cot¬
ton imported into this country from Egypt will at no dis¬
tant period equal, if it do not exceed, that imported from
America. In the culture of the cotton plant, indeed, the
former country has a decided advantage in its favour.
For, on the banks of the Nile, the crop is not exposed to
the premature frosts and heavy rains, by which it is fre¬
quently injured in the more variable climate of the Unit¬
ed States. In Egypt, an annual renewal of the soil, irriga¬
tion, and sunshine, are certainties; and as the accidents
to which it is exposed are fewer, the supply must be pro¬
portionally less precarious.
Nor has the raising of cotton engrossed the whole at¬
tention of the viceroy; on the contrary, he has bestowed
almost equal care on the cultivation of silk, flax, and the
sugar-cane, to which may be added indigo, safranon or
safflower, and henneh, which are employed in the various
processes of dyeing and calico-printing. In the valley of
Tomlut, anciently the land of Goshen, a colony of five
hundred Syrians has been established, for the purpose of
improving the mulberry-tree and rearing silk-worms; and
in the rich and beautiful province of Fayoum, the vine and
the olive are again approaching that perfection which they
had attained in ancient times. Tobacco is likewise cul¬
tivated to a considerable extent; but it is so indifferent
in quality that none except Egyptians will use it. In a
word, it is difficult to set limits to the productive powers
of a country like Egypt, where heat is constant, and mois¬
ture in some measure at the command of the agricultu¬
rist ; and where, besides these two great principles of ve¬
getation, the soil is annually renewed by the deposits of
the inundation. A more enlightened experience on the
part of the ruler, and the enjoyment of greater freedom
on that of the industrious classes, seem to be nearly all
that is wanting in order to render this early abode of civi¬
lization, which is still bestrewed with the remains of its
ancient greatness and splendour, one of the richest and
happiest countries on the face of the earth. But, with all
his thirst for knowledge and his desire to improve, Me-
hemmed Ali has still much to learn, or perhaps to unlearn.
Having created every thing himself, he naturally regards
the whole as his own property, and is therefore almost a
monopolist from necessity. He is everywhere, and in
everything, intermeddling, dictating, or regulating, ac¬
cording to principles which can have no safe application,
except in such extraordinary circumstances as those in
which he originally found himself; his economical views
are accordingly narrow in the extreme, and, if pushed to
their consequences, will prove eminently pernicious; whilst
his excise and custom-house regulations are formed upon
Webster’s Travels, vol. if. p. 181.
526
EGYPT.
Egypt* the very worst models which Europe could supply. But
the time is fast approaching when he must yield obedi¬
ence to the maxim pas trap gouverner, and when, ceasing
to interfere with the private industry of his subjects, he
must consent to entrust them with the guardianship of
their own interests. In short, without a large share of
freedom, there can be no permanent prosperity.
The pasha has another infirmity, which is also peculiar
to his situation and character. He is ready to embark in
almost any speculation connected with foreign trade, in¬
deed frequently insists upon doing so ; but then, though
in general willing to allow his partners in such adventures
time to make good their reimbursements, he is by no means
equally disposed to bear his proportion of the loss ; so
that all they obtain from him is the loan of funds and his
protection. Hence the trade with India, attempted under
his patronage, ruined the smaller, and shook the more
wealthy houses which engaged in it. But, notwithstand¬
ing the failure of this first attempt, he is still most anxious
to open an intercourse with the East, and, if possible, to
re-establish that valuable traffic which was lost to Egypt
through the ignorance and barbarism of its government,
as well as by the discovery of the passage to India round
the Cape of Good Hope. This is not only a favourite sub¬
ject of speculation with the politicians of Cairo, but also
engages deeply the attention of the viceroy, who, now
that he has acquired Syria, and extended the frontier of
his dominions almost to the Euphrates, will assuredly em¬
ploy every expedient to which he can resort in order to
accomplish this object.
In the meanwhile, Egypt can, either from its own pro¬
duce or by means of its transit trade, supply the states on
the shores of the Mediterranean with wax, hides, coffee
from Mokha, myrrh, frankincense, cocculus indicus, assa-
foetida, ivory, rhinoceros-horns, tortoise-shell, sal ammo¬
niac, senna, tamarinds, ostrich feathers, incense, balsam of
Mecca, gum arabic, gum copal, benzoin, Socotrine aloes,
coloquintida, gum ammoniac, galbanum, sagapenum (from
a nondescript umbellate), epopanax, shishm seed (cassia
absus), spica celtica (a kind of spikenard), mahleb (dried
fruit of prunus mahaleb), shebb or native alum, sulphur,
musk, and gold dust. It also exports natron, which is less
liable to spoil than artificial salts of the same description ;
but the extravagant price set on this article by the Egyp¬
tian government has greatly narrowed the demand, by
compelling the merchants to make their returns in specie,
which is done at a very considerable loss. The principal
imports into Egypt are, the French cloths called mahouts
and londrins, Florentine silks, scarlet skull-caps called fez,
gold lace, blotting-paper, glass, earthenware, hardware;
watches from England ; and similar articles from Germany
and Italy, especially the caps called fez. The imports
are from France, England, Holland, Germany, Russia,
Sweden, and the Mediterranean states; whilst the ex¬
ports are produced in Egypt, India, Arabia, Abyssinia,
Nubia, Sennaar, and Kordofan. The commodities import¬
ed from Europe indicate not only an increase of wealth
amongst the subjects of Mehemmed Ali, but also con¬
siderable progress in taste and, refinement.1 We have
not been able to ascertain the actual rates of the import,
export, and transit duties; and the tables of Mengin,
which reach no later than 1821, are already antiquated.
. The intercourse by land with the countries to the south
and west is carried on by means of kafilas or caravans.
Those from Sennaar and Darfur usually arrive in Septem- Eg
ber or October, and depart as soon as they have sold their ^
goods and completed their purchases. The sacred cara¬
van of pilgrims bound to Mecca reaches Egypt about the
time of the Ramadan, or Mahommedan lent, and sets off
immediately after the commencement of the Beiram, or
Mahommedan carnival, in order that it may reach the
holy city before the month of the festival (ahh'l hijjah)
has expired. In March and October caravans from Mount
Sinai bring dates and charcoal; from time to time small ca¬
ravans arrive from the Oases, laden with dates ; and when
the ships from Djidda reach Suez, the same mode of con¬
veyance is employed to transport their cargoes, consisting
of the products of Arabia, Persia, and Hindustan, to the
capital of Egypt. The caravans from Abyssinia, which
travel northward through the desert east of the Nile as
far as Esneh, bring ivory, ostrich feathers, and slaves of
both sexes, destined for Cairo, the place where sales of
live human stock are usually effected; and they carry
back, as a sort of return cargo, manufactured articles of
Venetian glass, woollen dresses, cotton and linen stuff?,
shawls, and some other commodities purchased at Siout
and Kenneh. The Ababdeh and Bicharis tribes also de¬
scend to Esneh, where, in exchange for metals, utensils,
arid grain, they give slaves, camels, and the gum which
they gather in thei? deserts, as well as the charcoal which
they prepare from the acacia trees ; but the most valuable
commodity they import into Egypt is senna, which they
collect in the mountains between the Nile and the Red
Sea, where it is produced without culture. The trade of
Cosseir, a port on the western shore of the Arabian Gulf,
is now only a trifling remnant of that commerce by which
Egypt was once enriched. The exports consist of wheat,
barley, beans, lentils, sugar, flowers of cartliamon, lettuce
oil, and butter; the imports are coffee, cotton cloth, In¬
dian muslins, English silks, spices, incense, and Cashmere
shawls.
The custom-house duties are, upon the whole, moderate.
European goods pay an import duty of three per cent.;
but Turkish produce is charged five per cent, at Alexan¬
dria, and four per cent, at Boulak, the port of Cairo. For
goods brought by land from the interior nine per cent, is
exacted in one payment. The export duty is three per
cent, to Europe, and five per cent, to Turkey;2 3 * but goods
sent by the Red Sea pay ten per cent, each way. Every
camel-load from the Said, or Upper Egypt, pays twenty-
five piastres, or seven shillings, at old Cairo; slaves are
charged twenty-seven piastres, or nine shillings a head, at
Deraweh, and six piastres twenty paras, two shillings, at
Cairo ; ivory pays fifty piastres, or seventeen shillings, per
quintal (cantar), and five at Cairo; rhinoceros-horns are
charged ten per cent, ad valorem, and again at Cairo; gum
arabic pays sixteen piastres, five shillings, per quintal, and
twenty paras per pound ; tamarinds and natrons are charg¬
ed six piastres thirty paras, two shillings and three pence,
per quintal, and six piastres at Cairo; and white ostrich
feathers pay six piastres, two shillings, black one piastre,
between three pence and four pence, per roll, and ten per
cent, ad valorem at Cairo. Of the latest fiscal arrange¬
ments of the viceroy consequent on the great accession
of territory which he obtained from the Porte as the price
of the pacification which followed the victory of Koniah,
no authentic information has yet reached us ; and this is
not a subject which admits of conjecture or speculation.'5
1 See Tableau du Commerce de I'Egypte avec VEurope.
- All goods sent from Damietta to Syria used to pay two per cent, additional; but since the latter country has been ceded in full
sovereignty to Mehemmed Ali, this duty has been withdrawn.
3 In Mengin’s work, already so often referred to, and also in the Tableau du Commerce de I'Egypte, are contained very full details re¬
specting the exports and imports of Egypt; but in the fonner the tabular returns do not come farther down than the year 1821, and
EGYPT.
Vpt. The revenue of Egypt in the year 1821 was estimated
at L.2,249,S79, derived from various sources, as, first, the
roiri or land-tax; secondly, the customs; thirdly, the re¬
sumed lands, comprehending nearly the whole of the cul¬
tivable soil; fourthly, the conquered territories, namely,
Darfur, Sennaar, Nubia, and part of Arabia; fifthly, the
monopoly of Egyptian commerce ; and, sixthly, an excise
on provisions. But from the more recent data furnished
by Rifaud and others, it may be inferred, as already stat¬
ed, that the actual revenue of the viceroy, exclusively of
that which may be derived from his recent territorial ac¬
quisitions, cannot fall much short of L.4,000,000 sterjing;
whilst, on the other hand, if these be included, and if
the resources of Syria with its dependencies, and of the
island of Candia, be taken into account, there can be little-
doubt that in a few' years hence it will be augmented
to five, six, or even seven millions sterling; a sum not
more than sufficient for the support of the establishments
which Mehemmed has created, and of late so greatly ex¬
tended. The expenditure of Egypt in 1821 was calcu¬
lated at L.1,757,840; thus leaving a surplus of income,
after defraying all charges, of more than half a million
sterling. But when we call to mind that, since the period
to which this estimate applies, the viceroy has created a
regular army amounting to between 70,000 and 80,000
men; that he has acquired a fleet <*f twelve sail of the
line, besides frigates and smaller vessels; and that all his
other establishments must have been increased on a scale
of proportional magnitude, we must at once perceive that
such an estimate can have no application to the present
time. Of the above sum, however, upwards of one third
was required for the support of the armed force, the erec¬
tion of barracks, and the purchase of arms ; about L.90,000
was remitted to Constantinople in name of tribute; a
sum of L.14,000 was devoted to the support of the church
and the law, and nearly as much expended on the pilgri¬
mage to Mecca; and the remainder, amounting to about
L.200,000, was required for the . support of the viceroy’s
household, including his guards and yeomen of the palace.
Formerly the revenue of Egypt passed through the hands
of the Beys, who, after charging it with the expenses of
government, were theoretically understood to remit the
surplus to Constantinople. But, practically, no such re¬
mittance was almost ever made; for the different agents
and collectors generally contrived so to manage matters
that the expenditure overbalanced the income, and thus
the Porte, instead of receiving any portion of the produce
of the taxes, was frequently called upon to pay for the
repairs of buildings and canals, which, as may readily be
supposed, were never executed. Whilst the Mamlukes
had the ascendency, they extorted, publicly and private¬
ly, about a million and a half annually; but when the
French were in possession of the country, the imposts
varied from year to year according to the state of the
war, averaging uppn the whole about nine hundred thou¬
sand pounds sterling.1
There is the best reason to believe that, anciently,
Egypt was much more densely peopled than at present.
This fact, attested by all the ancient historians, may like¬
wise be inferred from the monuments by which the Pha-
527
raohs sought to perpetuate the remembrance of their Egypt,
greatness, and still more from the works by which they
endeavoured to extend as well as to maintain the produc¬
tiveness of the soil. Where food is abundant, population
seldom fails to increase in rapid progression; and, on the
other hand, where population is already pressing on the
means of subsistence, the policy of nations so circumstan¬
ced is naturally, or we might perhaps say necessarily, direct¬
ed towards augmenting the absolute quantity of food. At
a very early period Egypt appears to have passed through
the former and to have entered the latter state; whilst
every fact mentioned in history, and every circumstance
of real evidence supplied by the monuments still extant,
conspire to prove that the ancient population of the great
valley of the Nile exceeded its present amount in the pro¬
portion of nearly three to one. Before the Persian con¬
quest, the inhabitants of all classes who acknowledged the
authority of the Pharaohs were estimated at seven mil¬
lions ; nor, when we consider the natural fertility of the soil,
and the extensive system of artificial irrigation employed
at once to increase its productiveness and extend the limits
of cultivation, will this calculation appear exaggerated or
improbable. Besides, it is certain that the desert now co¬
vers large tracts of soil which were anciently under culti¬
vation, and which even yet might perhaps be reclaimed
from the wilderness by means of canals for the purpose
of irrigation derived from the upper sections of the Nile.2
At present the population of Egypt, divided and classed
as already stated at the commencement of this section, is
thought not to exceed two millions and a half; but this
number, being apparently restricted to the inhabitants of
towns and villages, together with such of the peasantry as
are subject to taxation, does not apparently include the
Arabs who occupy the deserts between the Nile and the
Red Sea ; and hence jve shall probably be nearer the truth
if we estimate the actual population of Egypt, all classes
included, at three millions. No census has ever been taken
of the inhabitants of this country; but as the number of
houses has been ascertained for the purpose of taxation,
Baron de Sacy, Mengin, and others, proceeding on this
ground, and reckoning eight persons to a house in Cairo,
and four in the provinces, have arrived at the following
results:
Houses. Inhabitants.
In Cairo there are   25,000 and 200,000
In Alexandria, Rosetta, Damietta,
Old Cairo, and Boulak, which are
estimated at the same rate as
the capital, there are 
In fourteen provinces, containing 1
three thousand four hundred 564,168 2,256,272
and seventy-five villages )
Total 603,700 2,514,400
But, as" already stated, this estimate does not appear to
include the Arabs who inhabit so considerable a part of
the country.
In a country like Egypt, the inhabitants of which are
composed of so many different races, each professing a
separate creed, there must necessarily exist a correspond-
}
14,532  58,128
the latter contains little or no information of a subsequent date. The same observation also applies to the general statistics embodied in
the Ilistoire de VEgypte sous le Gouvernemcnt de Mohammed-Aly. But as Egypt, during the last ten or eleven years, has made more rapid
advances than some countries do in a century, we have for this reason abstained from loading our pages with details which, however
accurate with reference to the time when they were prepared, would nevertheless convey a very imperfect notion of the progress in
industry, commerce, and the arts, which has actually been made within the last few years.
1 Malte-Brun ; Mengin ; Jtifaud; Encyclopaedia Metropolitana, art. Egypt.
a As the present viceroy has already caused an extensive cut to be made near Elephantine, in order to avoid the inconvenience
and danger occasioned by the Cataracts, it seems highly probable, if he live, that he will make an attempt of the kind hinted at in
the text.
J
l-
li. I
Egypt, ing diversity of customs and manners. The habits of the
Turk, for instance, easily distinguish him from the Mam-
luke or the Bedouin ; the Copt can never be mistaken for
the Jew, nor the Syrian for the Greek; and the wild tribes
of the upper country have also each their peculiar modes
and habits of life. But amidst all the diversity by which
the different races are distinguished, many points of re¬
semblance may also be detected; and the principal fea¬
tures of the oriental character are nowhere more strong¬
ly marked than in Egypt. It is impossible indeed to live
long in any country without yielding in some degree to
the influence of its national character; and though the
individuality of race may still be preserved with sufficient
distinctness to be easily recognised, yet all classes will be
found, on examination, to have received strong impres¬
sions from the predominant modes. Our present object
is to endeavour to verify by a few examples the truth of
this observation.
The condition of women in Egypt is much the same as
in all other oriental countries, particularly those where
I slam ism prevails. They are for the most part kept in a
state of strict seclusion ; and in this the Copts imitate the
Moslemins. When they go abroad or receive visits they
are always veiled. A piece of cloth, varying in texture
according to the rank of the individual, covers the head
and face, allowing only the eyes to see and be seen
through apertures provided on purpose. This usage is of
very ancient origin, and is so intimately associated with
the idea of female modesty, that it is never dispensed
with excepting in very peculiar circumstances. “ When
any of the Egyptian women,” says Napoleon, “ found
themselves by accident surprised without their veils, and
covered only with that long blue shift which forms the
clothing of the Fellahs’ wives, they used to take up the
lower part of the shift to hide their faces, preferring the
exposure of any other part.”1 Amongst the orientals, wives
are sacred; and hence, in their intestine wars, the latter
are always respected. Whilst the Mamlukes, for example,
were carrying on war against the French, their wives re¬
mained at Cairo. Women decay very early in Egypt;
and there are more of them brown than fair. In general
their faces display a little complexion, but the predomi¬
nant hue is a light and transparent bronze. The most
beautiful are either Greeks or Circassians, and with the
latter, particularly, the bazars of the merchants who deal
in female slaves are for the most part abundantly provid¬
ed. The Ethiopian women brought to Egypt for sale by
the caravans from Darfur and other parts of the interior,
though jet black, are exceedingly beautiful; their features
being perfectly regular, and their eyes full of animation.
The Circassians are more highly prized by the orientals
than the Europeans, who, having formed their standard of
beauty on different models, are at a loss to reconcile the
specimens they have actually seen with those high-flown
descriptions which fill the pages of eastern romance, and
attribute all the charms of female loveliness to the natives
of one favoured spot on the Persian side of the Caucasus.
Marriage takes place amongst the Moslemins without
either party having ever seen the other, excepting by ac¬
cident. This results from the seclusion in which females
are kept throughout the whole of the East. Sometimes in¬
deed, the bride may have seen the bridegroom, but the
latter can never have behe'ld his betrothed, or at least the
features of her face, and for her charms and qualifications
must therefore depend entirely upon report. Marriage,
in fact, which is always negociated by the elder females
of families, is merely a civil contract prepared by the mu¬
tual friends of the parties, and signed by the bridegroom
and his guardian. Amongst the Copts, who are*3 even
more rigid than the Moslemins in the seclusion of their
females, matrimonial alliances are contracted in a similar
manner, and have precisely the same character. The ce¬
remonial usually observed in both cases has often been
described, and need not therefore be repeated in this
place.2 Mahommedan wives have certain privileges, of
which they are very tenacious, and which their husbands
cannot refuse them without passing for brutes and barba¬
rians, and enraging every body against them. Of these,
the principal is that of going to the bath, which may be
described as the women’s coffee-house. Thither they re¬
pair as often as they feel inclined, and the bath is the
place where political and other intrigues are contrived,
and where marriages are planned. But, notwithstanding
this indulgence, they feel deeply the restraint under which
they are kept, and, from all that can be learned, would
willingly conform teethe Frank customs, if permitted to do
so. Where women are excluded from society, refinement
of manners must be wholly unknown. In the house of an
Osmanlee, the apartments allotted for the women are
generally furnished with the richest and most expensive
articles; but those of the men are remarkable only for a
plain style of neatness.
The dress of the orientals bears no resemblance what¬
ever to ours, and is in all respects more ample and volu¬
minous, allowing greater freedom of motion and exertion.
The turban is a much more elegant and convenient head¬
dress than a hat; and being susceptible of great variety in
form, colour, and arrangement, discovers at the first glance
the differences of nations and ranks. As the neck and
limbs are not confined by bandages or ligatures, a native
of the East may remain a month in his clothes without
feeling fatigued by them. The different races and classes
are of course differently dressed ; but they all agree in
wearing papooshes or wide pantaloons, large sleeves, and
every other part of their dress full and ample. To protect
themselves from the sun, they wear shawls ; and a great
quantity of silks, Indian stuffs, and cachemires, is intro¬
duced into the dresses both of men and of women; but
they wear no linen. The Fellahs are covered with a blue
shirt fastened round the middle. The Arab chiefs who
traverse the desert during the scorching heat of the dog-
days cover themselves with shawls of all colours, which
they also wrap round their heads, and thus protect the
different parts of their bodies from the sun. Instead of
shoes, both men and women wear slippers, which they
leave on the edge of the carpet when they enter an apart¬
ment.3 It ought to be mentioned, however, that, since
the military changes introduced by the present viceroy,
European modes have been gradually gaining ground,
and that even the dress on which the Osmanlee not un-
^ j emoirs, vol. 11. p. 2/4. Vv hen Napoleon was in Egypt, he had several opportunities of seeing some of the most distinguished
women in the country, to whom he granted audiences. “ These were either the widows of beys or kiachefs, or their wives, who, in
their absence, came to implore his protection. The richness of their dress, their noble deportment, their little soft hands and fine
eyes, a dignined and giaceiul carriage, and very elegant manners, distinguished them as women of education and rank superior to the
' ulnai Many ol them stated their requests with perfect grace, and an enchanting tone of voice, displaving all the intelligence
and sweetness of the most accomplished .women of Europe. The propriety of their demeanour, and the modesty of their dress, gave
them additional fascinations ; and the imagination delighted in guessing at charms of which thev did not even allow a glimpse.”
[Memoirs, ubi supra.)
See Travels in Africa, Egypt, and Syria, p. 70‘. 3 Napoleon’s Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 278, 279>
EGYPT.
529
t, reasonably prides himself is in some danger of experiencing
some curtailments and abridgments little calculated to im¬
prove its picturesque effect.
When the French occupied Egypt, there was neither
coach nor cart in the country, excepting one which Ibra¬
him Bey had received from France, and which was ac¬
counted a very remarkable thing. Water-carriage being so
abundant and easy, coaches and other vehicles are perhaps
less necessary there than in any other country of the world.
Horses are used for traversing the capital by all except
women and lawyers, who, being apparently considered as
equally effeminate, ride on mules or asses, surrounded by
their attendants.1 When women have occasion to travel
any distance, they are usually conveyed in panniers placed
on the backs of camels. There is an immense quantity of
asses in Egypt; they are large and of a fine breed, and at
Cairo they in some measure supply the place of hackney
coaches. In the capital no one in the Frank costume
dares to appear in the streets on horseback. The style
of living is much the same as that which prevails general¬
ly throughout Turkey; but as the viceroy, notwithstand¬
ing the prohibition in the Koran, does not scruple to drink
wine, his example has introduced some degree of laxity into
the manners of the capital, where there are many persons
disposed to think that the practice of the pasha in this par¬
ticular is entitled to more respect than even the prohibi¬
tory injunction of the Prophet. Among Europeans, how¬
ever, who are under no restraint of any kind as to their
mode of living, all sorts of indulgences are common ; and
. at their tables may be found the most recherches efforts of
foreign cookery, garnished with the wines of Europe and
the fruits of the East. Nor is it likely, now when the in¬
tercourse between them and the Turks is much more fre¬
quent and intimate than formerly, that their example can
be without effect upon their guests and visitors; more es¬
pecially as it is evidently the policy of the viceroy to break
down Turkish customs, and to destroy the attachment of
his countrymen to those modes and habits which have so
powerfully contributed to keep them in ignorance, and
nurse a spirit of intolerance. As to Mehemmed himself,
he labours under the imputation of being a freethinker,2
notwithstanding all he has done for the deliverance of the
holy cities ; and his character in this respect has not fail¬
ed to produce a marked impression upon the sentiments
of the higher classes in Cairo. As the viceroy himself
cares for no man’s religious creed, and is content to be
served by a Christian, a fire-worshipper, or a votary of the
Grand Lama, as well as by the most devout professor of
Islamism, it may easily be supposed that those about his
person or his court will not be slack in imitating his ex¬
ample in neglecting such distinctions.
The festival of opening the Kalidji, or admitting the
water of the Nile into the canal of Cairo, by cutting the
dike or embankment raised to exclude it until the river has
attained a given height, is annually observed with every
demonstration of joy, and forms one of the customs which
have descended from the most ancient times. In Egypt
there is no subject of such general and engrossing interest
as the overflow of the Nile, upon which the productive¬
ness of the country wholly depends ; and, accordingly, on
the occasion in question, the sounds of festive rejoicing,
intermingled with music, songs, and cries of “ Allah illah
Allah,” are heard all over the capital. The river god, the
beneficent genius of Egypt, is then pouring abundance out
of his watery urn. Besides, the inhabitants of Cairo, like
the populace of all great cities, are fond of pageants and
shows, and, upon such occasions, amuse themselves with
feats of strength and dexterity, as also with singing and
dancing. Buffoons exhibit for the entertainment of the
multitude, whose ready laugh responds to their stale jests
and coarse pleasantries. But the almehs, or improvisatrices,
who are performers of a different class, reserve the exer¬
cise of their talents for the amusement of the affluent.
These females, being called in to relieve the solitude of the
harem, teach its inmates new airs, repeat verses or poems,
initiate the Egyptian ladies in the mysteries of improvisa¬
tion, and perform dances, which are often of a very unbe¬
coming and lascivious character. Some of these women,
however, are persons of cultivated minds and agreeable
conversation; they perform their recitations with consi¬
derable effect, and possess a great command over their
native language, which they speak with purity and grace.
The practice of hiring women to utter lamentations for the
dead is still observed at Cairo, to the great annoyance of
the Frank population, who detest the doleful bowlings of
these professional mourners. In the capital, and also in
some of the large towns, charmers of serpents occasional¬
ly exhibit their extraordinary feats, to the amazement and
horror of the bystanders, brandishing live reptiles of the
most poisonous description, and then tearing them with
their teeth. But the practitioners of this perilous art do
not always escape with impunity.
A printed book was a rare sight in Egypt until Mehem¬
med Ali introduced, along with other improvements, an
European press, and founded a printing establishment. A
class of men, similar to the copyists and caligraphers of
the middle ages, earned a subsistence by making tran¬
scripts of the Koran, the Arabian Nights, and other works
in demand, some of which were beautifully executed in
inks of various colours.3 But the occupation of these art¬
ists is now in a great measure gone, and the penman will
soon be altogether superseded in such work by the com¬
positor. In fact, the publication of a newspaper was some
time ago commenced under the auspices of Mehemmed
Ali; and although the Egyptian Moniteur does not enjoy,
and indeed cannot be permitted to exercise, that freedom
of speculation and boldness of remonstrance for which the
press is distinguished in the free countries of Europe, yet
it is apparently more unfettered than most of the journals
in Germany, and contains much useful information re¬
specting the remoter parts of the Egyptian dominions, as
well as in regard to the improvements from time to time
introduced with a view to continue the movement in ad¬
vance which has already been communicated by the vice¬
roy to almost all classes of the people under his sway.
In contemplating the improvements which have already
been effected in Egypt, and the still more extensive and
complete renovation which that country seems destined
1 An Egyptian lady mounted on a mule or an ass, and wrapped up from head to foot in a black mantle, has not inaptly been
compared to a coffin placed upright on a saddle and covered with a pall.
2 The celebrated Sheikh Ibrahim (Burckhardt), with whom Mehemmed was very fond of conversing, presented himself one day
before the viceroy. “ Pasha,” said he, “ I want to go and see the holy city, and pray at the prophet’s tomb ; give me your leave
and firman for the journey.”—“ You go to Mecca and our blessed prophet’s tomb !” said the prince; “ that s impossible, Ibrahim ;
you are not qualified : you know what I mean : nor do I think you are a true believer.”—“ But I am, pasha,” was the reply ; “ you
are mistaken, I assure you ; I am qualified, too, in every respect; and as to belief, have no fears about that; tell me any part of the
Koran that 1 will not believe.” “ Go to the holy city ; go, Ibrahim,” said the pasha, laughing heartily; “ I was not aware you
were so holy a man. Do you think I’ll vex myself with questions from the Koran ? Go and see the prophet s tomb, and may it
enlighten your eyes and comfort your heart.” (Game’s Recollections of Travels in the East, p. 248.)
s Clarke’s Travels, vol. v. p. 111.
VOL. VIII. 3 x
EGYPT.
530
Egypt, to undergo from the combined operation of the various
''-'■'V'**-'' causes presently at work, it is impossible not to be struck
with admiration of the man by whom alone all these won¬
ders have in fact been achieved, and who has written his
name in such indelible characters upon the face of the
interesting land where he has laid the foundations of a
new empire. Comparing Egypt as it was at the com¬
mencement of the present century with its actual condi¬
tion as described in the latest accounts which have reach¬
ed us, we could almost persuade ourselves that, instead of
thirty years, we had passed over three centuries, and that
the striking contrast which is thus presented must be al¬
together unreal, a creation of oriental genius in its most
imaginative mood, rather than the work of a mere human
agent wholly unprovided with supernatural means. Anar¬
chy has given place to order, and violence to the empire
of the law. Arabs, Turks, Mamlukes, and Albanians
have all been reduced into the most complete subjection
to a government which has arisen from a chaos of discor¬
dant elements, and out of these gradually formed the “ fair
state,” which is perhaps destined to become the centre of
, a new system of civilized nations. At the period of his ac¬
cession to power Mehemmed found the soldiery mutinous
and disorganized, the finances exhausted, property inse¬
cure, agriculture neglected, commerce annihilated; and,
surrounded by ignorance, cruelty, treachery, and fanati¬
cism, he knew that he could not attempt to advance a step
except at the hazard of his life. Yet, endowed with in¬
vincible energy and perseverance, he has surmounted all
obstacles, and compelled every class and order of men to
yield implicit obedience to his government; and even in
the depths of the Arabian desert he is feared and obeyed.
Having destroyed a licentious .and ungovernable militia,
he has created a powerful army, which is controlled and
governed by a stern system of discipline ; his finances are
in the most prosperous condition ; new articles of produce
have been raised ; agriculture in all its branches has been
improved and extended ; works of the greatest magnitude
and importance have been executed; commerce is car¬
ried on to an extent formerly unknown; ample security
is afforded both to person and to property; and that con¬
fidence which is the first condition of prosperity univer¬
sally prevails. From Alexandria to Assouan the road is
as open and the security as complete as in the most civi¬
lized nations of Europe; at the Cataracts as well as at
Cairo the traveller may repose in peace. But the moral
change which he has wrought is much more extraordi¬
nary than all his military, political, commercial, agricultural
and other improvements put together, and will, in its con¬
sequences, be productive of results still more important
to the cause of civilization. He has attacked bigotry and
fanaticism at their very source; and by frowning down
ignorance, and letting in perforce the lights of knowledge
amongst his subjects, he has done more to subvert the
empire of a creed essentially adverse to human improve¬
ment than all its declared enemies put together. That
in his character many dark spots may easily be detected,
it would be ridiculous to conceal, far less deny. He has
both failings and vices as a ruler, which, although it would
be vain perhaps to regret them, it is nevertheless instruc¬
tive to point out for the benefit of those who study human EgV
nature under all its varied aspects. But, on the other
hand, these are so completely eclipsed by his great and
splendid achievements in almost every field where a su¬
perior mind can display its native energy, that we may
perhaps be excused for having dwelt more on the bright
than the shaded part of his character.1
SECTION V.
MONUMENTAL AND OTHER ANTIQUITIES OF EGYPT.
Plan of description—Philae; its temples and monuments 
Obelisk removed by Belzoni for Mr Bankes Importance u
the inscriptions on this monument—Elephantine'; its quarries.
—Syene' or Assouan—Measurement of a degree of the meridian
by Eratosthenes—Ombos or Koum Ombo Edfou or Apollo
nopolis-Magna—Elethya ; its college of priests Esneh or
Latopolis—Hermonthis or Hermonti—Thebes Medinet-Ha-
bou—Temples and monuments in this division of the ancien
capital—Biban-el-Moluk or gates of the kings Catacomb
or tombs of the kings—Discoveries of Belzoni among these
hypogcea—Sarcophagus of alabaster—Kourah Characteristics
of Egyptian architecture—The palace of Luxor The temple
of Karnak—Site and dimensions of Thebes Origin of the
name—Kous or Apollonopolis-Parva.—Coptos or Kebto 
Ghenneh or Kenneh—Tentyris or Denderah ; its monuments
and antiquities.—Planisphere or zodiac of Denderah Specu¬
lations to which this planisphere has given rise refuted both by
the calculations of science and the dates fixed by the inscrip¬
tions.—Abydos—Genealogical tablet discovered by Mr Bankes.
—Importance of this document to the historiography of Egypt.
—Diospolis-Parva—Djirjeh—Ikhmim, Eckmoum, or Panopo-
lis—Antaeopolis or Kau—Lycopolis or Siout Schmoum or
Hermopolis-Magna—Antinoe—Oxyrynchus.—Heracleopolis.
—Crocodilopolis—Aphroditopolis—Labyrinth Memphis.—
Mechanical labours of the Egyptians Pyramids Lake Mce-
ris—Other antiquities.
As any attempt to classify the monumental antiquities
of ancient Egypt would lead to the greatest confusion in
topography, there are only two modes in which these re¬
mains can be described without creating embarrassment
to the reader; namely, by taking them either in an as¬
cending or descending order, with reference to the course
of the river, on or near the banks of which they are al¬
most all situated. But as we conceive that civilization,
flowing from the interior, originally descended along the
valley of the Nile, and as either method is equally con¬
ducive to perspicuity, we prefer the latter; more especial¬
ly as it will bring us at once in contact, as it were, with
some of the most extraordinary monuments in this land
of wonders and prodigies.
Supposing, then, that we enter Egypt from Nubia on the
south, and follow the course of the Nile downwards, the
first place of note which occurs is the island of Philae,2
about six miles to the south of Syene or Assouan, and
nearly thirty-four to the north of the tropic of Cancer.
Occupying an area of barely nine hundred yards in circum¬
ference, and a hundred in breadth, this diminutive island
nevertheless presents a variety of objects deserving of admi¬
ration, and calculated to revive a multitude of historical
and classical recollections. Independently of other consi-
1 In effecting his improvements, Mehemmed had not to contend with a privileged aristocracy, inheriting historical names, and in¬
trenched behind the prejudices of centuries. The incessant revolutions of which Egypt was the theatre, and the long-continued sway
of the Mamlukes, whose power was based, not on opinion, but on force, had, even amongst the Arabs, destroyed much of the prestige
in favour of the distinctions of hereditary rank, and worked incredible injury to the science of genealogy. How indeed could it be
otherwise in a country where all respect was reserved for the purchased slave, whose relations were unknown, but whose bra¬
very or other personal qualities had raised him to the highest honours ? “I have heard,” says General Regnier, “ both Turkish
and Mamluke officers say of a person who occupied great posts, ‘ He is a man of the best connections ; he was purchased.’” (Reg-
nier, De VEgypte, p. G8.)
2 The Arabic name of Philae is Bi/ak, which is merely the old Egyptian name Pi-lakh, signifying “ the end or extremity,” spelled
in the Arabic fashion.
EGYPT. .531
r ,t. derations, the etymon of its name affords presumptive evi-
^ dence of the remoteness of the period at which this cele¬
brated spot first formed the southern boundary of Egypt,
or, as it were, the Nubian gate of the kingdom of the Pha¬
raohs. But being considered as the burial-place of Osi¬
ris,1 and adorned with temples, one of which was believ¬
ed to have been erected by Isis in honour of her husband-
brother, it has higher and more interesting claims to our
attention ; and as every thing which antiquity or sanctity
could offer to warm the imagination or kindle the devo¬
tion of the votary seemed concentrated on this hallowed
islet, it had accordingly become a favourite place of pil¬
grimage among the worshippers of Osiris at a period long
anterior to the commencement of history. One of the
names by which it is at present known, Djeziret-el-birba
or the Temple-Island, sufficiently indicates the character
and the magnitude of the ruins with which it is covered ;
ruins which the neighbouring Arabs denominate Anas-el-
Wojud, or the sociality of Wojud, who, according to their
traditions, built these palaces as a retreat to which he
might betake himself for the purpose of social or convi¬
vial enjoyment.2 Though the surrounding cliffs are of a
dark-brown granite, the temples are all built of a bright
white sandstone; and nearly the whole island is cased
with walls of hewn stone, forming quays concave towards
the stream, but convex towards the land, which give it
the appearance of a modern escarpment.3
This island is entirely covered with temples in large
groups, and in a high state of preservation; and from a
rocky eminence at its southern extremity the whole of
the ruins may be seen at once. On the south-west side
are two large temples, adorned with and connected by
long colonnades, but manifestly of different ages ; on the
right is a small temple of Isis, with an isolated, unfinished
building, having no remains of the cella, nor any appear¬
ance of an interior cornice; and on the left are an obe¬
lisk, and long porticoes leading to a large temple of Isis,
near a smaller one dedicated to Hathor or the Egyptian
Venus, which Champollion has pronounced the best in
the island. The great temple of Isis,4 which is the south¬
ernmost of all, has two colossal pyramidal propyla, one
between the dromos and pronaos, and another between
the pronaos and portico, with a smaller one leading into
the sekos or adytum. But none of these propyla are in
lines parallel to each other, all of them, as well as the
dromos, turning from the body of the temple, each about
one point towards the east; an irregularity probably ow¬
ing to the form of the island or the varying state of the
rocky foundation, but which renders the building exceed¬
ingly complex. None of the existing monuments of
Egypt is better calculated to convey an adequate idea of
the magnificence by which they are characterised than Egypt,
the portico of this temple, which consists of twelve v—
columns, four in front and three deep. The capitals,
which are in pure Egyptian taste, represent varied forms
and compositions of the palm branch, the domm leaf, and
the lotus. These, as well as the sculptures on the columns,
the ceiling, and the wralls, have been painted in the most
vivid colours, which still retain much of their original
brightness; and there is reason to believe that the same
was the case in the interior of this as well as of the other ,
temples, although the damp and the nitrous quality of
the confined air have entirely destroyed the colours. One
of the majestic pylons of this temple, flanked by two
square, tower-like masses of masonry rising pyramidical-
ly to the height of fifty-four feet, leads to the second
court, and towers above everything around, being the
loftiest building on the island ; and both are richly orna¬
mented with sculpture and hieroglyphics, the number of
which is immense. Three large and several smaller cham¬
bers lead to the adytum or sanctuary, in one corner of
which there is a granite block, containing a niche for the
bird (a kind of hawk) venerated as the emblem of Osiris,
and entirely covered with hieroglyphics. Bas-reliefs,
representing processions, festivals, sacrifices, and other
scenes connected with the worship of the gods of Egypt,
cover the w'alls within and without; and on the ceiling of
the portico are sculptured a human figure, with a mitre on
the head and a serpent in the hand, three female figures
with the arms and legs extended, two canoes with pad¬
dles, two winged globes, a flying scaraboeus with hands,
Osiris in his boat, and two birds flying with palm branch¬
es in their claws. Fragments of obelisks and lions con¬
sisting of red granite are strewed about upon the ground
in front of the temple. According to the most probable
calculation, this temple was commenced by Philadelphus,
continued under Euergetes I. and Epiphanes, and com¬
pleted by Euergetes II. and Philometor.5
On the left of the great temple of Isis is an uncovered
enclosure formed by a colonnade, the intercolumniations
of which are filled to nearly two thirds of their height 5
but to make amends for this, the plinths are raised to a
disproportionate thickness. This structure, which has
evidently been left in an unfinished state, was by the
French architects called “ the eastern” or “ temple of
Isis,” from a supposition, now proved to be erroneous, that
the great temple had been dedicated to Osiris. Before it
lay a small obelisk of granite, which, though displaced, had
sustained but little injury. This monument, which events
ally proved of so much importance in regard to the de¬
ciphering of hieroglyphics, was first noticed by Mr W. J.
Bankes in 1815; and two years afterwards Mr Belzoni,
1 This honour was disputed by Abydos, Memphis, Busiris, and Teph-Osiris. 2 Burckhardt, Nubia, v. p. 130.
3 Description de I'Egypte, Antiquit.es, tom. i. p. 12. Encyclopaedia Metropolitana, art. Egypt.
4 To this temple, which all travellers except Champollion have uniformly spoken of with enthusiastic admiration, the minuit pr<B-
sentia famam is fully as inapplicable as to any other monument in this land of wonders. (Hamilton’s Egyptiaca, p. 45.) The French¬
man, however, admits that the sculpture'is altogether worthy of the epoch which produced it, namely, the Greek, which he never¬
theless considers as “ une epoque de decadence.” (Lettrcs, p. 115.) In fact, he is ol opinion that everytliing at Philae is modern (“ tout
y est moderne") except the small peripteral temple of Hathor, and a propylon connected with the first pylon, which, according to him,
was constructed and dedicated by Nectanebo I. (Lettres, ubi supra.)
5 The rows of lions in front of this temple, and the occurrence of the same figure among the hieroglyphs, led the T rench savans to
conclude that this emblem was meant to mark the sign Leo, in which the sun once appeared at the summer solstice, when the inun¬
dation commenced. But the sun ceased to be in Leo at that season 2500 years before the beginning of our era ; and hence M. Fou¬
rier concluded that this temple must have been built before that period, and within the limits of the 2103 years during which the sun
was in Leo at the summer solstice. Similar inferences were drawn from the zodiacs found at Denderah and other places ; so that
“ on travelling back,” say the French philosophers, “ for upwards of three thousand years, we can scarcely see a trace of the infan¬
cy of Egyptian architecture.” [Description de I'Egypte, Antiq. i.) But, unfortunately for these speculations, Delambre has shown
[Nouvcllet Annalesdcs Voyages, tom. viii. p. 383) that they furnish no data for determining the age of the buildings which they adorn ;
and from the style of the sculptures, particularly on the propylon, and still more from the hieroglyphic texts, the epoch of the erec¬
tion of the temple must be that which we have assigned. If the Greek inscriptions over the entrance and on the walls had received
the attention which they deserve, several erroneous theories would have been avoided, and the extravagant antiquity ascribed to
this and other buildings would have been at once disproved. [Encyclopaedia Metropolitana, art. Egypt.)
532
EGYPT.
Egypt, acting on his account, succeeded, in spite of numerous
difficulties and even dangers, in transporting it along the
Nile to Rosetta,1 whence it was conveyed to England.
The hieroglyphics on the shafts and the Greek inscription
on the base of the obelisk were faithfully copied under
the superintendence of Mr Bankes ; and when the princi¬
ples of interpretation applied by Dr Young to the triple in¬
scription on the Rosetta stone were extended to the dou¬
ble inscription on the obelisk of Philae, it was ascertained
. that the Greek was merely a version of the Egyptian
text; a discovery to which, as will afterwards be shown
(see Hieroglyphics), we are in a great measure indebt¬
ed for the formation of the phonetical alphabet. The
Greek text has been ably illustrated and explained by
the celebrated French Hellenist, M. Letronne.2 At some
distance from these temples, and near the water’s edge,
there is a large hall, the walls of which are covered with
sculptures relating to the death of Osiris; and over these
are scattered inscriptions of different ages, and in various
characters, recording the names of pilgrims who had visit¬
ed the temple-island in order to pay their devotions to
the presiding deities of the place. At the northern ex¬
tremity of the island there are the remains of a triumphal
arch, and other works of Roman architecture ; and on the
north-east side an unfinished temple, exhibiting many
peculiarities of structure, and showing that the arts were
not always stationary in Egypt. In a word, within the
compass of this little island, Nubian cabins, Arab huts,
Christian chapels, Roman fortifications, and Egyptian
temples, are crowded together in such a manner as to
produce a painful sense of the lapse of ages, the tran¬
sitory nature of empires, and the destructibility of human
works, however colossal in magnitude or solid in construc¬
tion.3
Immediately below the Cataracts there is another small
island in the river, which enjoys a celebrity scarcely inferior
to that of Philae ; we mean Elephantine, now called by the
Arabs Djeziret-el-zahir or the Flowery Island, by reason
of its luxuriant vegetation. In the time of Psammeticus
' this islet formed the last fortified place in his dominions,
and under the Romans it was garrisoned by three cohorts.
In point of size, it is so diminutive that, according to
Champollion, “ il formerait a peine un pare convenable
pour un bon bourgeois de Paris.4” Heaps of rubbish mark
the site of the town supposed to have given birth to the
head of the Elephantine dynasty, and until recently there
were remains of two temples covered with hieroglyphics,
and approaching in design to the earliest temples of
Greece. But within the last few years both these monu¬
ments have been destroyed in order to construct a bar¬
rack and magazine at Syene; and a little temple, dedi¬
cated to Knuphis by Amenophis III., has also disappear¬
ed.5 The only remnants left are two steps of a granite
gateway, belonging to another temple of Knuphis, Sate,
and Anuke,6 dedicated under Alexander, the son of Alex- Eg
ander the Great. A wall of the quay, however, exhibits V *
intermingled and mutilated, the wrecks of several ancient
edifices of Elephantine, constructed under Mceris, Man-
douei, and Rhamses the Great; and in the remains of a
chamber adjoining the stair of the quay are several curious
hieroglyphic as well as in the inscription of a
mutilated stele originally erected in honour of Mandouei.
The quarries of Elephantine were worked in a very early
age, and furnished the materials for many celebrated mo¬
numents. Amongst these may be mentioned the famous
monolithic temple at Sa'is, formed of a single block of gra¬
nite, the removal of which from Elephantine to the Delta
employed two thousand men for the space of three years.
On the wall of an ancient quay, over a flight of steps leading
to the river, may still be seen the nilometer which is men¬
tioned by Strabo. Physically considered, Elephantine is
more properly the southern extremity of Egypt than Philm ;
for it is the last projection of the granite rock which forms
the natural division between Egypt and Nubia, and be¬
yond it the limestone tract of country commences.7
On the eastern or right bank of the Nile, nearly oppo¬
site to Elephantine, stands the town of Assouan or Ossou-
an, the Syene of the Greeks, and the Souan of the Copts, in
whose language the word signifies “ the opening.” From
its proximity to the northern tropic it was fixed upon by
Eratosthenes as the point of departure for his admeasure¬
ment of a degree of the meridian in order thence to cal¬
culate the circumference of the earth ; and here also, ac¬
cording to Strabo, was the well which, as the gnomons
cast no shadows at noon, marked the summer solstice.8
At Syene may still be seen the ruins of a temple conse¬
crated to Knuphis and Sate, under the Emperor Nerva.
This monument, though it indicates an extreme decline
of art in Egypt, is nevertheless exceedingly interesting,
first, because it is the only one which bears the hierogly¬
phic legend of Nerva; secondly, because it contains the
phonetico-hieroglyphic name of Syene, viz. Souan, the
same with the Coptic, and the root of the Syene of the
Greeks and the Assouan of the Arabs; and, lastly, be¬
cause the symbolic nameof this town, resembling the plum¬
met line of an architect or mason, seems to allude to the po¬
sition of Syene under (or nearly under) the tropic, and to
the famous well into which the sun’s rays descended verti¬
cally at noon on the day of the summer solstice. On some
granite rocks in the neighbourhood, Champollion disco¬
vered the homage of an Ethiopian prince called Memosis,
to Amenophis III. and Taia his queen; an act of adora¬
tion to Knuphis, the local god, for the safety of Rhamses
the Great and his children ; and several proskynemata of
private individuals, as well as public functionaries, to the
divinities of Syene and the Cataract.9 For several centu¬
ries after the Arabian invasion, Assouan continued in a
flourishing condition; but under the Fatemite caliphs it
1 Belzoni’s Travels, p. 347, et seqq. where an interesting account will be found of this difficult, and, as the result proved, perilous
operation.
Rtcherches, p. 27!). The inscription consists of a petition from the priests of Isis to Ptolemy Euergetes II. (b. c. 125 or 126),
praying him to release them from the exactions of the magistrates and military officers stationed in the Thebaid, and to permit
them to erect a stdl or cippus in commemoration of the equity and beneficence of their sovereign ; a prayer which the existence of the
commemorative obelisk proves to have been granted.
3 Encyclopaedia Metropolitana, art. Egypt. * Lettrcs tcrites d'Egyplc et dc Nulie, p. I?!-
5 Lettres, ubi supra; also, pp. Ill and 382.
6 Each city and place of Egypt had its patron. Knuphis and Satd reigned at Elephantine, Syene, and Begheh, and their juris¬
diction extended over all Nubia; Phre presided at Ibsamboul, Derri, and Amada; Phtah, at Ghirscheh ; Anukd, at Maschaket;
Ihoth, the superintendent of Knuphis, over the whole of Nubia, having his principal fiefs at Ghebel-adheh and at Dakkeh; Osiris
was lord of Dandour, Isis queen at Philae, Hathor at Ibsamboul, and Malouli at Kalabschir.
7 Des?rWtion dc l'kEgyi>te, Antiq. p. 8. Girard, Mem. de l'Acad, des Sciences, tom. ii. p. 185, 1817. Encyclopaedia Metrop. art. Egypt-
I his is not strictly correct, as the ancient town of Syend, though somewhat to the south-west of the modern town of Assouan, is
3p 23" north of the tropic ; so that, during the summer solstice, there must be some shadow at noon, though il is scarcely perceptible.
9 Namely, Knuphis, Sate, and Anuke. (Champollion, Lettres d'Egypte, p. 171.)
EGYPT.
5£3
,t became a prey to intestine divisions, and has long been pie, the massive grandeur of which is so imposing, bears, Egypt.
O reduced to a state of the utmost wretchedness.1 * nevertheless, several indications of the decay of Egyptian -v'*-
Descending the Nile about twenty-seven or twenty-eight art under the Ptolemies, to whose epoch it entirely belongs;
miles below Assouan, we reach Koum-Ombo, which stands no trace of the ancient simplicity is discernible ; and a
on the site of the ancient Ombos, upon the right bank of profusion of elaborate but ill-conceived ornaments marks
the river. All the lower part of the ancient town, however, the transition from the noble gravity of the Pharaonic mo-
excepting that which has been washed away by the river, numents to the fatiguing and endless papillotage of later
is now covered with a mound of sand, as its modern name times. The most ancient part of the decorations, namely,
indeed implies. But two temples, surrounded by a brick the interior of the naos and the right exterior side, be¬
wail of great thickness, have escaped the general destruc- long to the reign of Philopater : the work was continued
tion and both belong to the Greek epoch. The larger, under Epiphanes, whose legends cover part of the shafts
which is of beautiful architecture, and has a fine effect, of the columns and the interior tablets of the right parti-
was commenced by Ptolemy Epiphanes, continued under tion of the pronaos ; and it was at length completed under
Philometor and Euergetes II., and appears to have been the reign of Euergetes II. The sculptures of the exterior
completed during the reign of Soter II., whose name, with frieze and on the exterior walls of the pronaos were exe-
that of Cleopatra his queen or sister, may still be detected cuted under Soter II. to whose reign also belongs the gal-
on some of the bas-reliefs. This temple, which is formed lery on the right of the court before the pronaos : the
of a greyish sandstone, differs from every other building gallery on the left, and indeed all the sculptures upon the
of the same kind in Egypt, in having two entrances, and two massive pylons, are of the age of Philometor. The
consisting of two connected though distinct and perfectly wall of the enciente which surrounds the naos is entirely
symmetrical structures. It appears to have been conse- covered with sculptures, which (particularly those of the
crated to two triads, each of which had a distinct divi- interior face) date from the reign of Soter II. and of Plo¬
sion or compartment allotted to it; the one, composed of lemy-Alexander I. and contain the names of their re-
Sevek-Ra, with the crocodile’s head (the primordial form of spective queens, Cleopatra and Berenice. Ihis magnifi-
Kronos or Saturn), Hathor or Venus, and their son Khons- cent edifice was consecrated to a triad composed of the
Hor; the other, consisting of Aroeris, the goddess Tsone- god Harhat, or celestial science and light personified, the
nufre, and their son Pnevtho ; and both together consti- goddess Hathor, the Egyptian Venus, and their son Har-
tuting the saviour gods of Ombos. The crocodile ob- sont-Tho or Horns, answering to the Eros of the Greek
served on the Roman medals of the Ombite nome is the and Homan mythologies. The lesser temple of Edfou,
sacred animal of the principal god Sevek-Ra. In the called the Typhonium,4 is one of those smaller edifices
dedications, and in the cartouches or elliptical rings sculp- called Mammisi, which were always erected beside the
tured on the cornice of the pronaos, Cleopatra the wife of great temples where a triad was adored. 1 he Mammisi
Philometor has a surname which can only be the Greek of Edlou represents the infancy and education of Harsont-
Tryphtene or Dropion? but the former is considered as Tho, with whom flattery has associated Euergetes II.
the more probable interpretation. This surname is re- as sharing the caresses of the gods of every order. Ihe
peated thirty times. The smaller temples of Ombos, like large temple of Edfou is dedicated to Aroeris, the Apollo
one of those at Philae and the temple of Hermonthis, was of the Greeks.5
a Mammisi, or sacred edifice representing the birth-place Six miles lower down the river, on the opposite or right
of the young god of the local triad ; in other words, a bank, is El-kab, the ancient Elethya; but the remains of
terrestrial image of the spot where the goddesses Hatl’dr its two temples have disappeared, these structures having
and Tsonenufre had given birth to their sons Khons-H6r lately been demolished in order to repair the quay of Es-
and Pnevtho. From i.gnorance of the local mythology, neh,orfor some other recent erection. Not so much as a
the authors of the Description de VEgypte supposed that column has escaped ; and the entire temple, situated out-
this temple had been dedicated to Isis and her son Horus. side the town, has shared the same fate. It appears, hovv-
Edfou or Edfu, the Apollinopolis Magna of the Greeks, ever, from fragments of inscriptions, that the temple ot
is situated on the western or left bank of the Nile, about Elethya, dedicated to Sevek or Saturn, and So wan or Lu-
thirty-three miles below Koum-Ombo, and two miles from cina, belongs to different Pharaonic epochs, and that those
the water’s edge. An ancient quay, with a flight of steps included in the city had been constructed and decoiated
down to the river, and two temples at right angles to each under the reign of Queen Amenseh, under that of hei »on
other, but half buried in the sand, still remain. The larger Thouthmosis III., called also Moeris, and under the I ha-
of these is twice as long as it is broad, measuring about raohs Amenophis-Memnon and Rhamses the Great. Amyr-
440 by 220 feet; its largest columns are six feet four teh and Achoris, two of the last kings of the Egyptian
inches in diameter, twenty-one feet in circumference, and race, repaired these ancient edifices, and added some new
forty-two feet in height; and, as at Philse, Denderah, and constructions; but nothing attributable to the Greek oi
other places, its roof is covered with peasants’ huts, whilst Roman periods has yet been discovered. Ihe small penp-
the openings originally intended for the admission of light teral temple which stood in the sandy plain about a nu e
serve as sinks for the reception of filth. The two lofty and a half to the north of the town belonged to the age
pylons, which are conspicuous from the river, and the of Mceris. But by far the most remarkable antiquities o
thirty-two columns of the peristyle to which they lead, Elethya are the sepulchral caverns or hypogcBa, e's.ccc- ate
form altogether a magnificent perspective.3 But this tern- in an insulated hill, of the common sandstone of the coun-
1 Burckhardt, Naim, pp. 131, 395, 516. „ , . ,,,.
“ Un fait curieux, c’est le surnom de TnjphcrnR donne constamment a Cleopatre, femme de Philometor, soit dans le grande ded -
cace hieroglyph ique sculp tee sur la frise anfetfrieure du pronaos, soit dans les bas-reliefs de Tinterieur; c est a vous autres Grrecs
d’hgypte d’expliquer cette singularite.” (Champollion, Lettrcs d'Egypte, p. 110.)
3 Hamilton’s Egyptiaca, p. 86, et seqq. Eucyciopcedia Mctropolltana, art. Egypt.
4 Jomard, Description dc'l'Egyptc, i. 5, 30. . . , , TT„m;i
‘ Champollion, Lcttres d'Egypte, pp. lOp and 191. Both the temples at Edfou are in a high state of preservation ; but Mr Ha -
ton, in his learned work upon Egypt, has entirely mistaken the meaning of the sculptures (Egyptiaca, p. >7) * i*n h
111V be observed of Jomard in the Description de VEgypte.
534
Egypt.
EGYPT.
try, at the distance of about four hundred yards to the
^ south-south-west of the town. These tombs belong to a
very remote period, and in the variety and richness of
their decorations rival those of Thebes; with this differ¬
ence, however, that, instead of religious and military sub¬
jects, those of a familiar and domestic kind are alone re¬
presented. The first of these visited by Champollion and
his party was the one whose painted bas-reliefs, relative
to agricultural labours, fishing, and navigation, have been
published by the Egyptian Commission in the French na¬
tional work.1 This tomb, which is of high antiquity, had
been excavated for the family of a hierogrammatist named
Phapeh, attached to the college of priests at Elethya.2
A second hypogmirn, which proved to be that of the high
priest of the goddess Ilythia or Elethya, from whom the
town originally derived its name, bears the date of the reign
of Rhamses-Meiamoun,3and exhibits a multitude of family
details, with some agricultural scenes, not in the purest
taste.4 The tomb adjoining this is still more interesting
in an historical point of view. It belonged to a person
named Ahmosis, son of Obschneh, chief of the boatmen
of the Nile, who appears to have been a great personage
in his day. In the remains of an inscription, this Ahmosis
recounts his history for the benefit of all persons present
and future, and states some particulars which fix the date
at which he lived, namely, under the last king of the seven¬
teenth dynasty, who overthrew the cruel tyranny of the
Shepherds, and delivered Egypt from those remorseless
barbarians. Another hypogccum, nearly in ruins, made
Champollion acquainted with four generations of great
personages who governed under the title of princes of
Elethya during the reigns of the first five sovereigns of
the eighteenth dynasty, viz. Amenoph or Amenoftep I.
Thouthmosis I. Thouthmosis II. Thouthmosis III. or Mce-
ris, and Ranofreh, daughter of Queen Amenseh, and sister
of Mceris. All these -royal personages are successively
named in the inscriptions on the tomb, and form as it were
a supplement in confirmation of the genealogical table of
Abydos discovered by Mr Bankes.5 6
Esneh or Esne, the ancient Latopolisp and the present
capital of Upper Egypt, is about thirteen miles below El-
kab or Elethya, and stands in a plain where the valley is
nearly four miles and a half in width. Owing to the
neglect of the canals requisite for the irrigation of the
soil, which is not now reached by the inundation, the
surrounding country had been reduced almost to a desert,
and the town itself would probably nave been abandoned,
but for its port and the trade carried on by means of the
Nile. Under the vigorous administration of Mehemmed
Ali, however, the canals have latterly been repaired, and
various products, including cotton, raised on ground which U
was not long ago a sandy waste, apparently irreclaimable ' "
for the purposes of cultivation. At Esneh there are two
temples ; one of vast dimensions, which, the great Ammon
be praised, has escaped destruction from having been con¬
verted into a cotton magazine; and another, much smaller
but remarkable for the peculiarity of its hieroglyphics!
Both* contain some of those symbolical zodiacs which have
so greatly perplexed the whole tribe of Egyptian antiqua¬
ries. According to conjectures founded on a particular
mode of interpreting the zodiac on the ceiling of the large
temple, this monument has been regarded as the most an¬
cient in Egypt; but the style of the sculptures, and, above
all, the hieroglyphical inscriptions, prove that, in reality,
it is one of the most modern to be found in that country.
The latter, indeed, leave no doubt that the masses of the
pronaos were raised under the reign of the emperor Clau¬
dius,7 to whom there is a dedication in large hieroglyphics
on the entrance, and that the corner of the fa^ade^and the
first row of columns, were sculptured under the emperors
Vespasian and Titus; the posterior part of the pronaos bears
the legends of the emperors Antoninus, Marcus Aurelius,
and Commodus ; some columns of the interior were deco¬
rated and sculptured under Trajan, Hadrian, and Anto¬
ninus; and, with the exception of some bas-reliefs, which
belong to the epoch of Domitian, all those on the parti¬
tions of the right and left of the pronaos contain images
of Septimius Severus, and of Geta, the brother of Cara-
calla.8 The construction of this temple dates from the
time of Claudius, and its sculptures come down as late as
that of Caracalla. The remains of the naos, however, be¬
long to the epoch of Ptolemy Epiphanes ; but that is only as
yesterday compared with the date which some fanciful an¬
tiquaries had assigned to this monument. On one of two
columns, however, whose shafts were almost entirely co¬
vered with hieroglyphics arranged artificially, Champollion
discovered a commemorative record of a dedication of an
ancient temple by Mceris, otherwise called Thouthmosis
III.; and in the quarter of the town known by the name
of Sheikh-Mohammed-Ebbedri, he also found a dedication
of fhouthmosis II. which, like the former, must have be¬
longed to some old Pharaonic monument of Esneh. The
great temple of Esneh was dedicated to one of the chief
forms of the divinity Knuphis, who is described as nev-
en-tho-Sne, or lord of the country of Esneh.9 This place
is also remarkable on account of a large Coptic convent,
supposed to have been founded by the disciples of Pacho-
mius, and to possess the bones of the martyrs who suffer¬
ed during the persecutions of Diocletian.
At a small distance from the Nile, in the third expan-
1 Description tie I'Egypte, p. 7. 2 In Egyptian Sowan-kah, or priests of Lucina, the goddess who was worshipped at Elethva.
3 Meiamoun is an epithet, and means literally “ beloved by Ammon,” or Jupiter.
. * Among the scenes represented on this hypogccum is one of the threshing or treading out of sheaves of corn by oxen, below which,
in hieroglyphics, almost all of which are phonetic, is a chanson which the conductor of the oxen on the threshing-floor is supposed to
sing. The ditty is addressed to the animals, and is as follows
Tread out the grain, ye oxen, tread it faster;
The work is yours, the bushels go to master.
I his is not very brilliant poetry, we admit, and, probably, our translation has not improved it; but what occupies five lines in the
original hieroglyphics we have found no difficulty in compressing into two ; and the specimen is at least curious.
s Champollion, Lettrcs d'Egypte, pp. 109, 194, 3«2. Hamilton, Egyptiaca, p. 90, et seqq.
6 As/ie or Sne is the pure Egyptian name, and may be still read on all the columns and bas-reliefs of the temple. The Greek
nanm of Latopolis, or Lciopolis (for it is spelled both ways), is supposed to have been formed from latus. a species of fish held in ve¬
neration at this place. (Egyptiaca, p. 100.)
7 In the hieroglyphic ovals or rings the name is Caesar Tiberius Claudius Gennanicus.
8 When Caracalla assassinated his brother Geta, he caused the name of the latter to be proscribed throughout the whole empire;
and this proscription appears to have been executed to the letter even in the depths of the Thebaid ; for the ovals containing the
name of this unfortunate prince have •almost all been carefully defaced and hammered out. “ Mais ils ne 1’ont pas dtd au point,
(says Champollion) de m’empecher de lire tres-clairement le nom de ce malheureux prince : l’Emcereur Cesar-Geta lc directeur.'
(Lettre* d'Egypte, p. 200.)
9 I he titles by which the Knuphis of Esneh is qualified are “ lord of the country of Esneh, creator of the universe, vital principle of
the divine essences, support of all worlds,” &c. With this god are associated the goddess Ne’ith, and the young Hakd, who complete
EGYPT.
i; pt. sion of the valley, is situated Ermont or Erment, upon the
^ ^ site of the ancient Hermonthis, the capital of a nome or
department of the same name, and the see of a Coptic
bishop. A temple of moderate dimensions, but of pecu¬
liar design, and distinguished for the beauty of its columns
and sculptures, still remains. This temple is a Mammisi
consecrated to the goddess Ilitho, and, as the bas-reliefs
prove, constructed and sculptured in honour of Cleopatra
the daughter of Ptolemy Auletes, when she gave birth to
Caesarion, her son by Julius Caesar. The triad here adored
consisted of the god Mandou, the goddess Ritho, and
their son Harphreh; and Caesar, no doubt, wished to be
the Mandou of the new Ritho, as Caesarion was the Har¬
phreh of both. “ Du reste,” says M. Champollion, who
waxes facetious on the occasion, “ c’etait assez 1’usage du
dictateur Romain de chercher a completer la triade, lors-
qu’il non contrail surtout des reines qui, comme Cleopa-
tre, avaient en elles quelque chose de divin, sans dedaigner
pour cela les joies terrestres.” The body of the temple
is still entire, and its cella consists of two compartments,
’ a larger and a smaller, but some of the columns have been
overturned. The import of the hieroglyphical inscriptions
is very fully stated by Champollion.1 This temple also con¬
tains a zodiac, the epoch of which, if it were considered
determinable by such fanciful calculations as those we
have already alluded to, would be altogether incredible.2
Near to these ruins is a Christian church, which has been
constructed out of the spoils of Grecian as well as Egyp¬
tian temples.
Jn the broadest part of the section of the valley form¬
ing its third enlargement, where the Nile is about four
hundred and fifty yards in width, and runs from south¬
west to north-east, between Kournah or Gournah on the
north, and El-Nahariyah on the south, the splendid remains
of Thebes, the wonder of antiquity, a city the date of
whose destruction was long anterior to the foundation of
most other cities, are spread over a large area occupied
by nine distinct townships, viz. El-Akaliteh, Nacah-Abu“
Hamud, Koum el-bairat, and Medinet-Habou to the
west; Kournah or Gournah to the north; Luxor or El-
oksor close to the river’s edge ; and Kafr-Karnak and Me-
dainud on its eastern side.3 The most remarkable of these
places, with the Titanian ruins which are spread over
their surface, we shall now endeavour as shortly as pos¬
sible to describe.
At Akaliteh the remains of an ancient hippodrome or
race-course are visible, and at its northern extremity is
Medinet-Habou, or the Town of the Father, containing
the remains of a castellated palace with embattled walls,4
535
and a temple with propyla of gigantic dimensions, besides Egypt,
majestic colossal figures, caryatides, and long rows of
columns richly ornamented. This temple, which may be
the Memnonium of Strabo, is in size and massiveness in¬
ferior only to that of Diospolis, but fully equal to it in the
richness and variety of its sculptures. An outward in¬
closure or brick wall seems to have contained three dis¬
tinct though connected buildings, to which have been ar¬
bitrarily assigned the respective names of the chapel, the
palace, and the temple. A small pronaos, a propylon,
and a portico, conduct as usual to the adytum of the cha¬
pel, which, from its size, would in any other place deserve
to be classed amongst the temples. The palace was only
approached by a side doorway from the pronaos of the
chapel until the principal entrance from the plain, which
had been blocked up with sand, was opened by the inde¬
fatigable Belzoni.5 Of this building one tower only re¬
mains. It is divided into three stories, in each of which
are two apartments. The stone pavement of the lower
rooms is still perfect, but the upper floors and the w ooden
beams which supported them have entirely disappeared.
The interior walls are not covered with such a profusion
of sculptures as those without. The great gateway of
the temple, which faces the palace at the distance of
about three hundred feet, is covered with the usual sculp¬
tures; it is about a hundred and fifty feet in length and
sixty in height, and conducts into a court which is about
a hundred and twenty feet square. On either side there
runs from this gateway to the next a colonnade; that on
the right consisting of eight pilasters, to each of which is
affixed a mitred statue of Thoth or Hermes, and that on
the left of as many columns, each richly sculptured. The
soffites and wTalls of these colonnades are also crowded
with sculptures, the forms and colours of which are well
preserved.0 In the chapel, which appears to have been
a work of the fourth century before our era, all the bas-
reliefs still extant represent king Nectanebo, of the thir¬
tieth or Sebennytic dynasty, adoring Ammon-Ra, the
sovereign of the gods, and receiving the gifts and bene¬
factions of all the other divinities of Thebes. But adjoin¬
ing to it there is a pylon of moderate dimensions and fine
proportion, which, having been erected under the domi¬
nation of the Ethiopian king Taharaka (the Tirhakah of
Scripture), in the seventh century before our era, contains,
in the inscriptions and bas-reliefs which decorate the
faces of the masonry, and also the gateway which sepa¬
rates them, the names, titles, and praises of this invader,
which were afterwards proscribed when the Suites ascend¬
ed the throne of the Pharaohs. On the masonry of the
the triad adored at Esneh. “ C’est aux memes divinites,” says Champollion, “ qu’etait dddie le temple situe an nord d’Esneh, dans
une magnifique plaine, jadis cultivde, mais aujourd’hui he'rissde de broussailles qui nous dechirerent les jambes, lorsque nous allames
le visiter, en faisant a pied une tres-longue course du Nil aux mines, que nous trouvames tout nouvellement devastees ; ce temple
n est plus tel que la Commission d’Egypte l’a laisse; il n’en subsiste qu’une seule colonne, un pe'tit pan de mur et le soubassement
presque ii tleur de terre; parmi les bas-reliefs subsistants, j’en ai trouve un d’Evergete Ier. et de Berenice sa femme ; j’ai reconuu les
jegendos de Philopator sur la colonne, celles de Hadrien sur une partie d’architraves ; et sur une autre en hieroglyphes tout-a-fait
harbares, les noms des empereurs Antonin et Verus.” {Lcttrcs d'Egypte, p. 204.)
1 See Lcitrcs d'Egi/pte, p. 105.
2 Jornard, Description de VEgypte, Antiq. i. c. viii. p. 9, plates 91, 90. See also Hamilton’s Egyptiaca, p. 111. With reference to the
materials with which the Egyptian temples were constructed, the author last quoted observes, “ It is singular that the ancient Egyp¬
tians do not appear to have employed granite in any of the buildings in Upper Egypt, except the obelisks and some few of the pro¬
pyla, as at Thebes, Elephantine, &c. The rest are all of the common sandstone. Granite pillars seem to have been introduced
so late as the time of the Christian emperors, as they are only found in the ruins of Greek churches. Their proportions and their sculp¬
ture^ testify the want of taste, and the decline of the arts, which characterized the age in which they were raised. In Lower Egypt,
"’e find granite to have been in use from the earliest times; whole temples, columns, propyla, &c. were constructed exclusively of
this stone, as being the only one which could resist the frequent and violent rains in the Delta, and the moisture of the air.” (Egyptiaca,
p- 112.) This is very loose and inaccurate. In Upper Egypt the nearest and most accessible materials were used ; and in the Delta,
though the air be moist from its proximity to the sea, the rains are neither frequent nor violent.
3 ^cs RHlnes dc Thebes; Description de VEgypte, Antiquites, tom. ii. plate 1.
4 1 his peculiarity is confined to the edifice in question, and is not to be found in any other Egyptian building. {Encyclopaedia Mctro-
polkaua, art. Egypt.)
5 Researches and Operations in Egypt and Nubia, p. 121.
6 Hamilton’s Egyptiaca, p. 137, et seqq. See also Denon’s Travels in Egypt under the head of Medinet-Habou.
536
EGYPT.
Kgjpt. right there is also an inscription relative to embellishments
which were executed under Ptolemy Soter II.1 The foun¬
dation of the palace dates as far back as the commence¬
ment of the eighteenth centuiy before Christ; but seve¬
ral restorations are indicated by the inscriptions, which
also fix the period at which they were made. 1. All the
sculptures of the upper facades south and north were ex¬
ecuted under the reign of llhamses-Meiamoun in the fif¬
teenth century before our era. 2. The columns of the
protodoric order which support the ceilings of the galle¬
ries were repaired under the Mendesian Pharaoh, Acoris,
about four centuries before Christ. 3. The restoration of
the gates, and a portion of the ceiling of the grand hall,
took place under Euergetes II. between the years 146
and 118 before our era. But the principal decoration of
the edifice was executed under the reigns of Thouthmo-
sis I. Thouthmosis II. and Thouthmosis III. called Mceris
by the Greek historians, particularly the last, in whose
name all the dedications have been made.2 The sculptures
are executed with remarkable accuracy and with exqui¬
site fineness of detail, and the bas-reliefs are of the very
best age of the art. War and battles form the principal
subjects of the hieroglyphical tablets and inscriptions.3 4 5
On the edge of the desert to the north and west of Me-
dinet-Habou there are almost innumerable fragments of
statues, columns, and other parts of buildings ; and a quad¬
rangular enclosure of brick walls is filled with broken re¬
mains of colossal figures and hieroglyphical tablets finely
executed, whilst in a grove of mimosas or acacias similar
relics of ancient sculpture occur at every step. In the
plain, about half way between the desert and the river,
are two statues called by some the statues of Memnon.
They are about fifty feet in height, and seated each on a
pedestal eighteen feet long, fourteen feet broad, and six
feet high. The stone of which they are formed is a hard
reddish sandstone, which, from the action of the weather
is in many places discoloured, and hence appears of a black'
gray, brown, and even whitish hue. Few monuments of
ancient magnificence have more interest attached to them
than “ Memnon’s statue which at sunrise played,” or at
least that statue from which a certain mysterious sound
was believed and reported to proceed every morning at
sunrise ;4 and no question has been more keenly agitated
among Egyptian antiquaries than that which relates to
the identification of the statue said to have possessed this
wonderful property. The French have adopted the opi¬
nion of those who regard as the vocal statue of Memnon
the fallen colossus in front of the temple which they call
the Memnonium. But Pococke has decided in favour of
the northernmost of the two statues above described; and
Mr Hamilton is inclined, on what appear to be good
grounds, to prefer the opinion of our countryman. Strabo
declares that the sound issued every day, resembling that
of a slight blow; Pausanias agrees as to the statue utter¬
ing a sound daily at sunrise, but likens the sound uttered
to that of the bursting of a string in a lyre or harp; Pliny
relates the same extraordinary phenomenon, though his
description of the vocal statue differs from that given by
Strabo and Pausanias; and Philostratus says that it ut¬
tered a sound when the rays of the sun touched its lips.5
In addition to these testimonies, which, from the particu¬
lars respecting the statue mentioned collaterally, seem,
on the whole, to favour the opinion of Pococke, we have
those of the numerous Greeks and Romans who at dif¬
ferent times visited this statue, and engraved their names
on its legs and feet, declaring that they had heard the
sound or voice of Memnon at a certain hour, generally, a
short time after sunrise.0 Strabo, too, visited the statue,
1 The change of a few stones by the Ptolemy above named is thus pompously lauded in a hieroglyphic inscription which he caused
to be cut on the masonry of the right side : “ This beautiful repair was executed by the king lord of the World, the grand germ of the
great gods, he whom Plitah has approved, living image of Ammon-Ra, the son of the sun, Ptolemy ever-living, the god beloved of Isis,
the saviour god {soter NT-NOHEM), in honour of his father Ammon-Ra, who has granted him the periods of the national assemblies upon
the throne of Horus.” The Ethiopian, who was the real founder of the pylon, has however, been content with a simple intimation of
his existence. On the entablature of the gateway is sculptured this brief inscription : “ King Taharaka, the well-beloved of Am-
mon-lla, lord of the thrones of the world, lives.” (Champollion, Lettres d'Egypte, p. 1527-)
2 The dedication under the gallery on the right, which is one of the best preserved, will give an idea of all the rest. It is as fol¬
low's : “ First tine. Life : Horus powerful, beloved of Phrd, the sovereign of the higher and the lower region, grand chief of all parts of
the world, Horus resplendent, great by his force, he who has struck the nine bows (the nomadic tribes), the gracious lord of the world,
the sun that gives stability to the world, the son of the sun, Thouthmosis, benefactor of the world, vivified now and for ever. Se¬
cond line. He has caused these structures to be erected in honour of his father Ammon-Ra, king of the gods, to whom is dedicated
this great temple, in the western part of the Thouthmoseion of Ammon, in beautiful sandstone ; this is what the king ever-living has
done.” (Champollion, Lettres, p. 329.)
3 Of the subjects of these battle-pieces a very correct idea may be formed from the following description of the contents of two
tablets given by Champollion in the only memorial he has left of his Egyptian labours :
“ l6'" Tableau. Grande bataille: le he'ro Egyptien, debout sur un char lance au galop, de'coche des fleches centre une foule d’en-
nemis fuyant dans la plus grande desordre. On appercoit sur le premier plan les chefs Egyptiens monies sur des chars, et leurs sol-
dats entremeles a des allies les Fekkaro, massacrant les Robou epouvante's, ou se liant comme prisonniers de guerre. Ce tableau
seul contient plus de cent figures en pied, sans compter les chevaux.
“ 2e Tableau. Les princes et les chefs de Tarmee Egyptienne conduisent au roi victorieux quatre colonnes de prisonniers: des
scribes comptent et enregistrent le nombre des mains droites et des parties genitales coupdes aux Robou morts sur le champ de ba¬
taille. L’inscription porte textuellement: ‘ Conduite des prisonniers en presence de sa majeste ; ceux-ci sont au nombre de mille;
mains coupees, trois mille; phallus, trois mille.’ Le Pharaons, aux pieds duquel on depose ces trophdes, paisiblement assis sur son
char, dont les chevaux son retenus par des officiers, adresse une allocution a ses guerriers; il lesfelicite sur leur victoire, et prodigue
fort naivement les plus grands dloges a sa propre personne...En dehors de cecurieux tableau existe une longue inscription malheu-
reusement fort endommagee, et relative a cette campagne, qui date de Pan cinquieme du regne de Rhamses-Meiamoun.” (Lettres
d'Egypte, p. 341, 342.)
4 Dimidio magicce resonant ubi Memnone chordae. Jitvexal.
5 Hamilton’s Egyptiaca, p. 168, et seqq. Pococke’s Travels.
e One of the numerous Greek inscriptions upon the legs and feet of the vocal colossus of Memnon has been restored as follows:
“ExAi/av avhnirdvTo; \ya TloCkios BaX^lvo;
rug (itug Miumvog n Qa.y.iviaip.
‘HXAv oanu ioarZ (iurnXinilt rijSs Stcfitva,
'CLoag Ss •s'^wTa.g uXiog hr%t fyoyoii
Km^uvcjj 'Adyceya tri/UTru dixarai hiavTtv.
"Afiaru S’ hr%tv ‘'AHvq hr.otri xu) •xitruou.
The history of the vocal statue of Memnon has lately been written by M. Letronne, in a paper inserted in the Mtmoircs de PAcademy
des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, new series, tom. x. “ Ce sujet, curieux seulement en apparence, est devenu, sous la plume de M-
Letronne, Pun des plus piquants et des plus utiles h etudier dans la recherche des rapports et du me'lange des opinions de la Grece
avec celles de PEgypte.” {Lettres, ubi supra.)
E G Y P T. 537
r, )t. and heard the mysterious voice. These statues, when
entire, might be seen at a distance of twelve miles, tower¬
ing like solitary rocks in the midst of the plain ; and the
surprising length of their shadows at sunrise long ren¬
dered them an object of curiosity at that hour; but, like
the kindred oracles which once inhabited the adjoining fanes,
they had become mute. The hieroglyphical inscription
on the throne of the vocal colossus proves that it represents
Amenophis or Phamenoph II. who reigned about seventeen
centuries before the commencement of the Christian era.1
Between Medinet-Habou and El-ebek or Kournah there
is another mass of ruins as stupendous in their dimensions
as they are admirable in their execution. They have
been supposed by some to mark the site of the Memno-
nium, probably on account of the broken colossal statue of
red granite which lies overturned within their precincts,
while, according to others, they are the remains of the
tomb of Osymandyas, the mighty conqueror whose sepul¬
chre was to surpass every thing upon earth.2 This last
denomination originated with the French Egyptian Com¬
mission; and several travellers still persist in employing
that of the Memnonium, which is equally ill applied and
incorrect. The real name of the structure whose ruins
yet attest its stupendous magnificence is, the Ilhames-
seion, so called from Ilhamses the Great, to whom Thebes
was indebted for the edifice ; and this name, accordingly,
is found sculptured in a hundred places, and repeated in
the legends of the friezes, architraves, and bas-reliefs,
which decorate the palace. “ L’imagination s’ebranle,”
says Champollion, “ et Ton eprouve emotion bien naturelle
en visitant ces galeries mutilees et ces belles colonnades,
lorsqu’on pense qu’elles sont 1’ouvrage et furent souvent
1’habitation du plus celebre et du meilleur des princes que
la vieille Egypte compte dans ses longues annales.”3 No
part of the Ilhamesseion remains entire ; but what has
escaped the barbarism of the Persians and the ravages of
time is sufficient to give a pretty exact idea of the whole.
Within the walls, which inclose a space of more than two
hundred feet in breadth by six hundred in depth, the
whole area is a forest of pillars, interspersed with frag¬
ments and fallen statues. The body of the palace was
approached by a noble propylon, fronting the fertile plain,
and resting upon it; but the remainder of the edifice rests
on the adjoining mountain, the rock of which has been
levelled to form the floor. In the propylon there are
passages leading to several chambers and to the roof; and
this propylon is separated from the first wall of the palace
by a distance of a hundred and sixty feet. In the court
behind the propylon are the fragments of the enormous
statue already alluded to. It has been broken off at the
waist, and the upper part is now laid prostrate on the
ground. This enormous statue measures sixty-three feet
round the shoulders, thirteen feet from the crown of the
head to the top of the shoulders, thirteen and a half from
the shoulder to the elbow, and nearly seven feet over
the foot. The face has been so entirely obliterated that Egypt,
nothing even of its general expression can now be discern-
ed. “ Next to the wonder excited by the boldness of
the sculptor who made it,” says Mr Hamilton, “ and the
extraordinary powers of those who erected it, the labour
and exertions that must have been used for its destruc¬
tion are most astonishing.”4 The court which intervenes
between the statue and the opposite quarter is about a
hundred feet in width. Four square columns formerly
stood on the opposite side of the door-way, making a row
of eight, which faced a like number, some of which are
still to be seen. Two sides of the court were bounded by
a double row of enormous pillars, parts of the capitals of
which, thirty-two feet in circumference, yet remain ; and
behind the square columns there were others of a similar
description; so that, when the whole was roofed, it must
have been a truly magnificent piazza. The fronts of the
square columns have been carved into statues in full relief,
measuring twenty feet to the shoulder; and below the
figures, which are all shaped like a soros, are rows of hiero¬
glyphics. The pillars form the ruins of a central hall, the
roof of which was supported by forty-eight columns; be¬
yond this is a second hall entered by a door-way, and
divided from the other by a cross wall; and the remains
of a third, which are seen farther on, terminate the mag¬
nificent ruins of the Ilhamesseion. The side walls which
inclose this edifice have been removed, and many columns
and statues have been destroyed ; but the remnants, which
have escaped all sorts of ravages, are sufficient to awaken
boundless admiration of the power as well as genius which
presided in the construction of the mighty fabric.5 The
architecture throughout is perhaps in the purest and no¬
blest style of any at Thebes. It would be endless to at¬
tempt any detailed description of the hieroglyphics, pic¬
torial tablets, and bas-reliefs of this wonderful monument.
They relate principally to the achievements and conquests
of Sesostris, and the adoration of the gods of Thebes by
that mighty potentate. The following is the dedication
of the great hall, sculptured in name of the founder, in
beautiful hieroglyphics, upon the architraves of the left
side : “ Haroerisall powerful, the friend of truth, the lord
of the upper and lower regions, the defender of Egypt,
the castigator of foreign countries, Horus the resplendent
possessor of the palms, the greatest of conquerors, the
king-lord of the World, sun guardian of justice approved
by Phre, the son of the sun, the well-beloved of Ammon,
iiiiAMSEs, has caused these structures to be erected in
honour of his father Ammon-Ila, king of the gods: he
has caused to be constructed, in good white sandstone,
the Great Hall of Assembly, supported by large columns
with capitals imitating full-blown flowers, and flanked by
smaller pillars with capitals imitating a truncated bud of
the lotus; and he has dedicated the Hall to the lord of
gods, for the celebration of his assemblies; this is what
the king ever living has done.”6
1 A large temple, and a great number of fine statues, have since been discovered near the same spot in the course of the excava¬
tions which were made under the direction of Mr Salt and other recent travellers in Egypt.
’ Diodorus Siculus, i. 47. 3 Lettres ecritcs d'Egypte et de JYubie, p- 261.
* Egyptiaca, p. 167, 168. Mr Hamilton adds, “ Its fall has carried along with it the whole wall of the temple [palace] which stood
within its reach. It was not without great difficulty and danger that we could climb on its shoulder and neck ; and in going down from
thence on its chest 1 was assisted by my Arab servant, who walked by my side in the hieroglyphic characters engraven on the arm.”
s Captain Head’s Eastern and Egyptian Scenery, Ruins, <§c. p. 22. The excellent lithograph view of the Ilhamesseion given in this
work was taken from the back of the prostrate colossus. There also remain the fragments of a statue of black granite, represented in
Captain Head’s plate, which has been absurdly styled the brother of the younger Memnon, which Mr Belzoni conveyed hence to
England, and placed in the British Museum. Hike its exported companion, it has a benignant expression of countenance, with the
lull Ethiopian expansion of nostril and lip by which the sphinxes in the neighbourhood are characterized. The features are some¬
what elongated, but remarkably regular. For an account of Mr Belzoni’s achievement, see Researches and Operations, p. 40, et seqq.
* Champollion, Lettres ecrites d'Egyptc, p. 273. In concluding his observations on this wonderful ruin, Champollion observes, “ He
Ilhamesseion est le monument de Thebes le plus degrade, mais e’est aussi, sans aucune doute, celui qui, par ’’dlegante majesty de ses
nunes, laisse dans 1’esprit des vovageurs une impression plus profonde et plus durable.” P. 291.
VOL. Vin. ' » 3 Y
538 EGYPT.
Egypt. Having shown by the legends and other evidence that
the magnificent ruin,which has been considered by some
as the remains of the Memnonium, and by others as
those of the Tomb of Osymandyas, is in reality the wreck
of the Rhamesseion, we shall now endeavour to ascertain
the exact site of that celebrated edifice of Thebes called
Amenophion by the Egyptians, but known among the
Greeks by the name of the Memnonium. And here we
may observe, that if what has been stated above respect¬
ing the statue ot Memnon, or of Amenophis the third
of that name, whom the Greeks call Memnon, be well
founded, the position occupied by this and the correspond¬
ing colossus must in some measure determine the site of
the Memnonium. Accordingly, the legends discovered
on the ruins scattered about, such as the debris of archi¬
traves, portions of colossal figures, shafts of columns, and
fragments of enormous bas-reliefs, together with the hie-
roglyphical inscriptions found in the hypogcea of the neigh¬
bourhood, which contained the mummies of the great offi¬
cers charged, during their lifetime, with the guardianship
of this edifice, all lead to the same conclusion which Jol-
lois and Devilliers, in their excellent description of these
ruins, had arrived at from other considerations ; namely,
that the ruins towards the extremity of which, on the
side of the river, appear the two enormous monolith sta¬
tues, about sixty feet in height, commanding the whole
plain of Thebes, mark out the site of the Amenophion or
Memnonium. These two figures, which are formed each
of a single block of grey breccia, transported from the
quarries of the upper Thebaid, and placed in a sitting
posture on immense bases of the same material, with the
hands extended on the knees in an attitude of repose,
seem to have decorated the exterior facade of the prin¬
cipal pylon of the Amenophion ; and, in an inscription on
the seat of one of the figures, we find the names and
titles of the third Amenophis of the eighteenth dynasty,
called Memnon by the Greeks, who occupied the throne
of the Pharaohs in the seventeenth century before the
Christian era, most distinctly and accurately enumerated.
The following is the concluding portion of this legend ;
“ The lord sovereign of the upper and lower region, the
reformer of manners, he who holds the world in repose,
Horus, who, great by his power, has smitten the bar¬
barians, the king sun lord of truth, the son of the sun,
Amenothph, moderator of the pure region, beloved of
Ammon-Ra, king of the gods.” The dedication of this
palace, which is altogether dramatic, being in the form of
a dialogue between Amenoph or Amenothph and Am-
mon-Ra, “ king of the gods,” is entirely in accordance E„
with the inscription of which we have here quoted a w?
part: the king appears in the character of founder of the '
edifice, and the Jupiter of the Egyptian Pantheon thus
responds to the invocation of his representative upon
earth : “ Approach, my son, sun lord of truth, of the germ
of the sun, son of the sun, Amenothph; I have heard thy
words, and I perceive the structure which thou hast exe¬
cuted ; I who am thy father rejoice in beholding thy good
works.” The identity of the Memnonium of the Greeks
and the Amenophion of the Egyptians is therefore no
longer doubtful; and it is still less so, that “ when the
Memnonium was in all its glory,” it formed one of the
greatest wonders of the old capital of Egypt.1
Situated behind the Amenophion, in a valley formed
by the rocks of the Libyan mountain and a large mame-
lon detached from them on the side of the plain, is a
small temple in a state of perfect preservation, which the
French Egyptian Commission has described under the
name of the Little Temple of Isis. It is entered by a small
propylon of sandstone attached to the enceinte, and co¬
vered on the exterior side with sculptures heavily elabo¬
rated. Its situation is dreary and dismal. The tablets
upon the bandeau of the gateway represent on the one side
Ptolemy Soter II. presenting offerings to Hathor and the
great triad of Thebes, Ammon-Ra, Mouth, and Chons;
and on the other, the goddess Thme or Theme'i (Themis),
and a triad formed of the hieracocephalous god Mandou,
his wife Ritho, and their son Harphre. The temple was
therefore dedicated to Hathor or Venus, identified with
Themei or Themis ; in other words, the principle of beau¬
ty was here worshipped mythologically in conjunction with
that of truth and justice. This is completely confirmed
by the hieroglyphical inscription sculptured along the
frieze of the pronaos, part of which has been translated
by M. Champollion. The naos is divided into three con¬
tiguous halls, forming as many sanctuaries, the principal of
which, being that in the middle, is entirely covered with
sculptures of an import similar to those already described.
The sanctuary on the left was consecrated to Theme'i, and
all the tablets with which it is decorated relate to the
functions performed by that goddess in Amenti, or the
Egyptian Tartarus.2'
The palace of Kournah, though also of small dimensions
compared with the great and important edifices we have
described, is nevertheless an interesting monument, as it
belongs to the Pharaonic times, and dates from the most
glorious epoch in the annals of ancient Egypt. Besides,
1 Champollion, Lettres ecrites d'Egypte et de Nulie, p. 303, et seqq. Among the ruins of the Amenophion, on the side of the Libyan
mountains, on the border of the desert, are twro blocks of grey breccia, each about thirty feet in length, which exhibit the form of
enormous stela or pillars, and are covered with hieroglyphical tablets, which, according to Champollion, “ nous montrent toujours le
roi Amenophis-Memnon, accompagne ici de la reine Ta'ia son epouse, accuillis par le dieu Amon-Ra, ou par Plitah-Socharis.” P. 309.
ri he two sovereigns of this terrible place (where, according to the Egyptian mythology, the souls of men were judged), Osiris
and Isis, receive at first the homage of Ptolemy and Arsinoe, gods Philopators; and on a cross or partition wall is sculptured the
grand scene of the psychostasis. This vast bas-relief represents the hypostyle hall called in Egyptian Oskh, or the court of Amenti, with
suitable decorations. The grand judge, Osiris, occupies the further extremity of the judgment-hall; 'and at the foot of his throne ap¬
pears the lotus, the emblem of the material world, surmounted with images of his four children, the directing genii of the four winds
or cardinal points. The forty-two judges, assessors of Osiris, are ranged in a double line, each having his head surmounted with an
ostrich feather, the symbol of justice ; whilst, on a bench before the throne, the Egyptian Cerberus, or Teoiwm-enement, a triple mon¬
ster, at once crocodile, lion, and hippopotamus, opens his horrid jaws, ready to devour guilty souls. Towards the door of the tribunal
appears the goddess Thmei redoubled, or twice represented, by reason of her twofold function of goddess of truth as well as of justice;
and the first form, qualified as Thmei, ruler of Amenti (truth), presents the soul of an Egyptian, Under a corporeal form, to the se¬
cond personation of the goddess ( justice), whose legend is as follows : “ Thmei, who resides in Amenti, where she weighs the hearts of
all men in a balance, and whom the wicked cannot escape.” In the neighbourhood of him who is here undergoing his final trial are the
words, “ arrival of a soul in Amenti;” and further on is an infernal balance, into the scales of which Horus, the hawk-headed son
of Isis, and Anubis the shakal-headed son of Osiris, are placing, the one the heart of the arraigned, and the .other a feather, the em¬
blem of justice ; whilst, between the fatal, instrument which is to decide the fate of the soul, and the throne of Osiris, is placed the
biocephalous god Thoth, described as “ thrice great, the lord of Schmoun (Hermopolis Magna), the lord of the divine words, the se¬
cretary of justice to the other gods in the hall of justice and of truth.” This divine recorder writes the result of the trial to which
the heart of the deceased Egyptian has just been subjected, and goes to present his report to the sovereign judge who presides in
Hades. (Champollion, Lettres ecritcs d'Egypte, pp. 319, 320 )
EGYPT.
i/pt. its appearance presents a character altogether new ; and
if itS general plan suggests the idea of a private habita¬
tion, and seems to exclude that of a temple, the magnifi¬
cence of the decoration, the profusion of the sculptures,
the beauty of the materials, and the perfection of the
execution, prove that this habitation formerly belonged
to a rich and powerful sovereign. The remains of this
palace occupy only the extremity of an artificial mound
or bank of earth, on which there were formerly other
structures connected with that which still exists ; at least
all the fragments scattered over the ground bear royal
names belonging either to the last Pharaohs of the eigh¬
teenth or the first of the nineteenth dynasty. In the same
line with these remains rises a portico a hundred and fifty
feet in length and thirty in height, supported by ten
columns, whose shafts are composed of wreaths of lotus-
stems, whilst the capitals are formed of buds and flowers
of the same plant, truncated so as to admit the coping.
On the four faces of the capitals are sculptured with much
care the royal legends of Menephtha I. and also those of
Rhamses the Great; and the names of these Pharaohs
are likewise inscribed on the shafts of the columns, but
joined together and included in a square tablet. The de¬
dicatory legend which adorns the architrave of the por¬
tico, occupying its whole length, establishes two principal
facts; first, that the palace of Kournah was founded and
erected by Menephtha I.; and, secondly, that his son
Rhamses the Great, having completed the decoration of
the edifice, surrounded it with an enceinte ornamented
with propylons, and similar to that within which each of
the greatroyal monuments at Thebes is contained. In fact,
all the bas-reliefs which decorate the interior of the por¬
tico, and the exterior of the three gates which lead to the
apartments of the Menephtheion, represent Menephtha I.
and more frequently still Rhamses the Great, rendering
homage to the Theban triad and to the other divinities of
Egypt, or receiving from the munificence of the gods royal
powers and precious gifts in order to embellish and prolong
life. And the only sculptures of the edifice posterior to
the time of Rhamses the Great consist of some royal
onomastic inscriptions, placed either on the sides or base¬
ment of the gates, but wholly unconnected with the pri¬
mitive decoration ; all of them, with the exception of one
which contains the names and titles of Rhamses-Meia-
moun, belonging to the reign of Menephtha II. the son
and immediate successor of Rhamses the Great.1
The catacombs in the western mountains are not less
abundant than the monuments we have described, in trea-
539
sures illustrative of the ancient history of Egypt. In the Egypt-
valley of Biban-el-Moiouk, a rocky ravine to the south-
west of Kournah, are the sepulchres of the kings of the
three Diospohtan or Theban dynasties, being the eigh¬
teenth, nineteenth, and twentieth.2 The site chosen for
the royal necropolis appears to be eminently suited to its
melancholy destination ; for a valley or ravine, encased, as
it were, by high precipitous rocks, or by mountains in a
state of decomposition, presenting large fissures, occa¬
sioned either by the extreme heat or by internal sinking
down, and the backs of which are covered with black
bands or patches, as if they had been in part burned, is a
spot which, from its loneliness, desolation, and apparent
decay, harmonizes well with otir ideas as to the most fit¬
ting locality for a place of tombs. No living animal, it is
said, frequents this valley of the dead; even the fox, the
wolf, and the hyena shun its mournful precincts; and its
doleful echoes are only awakened at intervals by the foot
of the solitary antiquary, led by inquisitive curiosity to
pry into the very secrets of the grave. The catacombs or
hypogcea are all constructed on nearly the same plan, yet
no two of them are exactly alike: some are complete,
others appear never to have been finished, and they vary
much in the depth to which they have been excavated.
In general, the entrance is by the exterior opening of a
passage twenty feet wide, which descends gradually about
fifty paces, then expands whilst the descent becomes more
rapid, and is continued for some distance farther. On
either side of this passage is a horizontal gallery, on a level
with the lowest part of the first descent; small chambers
also branch off sides of the second descent; at the inte¬
rior extremity there is a spacious and lofty apartment, in
the centre of which is placed the royal tomb ; and beyond
this there are commonly other small chambers at the sides,
whilst in some cases the principal passage is continued a
long way into the rock. The royal tomb is for the most
part a sarcophagus of red or grey granite, circular at the
one end and square at the other; but where there is no
sarcophagus a hole or grave is discovered, cut in the rock
to the depth of from six to thirty feet, and which ap¬
pears to have been covered by a granite lid. Almost all
the lids, however, belonging to the graves excavated in
the rock, have either been removed or broken. In those
sepulchres which have been finished, the walls from one
end to the other are all covered with sculptures and paint¬
ings executed in the best style of ancient art; and, owing
to the unparalleled dryness of the atmosphere in Egypt,
the colours, where they have not been purposely damaged.
1 Champollion, Lettres, 380, et seqq. It mav perhaps conduce to perspicuity, or at least serve to prevent mistakes, if we introduce
here the eight reigns anterior to that of Ithamses-Meiamoun, in their chronological order. They stand thus : 1. Amenophis II. or
Memnon ; 2. Horus ; 3. Rhamses I.; 4. Menephtha 1. or Ousirei; 5. llhamses the Great, or Sesostris ; 6. Menephtha II.; 7. Me¬
nephtha III.; 8. Rhamerreh ; and, 9- Ithamses-Meiamoun. The monuments of different orders having clearly demonstrated that
Rhamses the Great, the Sesostris of Herodotus, must be included in the eighteenth dynasty, as answering exactly to the Rhamses
called Mgyptus in the extracts of Manetho, it follows that in Rhamses-Meiamoun, the Rhamses-Sethos of the same lists of Manetho,
we recognise the head or chief of the nineteenth dynasty.
1 The following is Manetho’s catalogue of the Hiospolitan dynasties and kings.
XVIII. Dynasty- Diospolitan.
Years. B. C.
1. Thouthmosis or Amosis, reigned 24 1874
2. Chebron his son 13 1750
3. Amenophthis 20 1737
4. Ammosis, sister 18 1717
5. Mesphres, son 16 1699
6. Misphragmuthosis 23 1683
7- Thmosis or Thouthmosis, s  9 1660
8. Amenophis, s. (Memnon) 31 1651
9. Horus, s 41 1620
10. Acenchres, d 23 1579
11. Rathotis, sist 15 1556
12. Acencheres, s 17 1541
13. Acencheres II. s 11 1524
14. Armais  6 1513
Years.
15. Ramesses or Rhamses s. \ nj!
16. Armesses Meiamoun, s . f 
17- Amenophis or Amenophth 15
B. C.
1507
1439
XIX. Dynasty. Diospolitan.
18. Rhamses the Great or Sesostris 53 ■
19. Rapasces 63
20. Ammenophthes \ #;n
21. Rameses or llhamses J  
22. ' Ammenemes 15
23. Thuoris   7
XX. Dynasty. Diospolitan.
24...35. Twelve kings 125
1424
1371
1308
1248
1233
1226
EGYPT.
540
Egypt, are as fresh as when first laid on.1 The labours of Bel-
zoni in exploring these tombs, and the success with which
they were rewarded, are well known. Strength and re¬
solution as herculean and inflexible as his were required
to overcome the suspicions of the Arabs, the want of me¬
chanical aid, and the heat and closeness of the caverns ;
but his perseverance was amply recompensed by the dis¬
covery of six tombs in this hypogean city of the dead.
The most remarkable of these, with all its galleries, is up¬
wards of three hundred feet in length, and is called by
Belzoni the tomb of Apis, from his having found the mum¬
my of a bullock in one of its chambers. In another apart¬
ment there was a magnificent sarcophagus of white alabas¬
ter, almost as transparent as crystal; and the whole excava¬
tion, sculptured and painted in the most finished style of
art, was in the most perfect preservation.2 These cata¬
combs, as already stated, were the sepulchres of the kings
of the three Diospolitan dynasties ; and accordingly, by
means of the hieroglyphical inscriptions, Champollion dis¬
covered the tombs of six kings of the eighteenth dynasty;
that of Amenophis-Memnon, the most ancient of all, in
an isolated part of the valley towards the west; and,
lastly, those of Rhamses-Meiamoun, and six other Pha¬
raohs, his successors, belonging either to the nineteenth
or the twentieth dynasty. No sort of order, either in re¬
gard to dynasty or succession, appears to have been ob¬
served in the choice of situations for the different royal
tombs; on the contrary, each sovereign seems to have
caused his own to be dug wherever he found a vein of
stone adapted for the purposes of sepulture and the im¬
mensity of the projected excavation. The royal catacombs,
however, which have been thoroughly completed and
finished are but few in number: these are, the tomb of
Amenophis III. or Memnon, the decoration of which has
been almost entirely destroyed; that of Rhamses-Meia¬
moun, that of Rhamses V., probably also that of Rhamses
the Great, and, lastly, that of Queen Thaoser. All the
others are incomplete. The tomb of the great Rhamses
or Sesostris still exists, according to M. Champollion, and
is the third on the right of the principal valley; but it
has sustained greater injury than almost any others, and
is filled nearly to the ceiling with rubbish. That of
Rhamses V. is remarkable for a large tablet and an in¬
scription on a cross wall in the apartment at the further
extremity of the catacomb, containing images or delinea¬
tions of the forty-two assessors of Osiris, intermixed with
justifications which the king is supposed to offer to these
severe judges, each of whom appears to be charged with
investigating a particular offence or sin, and with punish¬
ing it in the soul of the sovereign subjected to their juris¬
diction. The royal justification amounts merely to a
negative confession, which, whatever may have been its
effect in the Egyptian Amenti or Hades, would, in judg¬
ing kings, certainly go a great way upon earth. It is
somewhat in this strain: The son of the son Rhamses
has not been guilty of great iniquities; he has not blas¬
phemed ; he has not been a drunkard; he has not been
indolent or lazy; he has 7iot seized upon the offerings de¬
voted to the gods ; he has not told falsehoods; he has not
been a libertine ; he has not stained himself with impuri¬
ties ; he has not hung down his head when hearing the tin
words of truth ; he has not been prolix in his talk; he has ^
not had to devour his heart, or, in other words, to repent
of’ any wicked action ; and so on through the remaining
thirty-one negations.3
Having thus described the Diospolitan monuments on
the western bank of the Nile, we now turn to the still
grander and more magnificent remains with which the east¬
ern bank of the river is adorned. No people, ancient or
modern, can boast of an architecture approaching in mag¬
nitude and sublimity, not to mention elaborate decoration,
to that of the old Egyptians, who conceived men a hun¬
dred feet in height, and not only planned, but erected tem¬
ples and palaces larger than some modern cities. In Eu¬
rope the imagination is easily transported beyond the di¬
mensions of our proudest and most magnificent porticoes,
and it can readily conceive something of the kind upon a
still grander scale; but in Egypt it sinks abashed, over¬
awed, and powerless at the base of the hundred and forty
columns of the hypostyle hall of Karnak. The first sight
of the wonderful structures on the right bank arrested
the march of the French army ; the troops, suddenly over¬
powered with awe and wonder, stood motionless, and it
was only after a time that they could whisper to each
other, “ This is Thebes.”4 The monuments on the east¬
ern bank of the Nile are the palace of Luxor and the tem¬
ple of Karnak.
In approaching the palace of the Pharaohs from the
north, the first object which meets the view is a magnificent
propylon or gateway two hundred feet in length, the top
of which is elevated about sixty feet above the present
level of the soil. And in front of this entrance are the
most perfect obelisks in the world, each formed of a single
block of red granite from the quarries of Elephantine : they
are between seven and eight feet square at the base, and
about eighty feet in height, and many of the hieroglyphical
figures with which they are covered are cut an inch and
three quarters deep, exhibiting at the same time the great¬
est nicety and precision of execution. Between these
obelisks and the propylon are two colossal statues, also of
red granite, measuring forty-four feet from the ground,
and supposed, from the difference of the dresses, to have
been, the one a figure of a male, and the other that of a
female. Another propylon of similar proportions guards
another approach, and from both gateways magnificent
peristyles lead to the main body of this palace of the Pha¬
raohs. Some of the columns of the peristyles are eleven feet
in diameter. The sculptures on the pylons, like those at
Medinet-Habou, represent the victories of Sesostris, with
the greatest amplitude of detail. “ It was impossible,”
says Mr Hamilton, “ to view and to reflect upon a picture
so copious and detailed, without fancying that 1 here saw
the original of many of Homer’s battles, the portrait of
some of the historical narratives of Herodotus, and one of
the principal ground-works of the narratives of Diodorus;
and, to complete the gratification, we felt that, had the
artist been better acquainted with the rules and use of
perspective, the performance might have done credit to
the genius of a Michael Angelo or a Julio Romano.” In re¬
gard to the general plan of the palace and its environs, as
1 Hamilton, Egyptiaca, pp. 155, 156.
Belzoni, Researches and Operations, p. 123 and 224, et seqq. Mr Salt observes that the colours are generally pure and bril-
ian , but intermixed with each other nearly in the proportions of the rainbow, and so subdued by the proper introduction of blacks
aS n0^ J'0~PP,ear §au hut to produce a harmony that in some of the designs is really delicious. “ One would think it was in Egypt,”
says Mr Bechey, “ that litian, Giorgione, and Tintoret, had acquired all that vigour and magic of effect which distinguishes them
so remarkably from all other painters in point of arrangement, and principally in the happy disposition of their darks.” (Young,
View of the latest Publications relating to Egypt.)
* Champollion, Lettrcs tcrites d'Egypte, p. 221, et seqq. .
4 Napoleon’s Memoirs, vol. ii. Hen on’s Travels in Egypt.
EGYPT.
f pt. well as the distribution of the entrances and of the inte-
rior of the building, the delineations of Pococke and De-
non, to which may be added those contained in Captain
Head’s work, will serve to convey a more distinct and ac¬
curate idea of the magnificent design than can be com¬
municated by any verbal description. “ But without per¬
sonally inspecting this extraordinary edifice,” says Mr
Hamilton, “ it is impossible to have any adequate notion
of its immense size, or of the prodigious masses of which
it consists. In both these respects, and, combined with
them, in respect to the beauty and magnificence of its se¬
veral parts, it is, I should imagine, unique in the whole
world.”1 The founder of this marvellous palace is conjec¬
tured, from the inscriptions, to have been Amenophis-Mem-
non, or Amenophth III., who is supposed to have erected
the series of edifices extending south and north from the
Nile as far as the fourteen columns of forty-five feet in
height, which also belong to the same reign. The dedi¬
cation by this Pharaoh may be read on all the architraves
of the columns, a hundred and five in number, and for the
most part entire, which adorn the courts and inner halls.
The bas-reliefs which decorate the palace of Amenophis
relate chiefly to the religious acts performed by that
prince in honour of the divinities of this portion of Thebes ;
namely, Ammon-Ra, Ammon-Ra-Generator, his secondary
form, the goddess Tamoun, one of the forms of Neith, the
goddess Mouth, companion of Ammon-Ra, and the young
gods Khons and Harke, the two great triads adored at
Thebes. The two obelisks of red granite in front of the
northern pylon were erected by Sesostris in order to de¬
corate his Rhamesseion. This is proved by the hierogly¬
phic inscription on the obelisk on the left, which is in
these terms: “ The lord of the world, sun guardian of
truth (or justice), approved by Phre, has caused this edi¬
fice to be built in honour of his father Ammon-Ra, and
has also erected these two great obelisks of stone before
the Rhamesseion of the city of Ammon.”2
The palace at Luxor communicates with the temple at
Karnak, an edifice not less Titanian in its dimensions, nor
less marvellous in its structure. This temple has twelve
principal entrances, each of which is composed of several
propyla or colossal gateways, besides other buildings at¬
tached to them larger than most temples. The sides of
some, of these gateways are equal in dimensions to the
bases of the greater part of the pyramids in the Hepta-
nomis, and they are built in the same style, each layer of
stone projecting a little beyond that immediately above
it. One of the propyla is built entirely of granite, and
adorned with hieroglyphics of the most finished execu¬
tion ; and on each side of several of these there have been
colossal statues of basalt, breccia, and granite, some in a
sitting posture, some erect, and varying from twenty to
thirty feet in height. Avenues of sphinxes lead in seve¬
ral directions to the propyla, and correspond to the mag¬
nificence which they promise. The principal of these,
continued across the plain to the palace at Luxor, esta¬
blishes a communication to which there is no parallel upon
541
earth.3 For the space of nearly a mile and a quarter Egypt.
(1026 toises, or about 6200 feet), a broad raised causeway,
bordered by more than six hundred colossal sphinxes, re¬
presenting lions with rams’ heads, leads from the one edi¬
fice to the other; and another similar road, branching off
from this, passed between figures of rams on lofty pedes¬
tals to a triumphal gateway leading to a temple, appa¬
rently the most ancient in Thebes. “ On approaching
the avenue of sphinxes which leads to the great temple,
the visitor,” says Belzoni, “ is inspired with devotion and
piety ; their enormous size strikes him with wonder, and
respect for the gods to whom they were dedicated.”4 The
body of the temple, which is preceded by a large court,
at the sides of which are colonnades of thirty columns in
length, and through the middle two rows of columns fifty
feet in height, consists principally of a grand hypostyle
hall or portico, the roof of which is supported by a hun¬
dred and thirty-four columns, some of them twenty-six
and others thirty-four feet in circumference; and four beau¬
tiful obelisks mark the entrance to the adytum or sanctu¬
ary, near which the sovereign of the gods is represented
as embraced by Isis. The adytum itself consists of three
apartments, formed entirely of granite. The part of the
edifice at which the branch of the avenue of sphinxes ter¬
minates is the most surprising of all amongst these asto¬
nishing monuments. From most points of view it appears
a boundless, confused wreck of splendid buildings, scat¬
tered in every direction, without any perceptible order or
design ; but, when viewed from the north-west end of the
principal group, the whole may be surveyed by the eye at
once, and the ektraordinary dimensions and magnificence
of the great entrance from the west in some measure ap¬
preciated. An unfinished pylon, succeeded by an avenue
of columns more than seventy-five feet in height, all of one
block, but only one of them standing ; a second pylon,
leading to a hall three hundred and thirty-eight feet in
length by a hundred and sixty-eight feet in breadth; a
third pylon, opening into a court in which there are two
obelisks more than seventy-two feet in height; and a fourth
pylon, leading to a court in which is the largest obelisk
ever formed of one stone; all these magnificent objects
are seen following exactly in the same line, and forming
a perspective, the effect of which cannot be conveyed by
any drawing, much less by any description. The great
obelisk is nearly a hundred feet in height, and, as already
stated, is formed of a single block.5 The walls are every¬
where covered with hieroglyphics or sculptures repre¬
senting the battles, triumphs, sacrifices, processions, and
festivals of the ancient Egyptians; and the colours with
which they -were decorated are still, in many places, ex¬
tremely fresh and vivid. On the northern side of these
gigantic edifices there were also triumphal arches, colon¬
nades, sphinxes, and other monuments of Egyptian art
and magnificence in vast numbers; but they have also
suffered more or less from the ravages offanatical invaders,
or the slower but not less certain havoc committed by na¬
turalized barbarians. On the great dwelling of Ammon,
1 Hamilton’s Egyptiaca, p. 121.
2 Champollion, Lottres ecritcs d'Egyptc, p. 215. In a letter dated from Thebes, Champollion, speaking of the Egyptian architecture,
observes : “ It is evident to me, as it must be to all who have examined Egypt, or have an accurate knowledge of the Egyptian monu¬
ments existing in Europe, that the arts commenced in Greece by a servile imitation of the arts in Egypt, much more advanced than
is commonly believed, at the period at which the first Egyptian colonies came in contact with the inhabitants of, Attica or the Pe¬
loponnesus. Without Egypt, Greece would probably never have become the classical land of the fine arts ; such at least is my
belief touching this great problem. I write these lines almost in presence of bas-reliefs which the Egyptians executed with the most
refined elegance of workmanship seventeen hundred years before the Christian era. What were the Gi'eeks doing then ?”
’ Hamilton’s Egyptiaca, p. 122.
4 Researches and Operations in Egypt and Nubia, p. 152. From the ruins within the area of the ancient temple ascribed to Osy-
mandyas, Belzoni recovered many fine specimens of Egyptian art, which are now in the British Museum, and amongst these a statue
"Inch is supposed by some to represent that great conqueror, in other words, Sesostris.
5 Encyclopedia Mctropolitana, art. Egypt.
542
EGYPT.
Egypt. Champollion observed real portraits of most of the old
Pharaohs renowned for their great actions, each with his
appropriate physiognomy, and therefore distinguishable
from the others. In the colossal tablets, which are as
finished in execution as they are heroic in design, maybe
seen Mandouei combating the enemies of Egypt, and re¬
turning in triumph to his native country; the campaigns
of Rhamses the Great are also represented with much ful¬
ness of detail; and Sesonehis may likewise be observed
dragging to the feetof the Theban trinity (Ammon, Mouth,
and Khons) the chiefs of more than thirty conquered na¬
tions, including amongst the last the Israelites or Jews.
One of the bas-reliefs, representing Judah personified, con¬
tains, in hieroglyphic characters, the Iudahamelek, “ the
kingdom of the Jews, or of Judah,” and thus forms a sort
of commentary to the fourteenth chapter of the second book
of Kings, which records the arrival of Sesonchis at Jeru¬
salem, and the success of that invader, at the same time
establishing the identity of the Egyptian Scheschonk, the
Sesonchisof Manetho, and the Sesakor Scheschok of Scrip¬
ture. This, it will be admitted, is a very remarkable and
interesting discovery.1
That the magnificent ruins of Medinet-Habou, Luxor,
and Karnak, are the remains of the Thebes described by
Homer, the earliest capital of the world,
That spread her conquests o’er a thousand states,
And poured her heroes through a hundred gates,
cannot possibly be doubted. According to the admeasure¬
ment made by the French, the distance of these ruins
from the sea amounts to eight hundred and fifty miles,
and from Elephantine two hundred and twenty-five, thus
corresponding pretty exactly with the 6800 and 1800
stadia respectively mentioned by Herodotus. Exclusive-
ly-ot the hippodrome and of Medamoud, the circumfer¬
ence of the ruins is from fourteen to fifteen thousand me¬
tres, which agrees with the 140 stadia, or seventeen miles
and a half, mentioned by Diodorus Siculus as the circumfer¬
ence of the ancient capital of Egypt. The origin of the name
of this celebrated city, as well as the date of its foundation,
is unknown. It has been conjectured, however, that the
word Theba is derived from the Egyptian word Thbaki,
signifying “ the city and hence the Diospolis of the
Greeks is, in this view, a mere translation of the Thbaki-
antepi-Amoun, or the city of Ammon the most high god.
Ihe No-Ammon of the Hebrews, though identical in im¬
port with the Greek name, applies not to Diospolis Magna,
but to Diospolis Parva, in the Delta.2
Kous, called Kous-birbir by the Egyptians, occupies the
site of the Apollonopolis Parva of the Greeks. Of its an¬
cient edifices there exists only a propylon, half buried in
the sand. I his propylon was dedicated to the god Aroe-
ris ; and his images, sculptured on all the faces, are adored
on that which looks towards the Nile, being the principal Eg? ■
one. The upper face towards the temple is covered with J
sculptures, amongst which may be discovered the royal
legends of Ptolemy-Alexander I., who also takes the sur¬
name of Philometor. With respect to the Greek inscrip,
tion, the restitution of 2I1THPE2, at the commencement
of the second line, proposed by M. Letronne, is undoubt¬
edly right; but the proposed substitution of HAIfll for
APnHPEI is not equally fortunate, the words APflHPEI-
0EflI being still distinctly legible.3 At Keft, Kebt, or
Coptos, which, like Kous, is near an opening into the val¬
ley of Cosseir, nothing remains entire. The temples were
demolished by the Christians, and the materials employed
in building a large church, in the ruins of which may be
found numerous portions of Egyptian bas-reliefs. Amongst
the royal legends were recognised those of King Nectane-
bo, and of the Emperors Augustus, Claudius, and Trajan;
from which it may be inferred that the city of Coptos con¬
tained few monuments of high antiquity. It is first men¬
tioned in history under the Ptolemies; it attained its
greatest prosperity in the time of Strabo; it began to de¬
cline about the beginning of the eleventh century; it was
greatly reduced in the fourteenth, and is now a wretched
Arab village, distinguished only by the remains which we
have mentioned.4 Kenneh orGhenneh5 has now succeed¬
ed Keft and Kous as the entrepot for the Arabian and
Indian commerce with Egypt, and it is the place where
all the caravans and pilgrims travelling eastward usually
assemble.
Opposite to Kenneh is the village of Denderah, on the left
bank of the Nile, surrounded by groves of date, palms, and
domms ; the latter of which is seldom or never seen farther
northward. About a mile and a half to the east of this vil¬
lage lie the ruins of Tentyris, occupying an area of more than
a mile in length, about half a mile in breadth, and rather
more than two miles and a half in circumference. Amidst
the high mounds and dilapidated walls of this ancient city
are the remains of a small hypaethral temple, about sixty
feet square, consisting of twelve columns placed at the
sides, and connected by a wall reaching to within sixteen
feet of their capitals, but entirely free from hieroglyphical
sculptures, and with capitals which in form approach to
those of the old Tuscan order. The entrances, two in
number, are in a line with the other approaches to the
great temple, and seem to mark out this small edifice as
having formed one of its appendages. At a short dis¬
tance from the building in question is the principal pro¬
pylon of the great temple, that magnificent edifice which
has rendered Denderah so long famous among the cities oi
Egypt. This propylon is one of the most perfect models
of Egyptian architecture; and, notwithstanding one side
has in part fallen down, it still retains the true Egyptian
character of grandeur and simplicity.6 “ Je n’essaierai pas
Champollion, I.ettres, p. 99. According to the Bible, Sesonchis attacked and took Jerusalem in the fifth year of
the reign of Itehoboam ; and it is this victory, accordingly, which the bas-relief of Karnak commemorates. The per¬
sonification of the kingdom of Judah represents the physiognomy of the Jewish people, as it was conceived by the Egyp¬
tians in the tenth century before our era; and it is not impossible that Itehoboam himself may have sat for the por¬
trait. I he hieroglyphic legend which fixes the character of the tablet is given on the margin. The personification we
have been obliged to omit; it appears, however, to have been executed with that fidelity of physiognomy which is re¬
markable in all the ancient Egyptian works of art referable to the foreign nations whom they have represented on their
monuments. Upon the whole, if this discovery be taken in connection with others, particularly the delineations of cap¬
tive Jews found by Belzoni in the catacombs of Biban-el-Molouk, and the deciphering of the name of Tirhakah king of
Ethiopia by i\Ir Salt, it will not be disputed that Scripture history may receive illustrative confirmation from the
study of Egyptian antiquities.
2 Champollion, Eyypte sons les Pharaons, tom. i. p. 218, and tom. ii. pp. 132, 133.
3 Ihe erfor of M. Letronne, in the latter case, appears to have been caused by the figured design in the Description de I'Egypt1
which distinctly bears haixii, instead of APfiHPEi, as read by Mr Hamilton and others.
4 Jollois and Devilliers in Description de I'Egi/pte, tom. ii. ch. 10, p. 03.
5 Probably the Kani of the Mamluk Territorial Register. Abd-el-latif, 704.
6 Hamilton's Egyptiacu, \\ 194.
EGYPT.
F pt. de decrire 1’impression,” says Champollion, “ que nous fit
le grand propylon et surtout le portique du grand tem¬
ple. On pent bien le mesurer, mais en donner une idee
c’est impossible. C’est la grace et la majeste reunies au
plus haul degre.”1 The height of this gateway is forty-
two feet, the width thirty-three, and the depth seventeen ;
each front, as well as the interior, is covered with sculp¬
ture beautifully executed ;2 and upon its roof was the ce¬
lebrated planisphere now at Paris, and so long the subject
of extravagant speculations connected with the chrono¬
logy of Egypt. For some reason, whether arising from
war, revolutiort, or deficiency of money, the flanks have
been left unfinished. The portico, which so particularly
attracted the admiration of Champollion, and is indeed
most beautiful, consists of twenty-four columns, disposed
in three rows, each being above twenty-two feet in cir¬
cumference, thirty-two in height, and covered with hiero¬
glyphics. The capitals of the columns are square, with
a front face of Hathor, to whom the temple was dedicat¬
ed, on every side. These pictures fill a space of eight
feet each ; the plinth that crowns the capital is high ; and
the whole is completed by a rich entablature, surmounted
with the bold cornice which is always so striking in Egyp¬
tian architecture. ‘ This beautiful structure, if clear of
rubbish, would present a front of a hundred and sixty
feet, with a height of sixty feet; the whole exhibiting a
magnificent picture of nearly a thousand square feet, re¬
lieved by processions and other decorations.3 Several
chambers, attached to the interior of the temple, are co¬
vered with astronomical, or perhaps rather astrological
decorations; and the calculations deduced from these oc¬
casioned at one time so powerful a prepossession in favour
of their extreme antiquity, that some very obvious proofs
of the contrary were overlooked. Comparatively speaking,
the edifice is modern. As its basis rests on a terrace which
is still nearly fifteen feet above the level of the neighbour¬
ing country, whilst similar terraces at Thebes are only on
a level with the surface of the Nile, above which they
were once greatly elevated, it may therefore be inferred
generally, that the great temple at Denderah was not
older than the time of the Ptolemies, or perhaps than that
of the Homans. Such was the conclusion deduced by Vis¬
conti, and after him by Belzoni, whose practical investi¬
gations enabled him to ascertain the fact upon which the in¬
ference rests. But,on the other hand, Jollois, judging, as he
says, from the style and execution of the sculptures, main¬
tains that they cannot have been finished subsequently to
the time of Cambyses.4 Unfortunately for this opinion,
however, the hieroglyphics upon the walls of the temple
completely confirm the evidence afforded by the Greek
inscription over the entrance of the pronaos, and esta¬
blish the correctness of Visconti’s conclusion. The
epochs of the decoration may be very briefly stated. The
most ancient part is the exterior wall at the extremities
of the temple, where are figured in colossal proportions
543
Cleopatra and her son Ptolemy Caesar. The superior bas- Egypt,
reliefs belong to the time of Augustus, as also the exte- '*~*~Y"***>
rior lateral walls of the naos, with the exception of some
small portions, which only date from the reign of Nero.
T.he pronaos is entirely covered with imperial legends of
Tiberius, Caius, Claudius, and Nero; but in the interior
of the naos, as well as in the chambers and edifices con¬
structed upon the terrace of the temple, there does not
exist a single sculptured oval or cartouch. None of the
sculptures in these apartments go farther back than the
time of irajan or Antoninus; and they resemble that of
the propylon on the south-east, which dates from the
reign of the latter, and, being dedicated to Isis, conducted
to the temple of that goddess, which is placed behind the
great temple, dedicated, as already mentioned, to Hathor
or Venus. The grand propylon above described is cover¬
ed with images of the emperor Domitian. With regard
to the Typhonium, it appears to have been decorated
under Trajan, Hadrian, and Antoninus Pius; but, from a
Greek inscription, it would seem that one of the propylons
was erected by the inhabitants of the nome in the thirty-
first year of the reign of Augustus, a. d. 23.5
At, or rather a little below, Denderah, the Nile sudden¬
ly changes its course, and for about nine miles runs near¬
ly due west, after which it resumes its original direction.
Near the bend or elbow formed by the return of the river
to its course, lay the town of Abydos, once the second
city of the Thebaid ; and at a small distance from the
Nile, near the western mountains, was the residence of
an ancient king, called Ismandis by the Egyptians, and
Memnon by the Greeks. At the latter place are the re¬
mains of a fine building, which some antiquaries have
agreed to denominate a Memnonium, but which is now
known by the name of El-Berba or the temple. In one
of the inmost chambers of the edifice Mr W. J. Bankes,
in 1818, discovered a large hieroglyphical tablet, contain¬
ing a long series of royal names, which have since been
deciphered conformably to the principles first expounded
and exemplified by Dr Young, and found in the main to
correspond with those in the Royal Canon of Manetho.
The interesting relic of antiquity thus discovered, and
which has become so celebrated in hieroglyphical litera¬
ture under the name of the tablet of Abydos, exhibits a
genealogical table of the immediate predecessors of Rham-
ses the Great, the Sesostris of Herodotus, and, from the
data which it furnishes, compared with other documents,
enables us to ascertain, with some degree of probability,
that Sesostris, under whom the sculptures were executed,
must have ascended the throne of Egypt about the year
before Christ 1473.6 Further, the epoch thus determin¬
ed, though certainly liable to some objections, is never¬
theless supported by numerous concurring and indepen¬
dent testimonies, which, from their striking coincidence,
warrant a reasonable expectation that the true era of Se
sostris, which is the grand key to so many other impor-
1 Lcttres Ccritcs d'Egypte, p. 90.
how architecture could sustain itself in a state of perfection “ worthy of the gods of Egypt, and the admiration of all ages,” if the
other kindred arts had fallen into such a “ detestable” condition as M. Champollion seems to intimate.
3 Mr Hamilton speaks of this temple with unusual enthusiasm. “ After seeing innumerable monuments of the same kind through¬
out the IMiebaid,” says he, “ it seemed as if we were now arrived at the highest pitch of architectural excellence that ever was attained
ou the borders of the Nile. Here we found concentrated the united labours of ages and the last efforts of human art and industry, in
that regular uniform line of construction which had been adopted in the earliest times.” (Egyptiaca, p. 195.) *
4 Description de I'Egypte, Antiq. iv. § 2, p. 62.
fetronne, HccJierchcs, p. 180; Champollion, Precis du Systeme Hitroghjphiqur, p. .'ioj- Lettres, pp. 91, 92.
‘ Champollion, Ends du Systeme Hieroglyphique, pp. 244, 245. See also Lettres u M. le Due dc Blacas d'Au/ps, dated from the Egyp¬
tian Museum at Turin.
EGYPT.
544
Egypt, tant dates, will ultimately be fixed beyond the possibility
of controversy.1 The population of Abydos, as well as
that of Diospolis Parva or Ho, appears to have been trans¬
ferred to Ptolemais, the capital of the Thinite nome, at
or near Syis, the Psoi or Soi of the Egyptians.2
Girge or Djirdjeh, the present capital of the Said, is si¬
tuated half way between Abydos and Ptolemais, and about
twelve miles south of the latter; and on a rising ground,
distant nearly a mile from the river, lies Ikhmim, the an¬
cient Panopolis, where the great dispenser of the gene¬
rative, fructifying, and productive powers was devoutly
worshipped.3 The temples of Ikhmim, once so splendid,
are now reduced to a few fragments. This place has
about four thousand inhabitants, many of whom are Copts,
and about one half Homan Catholics, principally engaged
in the manufacture of coarse woollen cloths. Cau or
Gau-el-kebir, or Great Gau,4 the ancient Ajitceopolis, was
at some distance from the river in the time of Ptolemy,
but, owing to a change in the bed of the stream, which is
constantly encroaching on the eastern side of the valley,
it is now close to the Nile. Here was the pronaos or
vestibule of a fine temple, which, by the encroachment of
the river, had been severed from the eastern shore and
insulated ; but in 1819 it became a complete mass of ruins,
in consequence of an unusually powerful inundation. The
inscription on the pronaos proves that it was dedicated to
Antaeus, and the other gods worshipped in the same temple,5
by Ptolemy Philometor, and Cleopatra his sister and queen,
about 150 years before Christ; and it appears that the
cornice was repaired by the Emperors Aurelius, Antoni¬
nus, and Verus, in the year 164 of our own era. The Si-
out of the Copts is the. Lycopolis of the Greeks. The
latter name was derived from the worship of the jackal,
to which its inhabitants were peculiarly devoted. The
only monuments of antiquity near Siout are some mounds
of rubbish outside the town, and numerous sepulchres or
catacombs in the neighbouring mountains. At Manfalout
was an ancient city not mentioned by the Greek or Roman
writers, and a little lower down the stream the catacombs
are very extensive ; whilst at Tarut-el-Slier if, still further
north, the canal called Bahr Yussuf, or Joseph’s River wC
branches off from the Nile, and passing along the base of
the Libyan chain of hills, at length falls into the Birket-
el-Keroun or Lake Mceris. The Shmoun of the Copts and
the Ashmounein of the Arabs is the Hermopolis Magna of
the Greeks. The ruins of Hermopolis cover an area of
nearly four miles in circumference ; but a portico, with a
double colonnade, in a massive and uncommon style of ar¬
chitecture, forming one of the finest monuments of Egypt,
and serving to convey some idea of the former splendour
of this seat of the Egyptian muses, has recently been de¬
stroyed. The temple of Ashmounein was dedicated to
Thoth, the Egyptian Hermes or god of wisdom, and the
reputed inventor of the arts and sciences. The decline
of Hermopolis may be dated from the building of Anti-
noe, now Sheikh Abadeh, on the opposite side of the
river; a city founded by Hadrian in honour of his favou¬
rite Antinous. Its remains, consisting of colonnades, trium¬
phal arches, baths, and ampitheatres, form a singular con¬
trast to all the surrounding objects, and are quite foreign
to the soil on which they stand. There are few columns
standing; and those which are of granite have evidently
been taken from more ancient edifices.6
Few remains of the cities which once flourished in the
Heptanomis or northern part of Middle Egypt can now
be discovered, yet quarries and catacombs' continually
mark out the spots on or near which they must have stood.
At Beni-Hassan, on the eastern side of the Nile, are some
remarkable excavations, many of which are adorned with
paintings as fresh as when the colours w^ere newly laid on;
in the northernmost of these the ceilings are covered with
planispheres similar to those at Thebes and Lycopolis,
and the clustered columns which support the roof are
formed in imitation of the trunks of palm trees. Most of
the scenes and objects depicted in these hypogcea relate
to domestic life, and some of the designs are said to be in
the Etruscan style.7 On the opposite side of the river,
lower down, and close to the Bahr Yussuf, is Belmeseh, on
1 The ruins at El-Kherbeh are supposed by Jomard to be those of the Memnonium. (See Description de VEgyptc, Antiq. tom. ir.
pi. 35, p. 8.)
2 De Sacy, Abd-el-latif, pp. 316, 5/1.
3 The Egyptian name of Panopolis was Khemmo or Khemmis, whence the Coptic Khmim or Shmim. (Diodorus Sic. i. 18, p. 30;
and Strabo, xvii. i. p. 457.)
4 The Coptic name of this place, Tkoii, has been preserved in the Arabic. (Legh’s Travels, p. 40.)
4 This inscription has been skilfully restored by Letronne. (Recherches, pp. 42, 51.) At Cau or Gau, which is now a dirty Arab
village, there are large quarries and numerous sepulchres. Here, too, the fabulous battle was fought in which Typhon and his
adherents were defeated. (Diodor. Sicul. i. 21, p. 34.)
6 Belzoni, Researches, &c. p. 29.
7 Jomard, Description dc CEgypte; Hamilton’s Egypiiaca, p. 297, et seqq.; Legh’s Travels, p. 34. M. Champollion spent fifteen
days at Beni-Hassan, during which time he was principally occupied in copying some of the designs in the catacombs. The subjects
of these.hypogaean delineations are, Agriculture; Arts and Trades; the Military Caste ; Song, Music, and Dancing; the Training of
Domestic Animals ; Portraits; Games, Exercises, and Diversions ; Domestic Justice; Family Circles; Historical and Religious Mo¬
numents; and, lastly, Zoology ; the whole being calculated to throw much light on the manners, customs, habits, and pursuits of a
singular people, who, both above ground and below it, sought to perpetuate the memorials of their civilization. The following de¬
scriptive details give us as it were an insight into the private life and habits of the ancient Egyptians.
“ 1-. Agiuctjlture. Dessins representant le labourage avec les boeufs ou a bras d’hommes; le semage, le foulage des terres par
les beliers, et non par les pores, comme le dit Herodote ; cinq sortes de charrue ; le piochage, la moisson du ble; la moisson dulin ;
la mise en gerbe de ces deux especes de plantes; la mise en meule, le battage, le mesurage, le depot en grenier; deux dessins de
grands greniers sur des plans ditferents; le lin transporte par des anes; une foule d’autres travaux agricoles, et entre autres L re-
colte du lotus; la culture de la vigne, la vendange, son transport, 1’egrenage, le pressoir de deux especes, 1’un a force de bras et 1 au¬
tre a mdcanique, la mise en bouteilles ou jarres, et le transport a la cave; la fabrication du vin cuit, etc.; la culture du jardin, la
cueillette des bamieh, des Agues, etc.; la culture de 1’ognon, 1’arrosage, etc.; le tout, comme tons les tableaux suivants, avec legendes
hieroglyphiques explicatives; plus Vintendant de la maison dcs champs et ses secretaires. 2. Arts et Metiers. Collection de tab¬
leaux, pour la plupart colories, afin de bien determiner al nature des objets, et representant le sculpteur en pierre, le sculpteur sur
bois, le peintre de statues, le peintre d’objets d’architecture; meubles et menuiserie; le peintre peignant un tableau, avec son cheva-
let; des scribes et commis aux ecritures de toute espece ; les ouvriers des carrieres transportant des blocs de pierre ; 1’art du potier
avec toutes les operations ; les marchcurs petrissant la terre avec les pieds, d’autres avec les mains; la mise de 1’argile en cone, le cone
placd sur le tour ; le potier faisant la panse, le goulot du vase, etc.; la premiere cuite au four, la seccnde au sechoir, etc.; la coupe du bois,
les fabricants de Cannes, d’avirons et de rames ; le charpentier, le menuisier; le fabricant de meuble.s; les scieurs de bois; les corroyeurs,
le coloriage des cuirs ou maroquins ; les cordonnier; la filature ; le tissage des toiles a divers metiers ; le verrier et toutes ses operations,
1’orfevre, le bijoutier, le forgeron. 3. Caste Militaire. L’education de la caste militaire, et tous ses exercicesgymnastiques, repre-
sentds en plus de 200 tableaux, oil sont retracees toutes les poses et attitudes que peuvent prendre deux habiles lutteurs, attaquant, se
defendant, reculant, avan^ant, debout, renverses, etc.; on verra par la si Part Egyptien se contentait de figures de profil, les jambes units
EGYPT.
t_ site of the ancient Oxyrynchm ; and still farther north,
at the entrance of Fayoum, was Heracleopolis Magna, the
Hnes of the Copts, and the Almas of the Arabs; but no
trace of either city can now be discovered. The hatred
of the crocodile, for which the inhabitants of Heracleopolis
were noted, and their feuds with their neighbours the
Arsinoites, have been recorded by ancient poets and his¬
torians. This city was sacred to the Egyptian Hercules,
the founder and patron of irrigation by means of canals.
Here the Nile passes close under the base of the Arabian
hills, and leaves the most extensive as well as the richest
tract of corn lands in all Middle Egypt.1 The nome of
Arsinoe is now called Fayoum, the Arabs having in this
as in other instances preserved the Egyptian name. Its
principal city was originally called Crocodilopolis; but this
name was exchanged for that of Arsinoe by Ptolemy Phi-
ladelphus, who imposed the latter in honour of his sister.
Medinet-el-Fayoum, or the city of Fayoum, is built from
the materials, and is partly on the site, of the ancient ca¬
pital Crocodilopolis ; but the principal remains of the an¬
cient city lie to the north of the present town, and occupy
a space of two miles and a half by about two. Two an¬
cient pedestals of colossal dimensions, and separated about
a hundred yards, are called by the natives Pharaoh’s feet;
they are about thirty-three feet every way. A fallen obe¬
lisk of red granite, covered with hieroglyphical inscriptions,
is also another monument of the ancient Arsinoe. To
the north of Heracleopolis or Ahnas was Aphroditopolis,
the capital of a nome bearing the same name, and situat¬
ed between those of Heracleopolis and Memphis. Its
Coptic name is Tpeh or Petpieh, whence the Arabs have
formed Atfih, Atfieh, or Atafieh. Between Aphroditopo-
545
lis and Memphis, but nearer to the latter, and at some Egypt,
distance from the western bank of the river, was the town
of Acanthus, and a celebrated temple of Osiris situated in
a grove of the Thebaic thorn, whence probably the town
derived its name. But at none of these places are there
any remains deserving particular description.2
According to the concurring testimony of ancient writ
ers, the Labyrinth was a structure equal in magnitude to
the Pyramids, and still more wonderful in its design. It
was the work of several kings at that early period when
there were almost as many sovereigns as nomes; and
adjoining to it was the tombs of the princes by whom it
had been erected. “ I have seen that building,” says He¬
rodotus, referring to the Labyrinth, “ and it exceeds all
description. The same may indeed be said of the Pyra¬
mids, each of which, taken separately, is equal in value to
many of the greatest works of the Greeks taken toge¬
ther ; but the Labyrinth in truth excels even the Pyra¬
mids.” It consisted of twelve courts, surrounded by co¬
vered porticoes, having their gates opposite to each other,
six of them being turned to the north and six to the
south, and the whole included within the same outer wall
or enceinte ; and there were two suites of chambers,
the one under and the other above ground, and imme¬
diately over the former. These chambers were three
thousand in number, namely, fifteen hundred above and
as many below ground. The Greek historian went through
and examined the chambers above, but he was refused
admission to those below, which, it was alleged by the
priests, were used as sepulchres for the sacred crocodiles,
and for the kings who had erected the Labyrinth ; a strange
enough association, though not uninstructive with re¬
el les bras colles centre les hanebes. J’ai copie toute cette curieuse •s^rie de militaires mis, luttant ensemble ; plus, une soixantaine de
figures reprdsentant des soldats de toute arme, de tout rang, la petite guerre, un siege, la tortuc et le belier, les punitions militaires, un
champ de bataille, et les preparatifs d’un repas militaire; enfin, la fabrication des lances, javelots, arcs, fleches, massues, baches d’armes, *
etc. 4. Chant, Musique, et Danse. Un tableau repre'sentant un concert vocal et instrumental; un chanteur, qu’un musicien ac-
compagne surla harpe, est seconde par deux chceurs, I’un de quatre hommes, I’autredecinq femmes, et celles-ci battent lamesure avec
leurs mains: e’est un opera tout entier ; des joueurs de harpe de tout sexe, des joueurs Ac flute traversiere, de flageolet, d’une sorte de
conque, etc.; des danseurs faisant diverses figures, avec les noms des pas qu’ils dansent; enfin, une collection tres-curieuse de dessins re¬
pre'sentant les danseuses (ou filles publiques de 1’ancienne Egypte), dansant, chantant, jouant a la paume, faisant divers tours de force et
d’adresse. 5. Un nombre considerable de dessins representant l’Education des Bestiaux ; les bouviers, les boeufs de toute espece, les
vaches, les veaux, le tirage du lait; la fabrication du fromage et du beurre; les chevriers, les gardeurs d’anes, les bergers et leurs moutons;
des scenes relatives a I’art veterinaire ; enfin, la basse-cour, comprenant I’e'ducation d’une foule d’espece d’oies et de canards, et celle
d’une especes de cigogne qui etait domestique dans 1’ancienne Egypte. 6. Une premiere base du recueil Iconographique, comprenant
les portraits des rois Egyptiens et de grands personnages. 7* Dessins relatifs aux Jeux, Exercices, et Divertissements. On y
remarque la mourre, le jeu de la paille, une sorte de main-chaude, le mail, le jeu de piquets plantes cn terre, divers jeux de force ; la chasse
a la bete fauve, un tableau representant une grande chasse dans le desert, et ou sont figurees 15 a 20 especes de quadrupedes; tab¬
leaux reprdsentant le retour de la chasse; le gibier est porte mort ou conduit vivant: plusieurs tableaux representent la chasse des
oiseaux au filet; un de ces tableaux est de grande dimension, et gouache avec toutes les couleurs et le faire de I’original; enfin, le
dessin en grand des divers pieges pour prendre les oiseaux ; ces instruments de chasse sont points isolement dans quelques hypogees;
plusieurs tableaux relatifs a la peche : 1, la peche a la ligne ; 2, a la ligne avec canne ; 3, au trident ou au bident; 4, au filet; plus
la preparation des poissons, etc. 8. Justice Domestique. J’ai reuni sous ce titre une quinzaine de dessins de bas-reliefs repre¬
sentant des ddlits commis par des domestiques ; 1’arrestation du prevenu, son accusation, sa defense, son jugement par les intendants
de la maison ; sa condamnation et 1’execution, qui se borne a la bastonnade, dont proces-verbal est remis, avec le corps du proces,
entre les mains du maitre par 1’intendant de la maison. 9. Le Menage. J’ai reuni dans cette serie, deja fort nombreuse, tout ce
qui se rapporte a la vie privee ou intdrieure. Ces dessins fort curieux representent, 1, diverses maisons Egyptiennes, plus ou moins
somptueuses; 2, les vases de diverses formes, utensiles et meubles, le tout colorid, parce que les couleurs indiquent invariablement
la matiere ; 3. un superbe palanquin ; 4, des especes de chambre a portes battantes, portdes sur un traineau et qui ont servi de voi-
tures aux anciens grands personnages de 1’Egypte; 5, les singes, chats, et chiens, qui faisaient partie de la maison, ainsi que des nains
et autres individus mal conformes, qui, 1500 ans et plus avant Jesus-Christ, servaient a de'sopiler le rate des seigneurs Egyptiens, aussi
bien que, 1500 ans apres, celle de nos vieux barons d’Europe; 6, les officiers d’une grande maison, intendants, scribes, etc.; T, les
ilomestiques portant les provisions de bouche de toute espece ; les servantes apportant aussi divers comestibles ; 8, lamaniere de tuer
les bceufs et de les depecer pour le service de la maison; 9, une suite de dessins repre'sentant des cuisiniers preparant des mets de di¬
verses sortes; 10, enfin, les domestiques portant les mets prepares a la table du maitre. 10. Monuments Historiciues. Ce re¬
cueil contient toutes les inscriptions, bas-reliefs, et monuments de tout genre portant des legendes royales, avec une date exprimee,
que j’ai vus jusqu’ici. 11. Monuments Rei.igieux. Toutes les images des differentes divinites, dessindes en grand et coloriees
•I’apres les plus beaux bas-reliefs. 12. Navigation. Ilecueil de dessins representant la construction des batiments et barques de di¬
verses especes, et les jeux des mariniers, tout-a-fait analogues aux joutes qui ont lieu sur la Seine dans les grands jours de fete.^ 13.
hnfni, Zooi.ogie. Une suite de quadrupedes, d'oiseaux, de reptiles, d'inscctes, et de poissons, dessines et colories avec toutefidelitt d apres
les bas-reliefs peints ou les peintures les mieux conservees. Ce recueil, qui compte deja pres de 200 individus, est du plus haul in-
teret: les oiseaux sont magnifiques, les poissons peints dans la derniere perfection, et on aura par la une idee de ce qu’etait un hy-
jmgee Egyptien un peu soignd. Nous avons deja recueilli le dessin de plus de 14 especes differentes de chiens de garde ou de chasse,
depuis le Uvricr jusqu’au basset djambes torses." (Lettrcs tcrites d'Egypte.)
1 Belzoni, licsearchcs, &c. p. 242. a Encyclopaedia Metropolitana, art. Egypt.
vox., vm. 3 z
546 EGYPT.
Egypt- ference to the origin and real nature of animal worship.1
The chambers above ground, which he had himself seen
and examined, the same historian describes as greater than
all other human works. The communications between
these multitudinous chambers, and the winding passages
leading from one court into another, were so varied as to oc¬
casion infinite surprise and no little dismay. These passa¬
ges led from the chambers into porches, from the porches
again into other apartments, and from these chambers into
other courts; the roof and walls of all of them were of
stone, and covered with sculptures ; each court was sur¬
rounded by a colonnade of white stone, the blocks of
which were joined as closely as possible ; and at-the angle
which terminated the Labyrinth was a pyramid of forty
orgyias, or about two hundred and fifty feet, in height, on
which was sculptured large figures of beasts, and the en¬
trance to which was under ground. Such is the account
of this extraordinary structure given by Herodotus, from
whom Strabo does not materially differ ; but other ancient
writers seem to be at variance with both, probably from
not attending to the circumstance that the work was
executed at intervals by different princes. Commenced
by Mendes, it was continued by Tithoes or Petesuccus,
and finished by the twelve kings, and Socharis the son
of Sesostris. The pyramid of the Labyrinth alone re¬
mains.2
Still descending the Nile, and passing, for the present,
Birket-el-Keroun or Lake Moeris, we come to the ruins
of Memphis, the second capital of Egypt, the foundation
of which was ascribed to the first king of that country,
named Menes.3 After the successive generations of Per¬
sians, Greeks, Romans, and Arabs, who have plundered
Memphis in the wantonness of victory, or for the purpose of
transferring its monuments to Alexandria dr to Cairo, we
may well wonder that, exclusively of those eternal struc-
-tures the pyramids, enough should still remain to enable us
to determine the exact site of this capital of the Pharaohs.
The temple of Phtha, the Hephaestus or Vulcan of the
Egyptians, was, according to Herodotus, a most wonder¬
ful edifice; and adjoining to it was a temple dedicated to
Osiris, in which the sacred bull Apis was kept, another
consecrated to Hathor or Venus, and a third to Serapis.
The Serapeion stood in a place where the sand was so loose
and deep that the sphinxes forming the avenue in front of
it were buried, some one half, and others up to the neck,
and a person proceeding to the temple ran some risk if
overtaken by a tempest, owing to the columns of sand
raised and drifted about by the wind. Of the great tem¬
ple of Memphis nothing but debris remains; yet the
blocks of granite and breccia scattered about attest its
dimensions to have been nearly equal to those of the most
gigantic monuments of the Thebaid ; whilst the fragments
of columns, colossal statues, obelisks, and propyla, are per¬
haps the relics of the great northern vestibule, which is
usually enumerated amongst the works of Mceris.4 In
the time of Strabo, Memphis was second only to Alexan¬
dria in point of size and population ; and there were ports
for shipping both before the city and the palace. The
latter had been built on a rising ground near to the lower
part of the town, in a grove of its own, with a port adjoin¬
ing; but at the period when Strabo wrote it was unoccu- %
pied and in ruins. The site and name of this ancient city ;
were well known in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries^5
as appears from the account of it given by El-Idrisi under
the denomination of Menph or Memph, which is merely
an abbreviation of the Egyptian word Memfi or Memphi.
Amongst the antiquities specified by Abdu’l-latif may be
mentioned the Beit-al-akhdar or Green Tabernacle, a mo¬
nolithic temple thirteen feet and a half in height, twelve
feet in length, and ten feet and a half in breadth, having
a chamber formed within it ten and a half feet in height,
nine feet in length, and seven feet and a half in breadth,
and covered both within-and without with sculptures, some
cut into the stone and some in relief, and with inscrip¬
tions in ancient characters. On the outside there was a
representation of the sun in the eastern quarter of the
heavens, with many figures of stars and spheres ; in front
were two large statues of stone, and within was one of
gold representing Aziz, the eyes of which were two va¬
luable gems. This tabernacle or temple was fixed upon
a basis of large massive blocks of granite, and the mono¬
lith out of which it had been formed was of the same de¬
scription of rock. Another monument also mentioned by
the Arabian geographer was an idol or statue, consisting
of a single block of red granite, which, exclusively of its
pedestal, was about forty-six feet in height, fifteen feet
from side to side, and from back to front in proportion.
“ What talent, resolution, and patience must have been
combined to produce such works as these; what various
instruments and unremitting labour; and to what an ex¬
tent must not the forms and proportions of bodies, espe¬
cially those of the human body, have been studied, to
enable the artist to determine so exactly the mutual rela¬
tions, distance, and proximity, as well as the correspond¬
ing articulations of every limb !” Such is the natural and
just remark elicited from Abdu’l-latif after surveying the
ruins of Memphis, which even in his time occupied a space
of about nine miles in every direction. Yet so rapid has
the work of destruction proceeded, especially since the
fourteenth century, that few points have been more de¬
bated in modern times than the site of this celebrated
city; and, excepting its pyramids, and the great plain of
mummies, which attest the vicinity of the spot whereon
stood the second capital of Egypt, it might almost be
said, Etiarn periere mince. But its distance from the Py¬
ramids and the apex of the Delta having been clearly
pointed out by Strabo, Pococke and Bruce were hence
led to fix upon the neighbourhood of Mokhnan and Mon-
yet-Kahineh, two villages on the left or western bank of
the Nile, as the ground on which Memphis had once
stood; and this opinion was completely established by the
French during their occupation of Egypt. At Monyet-
Rahineh, about one league from Sakhara, they found so
many blocks of granite covered with hieroglyphics and
sculptures around and within an esplanade three leagues
in circumference, inclosed by heaps of rubbish, that they
were convinced these must be the ruins of Memphis;
and the site of some fragments of one of those colossuses
which, according to Herodotus, were erected by Sesos¬
tris at the entrance of the temple of Phtha, would have
1 On this subject see a chapter full of ingenuity and originality in Sir William Drummond’s Origines.
2 Herodotus, Traduction de Lurcher, tom. ii. pp. 496, 505. Encyclopaedia Metropolitana, art. Egypt. 3 Herodotus, ii- 99.
4 Hamilton’s Egyptiaca, p. 315. Belzoni was so much occupied in exploring the interior passages and chambers of the Pyramids,
that he entirely neglected Memphis; and the same observation applies to a later and much more gifted traveller, M. Champollion.
The latter indeed promised to examine the whole plain of Memphis, from Monyet-llahineh to Djizeh ; “ je pousserai de Ik (Monyet-
Rahineh) des reconnaissances sur Sakharah, Daschour, et toute la plaine de Memphis, jusqu’ aux grandes pyramides de Gizeh ; et
apres avoir couru le sol de la seconde capitale Kgyptienne, je mettrai le cap sur Thebes.” But if he carried his design into execution,
the results have not been communicated to us. (Lettres, p. 62.)
* Geographia NuMcnsis, p. 98.
E G Y P T.
547
, t been sufficient to expel their doubts had any remained.1
xhe position, the distance from the fork of the Delta, the
vicinity of the pyramids and the plain of mummies, and,
in particular, the gigantic nature of the ruins themselves,
all unite to prove that the site fixed on by Pococke and
Bruce is the right one.
In those countries where absolute temporal power is
allied with and reinforced by spiritual dominion, and
where a superstition inflexible in its sway over the many
readily lends all its influence to give effect to the will of
one, believed to be the earthly representative or vicege¬
rent of the gods, we may expect to find works executed,
which in point of magnitude far surpass any thing to be
met with amongst nations otherwise more favourably cir¬
cumstanced in regard to liberty. When men live under
the double thraldom of a despotism which wields the
powers both of earth and heaven, and is identified with a
system of religious belief, which recognises in the head of
the state a lineal descendent of the gods, all their labour
and all their energies must necessarily be at the command
of a ruler who can thus give to his most arbitrary decrees
the authority of religion, and whose own will is his only
law; and hence it is in the power of a sovereign so cir¬
cumstanced to accomplish undertakings which baffle ordi¬
nary calculations, and transcend all ordinary means. When
Stesicrates proposed to Alexander to convert Mount Athos
into a statue of the victorious monarch, the left arm of
which should form the base of a city containing ten thou¬
sand inhabitants, while the right was to hold an urn
whence a river should discharge itself into the sea, he
assumed, on the part of the conqueror, an exercise of
power over human agents, the most reckless and unspar¬
ing of which there is any example out of Egypt. In the
latter country, the principle assumed by the Greek pro¬
jector appears to have been systematically reduced to
practice; the whole labour and energies of the nation
were made available for the execution of the designs of its
monarchs; and hence, in the unparalleled magnitude and
durability of the public works which were reared under
the Pharaohs, we have conclusive evidence of the com¬
plete and total subjugation of the people to their autho¬
rity. Such a prodigality of labour and expense is com¬
patible only with the supposition that it was lavished un¬
der the decrees of a merciless and inflexible despotism;
and the hands of slaves were no doubt employed in ela¬
borating the inextricable intricacies of the Labyrinth, or
realising the vast conception of the Pyramids. Herodo¬
tus, it is well known, ascribes the largest of the Pyramids,
that of Cheops, to a profligate and tyrannical prince, who
compelled the people at large to perform the work of slaves,
and, in the enormous structure which he reared, left an
eternal monument of the merciless energy to which it
owed its origin.
The number of pyramids scattered over Egypt is very
great; but by far the most remarkable are those at Djizeh,
Sakhara, and Daschour; and the first of these places, si¬
tuated on the western bank of the Nile, and nearly in the la¬
titude of Cairo, is distinguished above the others by pos¬
sessing the three principal pyramids mentioned by Hero¬
dotus, and which are still justly numbered amongst the
wonders of human art. The largest of these pyramids,
which goes by the name of Cheops (Kobts or Kopts?),
stands on an elevation upwards of a hundred and fifty feet
above the subjacent plain; and although it has suffered
much from human violence, immense heaps of broken
stones having fallen down each side, and formed a high
mound towards the middle of the base, yet the corners
remain pretty clear; and, as the accumulation of sand is,
owing to the elevation of the site, less than round the
other pyramids, the foundation is easily discoverable, par¬
ticularly at the north-west angle, though it is impossible
to see along the line of the base, on account of the heaps
of rubbish, or to make any accurate measurement thereof.
The entrance is on the north side, nearly in the centre, or
about an equal distance from each angle, and the passage
slopes downward at an angle of about twenty-six degrees,
for about a hundred feet from the entrance, when it opens
into an apartment seventeen feet long, fourteen feet wide,
and twelve feet high. From this apartment a similar pas¬
sage ascends, at nearly the same angle, to another cham¬
ber of larger dimensions, being upwards of thirty-seven
feet in length, seventeen feet in width, and about twenty
feet in height, which is lined all round with large slabs of
highly polished granite, whilst the ceiling consists of nine
immense flags stretching from wall to wall. In this cham¬
ber, which does not reach beyond the centre of the pyra¬
mid, stands a sarcophagus of red granite, highly polished,
but without sculptures or hieroglyphics; it is seven feet
six inches in length, three feet three inches in width, and
about as much in depth; but it has no lid, nor was any
thing found in it except a few fragments of the stone with
which the chamber is decorated. A third chamber, still
higher in the body of the pyramid than either of the two
just mentioned, was discovered by Mr Davison about sixty
years ago; and the same apartment was recently entered
and more fully explored by Mr Caviglia, who found its
sides coated with red granite highly polished, and ascer¬
tained that the unevenness of the floor was occasioned by
its having been formed of the individual blocks of syenite
which constitute the roof of the chamber below. Mr
Davison also discovered and descended into the well, as
it is called, of which Pliny has left a description. It con¬
sisted of three distinct shafts, the first of wfflich was twen¬
ty-two feet in depth, the second twenty-nine, and the third
ninety-nine, thus making the total descent one hundred and
fifty feet, or, including five feet between the first and second
shaft, one hundred and fifty-five. But the latest and most
complete survey of the secret chambers or caverns of the
Pyramid of Cheops is that made by Mr Caviglia, who, be¬
sides sounding the depths of the celebrated well disco¬
vered by Mr Davison with nearly similar results, cleared
out the principal passage into the pyramid, and having
advanced as far as two hundred feet, discovered a door
on the right hand, which opened into the bottom of the
well; after which, finding that the passage did not termi¬
nate at the door-way, he continued his advance to the dis¬
tance of twenty-three feet beyond it, when it took a ho¬
rizontal direction for about twenty-eight farther, and ulti¬
mately opened in a spacious chamber, sixty-six feet long
by twenty-seven broad, immediately under the central
point of the pyramid. Communicating with this spacious
apartment on the south side is a narrow passage, which
runs horizontally into the rock for upwards of fifty feet,
and then abruptly terminates; another at the end, which
commences with an arch, and runs about forty feet into
the solid rock of the Pyramid; and a third, which, how¬
ever, is so obscurely mentioned, that neither its direction
nor dimensions can be ascertained. It is much to be re¬
gretted that none of those who have occupied themselves
in exploring these interior passages and chambers, should
Egypt.
1 A plan of the ruins of Memphis, drawn by Jacotin, is given, along with a detailed account of them, in the Description de I'Egypte.
The wrist of the colossus which M. Coutelle caused to be removed, and to which reference is made in the text, shows that, accord-
to the ordinary proportions in such cases, it must have been about forty-eight feet in height.
548
Egypt.
EGYPT.
have thought of publishing a plan of them, which indeed
is quite essential to enable us to understand their various
ramifications and bearings. The greatest discrepancy
has prevailed both in ancient and in modern times as to the
height and magnitude of the pyramid of Cheops ; so much
so, that either the standards referred to must have been
different, or the summit of the enormous structure has
been considerably lowered since the days of Herodotus.
The following table exhibits only a small portion of the
variation which applies to the measurement and estimat¬
ed bulk of this pyramid :—
Ancients. Height of the Length of
Great Pyramid. the side.
Herodotus 800 feet 800 feet.
Strabo 625 600
Diodorus 600 700
Pliny   708
Mean.
675
Moderns.
Lebrun 616.
Prosper Albinus 625.
Thevenot 520.
Niebuhr 440.
Greaves 444.
Davison 461.
Trench 470.
702
.704
.750
.612
.710
.648
.746
.704
Mean....,
Mean of Ancient and Modern.
510.
.592.
.693
.697
Number of Layers or Steps.
Greaves 207
Maillet   208
Lewenstein 260
Pococke 212
Belon 250
Thevenot 208
Davison 206
Mean 221f1
As an approximation, therefore, we may assume with
safety that the Great Pyramid is four hundred and eighty
feet in height, on a base about seven hundred and fifty
feet each way; or, in other words, that it covers an area
of nearly eleven acres, and rises to an elevation of a hun¬
dred and twenty-seven feet above the cross of St Paul’s,
whilst its solid contents exceed seventy millions of cubic
feet.2
The second pyramid, called that of Cephrenes, was
entered and explored in 1816, by the indefatigable Bel-
zoni, who has given an interesting account of his labour
in accomplishing this object, in his Researches and Opera¬
tions in Egypt and Nubia, to which we refer for the de¬
tails. Ilis first attempt w'as not attended with success;
but being convinced that this pyramid was similar in
construction to that of Cheops, he minutely examined
the exterior of the Great Pyramid; and having correct- E<r
ed his calculations as to the point of entry, he searched
more to the east on the northern face, and at length
succeeded in discovering a granite entrance four feet5in
height and three feet and a half in width, which dipped
towards the centre for more than a hundred feet, at an
angle of twenty-six degrees. Having removed the rub¬
bish by which this passage was obstructed, he found his
progress stopped by a block of granite, which proved to be
a portcullis, and seemed to present an insuperable barrier
to the prosecution of his researches. “ It stared me in
the face,” he observes, “ and said ne plusidtra, putting an
end, as I thought, to all my projects.” But on close in¬
spection, he discovered that a regular groove or cavity had
been formed to receive this portcullis; and as it happened
to be elevated about eight inches from the lower part
of the groove, thus leaving a considerable aperture under¬
neath, he was enabled gradually to raise it. Here, how¬
ever, the granite passage ceased, and a horizontal passage
of nearly the same dimensions opened and extended about
twenty-three feet, terminating at a shaft or well fifteen
feet deep. Having descended the latter by means of a
rope, the adventurous explorer found another passage
with the same angle of inclination as that by which he
had first descended, but running in a contrary direction,
and off from the centre ; and from the bottom of the well
passage also ran towards the centre of the pyramid.
Following the latter, which proceeded in the direction
just mentioned, Belzoni soon found that it terminated in
a chamber at the centre of the pyramid. On entering this
chamber, which he afterwards found to be forty-six feet
in length, upwards of sixteen feet in width, and between
twenty-three and twenty-four feet in height, he searched
for the sarcophagus, which, after some delay, he found sunk
into the floor. It was of the finest granite, about eight feet
in length, three feet and a half in width, and above two
feet in depth, and was surrounded by large blocks of gra¬
nite, placed so as to prevent its removal; but the lid hav¬
ing been drawn to one side, was broken, and not a single
sculpture or hieroglyph was to be found upon it. Some
bones, said to be those of a bull, were discovered mixed
with the rubbish. This chamber, which is nearly of the
same dimensions as that of the Great Pyramid, and which
is cut out of the solid rock, appears, from an Arabic in¬
scription written in charcoal, and transcribed by a Copt
employed by Belzoni for the purpose, to have been visited
by the curious of a former age. The indefatigable ex¬
plorer then returned to the well or shaft, and proceeding
along the passage of the centre already mentioned, found
that at the distance of forty-eight feet it communicated
with a horizontal passage, also running outwards to the
length of fifty-seven feet. A side passage led into a cham¬
ber, which however contained nothing save an inscription
like that found in the first. From the extremity of the
horizontal passage another was found to run inwards with
a rise of twenty-six feet, until it terminated at the base
of the pyramid, which thus appears to have had two en¬
trances. In this last passage, as in the other, there is a
groove for a portcullis.3 The dimensions of the pyramid
1 R ussell’s Vieze of Ancient and Modern Egypt, p. 149.
Captain howeve^fj^16 •? ^V'0’ publishe'1 in the account of their proceedings; also Hamilton’s Egyptiaca, p. 325.
heP« Is in akitude neaHv ^ ^ that which is Sk'en in the text. “ This pile, as it now stands,’’savs
in» on a snace eoual in si^e r<> I in -nl V’ T 6 c.r,?S'?,°* * aul’s, and is ascended on each side bv steps, having their lower layer rest-
75*000 000 cubic-feet vfewin^Zl Ilm *1.elds’ ?n? sld,e bein£ 780 feet....The solid contents of the Pyramid of Cheops exceed
which have been swent from the earth 0 S°U* sbnnbs ahashed and awe-stricken, and reflects upon the countless generations
p. 460 b P f ’ d h°W marlJ m°re the^ are destined to survive.” {Eastern and Egyptian Scenery, Ruins, &c.
of s0 hopekss aTufture that”as^M r^S■ fl t'’h- P', 2<‘' ’ ef. ^he opening of this pyramid had so long been considered an object
to make the attemnt • and even it> ti i °bse.rved’ ‘t 1S difficult to conceive how any person could have been found sanguine enough
to make the attempt, and even after the laborious discovery of an entrance which had to be forced, it required great resolution and
EGYPT.
^ thus opened and explored were ascertained by Belzoni to
pj be as follow :—
The base, each side 684 feet.
The perpendicular height 456
The coating, from top to where it
terminates   140
These pyramids are said to have been coated or cased
from top to bottom ; and indeed forty feet of coating still
remain on that of Cephrenes. But the Great Pyramid has
no appearance of having been touched in this way; and
bn that of Cephrenes the coating was probably never com¬
pleted, as no indications of it were discovered by Belzoni
when removing the sand from its base. The next pyra¬
mid, called by the name of Mycerinus, and situated be¬
yond that of Cephrenes, seems to have been cased with
granite; at least fragments of that material were found
amongst the rubbish. This pyramid still remains to be
opened by some future traveller, Belzoni having failed in
the attempt. It is only about a hundred and sixty feet in
height; and beyond it is another of still smaller dimensions,
having its summit crowned by one large block of stone, as if
for a pedestal. The stability of these enormous piles is in¬
creased by the stones having been fixed so as to slope in¬
wards • and so perfectly have they been adjusted, that not
one of them has swerved from its position. As nothing
but the solid rock itself could have formed a foundation
for such structures, a sufficient space was levelled, part of
the hill being escarped for the purpose. The pyramids of
Sakhara are three miles south of those of Djizeh, and the
pyramids of Daschour are beyond those of Sakhara, whilst
many more of brick or of stone are scattered over the
plain, intermixed with the excavations, cemeteries, and
fragments of statues or edifices, extending over a space of
several miles, and serving to mark out the site of the se¬
cond capital of the Pharaohs. Fronting the river, and
opposite the pyramid of Cephrenes, the colossal Sphinx re¬
clines in ample majesty, a proper companion for the mighty
piles which we have been considering. It is hewn out of
the solid rock, and is covered with hieroglyphics and sym¬
bols of various kinds. Through the persevering exertions
of Mr Caviglia, the whole statue was laid open to its base,
and an area cleared to the extent of a hundred feet from
its front. On the digits of the left paw are several indis¬
tinct legends and an inscription in verse, which Dr Young
has restored; on those of the right are a few of the usual
dedicatory phrases, which it is unnecessary to repeat here.
As the pyramids have neither inscriptions nor bas-re¬
liefs or sculptures of any kind, we are left entirely to con¬
jecture as to the period at which they were erected, or
the uses to which they were appropriated. One circum¬
stance, however, is most remarkable. In all the pyramids
which have been opened, whether at Djizeh or Sakhara,
amounting to at least six, the entrance has in every case
549
been discovered near the centre of th6 base of the north- Egypt,
ern face; and the passage inwards from the exterior en-
trance has as uniformly been found to slope downwards at
an angle which never varies. In the Great Pyramid, the
inclination of the passage is stated by Greaves at twenty-
six degrees ; but Caviglia determined it at twenty-seven ;
and this angle is’ common to all the sloping passages in
the edifice. The same conclusion was formed by Belzoni
in regard to the pyramid opened by him, the angle in all
the sloping passages or channels being about twenty-six
degrees; and on opening one of the small pyramids to¬
wards the south, Caviglia found the inclination of the pas¬
sage the same, whilst at the end of it were two chambers
connected together, and both empty. Now, as it is scarce¬
ly possible that this coincidence could have been acciden¬
tal, it has been concluded that these passages or tubes were
connected with the celebration of some great festival, the
time of which was determined by observing the transit of
some particular star across the meridian below the pole,
whence an accurate measure of sidereal time, an object
in itself of great importance, might also be obtained.
But, whilst it would not be easy to devise a method bet¬
ter adapted for observing the transit of a star with the
naked eye, than watching its motion across the exterior
orifice of such a lengthened tube, yet no safe conclusion
can be deduced from the coincidence of inclination al¬
luded to ; first, because there is reason to suspect that we
have not yet got the true measure of the angle which
these passages form with the plane of the horizon; se¬
condly, because it has not been ascertained whether the
angle of inclination is the same in all the pyramids which
have been opened, or whether there is a difference in the
angles of the approaches of the pyramids of Djizeh, Sak¬
hara, and Daschour, corresponding to the difference of la¬
titude of these several places ; and thirdly, because, from
an expression made use of by Mr Caviglia, it would seem
that in one at least of the pyramids opened, the angle of
inclination was equal or nearly so to the elevation of the
pole, or the latitude of the place. In short, the material
facts on which alone any reasoning can be built have not
yet been ascertained with sufficient accuracy and preci¬
sion to warrant the inference which has been somewhat
hastily drawn from them, although, as a mere conjecture
or hypothesis, it has a reasonable degree of probability in
its favour, especially if we consider the exact position of
these structures with reference to the four cardinal points.
At the same time, there is every reason to believe that
these enormous piles were used for other than astrono.
mical purposes. The bones found in the chamber of the
pyramid of Cephrenes, not to mention other circum¬
stances, seem to indicate some connection with the wor¬
ship of Apis; and besides, from the care with which the
entrances appear to have been concealed, it is not impos-
confidence in his own views to induce the discoverer to continue the operation, when his predecessors, possessed of much greater
means, had completely failed. It is not much to be wondered, therefore, that Belzoni should have felt disposed to resent conduct
such as that which is described in the following extract:—“ One thing more I must observe respecting the Count de F orbin.. On his
return from Thebes, I met him at Cairo, in the house of the Austrian consul. I had begun the task of opening the Pyramids, and
had already discovered the false passage. The count requested, in a sort of sarcastic manner, when I had succeeded in opening the
Pyramid, which no doubt he supposed I never would, that I would send him the plan of it, as he v'as about setting off for Alexan¬
dria the next day, and thence to France. I thought the best retaliation I could make was to send him the desired plan; and I did
so as soon as I opened the Pyramid, which wras in a few days after his departure. Would any one believe that the noble count, on
his arrival in France, gave’out that he had succeeded in penetrating the second pyramid of Djizeh, and brought the plan of it to
Paris? Whether this be the fact or not, will appear from the following paragraph taken from a French paper now in my possession :
—‘ On the 24th of April, Monsieur le Comte de Forbin, director-general of the Itoyal Museum of France, landed at the lazaretto
°f Marseilles. He came last from Alexandria, and his passage was very stormy. He has visited Greece, Syria, and Upper Egypt.
Py a happy chance, some days before his departure from Cairo, he succeeded in penetrating into the second pyramid of Djizeh. Mon¬
sieur Forbin brings the plan of this important discovery, as well as much information on the labours of M. Drovetti at Karnak, and
on those which Mr Salt, the English consul, pursued with the greatest success in the valley of Beban-el-Malook, and in the plain of
Medinet-Abou. The museum of Paris is going to be enriched with some of the spoils of Thebes, which Alonsieur Forbin has collected
in his travels.’ Was this written,” exclaims Belzoni, “ by some person in France, in ridicule of the Count de Forbin, or is it an
attempt to impose on the public by a tissue of falsehoods ?” (Y7ol. i. p. 393.)
550 EGYPT.
Egypt, sible that, both in the pyramid of Cheops and in that of
Cephrenes, there may yet be many undiscovered cham¬
bers. The chamber which contains the sarcophagus in
the former is equal to a good-sized drawing-room; but
there might be five thousand such chambers within the
pyramid; and as structures so enormous must have been
reared for some great object, or what was considered as
such, it is probable that much still remains to be disco¬
vered in their interior. It is not impossible that the re¬
cords of the kingdom of the Pharaohs may yet peradven-
ture be found in some crypt “ far ben” in these eternal
register-houses.1
In speaking of the mechanical labours of the ancient
Egyptians, it is impossible to pass unnoticed Lake Mce-
ris, which is described by Herodotus as not less wonder¬
ful than the Labyrinth. Its circumference, he informs
us, measured three thousand six hundred stadia, making
sixty schceni or four hundred and fifty miles; an extent
equal to the sea-coast of Egypt. Its greatest length stretch¬
ed from north to south, and its greatest depth was not
less than fifty orgyias, or thirty-six fathoms. He is of
opinion that it was excavated by the hand of man; and
his reason for this belief is, that about the middle of the
lake there were two pyramids, each fifty orgyias, or two
hundred and twelve feet above, and as much below the
water, whilst on the summit of each there was placed a
colossus of stone, in a sitting posture, or throned. The
waters of this lake, he adds, were entirely derived from
the Nile, and its fisheries paid one talent of silver, or
L.225, to the crown, every day for six months during the
decrease of the waters, and twenty minas, or L.75, for the
remaining six months during their increase ; thus yielding
an annual revenue of L.54,000. Herodotus also states, on
the authority of the inhabitants, that this lake has a sub¬
terraneous channel, or passage, westward into the Libyan
desert, in the line of the mountain which rises above
Memphis; and, from those who dwelt on its shores, he
further learned that the earth dug out of the excavation
which formed the lake was thrown into the river, and
washed down by the current into the sea ; an explanation
with which he appears to have been perfectly satisfied.
This account, exhibiting the characteristics of simplicity
and truth, is substantially confirmed by the statements of
Diodorus Siculus and Pomponius Mela, except that the
latter makes the circumference five hundred miles instead
of four hundred and fifty ; and all coincide in the opinion
that its object must have been to save the country from
the effects of an excessive inundation, by affording a re¬
ceptacle for the surplus flood, and at the same time to
keep in reserve a supply of water for the parched lands
in the vicinity, or to meet the wants of a dry season in
the Delta. But, as the water of this lake has a disagree¬
able taste, and besides is almost as salt as the sea, con¬
tracting its saline property from the nitre with which the
surrounding land is everywhere impregnated, it is proba¬
ble enough that it was originally constructed rather to
prevent an evil than to secure a benefit, to counteract an
excessive rather than to eke out a deficient inundation.
The dimensions of this lake in modern times do not in
any degree correspond with the statements which have
been recorded by the ancients. According to Pococke,
at the time when he visited Egypt it was only about fifty
miles in length and ten in breadth ; and Mr Browne, who
travelled at a still later period, estimated the length at
between thirty and forty miles, and the breadth at not
more than six miles. It appears, therefore, that the
limits of this inland sea have been much contracted;
and further, that the process of diminution is going on Egyr
at a rate distinctly perceptible. Anciently the waters \-
of Lake Mceris covered a large portion of the valley of
Fayoum, and, when the inundation exceeded a certain
height, probably found an outlet from the north-eastern
extremity, along the course of the Bahr-bilama or Wa¬
terless River, thus reaching the sea to the westward of
Lake Mareotis and Alexandria. That the Nile origi¬
nally flowed through the valley of the Natron Lakes, is
now generally admitted ; and the opinion is strength¬
ened by the conformation of the adjoining country, the
existence of the bed or channel of a river, extending to
the sea, but now dry, and more especially by the escarp¬
ment of the chain of mountains, shutting the entrance of
the valley north of the Pyramids, which appears to have
been caused at some period by the action of the running
water, as may indeed be observed in all the mountains at
the base of which the Nile flows at the present day. In
its present contracted dimensions, Lake Moeris is called
by the Arabs Birket-el-Keroun, the Horn or Bow Lake,
being so named either from its figure, or from the cele¬
brated ruin near to its south-western extremity, denomi¬
nated Kasr Keroun by the Arabs, and till lately sup¬
posed to form part of the Labyrinth. The canal called
Bahr Yussuf, or Joseph’s River, is about a hundred and
twenty miles in length, and, on entering the province
of Fayoum, is divided into a number of subordinate
branches, supplied with a variety of locks and dams.
Two other canals also communicated between the lake
and the stream, and, by means of the sluices at their
junction with the river, admitted or excluded the water,
according as the Nile rose above or fell below a certain
limit. These were the principal achievements of Moeris,
whose works are to be sought for not so much in the lake
which bears his name, and seems to be rather a natural
basin skilfully appropriated to a purpose of great public
utility than a work of labour and art, as in the immense
cuts and excavations which connected this lake with the
Nile, and in the mounds, dams, and sluices, which ren¬
dered it available for extensive and systematic irrigation,
the prime cause of fertility in Egypt. We shall not at¬
tempt here to describe the reticulation of canals, and other
works therewith connected, by means of which this bene¬
ficent object was in a great measure insured, and a sort
of equilibrium established in the supply of the fluid so es¬
sential for the purposes of cultivation; but shall merely
content ourselves with observing, that the author of such
works of unquestionable utility is the real benefactor of
his kind, and that the glory which encircles the name of
Mceris-Thouthmosis is a thousand times more enviable,
because more beneficent in its character, than that of the
founder of the Labyrinth, or of the merciless taskmaster
who reared the Great Pyramid.
In this land of wonders there are many other works
and monuments well deserving of being described; but
the limits assigned to the present section having been al¬
ready exceeded, it is necessary to bring it to a close,
without entering into details which would be found to pos¬
sess only a secondary kind of interest. We cannot con¬
clude, however, without expressing our deep regret that,
under the comparatively enlightened government which
has now been established in Egypt, the destruction of an¬
cient monuments should be carried on with a systematic
and calculating perseverance, which, unless checked, must
in a few years annihilate the finest and noblest remains
that have escaped the united ravages of time and barba¬
rism. Let us hope, however, that the viceroy may be m-
1 Head, Eastern and Egyptian Scenery, Ruins, &c. pp. 46, 47. Russell, View of Ancient and Modern Egypt, p. 150, et seqq.
EGYPT.
'pt. duced to interpose, and that present convenience or ad-
vantage will no longer be purchased at so heavy a cost to
art and antiquity.1
SECTION VI.
PANTHEON OF EGYPT.
Knuphis or Agathodaemon—Phtha or Phthah—Ne'ith Re or
Phre—Rhea—loh Apopis Kronos Thoth Osiris 
Arueris.—Typhon Isis.—Nephthe Thueris Bebon 
Ares—Shorn or Somus—Buto Horus, Hor, or Horsiesi 
Harpocrates—Anubis—Arsaphes—Athor or Hathor.—Amun
or Amoun.—Mendes—Busiris Macedon Bubastis.—Sara-
pis Shmun or Esmunus—Paamyles Tithrambo Ther-
muthis—Canopus.—Menuthis.—Besa Proteus Nilus 
Apis.—Mneuis or Mnyis.
In the selection of authorities respecting the principal
deities worshipped by the Egyptians, it will be most con¬
venient to consider the respective personages in their
551
chronological, or rather genealogical order, as far as any Egypt,
evidence can be obtained to ascertain their places in the
mythological system.
Agathod^emon, Cneph, Chnuphis, or Knuphis, appears
to be the oldest representative of the divine power admit¬
ted by the Egyptians, although his attributes are not dis-
tinctly ascertained, except as the parent of Phtha, whose
origin is referred, in the works of the spurious Hermes, to
an egg of Cneph or Kneph, which is perhaps the Coptic
ihhnifi, or genius of spirit. Even before this Cneph we are
told of the existence ot an Eicton or Icton, which has been
supposed to mean ihhtho, or genius of the whole world;
but this seems to have been a sort of chaos, and the per¬
sonification is not generally admitted. Eusebius makes
Cneph distinctly synonymous with Agathodaemon; and
this interpretation seems to identify the term with the
Knuphis, of whom Strabo mentions a temple in Elephan¬
tine, since ihhnufi would naturally mean good genius,
the word nufi occurring frequently in other compounds.
In a Greek inscription now in the British Museum, the
1 It would perhaps be too much to expect that Meheinmed All, engrossed with objects of present ambition, should evince any very de¬
cided predilection for “ Egypt s elder time,” or give himself much trouble to conserve the monumental remains of twenty-five dynas¬
ties of kings. The viceroy, we fear, is too decided an utilitarian to concern himself about objects of antiquarian research or learned
curiosity ; and it is highly probable that a kaleidoscope, a magic disc, or any other ingenious scientific toy, would interest him much
more deeply than the discovery of a new eella in an old temple, or a translation of a hieroglyphic inscription, enumerating the titles
and narrating the campaigns of Sesostris. At the same time it would be exceedingly desirable if he could be made aware that, how¬
ever little he may care about such matters, they are of importance to others ; and that the wanton demolition of monuments which
has of late years taken place under the eyes, and even by the directions, of some of his agents, is calculated to deprive the country over
which he rules ot its principal attraction to European visitants. Nothing, we should think, would be more easy than to make the
pasha comprehend that he has a direct and tangible interest in at least preventing the continuance of the barbarity which has recently
been in so many instances committed; and if the European residents in Egypt were to join in a representation on the subject, there
can scarcely be a doubt that it would have the desired effect. In the year 1829, M. Champollion, whilst on the eve of quitting
Egypt, transmitted to the viceroy a Note “ pour la conservation des Monumens de PEgypte,” in which the conduct of his agents
was very pointedly denounced, the extent of the havoc committed by them clearly detailed, and the precautions necessary To be
adopted in order to arrest the progress of the evit distinctly specified; but this representation being unsupported, and many of the
collectors ot antiquities at Alexandria and Cairo secretly encouraging the dilapidations complained of, in the despicable view of giving
a factitious value to their collections, it produced no sensible effect, and the work of destruction has since gone on with but little in¬
terruption. Accordingly, some of the finest monuments of ancient Egyptian civilization, which had outlasted the casualties of forty
centuries, and the ravages of five conquests, have lately perished by the hands of destroyers more barbarous and unsparing than
either the wild Persians of Cambyses or the fanatical Arabs of Amru.
Among the Europeans who visit Egypt there is annually a great number who, not being attracted thither by any commercial pur¬
suit, are only actuated by a desire to contemplate on the spot the remains of ancient splendour and renown, and to examine for them¬
selves the vestiges of the first form of civilization of which anyr trace has descended to modern times; and as these persons may now,
under the protection of the viceroy’s vigorous government, pursue their inquiries in perfect safety, it is obvious that their sojourn
in the different provinces of Egypt and Nubia must entirely depend on the monuments which are scattered along both banks of the
Nile, and that whilst science and literature may be enriched by their observations, the country itself must also be benefited by their
personal expenditure, whether disbursed in the employment of labour to clear out monuments, in satisfying an active curiosity, or in
the acquisition of divers products of ancient art- In short, as a large amount of capital is annually imported into Egypt by travellers of
this description, it is clear that the government of the viceroy, if it consulted the real interest of the country, would devote its atten-
tion to the conservation of those edifices and monuments which form the principal, if not the sole objects for which such travels are
undertaken by a crowd of individuals belonging to the most distinguished classes of European society ; that, so far from permitting
wanton and gratuitous destruction, it would adopt measures to arrest even the progress of ordinary decay ; and that its subordinate
functionaries, instead of being the destroyers, would be made the protectors and defenders of the Cyclopian works of ancient days.
The actual case, however, is far different from this ; and learned Europe now bitterly deplores the entire destruction of a crowd of
ancient monuments, the demolition of which has been so complete that not the least trace of them remains.
But, to come to particulars, amongst those which have been recently destroyed are, first, all the monuments of Scheik-Abadeh,
of which there now only exist some granite columns, that, from their dimensions and hardness, appear to have defied the efforts of
the destroyers; secondly, the temple of Aschmunein, one of the finest monuments of Egypt; thirdly, the temple of Kau-el-Kebir,
which the Nile had partially undermined, thereby facilitating the work of demolition; fourthly, a temple to the north of the town of
Esneh ; fifthly, a temple opposite Esneh, on the right bank of the river; sixthly, three temples at El-Kab or El-Eitz; and, seventhly,
two temples in the island opposite Assouan, the ancient Syene', called Geziret-Assouan. From this enumeration, then, embracing
only a short period, and excluding the destruction of the last two years, it appears that thirteen or fourteen ancient monuments,
three of which in particular were of the very highest interest to travellers and learned men, have been entirely demolished. But the
positive loss, great as it is, falls far short of that with which the learned world is threatened from the progress of this systematic dilapida¬
tion, which, if it continues to advance in a similar ratio, will in ten years hence level with the ground the principal edifices and monu¬
ments of Egypt and Nubia. We are not without hopes, however, that the viceroy may be induced to interpose his authority in order to
arrest these deplorable devastations. M. Champollion laid before him a catalogue raisonne of the monuments both of Egypt and Nubia,
at the same time indicating the means proper to be adopted for their future preservation ; and other individuals of weight will, we
rust, exert their influence with Mehemmed Ali in order to persuade him to take the necessary steps for accomplishing the object de¬
sired. If his highness would only take upon himself the character of conservator of
Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous,
, Of which the very ruins are tremendous,
e would entitle himself to the gratitude of all Europe, at the same time that he advanced his own real interest and glory ; for, be¬
sides the advantages to which we have already alluded, it ought to be kept in view that the temples, palaces, tombs, and all other
uds of monuments, which still attest the power and greatness of the Pharaohs and the Ptolemies, are at the same time the noblest
ornaments of modern Egypt.
552
Egypt.
EGYPT.
emperor Nero is called the good genius of the world, and
the winged globe hovering over the inscription seems
to allude to this piece of flattery; but the Knuphis or
Knumis of the amulets of later times is a serpent or a
dragon raising itself on its tail, having rays about its head,
and surrounded with stars. The name of Agathodsemon
is inserted by Manetho amongst the fabulous kings, im¬
mediately before Kronos.
The same authority attributes a still higher antiquity
to Phtha, whom it places as the first of the fabulous
kings of Egypt; he is universally considered as the great
ancestor of the other deities, and is especially called the
father of the sun, as we learn from various chronologers,
as well as from Callisthenes and others. He seems to
have been a personification of the creative, and perhaps
of the generative power, designated under the character
of a workman or an architect. He is sometimes compar¬
ed to Prometheus, as the discoverer of fire ; but Hephaes¬
tus or Vulcan is his common representative in the Greek
and Homan mythology; although it must always be re¬
membered, that, between the imaginary personages of dif¬
ferent nations the identity must naturally be accidental and
imperfect. Cicero and Eusebius mention Phtha as the
same with Vulcan; and Eratosthenes, on the authority of
the Egyptian priests, interprets moephtha, Philephces-
tus or loving Vulcan, which in Coptic would be exactly
expressed by maiphthah, as maison is loving a brother.
Mr Akerblad quotes from a Coptic sermon of Sinnethi
the words, “ Hephaestus, who is Phtah ;” and this remark¬
able passage proves, as he justly observes, how much Ja-
blonsky was mistaken in his orthography of Phthash, on
which he founded one of his fanciful etymologies.
Neith, the Minerva of the Egyptians, had a cele¬
brated temple at Sa'is, in which was the well-known in¬
scription respecting the goddess of universal nature, whose
offspring, in the translation of the inscription, as preserv¬
ed by Proclus, is said to be the sun. It seems therefore
natural to call Neith the wife of Phtha: as Plato also ob¬
serves that arts were invented by Vulcan and his wife;
but we are told that Neith is to be considered as both
male and female. The name is mentioned by Plato as
synonymous with Minerva, and Eratosthenes explains
Nitocris, Minerva the victorious.
Re, or Phre, the Sun, otherwise called On, is men¬
tioned by Manetho as the son of Vulcan. He married
Rhea, and having discovered her infidelity, condemned
her to bear no offspring on any day or any night of the
whole three hundred and sixty that then composed the
year. Plutarch says that he was represented by a young
child rising out of a lotus; but this emblem is more attri¬
butable to Horns, who is another of the forms of the so¬
lar power, and is sometimes improperly confounded with
Apollo. The word Phre is often found in Greek letters
on the amulets, accompanied by emblems of the sun.
Rhea, the wife of the Sun, may perhaps have derived
her name from Re ; she appears to be identical with the
Urania, or female Heaven, of Horus Apollo, the Coptic
phe being feminine. Jablonsky makes Rhea the same
with Athor or Hathor, but he adduces no sufficient autho¬
rity for the opinion. She is said to have been familiar both
with Kronos and with Thoth; and Diodorus calls her the
wife and sister of Kronos.
Ion, the Moon. Plutarch tells us that Hermes play¬
ed at dice with the Moon, probably as presiding over the
calendar, in order to gain a time for the birth of Rhea’s
children, and to evade her husband’s curse; so that the
Moon must be considered as one of the oldest deities.
The Egyptian name being masculine, the Moon can scarce¬
ly have been worshipped as a goddess; and w hatever re¬
lation may have been imagined to exist between Isis and
the lunar influence, the two deities were certainly not Egyj
identical. V^Y'
Apopis, a brother of the Sun, is mentioned by Plutarch
as having made war against Jove. But the Jupiter of
Manetho stands much lower on the list, the order being
Vulcan, the Sun, Agathodaemon, Kronos, Osiris with Isis,
Typhon, Horus, Ares, Anubis, Hercules, Apollo, Ammon,
Tithoes, Sosus, and Jupiter; the last nine being denomi¬
nated semigods.
Kronos, or Saturn, is only known from his connection
with Rhea, the wife of the Sun. His character probably bore
some relation to a personification of Time and Antiquity.
Thoth, Theuth, or Taaut, one of the most celebrat¬
ed of the Egyptian deities, is sufficiently identified with
Hermes or Mercury, by the testimony of a variety of au¬
thors. Diodorus mentions him as the scribe or secretarjq
and privy counsellor of Osiris. He is generally consider¬
ed as the inventor of letters and of the fine arts. Plu¬
tarch and Horus Apollo observe that he was typified by the
ibis, which was sacred to him. Plutarch also says that he
had one arm shorter than the other.
Osiris, properly Oshiri or Ousirei, meaning in Coptic
energetic or active, which is precisely one of Plutarch’s in¬
terpretations of the name, was the deity most universally
adored throughout Egypt, and possessing the principal at¬
tributes of Bacchus, Adonis, and Pluto ; besides being often
compared to the Nile, and sometimes to the Sun. He was
genealogically considered as the son of the Sun and of
Rhea; and at his birth, on the first of the supplementary
days of the calendar, a voice was heard, proclaiming that he
wras Lord of all. He married his sister Isis, and, according
to Diodorus, left her to govern his kingdom during his mi¬
litary expeditions, resembling those of Bacchus, being ac¬
companied by Pan, Hercules, and Macedon, having a ship
which w'as the*prototype of the Argo of the Greeks, with
Canopus for his pilot. He was at last treacherously shut
up alive in a coffin by Typhon, aided by seventy-two con¬
spirators, together with an Ethiopian queen Aso. The
coffin, being thrown into the Nile, wras carried to one of
its mouths, and there left on shore : it became afterwards
inclosed in the trunk of an erica, which grew round it,
and which constituted one of the columns of King Mal-
cander’s palace; but the body escaped from its confine¬
ment, and was found by Typhon as he was hunting; he
divided it into fourteen parts, which were afterwards found
scattered in different places by Isis, and buried separately.
Osiris, however, returned from the dead to console his
wife, and to conduct the education of his son Horus.
There was a mystery in his identification with Pluto, of
which the old authors affect to speak with reverence.
His dress was generally white, but sometimes black. He
is represented as carrying a whip, which is supposed to be
intended for the punishment of Typhon. Plutarch says
that he is typified by a hawk, and denoted hieroglyphi-
cally by an eye and a sceptre.
Arueris, a twin-brother of Osiris, and, like him, the
son of the Sun and of Rhea, was born on the second sup¬
plementary day. He is also called the elder Horus, and
is considered by some of the Greeks as their Apollo.
Typhon, the spurious son of Rhea and Kronos, was
born on the third supplementary day, and married his
sister Nephthe. He is characterized by a red colour, and
is supposed to have been a personification of the effects
of scorching heat. He is also compared to the earths
shadow, as causing eclipses of the moon. The celestial
habitation of his soul was supposed to be in the Great
Bear. According to Plutarch, his Egyptian names were
Seth, Bebon, or Babyn, and Smy ; the word Typhon being
apparently of Greek origin.
Isis, Isi, or Esi, was supposed to be the offspring of
EGYPT.
] pt. Thoth and Rhea, born on the fourth supplementary day;
- she was also sometimes called the daughter of Prometheus.
She is generally compared to Ceres, or the Earth, and is
made the deity of fertility and of maternal love. She was
also esteemed analogous to Proserpine, as the queen of
the lower regions, and the wife of Pluto; thus she is call¬
ed by Aristides “ the saviour and conductress of souls
and, in some Homan inscriptions copied by Zoega, she
is made “ the guardian of the ashes of the dead.” Horus
Apollo says that her head was sometimes adorned with
vultures’ plumes; but Herodotus tells us that she was
represented with cow’s horns, like lo ; other authors how¬
ever say that, after Horus, in revenge for his father’s
death, had made Typhon prisoner, Isis imprudently set
him at liberty, and Horus, therefore, tore the regal dia¬
dem from her brow, but that Thoth or Hermes substi¬
tuted for it a helmet made of a bullock’s head. Her soul
was supposed to havejts residence in the Dog Star, the
Sothis of the Egyptians. Her dress was of many colours.
She is sometimes compared to the moon; but this idea
appears to be foreign to the oldest mythology, as well as
to the genius of the Egyptian language. She has also
been somewhat arbitrarily confounded with Minerva by
Plutarch, in speaking of the inscription of the temple of
Sais, which confessedly related to the Egyptian Minerva,
who was indisputably the goddess Neith ; although in con¬
sequence of this inattention, the “ robe” mentioned in
the inscription has been called the “ robe of Isis,” and the
expression has been almost proverbially employed as de¬
noting mystery and secrecy.
Nephthe, rather than Nephthys, the spurious daughter
of Rhea and Kronos, was born on the fifth supplementary
day. She is sometimes called by the Greeks Teleute, that
is, consummation ; and sometimes Venus and Victory. She
is mentioned by Firmicus as the sister and companion of
Isis; and Plutarch says that the face of Isis was sometimes
represented on the sistrum, andsometimesthat of Nephthe.
Thueris, a concubine of Typhon, is only noticed as
having been pursued, on her way to visit Horus, by a
huge snake, which was killed by Horus’ people.
Bebon, who is sometimes confounded with Typhon, is
also mentioned as one of his companions.
Ares is inserted among the fabulous kings of Manetho.
Vettius Valens says that the planet Mars was called by
the Egyptians Artes; and Cedrenus makes the name JEr-
tosi. Herodotus tells us that Mars was worshipped at Pa-
premis.
Somus, or Shorn, was probably the personage called the
Egyptian Hercules by the Greek writers. Thus, the great
Etymologicon has Chon for this deity, and Eratosthenes
writes his name Sem, both of these having been probably
intended to express the Coptic jom or sjom, strength,
which seems sometimes to have been written jem or
sjem. Diodorus mentions this Hercules as a general of
Osiris, whom he left behind with Isis. He is said to have
been killed by Typhon, but to have been revived by the
smell of a quail. Herodotus asserts that the word Hera¬
cles is originally Egyptian ; but in this, as in many other
instances, his interpreters must have misinformed him,
perhaps from misunderstanding his questions; for his Egyp¬
tian etymologies are almost uniformly erroneous. Thus,
when the priests had shown him, or rather Hecataeus,
whose original story he seems to have copied and disfi¬
gured, the statues of three hundred and forty-one suc¬
cessive generations of high priests, who were neither gods
nor heroes, but each a piromis, the son of piromis, he
tells us that piromis means beautiful and brave ; whilst, in
fact, the literal sense of piromi, in the modern Coptic of
Cower Egypt, which is simply a man, restores to the obser¬
vation of the priests an intelligible and consistent sense.
VOL. VIII.
553
Buto, the nurse of Horus and of Bubastis, compared to Egypt,
the Latona of the Greeks, must be considered as anterior
to the birth of Horus.
Horus, Hor, Or, or Horsiesi, was the son of Isis and
Osiris. Jablonsky observes that a king Ur is mentioned
by Manetho, and that Or was in later times the name of
a certain monk, and Taor of a nun ; the Egyptians have
always, as Lucian informs us, had a propensity to adopt
the names of their deities for their own, so that they may
have become current in families without any immediate
reference to their origin. Akerblad also found Horsiesi
as an Egyptian name, and conjectured, with much pro¬
bability, that it originally meant Horus the son of Isis,
si being an abridgment of sheri, as it appears also to
have been in the name of Siphoas, or rather Siphthas,
which is explained by Eratosthenes, the son of Vulcan.
Horus is often confounded with the Sun, perhaps from the
resemblance of his name to the Hebrew aor, light; whilst
Suidas makes him rather analogous to Priapus. He was
nursed by Buto, in the city Butus. The most remarka¬
ble exploit of his youthful days was the pursuit and con¬
quest of Typhon, in revenge for his father’s death. The
constellation Orion was supposed to be the habitation of
his soul. His dress was white. Damascius, as copied by
Photius, informs us that he was represented with his finger
on his mouth.
Harpocrates was a son of Osiris, from a visit paid to
Isis after his death. He was also born prematurely, and
was weak in his lower limbs. Eratosthenes seems to have
called him Phrucrates ; and phrokhrat, in Coptic, means
dried or withered feet.
Anubis was the offspring of Osiris and Nephthe, whom
he had mistaken for Isis, and who exposed the child; but
Isis recovered him, and he became her faithful attendant.
He was considered as belonging both to the upper and
the lower worlds, and was therefore compared to the hori¬
zon ; and he seems to have been typified by a dog, or
figured with a dog’s head. He attended Osiris in his mili¬
tary expedition ; and he is sometimes erroneously con¬
founded with Mercury, and even with Saturn. A cock
was usually sacrificed to him ; and Pliny tells us that his
images were properly made of gold, in allusion to his
name; a remark which is amply explained by the Coptic
word nub, which still signifies gold.
Arsaphes is mentioned by Plutarch as a son of Isis;
but the same name is said to have been sometimes ap¬
plied to Osiris.
Athor, Hath&r, or Aihyr, was the Venus of the Egyp¬
tians, according to the Great Etymologicon. Herodotus
mentions a temple of Venus as Atarbechis, which might
be translated the city of Venus, baki in Coptic meaning
city; although Plutarch enumerates Athyri among the
different names of Isis. Strabo informs us that at Mo-
memphis a sacred cow was fed in honour of Venus.
Amun, ov Amoun, the Jupiter of the Egyptians, though
apparently a personage of much less importance than the
Greek and Roman Jupiter, was worshipped by the Am-
monians, under the form of a human figure with a ram’s
head. Hecataeus, as quoted by Plutarch, denies that this
term is the proper name of the deity, and observes, very
truly, that it is an Egyptian word meaning come, by which
the god was supplicated to appear. The word, however,
implies also glory, or splendour. If there was a more ap¬
propriate term for this deity, it may possibly, as Mr Aker¬
blad has observed, have been Ho, which was the Egyp¬
tian name of the city called by the Greeks Diospolis Parva.
It is remarkable that Manetho gives us a Zeus distinct
from Ammon, interposing Tithoes and Sosus as interme¬
diate kings.
Antaeus, Entes, or Mendes, is said to have been left
4 A
554
EGYPT.
Egypt.
by Osiris as a viceroy or lieutenant-governor, together
with Busiris, for the assistance of Isis during his absence.
He is generally identified with Pan, though Diodorus
mentions Pan as having accompanied Osiris on Ids expe¬
dition. At Mendes a goat was fed in honour of this deity,
and Plutarch seems to say that this goat was called Apis,
as well as the bull fed at Memphis. He was also generally
represented with the face and legs of a goat. Herodotus
calls him one of the eight gods, older than the twelve;
but Diodorus makes the eight senior gods of the Egyptians
the Sun, Kronos, Rhea, Ammon, Juno, Vulcan, Vesta, and
Mercury. Out of these, however, Juno and Vesta cannot
easily be identified in the Egyptian mythology.
Busnus, a name composed of B-Ousirei, or Ph-Ou-
sirei, that is, Osiris with a prefix, is only mentioned by
Diodorus as a colleague of Antaeus in his government.
Macedon, according to Diodorus, was a companion of
Osiris in his expedition.
Bubastis was a sister of Horus, preserved and nursed
with him by Buto in the city of Butus. She is compared
by various authors to Artemis or Diana ; Apuleius gives us
Bubasthis for the Egyptian name of the plant Artemisia;
and Bubastis is addressed in a Greek epigram in the place
of Diana, considered in her obstetrical capacity.
Sarapis, an ancient deity of the Greeks, was raised
into a more distinguished rank by the honours paid him,
as identical with Pluto, by Ptolemy Soter, who had found
an image of Pluto at Sinope, accompanied by Cerberus
and a dragon, which he brought to Alexandria, and esta¬
blished in the Serapeum there, as belonging to Sarapis.
Some of the ancients were however of opinion that the
word Sarapis meant only the “ feast of Apis;” and, in¬
deed, the Coptic shaiiri, which signifies to feast, agrees
tolerably well with this etymology, however improbable
the opinion founded on it may be esteemed. Sarapis is
also supposed to have had some relation to the regulation
of the Kilometer, which consisted of a column with dif¬
ferent heights marked on it, in the centre of a bath or
well, into which the water of the river was admitted.
Esmunus, or Shmun, was the eighth son of Sadycus
by one of the Titanides, and brother of the Dioscuri and
Cabiri; all of them names which seem as foreign to the
Egyptian mythology as the word shmun is familiar to
the language, meaning simply eight. He is, however, said
by Damascius to have been the Egyptian iEsculapius,
although Manetho gives the name Tosorthrus to this deity,
making him a son of Pan and Hephsestobule.
Paamyles is mentioned by Hesychius and Plutarch
as a Priapic deit}'; he is also made by Cratinus synony¬
mous with Socharis.
Tithrambo, according to Epiphanius, was analogous
to the Hecate of the Greeks.
Thermuthis, though generally understood to be only
a name of the sacred serpents worn in the crown of Isis,
is distinguished by Epiphanius as an independent deity;
and if we may judge by the signification of the Coptic
word, which means mortiferus, her character must have
been somewhat analogous to that of Nemesis.
Canopus, or Canobus, had a temple which is mentioned
by Dionysius Periegetes. The jars called Canopi were
often made porous, to serve as filters, and are mentioned
by Hesychius, in the word Stactice; but we are not ex¬
actly informed how far they were connected with this
deity.
Menuthis was the wife of Canopus, and seems to have
given her name to a village near the town Canopus, which
is mentioned by Stephanus. Epiphanius calls her Bume-
nathis.
Besa is only known from Ammianus Marcellinus, who
mentions an oracle dependent on him.
Proteus, though noticed as a king of no very high an- E T
tiquity, is said to have had a temple erected to him as '
a hero. Diodorus says that his Egyptian name was Cetes • T I
though Herodotus, as in other instances, fancies, from
some misapprehension, that the Greek and Egyptian
names were identical; and he observes that similar ho¬
nours were also paid to Perseus, another hero known to
the Greeks.
Nilus, whether as a king or merely as a river, ap¬
pears to have received divine honours. The Egyptian
name of the Nile seems to have been simply phiaro •
the Ethiopians call it Siris; the ameiri of Kircher’s vo¬
cabulary was probably a name of later date.
Apis, a bull consecrated to Osiris, was fed with di¬
vine honours at Memphis, the principal burying-place of
that deity, of whose soul he was considered as the liv¬
ing image. He was all over black, except some small
white spots, and some other particular marks not of com¬
mon occurrence. He was sometimes said to be the off¬
spring of a cow and a ray of moonlight.
Mneuis, or Mnyis, was also a black bull sacred to
Osiris, kept at Heliopolis; although some authors assert
that he was sacred to the sun. iElian mentions also a
black bull called Onuphis; and Macrobius speaks of a
bull named Pacis, or Bacis, which was kept at Hermon-
this. Eor the cow that w as consecrated to Venus it does
not appear that any particular name has been recorded.
SECTION VII.
OF THE EGYPTIAN CALENDAR.
Importance of the subject—Its connection with the system of
mythology—Authorities—Testimony of Eratosthenes Year
of the Greeks of Alexandria no other than the Julian year.—
Commencement of the ancient or moveable Egyptian year 
Sun’s place in the zodiacal signs.—Consequences deduced there¬
from—Conditions of determining the date of a monument from
the astronomical symbols—Zodiacs of Esneh and Benderah.
—Date of the latter—Form of the sign Libra in the zodiac of
Esneh—Explanation of the beetles in the zodiac of Denderah.
—No astronomical records of importance discovered, or perhaps
discoverable, in hieroglyphical literature The months of the
fixed or Alexandrian year.
From the mythology of Egypt we pass to the considera¬
tion of its calendar, which, besides being intimately con¬
nected with its system of religion, has often been a sub¬
ject of speculation both with critics and with astronomers.
The inquiry is no doubt in itself somew’hat intricate; but
the principal difficulties have arisen from the ignorance
or carelessness of the Greek authors who have written
on the Egyptian mythology. The Baron Alexander von
Humboldt and M. Jomard have displayed great learn¬
ing and research in collecting authorities on this subject;
and nothing is wanting to establish the propriety of their
acquiescence in the opinion of Petavius, except a little
less indulgence for the extreme inattention of Plutarch,
and a more marked deference to the important testimony
of Eratosthenes, a writer whose catalogue of the Egyp¬
tian kings has already been noticed as bearing intrinsic
marks of the authenticity of his information, and whose
competency, as an accomplished astronomer, to discuss the
regulation of the calendar, is of still greater notoriety.
Geminus, a Greek astronomer of the Augustan age, has
very distinctly stated that the later Greeks had been in
the habit of mentioning the Egyptian festivals as connected
with particular seasons of the year, in spite of the clearest
evidence that their mythological year consisted of 365
days only, and that their anniversary festivals must neces
sarily have passed in succession through every part of the
E G Y P T.
555
vpt natural year. “ It is a common and inveterate error
among the Greeks,” says Gerainus, “ to believe that the
' festival of Isis happens at the winter solstice. This was
indeed true a hundred and twenty years ago, but it is now
a month earlier ; and such a mistake betrays the grossest
ignorance of the Egyptian calendar. In former ages this
festival was celebrated not only as late as the winter sol¬
stice, but, at an earlier period of time, even at the sum¬
mer solstice ; as Eratosthenes expressly states in his Com¬
mentary upon the Octaeterides."1
The later inhabitants of Lower Egypt, and especially
the Greeks of Alexandria, had certainly a stationary as
well as a wandering year; but this was no other than the
Julian year, which was introduced here some little time
after its establishment in other parts of the Roman em¬
pire, and which was probably the only year ever em¬
ployed by the Coptic Christians, although it can scarcely
have been adopted at any time by the Pagan Egyptians.
The common opinion is, that the Julian calendar was es¬
tablished at Alexandria in the year twenty-five before
Christ, the first month Thoth then beginning on the 29th
of August, as the Coptic year continued to do ever after.
Thus Vansleb found, in the seventeenth century, that
Thoth began on the 8th of September new style, which
was the 29th of August old style. A passage of Theon,
in his Commentary on Ptolemy, would rather incline us to
fix on the 1st September for the beginning of the Alex¬
andrian year ; but the ecclesiastical authority is more di¬
rect, and it is confirmed by the present usage of the Abys¬
sinian church. The quadriennial intercalation of a sixth
supplementary day took place, according to the Abbe
Boyer, at the end of the second year after the Julian bis¬
sextile ; so that, in the year preceding the bissextile,^ the
first of Thoth happened on the 30th of August. From
these authorities we have no difficulty in ascertaining the
beginning of the ancient or moveable Egyptian year for
any earlier or later period ; reckoning both ways, for the
sake of simplicity, in Julian years.
B. C. 1500 2d Sept. O. S. ' B. C. 400 1st Dec.
1400 8th Aug. 300 6th Nov.
1300 14th July. 200 12th Oct.
1200 19th June. 100 17th Sept.
1100 25th May. B. of C. 23d August.
1000.30th April. 100 29th July.
900 5th April. 200 4th July.
800 11th March. 300 9th June.
700 16th Feb. 400 15th May.
600 21st Jan. 500 20th April.
500 26th Dec.
It is of importance, in the discussion of some repre¬
sentations of astronomical objects, to determine at what
time of the year the sun entered the respective signs,
according to the Egyptian calendar, or, more particular¬
ly, what was the sun’s place in the starry zodiac at the
commencement of the year for different periods of time.
Taking, then, 6h. 9m. 8s. for the excess of the sidereal
above the Egyptian year, we find that 1424 Julian years
were required* for a complete revolution of the sun’s place
on the first Thoth, and 119 for each sign. Now since,
about a century before the establishment of the Julian
calendar, the sun entered Libra on the 24th of Septem¬
ber, and since the Egyptian year began on that day, in
120 before Christ, it follows that Libra had been the first
constellation during the whole of the preceding century;
for, at this period, the beginning and end of the signs of
the ecliptic agreed very nearly with those of the corre¬
sponding constellations of the zodiac. The first constel¬
lation of the Egyptian year will therefore stand nearly
thus: '
From 1552 b. c. 484
to 1433 rig 365 f
1314 a 247 rq
1196 25 128 -TU
1077 n 9 ttg
958 » a. c. 110 a
840 ty’ 228 S5
722 x 347 n
603 -
We may take, for an example of an Egyptian date, that of
the Rosetta stone, in the ninth year of Ptolemy Epiphanes,
or 196 before Christ, when the Egyptian year must have
begun on the 11th of October; consequently the first of
the sixth month, Mechir, was the 9th of March, and the
18th of Mechir, which is made synonymous with the 4th
of Xanthicus, the 26th of March ; so that Xanthicus must
constantly have begun on the 22d of March, if the inter¬
calations were properly adjusted; and this agrees suffi¬
ciently well with Usher’s table of the Macedonian lunar
months, which may therefore be supposed to have been
generally employed by the Greeks in Egypt.
If we attempt to determine the date of a given monu¬
ment from astronomical symbols contained in it, we must
suppose that they represented the state of the heavens
with respect to the Egyptian year at the time in question.
Thus, in the zodiacs of the ruins at and near Esneh or La-
topolis, the constellation Pisces seems to be the first sign,
as it really was, about 800 before Christ, or in the time of
Bocchoris and of the Ethiopian dynasty. It is, however,
equally possible that Virgo may have been intended for the
first sign, and this would answer either to the century im¬
mediately preceding the birth of Christ, or to a period four¬
teen centuries earlier. The zodiac at Denderah appears to
begin with Leo; and unless we suppose its antiquity ex¬
travagantly great, we must refer it to the time of Tibe¬
rius, as Visconti has indeed already remarked. Mr Ha¬
milton has confirmed this opinion by the collateral evi¬
dence of inscriptions in honour of the Roman emperors;
although, with respect to the difference of time implied
by the difference of a sign in the beginning of the zodi¬
acs, he is rather inclined to adopt the sentiments of La-
lande, who refers it to the effect of the precession of the
equinoxes ; imagining, without any kind of authority, that
the division of the signs corresponded to the period of the
solstices, a period which never constituted a marked fea¬
ture in the Egyptian calendar.
In the zodiac at Esneh the sign Libra is denoted, as is
usual in the Roman representations, by a female holding
the balance; whilst the Egyptian constellation, in most
other instances, is without the female. Servius, however,
informs us that the Romans borrowed this sign from the
Egyptians, the Greek astronomers having considered it as
a part of the Scorpion; so that there is no reason to ques¬
tion the antiquity of the ceiling, from the occurrence of
this constellation in it. The sign Cancer, both here and
elsewhere, has eight feet, and it has certainly no connec¬
tion with the figure of the sacred beetle, which occurs
many thousands of times in other places, but never with
more than six feet.
The beetles in the zodiac of Denderah have a very dif¬
ferent signification, and the whole representation is much
more of a mythological than of an astronomical nature.
The beetle near the beginning of the zodiac is the well-
known symbol of generation, and he is in the act of de¬
positing his globe. On the opposite side, at the end of the
Egypt.
1 Geminus in Petavii Uranologia. Par. 1630, f. p. 33.
556
Egypt,
EGYPT.
zodiac, is the head of Isis, with her name, as newly born;
^ both the long female figures are appropriate representa¬
tions of the mother; and the zodiac between them ex¬
presses the “ revolving year” which elapsed between the
two periods. This explanation is completely confirmed
by a similar representation of two female figures on the
ceiling of the first tomb of the kings at Biban-el-Molouk;
one with the beetle, and the other with the name of the
personage just born. Between them, instead of the zodiac,
are two tablets, divided into 270 squares, or rectangles,
corresponding to the number of days in nine Egyptian
months, with ten circles placed at equal distances, proba¬
bly intended to represent full moons, and relating to the
ten incomplete lunations to which these days must belong.
The number 270 is too remarkable to be supposed to have
been introduced by mere accident; and when the argu¬
ment is considered as a confirmation of other evidence, in
itself sufficiently convincing, the whole must be allowed
to be fully conclusive.
There is indeed little chance of our discovering any as¬
tronomical records of importance among the profusion of
hieroglyphical literature which is still in existence. Hero¬
dotus tells us that the Greeks derived their acquaintance
with astronomy from the Babylonians, though they were
supposed to have learned the elements of geometry from
the Egyptians ; and it is well known that Ptolemy the as¬
tronomer, who lived at Alexandria, and who, as well as
Eratosthenes before him, must have had easy access to
all the knowledge of the Egyptian priests, refers to no
Egyptian observations, but employs the Babylonian re¬
cords of eclipses which had happened a few centuries be¬
fore his time; records which, as Pliny informs us, were
preserved on a particular kind of bricks, the same, per¬
haps, which have been brought to Europe in our own times,
as undeciphered specimens of the nail, or arrow-headed
character. But a certain degree of geometrical knowledge
can scarcely be denied to a people who had made very
considerable progress in sculpture and architecture, at a
time when all Europe was immersed in the profoundest
barbarism, and who must necessarily have had frequent
occasion for the employment of agrarian measurements.
I he Egyptians must also have been good practical che¬
mists ; so far, at least, as was required for the prepara¬
tion of brilliant, diversified, and durable pigments; and
even their devotion to alchemy, which derives its name
from having been the secret or dark study of Egypt, must
have led them to make some little progress in experimen¬
tal philosophy, although neither their manufacturers nor
their magicians could have any right to boast of solid ac¬
quirements in genuine science.
-The months of the fixed or Alexandrian year were
these:—
1. Thoth, began 29th August, O. S.
2. Paophi, 28th September.
3. Hathor, Athor, or Athyr, 28th October.
4. Choiak, 27th November.
5. Tobi, 27th December.
6. Mechir, 26th January.
7. Phamenoth, 25th February.
8. Pharmuthi, 27th March.
9. Pashon, 26th April.
10. Paoni, 26th May.
11. Epiphi, 25th June.
12. Mesori, 25th July.
The years are commonly dated from the era of the mar¬
tyrs of Diocletian, beginning in the autumn of 284.1
SECTION VIII.
REMARKS ON VARIOUS PUBLICATIONS RELATING TO
EGYPT.
General observations—French national work Hamilton’s Egyp.
tiaca—Travelsof Ali Bey, or Sen or Badia Legh’s Narrative-
Captain Light’s Travels—Mr Walpole’s Collection of Memoirs
relating to European and Asiatic Turkey Journalof Dr Hume.
—Colonel Leake’s Map of Egypt—Quarterly Review Cap!
tain Caviglia; his labours and researches—Mr Belzoni; his dis¬
coveries in the catacombs at Biban-el-Molouk, and in the Py¬
ramid of Cephrenes—Mr Salt and Mr Bankes Sheikh Ibra¬
him (Burckhardt); his travels and researches in Nubia Mr
Cailliaud—Discovery of Berenice—The Egyptian Society 
Its collection of hieroglyphics—Trilingual or trigrammatic
stone of Rosetta—First attempts made to decipher its triple
inscription—Reference to the article Hieroglyphics.
By reason of the very early progress which the inhabit¬
ants of Egypt had made in the arts of civilized life, the
antiquities and literature of that country have always been
considered as objects of the highest interest and curiosi¬
ty, though involved in inextricable obscurity; but we have
acquired, in the course of the last thirty years, and are
still continuing to acquire, such additional information
respecting them as promises, if completely confirmed by
future researches, to establish the whole of our knowledge
respecting this marvellous country on a new and a sure
foundation.
The labours of the French Institute at Cairo have been
communicated to the public in a work of unexampled
splendour and magnificence, the Description de VEgypte,
which was some time ago completed at the cost of the go¬
vernment. Many of the monuments brought by the Bri¬
tish army to England have also been accurately and ele¬
gantly engraved in this country; and a variety of travel¬
lers of different nations have published accounts of their
numerous observations and discoveries made in Egypt and
the neighbouring countries.
The first in order of these that it will be necessary to
notice is Mr William Hamilton’s volume, entitled Remarks
on several parts of Turkey, Part i. JEyyptiaca. London,
1809, 4to. It appears that the power of the French in
Egypt having terminated in September 1801, the tem¬
porary possession of the country was at first divided be¬
tween the Turks, the Mamlukes, the Arabs, and the Eng¬
lish, a circumstance which afforded some convenience to
a European traveller, although it had no tendency to en¬
large the sphere of his observations. In the beginning of
October, Captain Leake and Lieutenant Hayes were ap¬
pointed by General Hutchinson to make a general survey
of Egypt, and of the country beyond it, if it should be
found practicable to penetrate farther south. Mr Hamil¬
ton, who had resided at the British head-quarters for the
purpose of corresponding with Lord Elgin upon the events
of the war, was now at liberty to join these gentlemen in
their expedition; and the various information which, with
%
, „ ^i^°r v£luabJ? information, laboriously collected and clearly digested, respecting the peculiarities of the form of year used
. ? • a, cieil "tOT ians> more especially as regards the influence which these peculiarities are supposed to have exercised on
’ ca^cu!f.ting.and recording the dates of their civil history ; and also for some very original and ingenious speculations
concerning the primitive form and probable origin of the Egyptian calendar, astrological as well as civil, together with an exaraina-
r i 16 an c*rciJins^ances °f die first introduction of the zodiac into Greece ; the reader may consult A Dissertation on the
a m ar an aii me of ncient -jgypt, by W, Mure, Esq.; a work which, from the learning and research embodied in it, no less than
from the novelty of some of the speculative views it unfolds, will amply repay the most attentive perusal
EGYPT.
557
nt. their assistance, he collected, respecting the remains of yond Syene, and three hundred and sixty short of Meroe. Egypt,
the ancient Egyptian magnificence, bears ample testimony In the seventh century, the Nubians seem nominally to v—'V''-
to the good taste, as well as to the industry and accuracy have been made tributary to the Arabs ; but they remain-
of the whole party. On account, however, of the disturb- ed in fact almost wholly independent of them in their go-
ed state of the country, acd of a multitude of other diffi- vernment, and their religion was entirely subjected to the
culties, both moral and physical, they were unable to pro- spiritual direction of the patriarchs of Alexandria. Early
ceed farther south than a few hours’ journey beyond Sy- in the tenth century the Nubians attacked Syene, not as
ene, to a village called Debod, opposite to which they ob- rebels, but as legitimate enemies. They were, however, re¬
served the ruins of Barembre, the Parembole of the an- pulsed soon afterwards. A little later we find that George,
cients, among which they found a Greek dedication of king of Nubia, was a mediator between the king of Abys-
a temple to Isis by Ptolemy Philometor and his queen, sinia and the patriarch, whom he persuaded to send bishops
They also collected a variety of inscriptions from other from Alexandria into Ethiopia. In the eleventh century,
parts of Egypt, to which they added drawings and de- Solomon, king of Nubia, abdicated in favour of his nephew
scriptions of the remains of the buildings to which they George, and retired to a monastery, within three days’
belonged; and, at Alexandria in particular, Mr Hamil- journey of Syene; whence he was brought by the Sara-
ton was enabled, in company with some other gentlemen, cens to Cairo, and there treated with great attention as
by examining the inscription on Pompey’s pillar in differ- a sort of state prisoner. It is also said that a king Cyriac
ent positions of the sun, to ascertain the name of Diode- once raised a hundred thousand men to assist the Chris¬
tian as that of the emperor to whom it was dedicated, and tians against the Mussulmen ; but the magnitude of the
also to detect some traces of the name of Pompeius, who number renders the whole story more than doubtful. We
has been shown by M. Quatremere to have been a pre- learn from Hartmann’s notes on Edrisi, that Abulfeda in
feet of Egypt under that emperor. It is to be regretted, the fourteenth century, and Bakoui in the fifteenth, spoke
however, that the Coptic inscriptions, which are some- of the Nubians as still Christians; and it seems highly
times found mixed with the Greek, have not been more probable that they continued to exercise their religion till
generally copied by travellers. about the time of Sultan Selim in the beginning of the
& Senor Badia, a Spaniard, who is supposed to have been sixteenth century, if not still later ; for Vansleb, who was
sent into the East on the business of the French govern- at Siout in 1673, tells us that the churches were then still
ment, published two volumes of his Travels, under the entire, though they were shut up, Christianity having be-
name of Ali Bey. They embody some documents relat- come completely extinct for want of pastors. He gives
ing to the recent history and present state of Egypt, but us the names of seventeen bishoprics, which had consti-
contain very little information respecting its antiquities. tuted three provinces: the first province he calls Maracu,
Mr Legh and Mr Smelt visited Egypt in 1812. They and attributes to it the bishoprics of Korta, Ibrim, Buco-
extended their tour as far as Ibrim, and observed in their ras, Dunkala or Dungala, Sai, lermus, and Scienhur;
way many remains of ancient buildings, some of which the second province seems to hold a middle place; and
were in perfect preservation ; but they were unable to in the third he mentions Soper as the capital ot the king-
attain the second Cataract, which was said to be three dom, without noticing Nuabah, which is the name given
days’ journey farther south. to the metropolis by the Arabic authors. D Herbelot,
Besides some other interesting antiquities which he who died in 1695, speaks of the patriarch still resident at
collected, Mr Legh obtained in the island of Elephantine Dongola, and appointed by the patriarch of Alexandria,
a few Thebaic manuscripts, written with a chalybeate ink At any rate, there can be little doubt that the “ King
on skins of leather, which he afterwards deposited in the John mentioned in the manuscripts of Gyishe as a Chris-
British Museum. They appear to be principally convey- tian must have been a king of Nubia, and rather a pre-
ances of estates, dated at Cyrshe or Gyrshe, a place fifty decessor ot the Mek of Dongola than a Greek emperor,
or sixty miles beyond Assouan or Syene; and, though whose authority was probably never acknowledged in
unimportant in themselves, they tend to illustrate the this country, and least of all when Egypt was in the pos-
history of the kingdom of Nubia in the middle ages. This session of the Arabians.' I he remains of the churches
kingdom seems to have been almost forgotten by some mentioned by Vansleb were observed in many paits of
late’travellers and geographers, although it was formerly Nubia, by Captain Light of the Royal Artillery, coveied
remarkable for having been, according to an old tradition, generally with paintings of scriptural subjects, and not
one of the first that embraced Christianity, even in the uncommonly appearing to have been originally built for
time of the Queen Candace, one of whose servants was pagan temples. At Dakke Captain Light found the name
baptized by St Philip,1 and who appears to have been one of Hermes inscribed as that of the deity to whom the
of the immediate successors of the Candace mentioned temple situated there must have been dedicated; and it
by Strabo as having attacked the province of Egypt, and will be interesting to inquire if any hieroglyphics can sti
having been conquered by Petronius in the time of Au- be found on this remarkable edifice, which will bear a
gustus. The kingdom of Nubia extended as far north as similar interpretation.* More recently Captain Light pub-
Syene, which continued to be the boundary of the Mus- lisheda separate volume of his Travels, London, 1818, 4to.
sulman power in the tenth century, and probably much Mr Walpole s collection contains also some older papers
later. To the south it originally comprehended Ethiopia, by Mr Davison, who was British consul at Algiers, and
its capital Meroe being placed in latitude 17°, on an accompanied Mr Wortley Montague to Egypt in 1763.
island in the Nile, or rather on a peninsula formed by its Mr Davison, as already stated, discovered in the Gieat
principal branches. Candace had also a palace at Napata, Pyramid a room before unknown, immediately over t le
which Pliny makes about five hundred Roman miles be- chamber which contains the sarcophagus ; and he descend-
* Strabo, boob xvii.; Pliny, book vi. chap. xxix.; Hist. Byzant vol. xxi.; Ancient Universal History, fob vol. vn.; Modern Uni-
vtrsal History, vol. i.; Vansleb. Hist, dc VEgl. d'Alexandrie, Par. 1G77, P- 2!); D’Herbelot, Bibl. Orient.; Narrative of a gurney m
Egypt, and the Country beyond the Cataracts, by Thomas Legh, M. P. 4to, Lond. 1816; Sepulchral Inscriptions from Nubia, Archmolo-
J Memoirs relating to European and Asiatic Turkey, edited by It. Walpole, M. A. 4to, Lond. 1817, P* 402. 4Go.
558
EGYPT.
Egypt, ed the three successive wells to the depth of a hundred
and fifty-five feet. He also described the catacombs of
Alexandria, which seem to have been principally employ¬
ed by the Greek inhabitants of that city. The same vo¬
lume contains a very interesting account of the customs
and manners of modern Egypt, from the journal of Dr
Hume.
A considerable addition has been made to our know¬
ledge of the geography of Egypt by the publication of
Lieutenant Colonel Leake’s accurate and elegant map of
that country, comprehending also a sketch of Nubia, as
far as the southern Cataract, which appears to be the limit
of the existing remains of antiquity. Besides the results
of his own personal survey, Colonel Leake has employed
the observations of the French astronomers for the deter¬
mination of the situation of the different places ; and, with
respect to the remoter parts, he had the advantage of con¬
sulting the manuscript papers of the lamented Mr Burck-
hardt, who unhappily fell a victim to a dysentery at Cairo
in October 1817, after having obtained, by a long resi¬
dence in the country under the name of Sheikh Ibrahim,
an intimate acquaintance with every thing that could have
tended to facilitate the further prosecution of his projected
expedition into parts of the continent still more remote.
Besides the ruins of Greek churches scattered throughout
this country, the principal points of Nubia, which are
remarked as exhibiting remains of still greater antiquity,
are the Parembole of the Itinerary of Antoninus near De¬
bod, and Tzitzi, now Klitzie, both of which had been vi¬
sited by Colonel Leake and Mr Hamilton; Kardassy or
Gartaas ; Taphis and Contra Taphis, now Tafa; Kalabshe,
the ancient Talmis; Merowan, the ancient Tutzis, near
Gyrshe; Pselcis, now Dakke and Corte, still Korti; Ma-
harraka, supposed to be the Hierosycaminon of the Itine¬
rary, and which may very possibly have been the Maracu
mentioned by Vansleb as an archbishopric; Seboua;
Hasseya; Derr; Ibrim, the Premnis of the ancients;
Ybsambul, perhaps the Aboccis, with its two temples, still
better known by the labours of the active and ingenious
Belzoni; Beyllany, or rather Fereyg; Serra, probably
Phthuris; Sukkoy, perhaps Cambusis; Samne, not impro¬
bably the Acina of Nero’s spies; Aamara, possibly Stady-
sis; and Soleb, not far short of the southernmost Cata¬
ract, where the author is disposed to place the Napata of
the ancients, in latitude about 19^°. This situation would
agree very well with the distances of Napata from Syene
and from Meroe; but it is impossible to admit that this
Cataract can be so far south as even 20°, consistently with
the testimony of other geographers respecting the lati¬
tudes of Mosho and Sukkot; and indeed the course of the
river is laid down more nearly north and south than the
description of Burckhardt requires.1
The Quarterly Review, in various numbers, afforded a
highly interesting and gratifying detail of the operations
and discoveries which had been conducted in Egypt by
several of our spirited and enterprising countrymen.
Amongst these Mr Bankes proceeded the farthest south
in the steps of Mr Burckhardt, and made collections and
drawings of a great number of striking remains of antiqui¬
ty ;2 and he sent home to this country a variety of statues
and bas reliefs, as well as large manuscripts on papyrus,
in the epistolographic or enchorial character. Mr Salt
was also indefatigable in his exertions, and he most for¬
tunately found an assistant of Herculean strength of body,
and of proportional energy of mind, in the person of Mr
Belzoni. The head called a young Memnon, now in the
British museum, which weighs eight or ten tons, and which
is one of the very finest specimens of Egyptian sculpture F
extant, was a joint present of Mr Salt and Mr Burckhardt - ,
and Mr Belzoni, as already stated, had the merit of having ' ^
conducted the very difficult operation of bringing it down
to the Nile. Mr Hamilton conjectured that it might have
belonged to the statue described by Philostratus as a
Memnon of great beauty;3 but the remaining fragment
of the hieroglyphical inscription agrees better with the
name of another sovereign, apparently of the same family,
who is represented in several other magnificent monu¬
ments at Thebes and elsewhere.
Captain Caviglia, the master of a mercantile vessel in
the Mediterranean, exerted himself with singular activity
and perseverance in examining the interior of the great
pyramid of Cheops. After having retraced the forgotten
steps of Mr Davison, he succeeded in pursuing the prin¬
cipal oblique passage two hundred feet farther downwards
than it w-as before practicable, and in discovering at this
point a communication with the well, which descends from
the floor of the upper chamber. This communication af¬
fording him a freer circulation of air, he was enabled to
proceed twenty-eight feet farther in the passage, when he
found that it opened into a spacious chamber, sixty-six
feet by twenty-seven, but of unequal height, immediately
under the centre of the pyramid, which Mr Salt supposes
to have been the place of the theca, or sarcophagus, men¬
tioned by Strabo as situated at the end of the oblique
passage, though at present no sarcophagus is to be found
in it. The floor is elevated thirty feet above the level of
the Nile, so that the water could never have flowed into
this part of the pyramid, to surround the tomb of Cheops,
as Herodotus imagined. Some passages leading out of
this chamber appear to terminate abruptly, without open¬
ing into any others. The dimensions of the upper cham¬
ber, which still contains a sarcophagus, are only thirty-five
and a half feet by seventeen and a quarter, and eighteen
and three fourths high.
Captain Caviglia having proceeded to examine a num¬
ber of detached mausoleums, more or less dilapidated, in
the neighbourhood of the pyramids, found their embellish¬
ments chiefly in the style of the Theban catacombs; and,
what is not a little remarkable, they sometimes contained
images too large to have been brought in through the
doors or wdndows. Some of the stones with sculptures
were placed upside down ; and it was conjectured that
these might possibly have been portions of the original
casing of the pyramids, which is said to have been sculp¬
tured, but which is now fallen down. His next under¬
taking w-as the very arduous task of digging away the
sand in front of the great Sphinx ; a share of the expenses
of this labour, which amounted to eight or nine hundred
pounds, being contributed by Mr Salt and some other
gentlemen. The body of the monster is principally form¬
ed out of the solid rock, and the paws are of masonry, ex¬
tending forwards fifty feet from the body; between them
were found several sculptured tablets, so arranged as to
constitute a small temple or chapel; and farther forwards
a square altar with horns, which seems to have been em¬
ployed for burnt offerings.
Mr Belzoni, after many fruitless efforts, succeeded, as
already mentioned, in discovering the entrance into the
second pyramid of Cephrenes, in which Herodotus had
asserted that there were no chambers. An Arabic in¬
scription testifies that the pyramid had once been open¬
ed in the presence of the “ Sultan Ali Mahomet the First,
Ugloch,” who may possibly have been the Ottoman em¬
peror, Mahomet the First, in the beginning of the fif*
1 Map of Egypt, two sheets, Lond. 1818.
2 Quarterly Review, No. 31.
3 Ibid. No. 36.
EGYPT.
t teenth century.1 Among the Theban catacombs Mr Bel-
zoni discovered six new tombs; the most remarkable of
which, with all its galleries, three hundred and nine feet
in length, he called the tomb of Apis, from having found
the mummy of a bullock in one of its chambers. In
another apartment was the magnificent sarcophagus of
white alabaster already mentioned ; and the whole exca¬
vation, sculptured and painted in the most finished style
of art, was found in the most perfect preservation. In
Nubia the spirit and perseverance with which the little
band of excavators pursued the attempt to penetrate into
the temple of Ybsambul were not less worthy of admira¬
tion. Mr Belzoni and his servant, accompanied only by Mr
Beechey, were abandoned on some futile pretence by the
Arab workmen whom they had employed, and were un¬
able to procure for many weeks any other food than dhur-
ra or millet. They had resolution enough, however, to pro¬
ceed with their enterprise as manual labourers, and they
were at last amply rewarded for their perseverance.. In
front of the temple there were four colossal statues, sixty
feet high, one of which had been thrown down; but it
was only after digging for three w'eeks, through a hun¬
dred and fifty feet of sand, that our adventurers succeed¬
ed in entering the temple, consisting of fourteen chambers
and a great hall, cut out of the solid rock, and ornament¬
ed with sculptures superior in point of execution to the
greater part of those which are found in Egypt; besides
eight colossal statues thirty feet high, which are placed in
the hall. Mr Belzoni also found at Thebes a colossal head
and arms, supposed to have belonged to a Horus ; and his
lady discovered, during his absence in Nubia, a fine statue
of white marble, supporting a ram’s head on its knees.
Though Burckhardt’s untimely end interrupted his far¬
ther progress in Africa, yet with respect to Nubia his ob¬
servations were complete, and he had himself prepared
his journals for publication, in a form which does equal
credit to his diligence and judgment in observation, and
to his candour and good taste in the simple and elegant
narration of that which he had observed.
It appears that the Nile, between the first and second
Cataracts, runs chiefly through a country of sandstone,
and is navigable throughout this extent; but at the Ca¬
taract of Wady Haifa, a little above A bsambul, the sand¬
stone terminates, and the district of granite and other
primitive rocks begins, extending a hundred miles farther
upwards; and in this space the course of the river is in¬
terrupted by frequent shallows and small falls. I he roar¬
ing of the fall at Wady Haifa may be heard at the dis¬
tance of a mile or two; but the part of the river that
falls is only about twenty yards over. There are, how¬
ever, three falls in succession, and the neighbouring scene¬
ry is very romantic. Immediately beyond this country
is Kolbe, the principal place in the district of Sukkot,
for there is no town of that name; then the island ^ay,
probably the Sai of Vansleb ; and four hundred and fifty
miles above Assouan, according to Mr Burckhardt s reck¬
oning, is Tinareh, in the district of Mahass, the farthest
point to which he penetrated, within fifteen or twenty
miles of the remotest Cataract, and a day and a halt s
journey only from Mosho by the shortest road. Ihe coun¬
try through which he passed was supposed to contain a
population not exceeding a hundred thousand, and govern¬
ed by three Kaishefs, who are brothers, and tributary to
Egypt, but inclined to favour the Mamlukes, who were
established in the neighbourhood of Dongola. At Ma¬
hass a series of more than twenty little kingdoms begins,
which extend to Sennaar. At Mosho begins the kingdom
of Dongola; and near the same place is the island of
Argo, a whole day’s journey in length, with a brick castle ^
in it. There are many other islands in the course of
the river through Dongola, which extends for five days’
journey. The country is celebrated for a very fine breed
of horses, like the Arabian, but much stronger, and fed,
as Bruce observed of the horses in the same neighbour¬
hood, on straw only. The city of Merawe, singularly re¬
sembling the ancient Meroe in name, is the metropolis of
the Sheygya Arabs, beyond Dongola, and is remarkable
for schools of high reputation, which are particularly cele¬
brated for their penmanship.
The languages spoken in Nubia are the Kensy and the
Nouba, the former of which was confined to the northern¬
most parts of the country. These languages somewhat
resemble each other, but they differ essentially from the
Arabic, although the people are supposed to be the de¬
scendants of Bedouin Arabs, who spread from the East in
the middle ages, with the exception of a few of the origi¬
nal inhabitants, who remain about Tafa and Serra, having-
become Mahommedans. But however this may be, it is
certain that the languages exhibit no traces whatever of
any dialect of the old Egyptian ; and this circumstance
affords a very strong argument in confirmation of the au¬
thor’s assertion, that the Christians had in general been
expelled from Nubia before the time of Sultan Selim ; the
three garrisons of Bosnian soldiers, whom this prince esta¬
blished in Assouan, Ibrim, and Say, having been sent by the
express invitation of one of the rival factions of Arabs, who
occupied the country, and remaining still distinct from the
rest of the population, and being governed by their own
Agas. We can only reconcile these facts with the testi¬
monies in favour of the existence of Christianity in Nubia
down to about the same time, by supposing that its ex¬
tinction must have been gradual, and that the Thebaic
language, and the ancient religion of the country, dwin¬
dled away by degrees, not for want of pastors only, but
from the hostility of the Arabian intruders.
A concise but clear and satisfactory description of the
various temples noticed in Colonel Leake s map, is insert¬
ed in the relation of Mr Burckhardt, who conjectures that
the order of their antiquity is nearly this: 1. Ybsambul;
2. Gyrshe ; 3. Derr ; 4. Samne ; 5. Ballyane ; G. Hasseya ;
7. Seboua ; 8. Aamara and Kalabshe ; 9. Dakke and Ma-
harraka; 10. Kardassy; 11. Merowau; 12. Debod; 13.
Korty ; and, 14. Tafa. The small temple at Ybsambul
has a head bearing a temple for the capital of its columns,
like those at Denderah, but with a lock of hair hanging
down on each side. The statues before the great temple,
which is supposed to have been dedicated to Osiris, are
of remarkably fine forms. In a small temple at Kalabshe
there are some good historical sculptures of a victory ob¬
tained over the southern countries beyond Meroe. But
the sculptures at Dakke Mr Burckhardt thinks superior to
any others of the Egyptian school, and such as might have
been considered as fit ornaments for a Grecian building.
In a small temple at Samne there is still an image with
the attributes of Osiris, and there are figures ot a Paa-
myles on the walls.
Mr Burckhardt has given several Greek inscriptions,
many of which had been copied by Captain Light a little
differently. One of these begins with the words “ This is
the homage of (Jaius Cassius Celer; not Vulsilius, as it
had been read from Captain Light’s manuscript. At Ma-
harraka, the writer of one inscription has very benevolent¬
ly included the reader in his petition for a blessing from
“ Isis, the goddess with ten thousand names, and from
559
Egypt.
1 Quarterly Review, No. 30, 37, 38.
the sun Serapis.” At Kardassy, an inscription dated un-
/ der the Philips, the successors of the Emperor Gordian,
records the munificence of Psentuaxis, who gave to the
temple “ twenty pieces of gold in his first priesthood, and
thirty in his second.” In fact, there is scarcely any trace
of the old Egyptian language to be found in any existing
monument, employed upon any other occasion than for
the most unimportant memorials of the most insignificant
personages.
Several years ago, an article appeared in one of the
French journals, announcing the discovery of a ruined
city situated a few leagues from the Red Sea, by a young
French traveller, M. Cailliaud, nearly in the latitude of
Assouan, and called by the Arabs Sekelle. It has still
many temples, palaces, and private houses standing, so that
it may in some respects be compared to Pompeii. The
architecture is Grecian, with some Egyptian ornaments;
and several inscriptions prove that it was built by the
Ptolemies, one of the temples having evidently been
dedicated to Berenice. The situation agrees sufficiently
well with that of the ancient city Berenice; but the city
may easily have been at some little distance from a har¬
bour bearing the same name; and no other town of any
magnitude seems to have existed in the neighbourhood.
It was through Berenice, according to Pliny, that the
principal trade of the Romans with India was conducted,
by means of caravans which reached the Nile at Coptos,
not far from the point at which the present shorter route
by Cosseir meets the river.
Whilst so much had been done abroad for the recovery
of the lost treasures of Egypt, it appears that no less
labour had been silently employed in pursuit of the in¬
vestigation at home ; and, partly with a view to perpetuate
the continuance of these efforts, an association was formed
in London, of which the first and immediate object w as
merely to insure the preservation, and to facilitate the
study, of all that remains of Egyptian literature, by mak¬
ing a collection of drawings of all the hieroglyphical in¬
scriptions in existence, and printing them lithographi-
cally, in a form most convenient for reference and exa¬
mination, under the title of Hieroglyphics, collected by the
Egyptian Society. The plates do credit to the mani¬
pulation of Mr Ackermann’s press, as well as to the ex¬
treme neatness and accuracy of the draughtsman who
was employed on them. They can scarcely be said to
have been published, as they were only distributed amongst
a limited number of subscribers; but as they were pre¬
sented to several public libraries in different parts of Eu¬
rope, they may be consulted by the general reader with¬
out difficulty.
In the midst of all the zeal and activity displayed by
our countrymen who had travelled or who were resident
in Egypt, it is much to be regretted that their attention
had not been turned to an object paramount to all the rest
in its importance for the substantial advancement of our
acquaintance with the ancient history and literature of
the country; that is, the recovery of the lost fragments
or of some of the duplicates of the trilingual, or rather tri-
grammatic stone of Rosetta; a monument which has
enabled us to obtain a general idea of the nature and sub¬
ject of any given hieroglyphical inscription, by pursuing
the investigations carried to an unexpected extent by the
discoverer Dr Young, whose interpretation was communi¬
cated to the Antiquarian Society by Mr Rouse Boughton,
together with copies of some fragments of manuscripts
which this gentleman had brought from Egypt.1 M. de
Sacy, and more especially Mr Akerblad, had made some
progress in identifying the sense of the several parts of Ef
the second or enchorial inscription of the stone; but they
had scarcely at all considered the sacred characters; and
it was left for British industry to convert to permanent
profit a monument which had before been a useless
though a glorious trophy of British valour.
It must be recollected that every analysis of an unknown
object of this nature must unavoidably proceed more or
less by the imperfect argumentation sometimes very pro¬
perly called a circle, but which, in such instances, may
be more aptly compared to a spiral, or to an algebraical
approximation ; since, by assuming certain incorrect sup¬
positions, not too remote from the truth, we may render
them, by means of a continual repetition of the calculation,
more and more accurate, until at length the error is ren¬
dered wholly inconsiderable ; and in this manner we often
satisfy the conditions of a problem which it would be im¬
practicable to solve by a more direct method. A process
thus tedious and laborious, however, loses the greater part
of its interest when the solution is obtained; and it is no
longer necessary to explain in detail every step through
which it has passed. The deciphering of the Rosetta
stone is fortunately in a great measure independent of any
hypothesis of this kind extraneous to itself; and the Greek
text affords at once the first approximation for beginning
the process. But, in order to extend the inquiry to other
objects, a variety of authorities must be compared and
appreciated. We must select from the Greek authors an
abstract of the religious superstitions and of the civil or¬
dinances of the Egyptians; and it will be necessary, in
making this selection, to have some regard to the results
which have been obtained from an examination of the
principal hieroglyphical monuments still extant, in order
that we may avoid the confusion which would be the ne¬
cessary consequence of adopting indiscriminately the whole
mass of contradictory matter, which various mythological
authors have collected or invented upon the subject; and
considering how absurdly and monstrously complicated the
Egyptian superstitions really were, it becomes absolutely
essential to separate that which is most fully established,
or most generally admitted, from the accidental or local
varieties which may have been exaggerated by different
authors into established usages of the whole nation, and
still more from those which have been the fanciful produc¬
tions of their own inventive faculties. Unfortunately, by
far the greater number of the existing monuments of
Egypt are of a mythological nature; so that their Pan¬
theon, or rather Pantherion, acquires an interest altogether
foreign to its real character, on account of the utility of a
general knowledge of the subject in developing the nature
of the language employed. The accounts which have
been preserved of the customs and civil ordinances of the
country are still more discordant than those which relate
to their deities, but they may yet in some instances be
illustrated from monuments which remain in existence.
Respecting the early history and chronology of Egypt, we
can do little more than appreciate the various degrees oi
plausibility of the different fables that have been related,
and the comparative credulity of the authors who have
appeared to believe in them ; for hitherto no hieroglyphi¬
cal records have been discovered, which can afford us
much assistance in this department of the investigation;
though it is by no means impossible that a continued series
of the sovereigns of Egypt, from the earliest times, may
have been chronicled in more than one of the innumerable
multitude of inscriptions hitherto uncopied and unex¬
amined. See the article Hieroglyphics.
1 Archceologia, vol. xviii. p. 61. Museum Criticism, No. vi. and vii.
E I D
n, ians EGYPTIANS, or Gypsies. See Gypsies.
EHINGEN, a bailiwick of the kingdom of Wirtemberg,
I£r- in the circle of the Danube. It extends over 143 square
w-*-' miles, comprehending two cities, two towns, and sixty-two
smaller places, with 21,157 inhabitants. The capital is
the city of the same name, situated on the Danube. It
contains 500 houses, and 2840 inhabitants, who spin cot¬
ton yarn by means of machinery, and prepare the dyes
for Turkey red. Long. 9. 51. 34. E. Lat. 48. 29. 36. N.
EHNINGEN, a city of the kingdom of Wirtemberg, in
the circle of the Black Forest, where the greatest markets
are held of any in the kingdom. It contains 4434 inha¬
bitants, who make ribbons, lace, handkerchiefs, and other
goods.
EHUD, the son of Gera, a Benjamite, a left-handed
man, who delivered Israel from the oppression of Eglon,
king of Moab, under whom they served for eighteen years.
This will be found recorded in the third chapter of Judges.
EIA, or Ey, in our old writers, is used to indicate an
island. Hence the names of places ending in ey denote
that they are islands. Thus, Ramsey, the isle of rams;
Shepey, the isle of sheep; and so of others.
Eia is also sometimes used for water; and hence the
names of places near waters or lakes sometimes terminate
in ey.
EIBENSTOCK, a city of the kingdom of Saxony, in
the circle of Erzgeberg, and bailiwick of Krottendorf. It
stands on the river Mulde, in a mining district, 1896
feet above the level of the sea, and contains 3440 inhabi¬
tants, employed chiefly in mining and preparing the me¬
tals ; but the females make a large quantity of thread
lace.
EICETiE, called also HEicETiE and HicETiE, were he¬
retics of'the seventh century, who made profession of the
monastic life. From, the passage in Exodus where Moses
and the children of Israel are said to have sung a song in
praise of the Lord, after they had safely passed the Red
Sea, the Eicetae concluded that, in order to praise God
aright, the introduction of singing and dancing was ne¬
cessary ; and as Mary the prophetess, sister of Moses and
Aaron, beat a drum on the same occasion, an example
which was followed by all the other women to express
their joy, the Eicetae, in order the better to imitate them,
enticed females to make profession of the monastic life, and
assist in their mirth.
EICHSTEDT, a bailiwick of the circle of the Regen,
in the kingdom of Bavaria. It was formerly under the
dominion of the Duke of Leuchtenberg, but has been me¬
diatised. It extends over 470 square miles, and compre¬
hends four cities, nine market-towns, a hundred and eleven
villages, and seventy hamlets, with 45,256 inhabitants. It
is a well-watered and well-cultivated district. The moun¬
tains contain iron, slates, and marble. It was given by
the late king to his son-in-law Eugene Beauharnois, and
was said to have yielded L.25,000 yearly. The capital is
a city of the same name, which stands in a narrow valley
on thq river Altmiihl. It is surrounded with walls, and
has a castle the residence of the prince, a cathedral, a
gymnasium, an orphan house, six churches, 900 houses,
and 5596 inhabitants, some of whom are employed in
manufacturing fine thin cloths and some other articles.
Long. 11. 6. 5. E. Lat. 48. 53. 30. N.
EIDER Duck. See Ornithology.
Eider Doiun, the down of the eider duck. The eider
duck plucks off the down from its breast for the purpose
of making its nest, which it continues to renew as often
as deprived of it, until its breast becomes quite bare.
In commerce this down is sold in balls about the size
of a man’s fist, and weighing from three to four pounds.
It is so remarkably fine and elastic, that if one of these
VOL. VIII.
E I S 561
balls be opened and cautiously held over a fire to expand, Eilau-
it will fill a quilt about five feet square. Supplies of it Prussian
are received chiefly from Norway, Iceland, and the Faroe JJ,
Islands, where the birds abound. There are two kinds of
it, sea-weed down and grass down. The former is the
heaviest, but not so easily cleaned as the other.
E1LAU-PRUSSIAN, or Eylau-Preussischen, a town
of the province of East Prussia, and governmentof Konigs-
berg. It contains a hundred and ninety-eight houses, and
1634 inhabitants. It is remarkable for the great battle
fought there on the 7th and 8th February 1807, between
the French and the united Russian and Prussian armies.
EILENBURG, a city of the Prussian province of Sax¬
ony, in the circle of Deletzsch. It is situated on an island
formed by the Mulda, is surrounded with walls, and con¬
tains 573 houses, and, with the military, 4545 inhabitants.
There are establishments for the printing of calico, and for
other manufactures.
EIMBECK, or Einbeck, a city of the province of Gru-
benhagen, in the kingdom of Hanover, at the foot of the
Hartz Mountains. It is walled, and contains 784 houses,
with 4995 inhabitants employed in various trades.
EINDHOVEN, a city of the province of North Brabant,
in the Netherlands. It stands at the junction of the rivers
Gender and Dommel, and contains 390 houses, and 2810
inhabitants. Long. 5. 23. 20. E. Lat. 51. 25.26. N. It is
the capital of a circle of the same name, divided into seven
cantons, which contain 85,066 inhabitants.
EINSHEIM, a bailiwick in the circle of the Neckar,
in the duchy of Baden, in Germany, comprehending one
city, sixteen villages, and five hamlets, with 14,370 inha¬
bitants ; the capital of which, of the same name, stands
on the river Elsenz, and has 186 houses, with 2358 inha¬
bitants,
EISENACH, a principality, forming a considerable part
of the grand duchy of Saxe-Weimar, in Germany. It ex¬
tends over 456 square miles, comprehending seven cities,
six market towns, 228 villages, 12,920 houses, and 65,549
inhabitants. It is a scattered principality, many portions
of which are surrounded by the territory of other sove¬
reigns. The city of Eisenach, the capital of the princi¬
pality, is situated on the river Nesse, at the foot of a range
of lofty hills, from the summit of which a fine view is ob¬
tained over a great part of Saxony. It contains 1490
houses and 8258 inhabitants. It is a place of active in¬
dustry in a great variety of manufactures, particularly
those of cotton and woollen. Near to it is the castle of
Wartburg, situated on a lofty rock, and celebrated as the
place of confinement of Martin Luther. Being on the
high road between Frankfort and Leipsic, it has a great
transit trade. It is in longitude 10. 13.51. east, and la¬
titude 50. 57. 7. north. Eisenach is also the capital of a
bailiwick of its own name, which comprehends one city,
one market-town, nineteen villages, and twelve hamlets,
with 17,325 inhabitants.
EISENBURG, a city of the principality of Altenburg,
in the grand duchy of Saxe-Gotha, in Germany. It is
situated on a remarkable elevation, is surrounded with
walls, and contains a ducal palace, three churches, 546
houses, and 4243 inhabitants, who make cotton goods, rib¬
bons, furniture, porcelain, leather, and other articles. It
is the capital of a bailiwick of the same name, with 13,000
inhabitants.
EISLEBEN, a city of the province of Prussian Saxony,
the capital of the circle of Mansfield. It is divided into
the old and the new city, is surrounded with walls, and
has several establishments for education, four churches,
957 houses, and 7100 inhabitants. It is celebrated as the
birth-place of Martin Luther, the house where he was
born being now used as a charity school. It is a place
562
E L A
E L B
Ejectment of considerable trade and manufacturing industry. Long.
jl. 11. 26. 5. E. Lat. 51. 53. 5. N.
^asticity. EJECTMENT, in English Law, a writ or action which
£avour ]essee for years, on his being ejected
or put out of his land before the expiration of his term,
either by the lessor or a stranger. It may also be brought
by the lessor against the lessee, for rent in arrears, or
holding over his term, and the like.
EKATERINOGRAD, a town and fortress of Asiatic
Russia, in the government of Caucasus, on the river Mulka
or Balk, which a little lower falls into the Terek. It is
the strongest place on the Caucasian line of posts, having
been founded in the year 1776; and it remained the capi¬
tal of the province of Caucasus, until it was constituted
a government in 1785. It is twenty-four miles north-west
of Mozdok.
EKRON, a city and government of the Philistines. It
fell by lot to the tribe of Judah, in the first division made
by Joshua, but it was afterwards given to the tribe of
Dan. It was situated very near the Mediterranean, be¬
tween Ashdod and Jamnia. Ekron was a powerful city,
and it does not appear from history that the Jews were
ever peaceable possessors of it. The idol Beelzebub was
principally adored at Ekron.
ELiEOTHESIUM, in Antiquity, the anointing room,
or place where those who were to wrestle or had bathed
anointed themselves. See Gymnasium.
ELAM, in Ancient Geography, a country frequently
mentioned in Scripture, and situated to the south-east of
Shinar. In the time of Daniel (viii. 2) Susiana seems to
have been part of that country ; and before the captivity
it does not appear that the Jews recognised Persia by
any other name. Elymse and Elymais are frequently
mentioned by the ancients. Ptolemy, although he makes
Elymais a province of Media, yet places the Elymae in
Susiana, and near to the sea ; but Stephanus supposes it to
have been part of Assyria, and Pliny and Josephus more
properly part of Persia, whose inhabitants, we are inform¬
ed by the latter, were descendants of the Elamites. The
best commentators agree that the Elamites were sprung
from Elam the son of Shem. It is" likewise allowed that
the most ancient amongst the inspired writers constantly
allude to Persia when they speak of Elam and the kingdom
of Elam.
ELAPHEBOLIA, in Grecian antiquity, a festival ob¬
served in honour of Diana the huntress. In the celebra¬
tion of this mystery a cake was made in the form of a deer
(tXafoj), and offered to the goddess. It owed its institu¬
tion to a notable circumstance. When the Phocians had
been severely beaten by the Thessalians, they resolved,
by the persuasion of one Deiphantus, to raise a pile of
combustible materials, and to burn their wives, children,
and effects, rather than submit to the enemy. This flam¬
ing resolution was unanimously approved of by the women,
who decreed Deiphantus a crown for his magnanimity.
But when every thing was prepared, and just before they
had fired the pile, they engaged their enemies, whom they
totally routed, and thus obtained a complete victory. In
commemoration of this unexpected success, the festival
was instituted, and observed with the greatest solemnity.
ELAPHEBOLIUM, in Grecian antiquity, the ninth
month of the Athenian year, answering to the latter part
of February and the beginning of March. It consisted of
thirty days, and took its name from the festival Elaphe-
bolia, observed in this month in honour of Diana the hunt¬
ress, as mentioned above.
ELASTIC, in Natural Philosophy, an appellation given
to all bodies endowed with the property of elasticity.
ELASTICITY, or Elastic Force, that property which
bodies possess of restoring themselves to their former
figure, after any force which has disturbed it is withdrawn. Elai
Elasticity is generally accounted for by the great law of II
attraction. Thus, when a hard body is struck or bent, so ®
that the component parts are moved a little from each J
other, but not so far as to overcome the power of the at¬
tractive force by which they cohere, they necessarily, on
the cessation of that external force, return to their former
state. All hard bodies are elastic, as steel, glass, and
ivory, and many soft ones, as caoutchouc, silk thread, &c.
The reniform bodies are all perfectly elastic. Liquids
are also perfectly elastic, but to a small extent.
ELATEA, the largest and most important city of Pho-
cis, situated on the declivity of a hill above the fertile
plains of the river Cephissus. Behind it to the north rose
a mountain ridge, which, issuing from Doris, stretched
away to the south-east, and at its extremity was called by
the name of Cnemis. Here dwelt the Locri Epicnemidii.
An enemy who wished to penetrate from Thermopylae by
the most direct road into Greece required first to secure
the mountain passes round Elatea, and to get possession
of the city itself. Then the whole of Phocis and Bceotia lay
open before him. Hence the alarm and consternation pro¬
duced at Athens on the news reaching it of Elatea hav¬
ing fallen into the hands of Philip. (Demosth. Orat. de
Cor. p. 284; Strab. ix. 424; Diodor. xvi. 84.) It was
burnt to the ground by the Persians, and destroyed at the
conclusion of the sacred war by order of the Amphictyonic
council. Being afterwards rebuilt, it made a successful
stand against the arms of Cassander, and was at last taken
by the Romans from Philip, son of Demetrius. Its ruins
are found on a site still called Elephta.
ELATERIUM, EXar^g/ov, in Pharmacy, a violently pur¬
gative medicine, prepared from the wild cucumber.
ELATH, or Eloth, a port of Idumaea, situated upon
the Red Sea, which David in his conquest of Edom took,
and established there an extensive trade. His son, we
are informed, built ships in Elath, whence they were dis¬
patched to Ophir for gold. It continued in the possession
of the Israelites till the time of Joram, when the Edomites
recovered it; but it was wrested from them by Azariah,
who left it to his son. It was afterwards taken from Ahaz
b}' the Syrians, who held it a long time; and it passed at
length into the hands of the all-subduing Romans.
ELBA, an island of the Mediterranean, separated by a
narrow channel from the western coast of Italy. It is si¬
tuated in long. 10. 9. 24. E. and lat. 42. 49. 6. N., and is
about seventy English miles in circuit; but the coast is
very winding and irregular.
Elba is supposed to have been first peopled by a colony
of Etruscans; but it was afterwards occupied by a body
of the Greeks who founded Marseilles. It subsequently
fell under the dominion of Carthage, and was taken by the
Romans during the first Punic war. In the second, Elba
supplied iron for naval and military purposes, and was
considered as one of the states which had saved the re¬
public. In the contest between Sylla and Marius, the ad¬
herents of the latter fled thither for refuge, and Elba be¬
came thus involved in prescription and devastation, from
the effects of which it never recovered under the Roman
dominion. In modern times it became attached to the
commercial republic of Pisa, under the auspices of which
it rose to a comparatively flourishing state. On the annex¬
ation of Pisa to Milan, Elba, with Pianosa, Monte Cristo,
Piombino, and other territories, was formed into a little
principality, which continued for about two centuries in the
hands of Gherardo d’Apiano and his successors; though
it was repeatedly occupied as a military station by Charles
Y. and his ally, the grand duke of Tuscany. Being thus
involved in the wars of that monarch with the Porte and
the Barbary states, Elba became exposed to the incursions
E L B
Ibe. of the Turkish corsairs. It was laid waste with fire and
N—' sword, once by Barbarossa, and twice by Dragut, and it
has never fully recovered from these ravages. Under
Philip HI. it fell into the possession of Spain, and that
prince ordered the construction of Porto Longo, which
proved a barrier against the incursions of the corsairs.
Several transferences afterwards took place, the result of
which was, that after 1735 the king of Naples had pos¬
session of Porto Longo, and the grand duke of Tuscany
of Porto Ferrajo. Elba continued in this state till the
French revolution, when it first became part of the king¬
dom of Etruria, and was then annexed to France. It af¬
terwards attracted a remarkable degree of attention by
becoming the temporary residence of Napoleon Bonaparte.
Upon his second downfall, Elba was ceded to the grand
duke of Tuscany.
The island of Elba is entirely filled with mountains,
which are formed into three distinct clusters, separated
by a valley, which widens as it approaches the sea. The
highest are those situated on the western part of the island,
the pinnacle of which, called Monte Capanna, rises up¬
wards of 3000 feet above the level of the sea. The great¬
er part of these hills present an arid, rugged, and often
ruinous aspect; but a few are embellished with myrtles,
laurels, wild olives, and other verdant shrubs. The west¬
ern part is almost entirely composed of granite, which forms
also the basis of the soil in this quarter of the island.
Rock crystal abounds, and is often found in large masses,
but somewhat injured in its transparency, and, when com¬
bined with alum and slate, it produces numerous varieties
of calcedony, particularly that called cachalovg. The
eastern mountains are composed of serpentine and schis-
tus, and abound with aluminous mixtures; but they are
chiefly distinguished by the iron which they contain.
Except husbandry, which is wholly that of the spade
or the hoe, the chief employment of the inhabitants con¬
sists in mining, and iron is the chief article of exchange.
The population in 1778 was estimated at 8000, but it
has since risen to 12,000 souls. The Elbese are a race
differing in many respects from that which inhabits the
continent of Italy. They are well made and robust, and
often attain a great age without experiencing ailment
or infirmity. They are brave, active, hardy, laborious,
and at the same time kind-hearted and hospitable. They
are, however, very irritable, and impatient of contradiction.
They are almost universally ignorant and credulous, yet
have a certain liveliness of imagination, which renders
them fond of extravagant and romantic tales. The females
are not in general handsome, but to this there are some
exceptions; they are generally virtuous, however, and
make good wives and mothers.
The principal town is Porto Ferrajo, which contains a
population of 3000 souls. The houses are small and in¬
convenient. Porto Longo is a well-fortified town, with
an agreeable and picturesque neighbourhood, and contains
1500 inhabitants. Rio is poor, and is only supported by
the great iron mine which is situated in its neighbour¬
hood; its population amounts to about 1800 souls. Other
villages and districts are Capo Liveri, Campo, and Mar¬
ciano.
( Voyage to the Island of Elba, by Arsenne Thiebaut de
Berneaud; translated by W. Jordan, 8vo, 1814. Tour
through the Island of Elba, by Sir Richard Colt Iloare,
Bart. 4to, 1814.)
ELBE (the Albis of the ancients), a large river of Eu-'
rope, in Germany, which rises in the Eiesen Gebirge, or
Giant’s Mountains, between Silesia and Bohemia, and is
known at its source by the Sclavonic name of the Labbe.
Its principal sources are the White Fountain, at the base
of the Schnee-Kuppe, and the eleven fountains of the
E L B 563
Elbe in the Navarian meadow. To the number of streams Elberfeld
which descend into Bohemia from the neighbouring moun- ^ II
tains it owes its early increase. After its junction with Ehmig.
the river Eger, it becomes navigable, and, entering Sax-
ony, passes successively Dresden, Meissen, Torgau, and
Wittenberg. In its course, which is northerly, it re¬
ceives two other rivers, the Muldau and the Saale; and
running through the territory of Magdeburg and the
duchies of Mecklenburg and Launburg, it discharges it¬
self at last into the GerVnan Ocean, about seventy miles
below Hamburg, after a course of 500 miles. The Elbe
has always been an important river in a military point of
view. With respect to commerce, it gives to Hamburg
its command of the navigation far into the interior, al¬
though the voyage is difficult, on account of the numerous
sand-banks, and the occasional violence of the wind. It
communicates with the Havel by the canal of Plauen, in
the territory of Magdeburg; and at Hamburg it is con¬
nected in like manner with the Trave at Lubeck; it is
also joined to the Weser by a canal running between Ve-
gesak and Stade. Besides the natural difficulties of navi¬
gating this noble stream, the circumstance of its travers¬
ing so many different kingdoms and petty states has given
rise to another, namely, the endless tolls imposed by the
princes of the various sovereignties through which it
passes. The congress of Vienna intended to rectify this
evil; but, notwithstanding the regulations introduced, the
navigation of the German rivers cannot yet be called free.
ELBERFELD, a city of the Prussian province Clewe-
Juliers, of the government of Dusseldorf, and the capital
of a circle of the same name. It stands on the river Wip-
per, which falls into the Rhine a few miles from the city.
It is a place the most celebrated for its activity and pro¬
gress of any in the Prussian dominions. In 1817 the
houses were 2400, and the inhabitants 15,681, and in 1830
the latter had increased to 25,000. It has more than
1000 looms at work in silk goods, many mills for spin¬
ning cotton, besides machines for weaving cottons, and
most of the other inventions for facilitating manufacturing
operations which are known in England. The value of the
goods annually produced at and near to the city is said
to amount to L. 1,500,000 sterling. It is the chief seat
of the Rhenish company, who export the various goods ol
Germany to the West Indies and all parts of North and
South America.
ELBEUF, a city of the department of the Lower Seine,
in France, on the left bank of that river, containing 919
houses, and 6351 inhabitants, among whom are many ma¬
nufacturers of the finest cloth, and of flannels, carpets, and
hosiery. Long. 0. 53. E. Lat. 49. 20. N.
ELBING, a city in the province of West Prussia, and
government of Dantzic, and the capital of a circle of the
same name. It is situated on the river Eblach, which di¬
vides the suburb of Grubenhagen, and the part where the
corn magazines are built, from the town. About five miles
below the city that river joins the Nogat, which is navigable
for large vessels. Elbing contains six churches, five hos¬
pitals, and several other public buildings, with 2029 houses
and 18,570 inhabitants. It is, next to Dantzic, the great¬
est corn market of Europe, and a stock of wheat is gene¬
rally kept there amounting to from forty to eighty thou¬
sand quarters. A great portion of the productions of Po¬
land is exported from this city. These, besides corn, consist
of potash, pearl ash, linen, wood, tallow, and wax ; and that
country receives a part of its supply of manufactured and
coloured goods, of wine, of iron, of salt, and other articles,
through the same channel. The city possesses some manu¬
factories, such as refineries for sugar, soap-boiling, snuff-
mills, breweries, and tanneries ; and many ships are built
and equipped. Long. 19. 16. 5. E. Lat. 54. 7. 54. N.
564
E L E
E L E
Elbow ELBOW, the outer angle made by the flexure or bend
II . of the arm. That eminence whereon the arm rests, call-
Phflo1C ec^ us dhow, is by the Latins called cubitus, and by the
sophy. Greeks ayxwv, and by others oXzxgam.
Elbow is also used by architects, masons, and others,
for an obtuse angle of a wall, building, or road, which di¬
verts it from its right line.
ELCESAITES, in Ecclesiastical History, were ancient
heretics, who made their appearance in the reign of the
Emperor Trajan, and took their name from their leader
Elcesai. The Elcesaites observed a mean between the
Jews, Christians, and Pagans. They worshipped but one
God, observed the Jewish sabbath, and practised circum¬
cision and the other ceremonies of the law. They re¬
jected the Pentateuch and the prophets; nor had they
any more respect for the writings of the apostles, particu¬
larly those of St Paul.
ELCHE, a town of Spain, in the province of Valencia.
It is situated on a small river that runs into the Guadarma.
It is celebrated for the beauty of its palm woods, and for
the exquisite marbles raised in the quarries in its vicinity.
It is situated in latitude 38. 29. and contains 2600 houses
and 17,405 inhabitants, three monasteries, an hospital,
poor-house, one Latin and three other schools. Manu¬
factories of esparto, tanning, and soap-making, are carried
on at this place.
ELDERS, or Seniors, in Jewish history, were persons
the most considerable for age, experience, and wisdom.
Of this sort were the seventy men whom Moses associat¬
ed to himself in the government of his people; such as
were those who afterwards held the first rank in the syna¬
gogue as presidents.
In the first assemblies of the primitive Christians, those
who held the principal place were called elders. The word
'presbyter, so often used in the New Testament, is of the
same signification; and hence the first council of Chris¬
tians were called presbyteria, or councils of elders.
Elders is also a denomination still retained in the
Presbyterian discipline. The elders are officers, who, in
conjunction with the pastors or ministers, and deacons,
compose the consistories or kirk-sessions, meeting to con¬
sider, inspect, and regulate matters of religion and discip¬
line. They are chosen from among the people, and are
received publicly with some degree of ceremony. In
Scotland, the number for each parish or congregation is
indefinite, varying according to circumstances.
ELEA, or Elis, in Ancient Geography, a district of
Peloponnesus, situated between Achaia and Messenia, and
stretching from Arcadia to the west or Ionian Sea. It is
so called from Elis, a cognominal town.
ELEATIC Philosophy, amongst the ancients, a name
given to that of the Stoics, because it was taught at EXsa,
in Latin Velia, a town of the Lucani.
The founder of this philosophy, or of the Eleatic sect, is
supposed to have been Xenophanes, who lived about the
fifty-sixth Olympiad, or between five and six hundred years
before Christ. This sect was divided into two parties, which
may be denominated metaphysical and physical, the one
rejecting and the other approving the appeal to fact and
experiment. Of the former persuasion were Xenophanes,
Parmenides, Melissus, and Zeno of Elea. They are sup¬
posed to have maintained principles not very unlike those
of Spinoza: they held the eternity and immutability of
the world; that whatever existed was only one being;
that there was neither generation nor corruption ; that
this one being was immoveable and immutable, and was
the true God ; and that whatever changes seemed to hap¬
pen in the universe were to be looked upon as mere ap¬
pearances and illusions of sense. However, it is supposed
by some that Xenophanes and his followers, speaking
metaphysically, understood by the universe, or the one
being, not the material world, but the great originating
principle of all things, or the true God, whom they ex- ||
"pressly affirm to be incorporeal. Thus Simplicius repre-Electo e.
sents them as merely metaphysical writers, who distin- '
guished between things natural and supernatural, and
who supposed the former to be compounded of different
principles. Accordingly, Xenophanes maintained that the
earth consisted of air and fire ; that all things were pro¬
duced from the earth ; that the sun and stars sprung from
clouds ; and that there were four elements. Parmenides
also distinguished between the doctrine concerning meta¬
physical objects, called truth, and that concerning physi¬
cal or corporeal things, called opinion. With respect to
the former, there was one immoveable principle, but in
the latter, two that were moveable, namely, fire and earth,,
or heat and cold; and in these particulars Zeno agreed
with him. The other branch of the Eleatic sect were the
atomic philosophers, who formed their system from ob¬
serving the phenomena of nature ; of these the most con¬
siderable were Leucippus, Democritus, and Protagoras.
ELECT or Chosen (from eligo, I choose), in the Scrip¬
tures, is applied to the primitive Christians; in which
sense the elect are those chosen and admitted to the fa¬
vour and blessing of Christianity.
Elect, in some systems of theology, is a term appro¬
priated to the saints, or the predestinated; in which sense
the elect are those persons who are said to be predesti¬
nated to glory as the end, and to sanctification as the
means.
Elect is likewise applied to archbishops, bishops, and
other officers, who are chosen, but not consecrated, or ac¬
tually invested with their office or jurisdiction.
The emperor is said to be elect before he is inaugurat¬
ed and crowned ; and a lord mayor is elect before his pre¬
decessor’s mayoralty is expired, or the sword is put in his
hands.
ELECTION, the choice that is made of any person or
thing by which he or it is preferred to any other. There
seems this difference, however, between choice and elec¬
tion, that election has usually a regard to a company or
community which makes the choice; whereas choice is
seldom used but when a single person makes it.
Election, in British polity, is the people’s choice of
their representatives in parliament. (See Parliament.)
Election is also the state of a person who is left to
his own free will, to take or do just what he pleases.
Election, in Theology, signifies the choice which God,
of his good pleasure, makes of angels or men, as the ob¬
jects of mercy and grace.
The election of the Jews was the choice God made of
that people to be more immediately attached to his wor¬
ship and service, and for the Messiah to be born of them.
And thus particular nations were elected to the participa¬
tion of the outward blessings of Christianity.
Election also, in the language of some divines, signi¬
fies a predestination to grace and glory, and sometimes to
glory only. And it has been enjoined as an article ol
faith, that predestination to grace is gratuitous; gratia,
quia gratis data. But the divines are much divided as to
the point, whether election to glory be gratuitous, or whe¬
ther it supposes obedience and good works; that is, whe¬
ther it be before or after the provision of our obedience.
ELECTIVE, something that is done, or passes, by
election.
Elective Attraction. See Chemistry.
ELECTOR, a person who has a right to elect or choose
another to an office, honour, and the like.
ELECTORATE, a term used indiscriminately to sig¬
nify the dignity of, or the territories belonging to, any ot
the electors of Germany; such as Paden, Saxony, &c.
See Germany.
565
ELECTRICITY.
, (iuc. Electricity, from the Greek word electron,
' n. amber, is the name given to a modern science which treats
0f the phenomena and effects produced by the friction of
amber, and other bodies which possess analogous properties.
The science of Electricity, in its most general accep¬
tation, may be divided into four different branches, viz.
I. Ordinary Electricity, or that which is developed by
friction.
II. Magneto-Electricity, or that which is developed by
magnets.
III. Thermo-Electricity, or that which is developed by
heat; and
IV. Voltaic Electricity, or that which is produced by
chemical action.
Under these four articles we shall be able, not only to
give a perspicuous and condensed view of those splendid
discoveries which have illustrated the present age, but to
render our account of them much more complete than if
we had treated the subject under the titles of Electro¬
magnetism and Galvanism, which occur so early in our al¬
phabetical arrangement.
In giving a succinct and popular view of the science of
Electricity in the ordinary acceptation of the word, the
subject naturally divides itself into two parts : On the
phenomena and laws of electricity; and, on the instru¬
ments and apparatus used in electrical experiments. Be¬
fore we proceed, however, to these topics, we shall give
a brief history of the origin and progress of the science.
HISTORY OF ELECTRICITY.
Tf The name of the philosopher who first observed that
b.i. GOO. amber when rubbed possesses the property of attracting
and repelling light bodies has not been handed down to
our times. Thales of Miletus is said to have described
this remarkable property, and both Theophrastus (b. c.
321) and Pliny (a. d. 70) mention the power of amber to
attract straws and dry leaves. The same authors speak of
the lapis lyncurius, which is supposed to be a mineral call¬
ed tourmaline, as possessing the same property.
A lal The electricity of the torpedo was also known to the
fl ricity.ancients. Pliny informs us, that when touched by a spear
it paralyses the muscles and arrests the feet, however
swift; and Aristotle adds that it possesses the power of
benumbing men, as well as the fishes which serve for its
prey. The influence of electricity on the human body,
and the electricity of the human body itself, were also
known in ancient times. Anthero, a freedman of Tiberius,
was cured of the gout by the shocks of the torpedo ; and
Wolimer, the king of the Goths, was able to emit sparks
from his own body.
A 415. Eustathius, who records this fact, also states that a cer¬
tain philosopher, while dressing and undressing, emitted
occasionally sudden crackling sparks, while at other times
flames blazed from him without burning his clothes.
Such are the scanty gleanings of electrical knowledge
which we derive from the ancient philosophy ; and though
several writers of the middle ages have made occasional
references to these facts, and even attempted to speculate
upon them, yet they added nothing to the science, and
left an open field for the researches of modern philosophers.
Our countryman Dr Gilbert of Colchester may there- History,
fore be considered as the founder of the science of elec-
tricity, as he appears to have been the first philosopher Gilbert,
who carefully repeated the observations of the ancients,A,1D-
and applied to them the principles of philosophical inves¬
tigation. In order to determine if other bodies possessed
the same property as amber, he balanced a light metallic
needle on a pivot, and observed whether or not it was af¬
fected by causing the excited or rubbed body to approach
to it. In this way he discovered that the following bo¬
dies possess the property of attracting light substances;
Amber, gugates or jet, diamond, sapphire, carbuncle,
rock crystal, opal, amethyst, vincentina or Bristol stone,
beryl, crystal, paste for false gems, glass of antimony,
flags, belemnites, sulphur, gum-mastic, sealing-wax of lac,
hard resin, arsenic, sal gem, mica, and alum. ,
These various bodies attracted, with different degrees of
force, not only straws and light films, but likewise metals,
stones, earths, wood, leaves, thick smoke, and all solid and
fluid bodies. Among the substances which are not ex¬
cited by friction, Gilbert enumerated emerald, agate, car-
nelian, pearls, jasper, chalcedony, alabaster, porphyry, co¬
ral, marble, Lydian stone, flints, haematites, mugris {emery
or corundum), bones, ivory, hard woods, such as cedar,
ebony, juniper, and cypress, metals and natural magnets.
Having thus determined the bodies which were capa¬
ble, as well as those which were incapable, of electrical
excitation, Dr Gilbert was desirous of ascertaining the
circumstances which were most favourable to the produc¬
tion of electricity. When the wind blew from the north
and east, and when the air was dry, the body was excited
in about ten minutes alter the friction commenced; but
when the wind was in the south, and the air moist, the
attractive power of the body was greatly diminished, and
in some cases it could not be excited at all.
The celebrated Mr Boyle added many new facts to the Boyle,
science of electricity, and he has given a full account ofA. d. 1675.
them in his Experiments on the Origin of Electricity. By
means of a suspended needle, he discovered that amber
retained its attractive virtue after the friction which ex¬
cited it had ceased; and though smoothness of surface
had been regarded as advantageous for excitation, yet he
found a diamond which in its rough state exceeded all the
polished ones and all the electrics which he had tried,
having been able to move a needle three minutes after he
had ceased to rub it. He found also that heat and tor¬
sion (or the cleaning or wiping of any body) increased its
susceptibility of excitation ; and that if the attracted body
were fixed, and the attracting body moveable, their mutual
approach would still take place. To Dr Gilbert’s list of
electrics Mr Boyle added the resinous cake which remain¬
ed after evaporating one fourth part of good oil of turpen¬
tine ; the dry mass which remains after distilling a mix¬
ture of petroleum and strong spirit of nitre, glass of anti¬
mony, glass of lead, caput mortuum of amber, white sap¬
phire, white amethyst, diaphanous ore of lead, carnelian,
and a green stone supposed to be a sapphire.
To these discoveries of Mr Boyle, his illustrious con* Otto Gue-
temporary Otto Guericke added the highly important one ricke, born
of electric light. Having cast a globe of sulphur in a glass 16g(.’1 K ‘
sphere, the glass was broken, and the sulphur ball mount¬
ed upon a revolving axis, and excited by the friction of
1 According to Salmasius, the word karate, the Arabian word for amber, signifies the power of attracting straws. May not
re»» {atxr^avos ^6os) come from iXku, to draw or attract, and a hair ox filament, or (omv, a leaf t
566 E L E C T R I C I T Y.
History, the hand. By this means he discovered that light and Royal Society several curious experiments on what he calls His
sound accompanied strong electrical excitation, and he “ the mercurial phosphorus.” He showed that light could ^
compares the light to that which is exhibited by breaking* be produced by passing common air through mercury placed
lump sugar in the dark. With this powerful apparatus in a well-exhausted receiver. The air rushing through
Guericke verified on a greater scale the results obtained the mercury, blew it up against the sides of the glass that
by his predecessors, and obtained several new ones of very held it, “ appearing all around like a body of fire, consist-
considerable importance. He found that a light body, ing of abundance of glowing globules.” The phenomenon
when once attracted by an excited electric, was repelled continued till the receiver was half full of air. When the
by it, and was incapable of a second attraction until it had mercury was made to descend in vacuo from the top to
been touched by some other body; and that light bodies the bottom of a receiver about twenty-one inches high, it
suspended within the sphere of influence of an excited fell in minute particles, “ like a shower of"fire, in a very
electric, possessed the same properties as if they had surprising manner.” In repeating this experiment with
been excited. about three pounds of mercury, and making it break into
Newton, To our illustrious countryman Sir Isaac Newton the a shower by dashing it against the crown of another glass
born HJ42, science of electricity owes some important observations, xesse], flashes resembling lightning, of a very pale colour,
died 1727. j-je seems to have been the first person who constructed and very distinguishable from the rest of the produced
an electrical machine of glass. “ A globe of glass,” says light, were dashed from the crown of the glass, sometimes
he, “ about eight or ten inches in diameter, being put horizontally, and at other times upwards and downwards,
into a frame where it may be swiftly turned round its Mr Hawksbee likewise showed that considerable light may
axis, will in turning shine when it rubs against the palm be produced from mercury, by giving it motion before the
of one’s hand applied to it; and if at the same time a receiver was quite exhausted ; and that even in the open
piece of white paper or a white cloth, or the end of one’s air “ abundance of particles of light are discoverable by
finger, be held at the distance of about a quarter of an shaking quicksilver in a glass.”
inch or half an inch from that part of the glass when it is In a subsequent series of experiments on the attraction
most in motion, the electric vapour which is excited by' of bodies in vacuo, he showed that light was generated
the friction of the glass against the hand will, by dashing by the swift attrition of amber on woollen ; that a purple
against the white paper, cloth, or finger, be put into such light was produced by the attrition of glass on woollen;
an agitation as to emit light, and make the white paper, and that a considerable light was developed by the attri-
cloth, or finger, appear lurid like a glow-worm, and in tion of glass on glass in vacuo, and in common air, or under
rushing out of the glass will sometimes push against the water. During the attrition of glass on woollen, Hawks-
finger so as to be felt. And the same things have been bee “ observed the light to break from the agitated glass
found by rubbing a long and large cylinder of glass and in as strange a form as lightning,” particularly when he
amber with a paper held in one’s hand, and continuing used some list of cloth that had been drenched in spirit of
the friction till the glass grew' warm.”1 We owe also to wine. In all these experiments Hawksbee was not aware
Sir Isaac a beautiful experiment on the excitation of elec- that the light which he observed was that of electricity,
tricity on the side of a disc of glass opposite to the side Like Sir Isaac Newton, Hawksbee used a glass globe
which was rubbed. Having fixed a round disc of glass at capable of revolving in a wooden frame, and by its assist-
the distance of one third of an inch from one end of a ance he made a great number of experiments, which are
brass hoop or ring, and one eighth of an inch from ano- not sufficiently important to be given in detail. The fol-
ther, he placed small pieces of thin paper within the brass lowing experiment, however, is too interesting to be omit-
ring and upon a table, so that the lower surface of the glass ted. Having coated more than one half of the inside of
was one eighth of an inch distant from the table. He then a glass globe with sealing wax, which in some places was
rubbed the upper surface of the glass, and he observed an eighth of an inch thick, and therefore absolutely opaque,
the pieces of paper “ leap from one part of the glass to he exhausted it and put it in motion. When his hand was
the other, and twirl about in the air.” Upon sliding his applied to excite it, the form of his hand was distinctly
finger upon the upper side of the glass, he also observed seen in the concave surface of the wax, as if it had be-
that the pieces of paper, as they hung under the glass, in- come transparent. The same result was obtained when
dined this way or that according as he moved his finger, pitch or common brimstone was substituted in place ol
The Royal Society had ordered this experiment to be tried sealing-wax.
at their meeting of the 16th December 1675 ; and, in or- We have already seen that Hawksbee observed there-
der to ensure its success, had obtained the above account semblance between the electric spark and lightning. Dr
of it from Sir Isaac. The experiment however failed, and Wall went a step farther, and compared the crackling and
the secretary requested the loan of Sir Isaac’s apparatus, the flash of excited amber to thunder and lightning. Die
and inquired whether or not he had secured the papers crackling he found to be fully as loud as that of charcoal
from being moved by the air which might have somewhere on fire when the finger was held at a little distance from
stolen in. In Sir Isaac’s reply, dated 21st December, he the amber after it had been drawn gently and slightly
recommended them to rub the glass “ with stuff whose through a piece of woollen cloth.
threads may rake its surface, and if that will not do, to One of the most ardent experimentalists of the present Mr^ ^
rub it with the finger ends to and fro, and knock them as time was Mr Stephen Gray, a fellow of the Royal ifi
often upon the glass.” By means of these directions, the In his first paper, published in 1720, he showed that elec-
society succeeded with the experiment on the 13th Janu- tricity could be excited by the friction of feathers, hair,
ary 1676, when they used “a scrubbing brush of short silk, linen, woollen, paper, leather, wood, parchment, and
hog’s bristles, and the heft of a knife made with whale- gold-beaters’ skin. Several of these bodies exhibited light
bone.’2 in the dark, especially after they had been warmed; but
Hawksbee, Mr Francis Hawksbee, one of the most active and ingeni- all of them attracted light bodies, and sometimes at the
a. n. 1705. ous experimental philosophers of his age, added many new distance of eight or ten inches.
facts to the science. In 1705 he communicated to the The communication of electricity to bodies not capable
Optics, query 8th.
5 Brewster’s Life of Mr Isaac Newton, p. 307, 308.
ELECTRICITY.
567
History.
Hi iry_ 0f excitation was the next discovery of Mr Gray. An
ivory ball, and various other substances of a metallic, ani-
Dr all, mal, and vegetable nature, were made to attract light bo-
4,d708> fijes by connecting them with strings, wires, or pieces of
wood, with one extremity of an excited glass tube ; and by
suspending pack-threads of different lengths with silken
threads, he was able to transmit the electrical influence
in any direction to distances of 50, 147, 293, and finally
765 and 886 feet.
In order to determine if the electric attraction is pro¬
portioned to tfle quantity of matter in bodies, Mr Gray and
Mr White made two cubes of oak about six inches square,
the one solid and the other hollow. When suspended by
hair lines, and similarly electrified by an excited glass
tube, both the cubes attracted and repelled leaf brass at
the same time and to the same height. Hence Mr Gray
concluded that it was the surface of the cubes only which
attracted.
The conducting powers of fluids and of the human body
were next ascertained by Mr Gray. Having blown a soap
bubble with an electrified tobacco pipe, he found that the
lower part of the bubble attracted small pieces of Dutch
metal; and when a boy eight or nine years old, and weigh¬
ing 47 lbs., was suspended upon hair lines, he found that
every part of his body exercised a strong electrical action
upon light bodies, and hence he concluded “ that animals
receive a greater quantity of electrical effluvia.” When
an excited tube was held above water or quicksilver
placed in little ivory dishes, the fluid was attracted up¬
wards into little conical mounds, accompanied with a snap¬
ping noise and a discharge of light from their summit. In
sunshine small particles of water rose from the top of the
fluid cone, and sometimes a fine stream of water like a
fountain, from which there arose a fine steam or vapour.
Hot water was attracted much more powerfully, and at a
much greater distance, and the steam was more distinct¬
ly visible. Mercury did not rise so high as the water;
but the snapping noise was louder, and continued much
longer, than when water w'as employed.
Mr Gray now set himself to discover “ whether there
might not be a way found to make the property of electri¬
cal attraction more permanent in bodies.” Having pro¬
cured iron ladles of several sizes, he melted the substan¬
ces given in the following table. They were then set by
in the ladle to cool and harden, and afterwards being re¬
placed on the fire so as to allow what was next the bot¬
tom and sides of the ladle to melt, the ladle was inverted,
and the substance taken out. These bodies at first would
not attract light substances till their temperature was
nearly that of a hen’s egg; but when cold they attracted
ten times farther than at first. In order to preserve these
bodies in a state of attraction, he wrapped them up in flan¬
nel or white paper or black worsted stockings, and then
put them into a large fir box till they were used. The
following is Mr Gray’s list of the electrics thus formed :—
Names.
Fine black rosin 
Stone pitch, and black rosin.
Fine rosin and bees’ wax 
Stone pitch 
Stone sulphur 
Shell lack 
Fine black rosin 
Bees’ wax and rosin 
Hosin 4, gum lac 1 part 
Weight
Avoird.
2 0
10 0
10 4
9 0
10 0
Time when
made.
Jan. 31.
Jan. 31.
Feb. 1.
Feb. 1.
Feb. 4.
Feb. 10.
Feb. 10.
Feb. 12.
Feb. 12.
Names.
Sulphur 
Stone pitch 
Black rosin 
White rosin 
Gum-lac.   
Gum-lac and black rosin .,
Gum-lac 4, rosin 1 part....
Gum-lac, fine black rosin.
Cylinder of blue sulphur..
Large cone of ditto 
Cake of sulphur 
Weight
Avoird.
oz. oz.
18 0
10 12
23 0
7 12
11 14
9 12
17 8
28
19
30 0
11 4
Time when
made.
Feb. 15.
Feb. 16.
Feb. 23.
Feb. 25.
Feb. 26.
Feb. 26.
Feb. 28.
March 2.
March 20.
March 29.
April 29.
Mr Gray continued for thirty days to observe every one m. Dufay,
of these bodies, and at the end of that time he found that a. d. 1733.
they attracted as vigorously as at the first or second day,
and some of them continued to preserve their attraction
for more than four months.
While Mr Gray was pursuing his career of discovery in
England, M. Dufay, of the Academy of Sciences, and su¬
perintendent of the Royal Botanic Gardens, was actively
employed in the same researches. He found that all bodies,
whether solid or fluid, could be electrified by an excited
tube, by setting them on a glass stand slightly warmed,
or only dried; and that those bodies which are in them¬
selves least electrical, received the greatest degree of elec¬
tricity from the approach of the glass tube. He found
that electricity was transmitted more easily along pack¬
thread when it was wetted, and that it might be support¬
ed upon glass tubes in place of silk lines ; and in this way
he conveyed it along a string 1256 feet long.
M. Dufay repeated Mr Gray’s experiments on the hu¬
man body, by suspending a child on silken strings; but hav¬
ing suspended himself in a similar manner, he discovered
that an electrical spark, accompanied with a crackling noise,
took place when any other person touched him, and he has
described the prickling sensation like the burning from a
spark of fire, which is at the same time felt either through
the clothes or on the skin. He found that the same effects
took place in other living animals; but that if the carcass of
an animal was suspended, there were no snippings or sparks,
but merely a still uniform light observed in the dark.
The great discovery of M. Dufay, however, was that of Vitreous
two different kinds of electricity, to which he gave the and resin-
name of vitreous and resinous, and the importance ofous electn-
which he did not fail to recognise. He has given the by¬
name of vitreous electricity to that which is produced by
exciting glass, rock crystal, precious stones, hair of ani¬
mals, wool, and many other bodies ; and the name of resi¬
nous to that which is produced by exciting resinous bo¬
dies, such as amber, copal, gum-lac, silk, paper, thread,
and a number of other substances. Ihe characteristic of
those two electricities was, that a body with vitreous elec¬
tricity attracted all bodies with resinous electricity, and
repelled all bodies witb vitreous electricity^, while a body
with resinous electricity attracted all bodies with vitreous
electricity, and repelled all bodies with resinous electricity.
Two electrified silk threads, for example, repel each
other, and also two electrified woollen threads; but an
electrified silk thread will attract an electrified woollen
thread. Hence it is easy to determine whether any body
possesses vitreous or resinous electricity. If it attracts an
electrified silk thread, its electricity will be vitreous; if it
repels it, it will be resinous. This important discovery
seems to have been made about the same time by Mr
White, by a series of independent observations.
568
ELECTRICITY.
History. Mr Gray repeated and varied the experiments of M.
Dufay, and made many new ones, which our limited space
will not permit us to detail. Like Hawksbee and Dr Wall,
he recognised the similarity between the phenomena of
electricity and those of thunder and lightning; and he ex¬
presses a hope “ that there may be found out a way to col¬
lect a greater quantity of electric tire, and consequently
to increase the force of that power, which, by several of
these experiments, si licet magnis componere parva, seems
to be of the same nature with thunder and lightning”
I.abours of The discoveries which we have now recounted began
continen- to rouse the activity of the German and Dutch philoso-
tal philoso- phers. To the electrical machine used by Newton and
i. ieis. Hawksbee, Professor Boze of Wittemberg added the
prime conductor, which at first consisted of an iron or tin
tube supported by a man standing upon cakes of rosin ;
but it was afterwards suspended by silken strings. Pro¬
fessor Winkler of Leipsic substituted the cushion in place
of the hand for exciting the revolving globe; and Profes¬
sor Gordon of Erfurt, a Scotch Benedictine monk, first
used a glass cylinder, eight inches long and four broad,
which he caused to revolve by means of a bow and string.
By these means electrical sparks of great size and inten¬
sity were produced, and by their aid various combustible
substances, both fluid and solid, were inflamed. In 1744
M. Ludolph of Berlin succeeded in firing, by the electri¬
cal spark, the ethereal spirit of Frobenius. Winkler did
the same by a spark from his finger ; and he succeeded
in inflaming French brandy and other weaker spirits after
they had been heated. Mr Gordon kindled spirits by a
jet of electrified water. Dr Miles inflamed phosphorus by
the electric spark; and oil, pitch, and sealing-wax, when
strongly heated, were set on fire by similar means.
Leyden These striking effects were all produced by the elec-
phial,1745. tricity obtained immediately from an excited electric;
but a great step was now made in the science by the dis¬
covery of a method of accumulating and preserving the
electric fluid in large quantities. The author of this great
invention is not distinctly known; but there is reason to
believe that a monk of the name of Kleist, a person of the
name of Cuneus, and Professor Muschenbroeck of Leyden,
had each the merit of an independent inventor. The
invention by which this accumulation was effected was
called the Leyden Jar or Phial, because it was princi¬
pally in that city where it was either invented or tried.
Having observed that excited electrics soon lost their
electricity in the open air, and that their loss was acce¬
lerated when the atmosphere was charged with moisture
or other conducting materials, Muschenbroeck conceived
that the electricity of bodies might be retained by sur¬
rounding them with bodies which did not conduct it. In
putting this idea to the test of experiment, they electri¬
fied some water in a glass bottle, and a communication
having been made between the water and the prime con¬
ductor, while the bottle was held by an assistant, who
was trying to disengage the communicating wire, he re¬
ceived a sudden shock in his arms and breast, and thus
established the efficacy of the Leyden jar.
Sir Wil- Sir William Watson made some important experiments
liam Wat- at this period of our history. He succeeded in firing gun-
son. powder by the electric spark ; and by mixing the gun¬
powder with a little camphor he discharged a musket by
the same power. He also fired inflammable air by the
electric spark; and he kindled both spirits of wine and
inflammable air by means of a drop of cold water, and
even with ice. In the German experiments the fluid or
solid to be inflamed was set on fire by an electrified body;
but Sir William Watson placed the fluid in the hands of
an electrified person, and set it on fire by causing a per¬
son not electrified to touch it with his finger.
Sir William Watson first observed the flash of light Histi
which attends the discharge of the Leyden phial, and ity
is to him that we owe the present improved form of the
Leyden phial, in which it is coated both without and within
with tinfoil. Dr Bevis indeed had suggested the outside
coating, and, at Mr Smeaton’s recommendation, he coated
a pane of glass on both sides, and within an inch of the
edge, with tinfoil; but still the idea of coating the jar
doubly belongs to Sir William Watson.
A party of the Royal Society, with the president atExper
their head, and Sir William Watson as tfieir chief ope-ments
rator, entered upon a series of magnificent experiments d16 R<
for the purpose of determining the velocity of the elec-Societ-
trie fluid, and the distance to which it could be conveyed.Lomio
The French s^avans had conveyed the influence of the
Leyden jar through a circuit of 12,000 feet; and in one
case the basin at the Thuilleries, containing about an acre
of water, formed part of the circuit; but the English
philosophers made a more complete series of experiments,
of which the following were the results :
1. That in all their operations, when the wires have been
properly conducted, the electrical commotions from the
charged phial have been very considerable only when the
observers at the extremities of the wire have touched
some substance readily conducting electricity with some
part of their bodies.
2. That the electrical commotion is always felt most
sensibly in those parts of the bodies of the observers
which are between the conducting wires and the nearest
and the most non-electric substance ; or, in other words,
so much of their bodies as comes within the electrical
circuit.
3. That on these considerations we infer that the elec¬
trical power is conducted between these observers by any
non-electric substances which happen to be situated be¬
tween them, and contribute to form the electrical circuit.
4. That the electrical commotion has been perceptible
to two or more observers at considerable distances from
each other, even as far as two miles.
5. That when the observers have been shocked at the
end of two miles of wire, we infer that the electrical cir¬
cuit is four miles, viz. two miles of wire, and the space of
two miles of the non-electric matter between the observ¬
ers, whether it be water, earth, or both.
6. That the electrical commotion is equally strong,
whether it is conducted by water or dry ground.
7. Thatif the wires between the electrifying machine and
the observers are conducted on dry sticks, or other sub¬
stances non-electric in a slight degree only, the effects of
the electrical power are much greater than when the
wires in their progress touch the ground, or moist vege¬
tables, or other substances in a great degree non-electric.
8. That by comparing the respective velocities of elec¬
tricity and sound, that of electricity, in any of the dis¬
tances yet experienced, is nearly instantaneous.
In the following year these experiments were resumed
with the view of ascertaining the absolute velocity of
electricity at a certain distance, and it was found, “ that
through the whole length of a wire 12,276 feet, the velo¬
city of electricity was instantaneous.”
One of the most important discoveries of the present
period was that of Sir W. Wtsoan, who proved “ that the
glass tubes and globes had not the electrical power in them¬
selves, but only served as the first movers or determiners
of that power.” In rubbing a glass tube while standing
upon a cake of wax, he was surprised to observe that no
spark could be obtained from his body by any other per¬
son touching any part of him. But if a person not elec¬
trified held his hand near the tube while it was rubbing,
the snapping was very sensible. The great discovery of
ELECTRICITY.
] ory. plus and minus electricity which was afterwards made by
Franklin, was distinctly announced by Sir W. Watson.
He lays it down as a law, that in electrical operations
there is an afflux of electric fluid to the globe and the con¬
ductor, and also an efflux of the same matter from them.
In the case of two insulated persons, the one in contact
with the rubber and the other with the conductor, he
observed that either of them would communicate a much
stronger spark to the other than to any bystander. The elec¬
tricity of the one, he says, became more rare than it is natu¬
rally, and that of the other more dense, so that the density
of the electricity in the two insulated persons differed
more than that between either of them and a bystander.
Our limits will not permit us to give a detailed account
of the various ingenious experiments which were about
this time made by Le Monnier, Nollet, Winckler, Ellicott,
Jallabert, Boze, Menon, Smeaton, and Miles. In 1746
Le Monnier confirmed the result previously obtained by
Mr Gray, that electricity is communicated to homogene¬
ous bodies in proportion to their surfaces only. M. Boze
discovered that capillary tubes which discharged water by
drops afforded a continued stream when electrified. The
Abbe Nollet ascertained that electricity increases the
natural evaporation of fluids, and that the evaporation is
hastened by placing them in non-electric vessels. M.
Jallabert confirmed the result previously obtained by
Watson, that electricity passes through the substance of
a conducting wire, and not along its surface. Smeaton
found that the red-hot part of an iron bar could be as
strongly electrified as the cold parts on each side of it.
Dr Miles kindled common lamp spirits by a stick of black
sealing-wax excited by dry flannel. Mr Ellicott conceiv¬
ed that the particles of the electric fluid repel each other,
while they attract those of all other bodies. Mr Mowbray
discovered that the vegetation of two myrtles was hasten¬
ed by electrifying them ; a result which Nollet confirmed
in the case of vegetating seeds. The Abbe Menon found
that cats, pigeons, sparrows, and chaffinches, lost weight
by being electrified for five or six hours, and that the same
result was true of the human body; and hence it was con¬
cluded that electricity augments the insensible perspira¬
tion of animals.
1 o. Passing over the scientific fables of John Pivati of Ve-
j nice, we arrive at that auspicious period when Dr Frank-
l' lin raised electricity to the dignity of a science, and con-
1.1, ' nected it with that tremendous agency which had so of¬
ten terrified the moral and convulsed the physical world.
The thunderbolt had frequently descended from heaven
upon its victims; but mortal genius had now learned to
bring it down in chains, to disarm its fury, and to convert
it into an useful and even a friendly element.
One of the first labours of the American philosopher
was to present, in a more distinct form, the theory of plus
and minus electricity, which Sir W. Watson had been
the first to suggest. He showed that electricity is not
created by friction, but merely collected from its state of
diffusion through other matter by which it is attracted.
He asserted that the glass globe, when rubbed, attracted
the electrical fire, and took it from the rubber, the same
globe being disposed, when the friction ceases, to give out
its electricity to any body which has less. In the case of
the charged Leyden jar, the inner coating of tinfoil had
received more than its ordinary quantity of electricity,
and was therefore electrified positively or plus, while the
outer coating of tinfoil having had its ordinary quantity of
electricity diminished, was electrified negatively or minus.
Hence the cause of the shock and spark when the jar is
discharged, or wdien the superabundant plus electricity of
the inside is transferred by a conducting body to the de¬
fective or minus electricity of the outside. This theory
VOL. vm.
569
of the Leyden phial Franklin established in the clearest History,
manner, by showing that the outside and the inside coat-
ing possessed opposite electricities, and that, in charging
it, exactly as much electricity is added on one side as is
subtracted from the other. The copious discharge of
electricity by points was observed by Franklin in his ear¬
liest experiments, and also the power of points to conduct
it copiously from an electrified body. Hence he was fur¬
nished with a simple method of collecting electricity
from other bodies; and he was thus enabled to perform
those remarkable experiments which we shall now pro¬
ceed to explain.
Hawksbee, Wall, and Nollet had successively suggested
the similarity between lightning and the electric spark,
and between the artificial snap and the natural thunder.
Previous to the year 1750 Dr Franklin drew up a state¬
ment, in which he showed that all the general phenomena
and effects which were produced by electricity had their
counterpart in lightning. Like the electric spark, light¬
ning moves in a crooked and irregular direction. Light¬
ning strikes the highest and most pointed bodies, and
electricity does the same. They both inflame combus¬
tibles, fuse metals, destroy animal life, produce blindness
in animals, render common sewing needles magnetic, and
reverse the polarity of needles that have been magnetis¬
ed. Notwithstanding these points of resemblance, direct
experiment was still necessary to establish his views. He
waited anxiously for the erection of a spire at Philadel¬
phia, by means of which he might bring down the elec¬
tricity of a thunder-storm; but his patience being ex¬
hausted, he conceived the idea of sending up a kite among
the clouds themselves. With this view he made a small
cross of two light strips of cedar, the arms being sufficient¬
ly long to reach to the four corners of a large thin silk
handkerchief when extended. The corners of the hand¬
kerchief w'ere tied to the extremities of the cross, and
when the body of the kite was thus formed, a tail, loop,
and string were added to it. The body was made of silk
to enable it to bear the violence and wet of a thunder¬
storm. A very sharp pointed wire was fixed at the top
of the upright stick of the cross, so as to rise a foot or
more above the wood. A silk ribband was tied to the
end of the twine next the hand, and a key suspended at
the junction of the twine and silk. In company with his
son, Franklin raised the kite like a common one, in the
first thunder-storm, which happened in the month of June
1752. To keep the silk ribband dry, he stood within a
door, taking care that the twine did not touch the frame
of the door ; and when the thunder-clouds came over the
kite he watched the state of the string. A cloud passed
without any electrical indications, and he began to despair
of success. He saw, however, the loose filaments of the
twine standing out every way, and he found them to be at¬
tracted by the approach of his finger. The suspended key
gave a spark on the application of his knuckle, and when
the string had become wet with the rain, the electricity
became abundant; a Leyden jar was charged at the key,
and by the electric fire thus obtained spirits were inflam¬
ed, and all the other electrical experiments performed
which had been formerly made by excited electrics. In
subsequent trials with another apparatus, he found that
the clouds were sometimes positively and sometimes ne¬
gatively electrified, and thus demonstrated the perfect
identity of lightning and electricity.
Having thus succeeded in drawing the electric fire from
the clouds, Franklin immediately conceived the idea of
protecting buildings from lightning, by erecting on their
highest parts pointed iron wires or conductors communi¬
cating with the ground. The electricity of a hovering
or a passing cloud would thus be carried off’ slowly and
•570 ELECTRICITY.
Ilistory. silently; and if the cloud was highly charged, the elec- Immediately after the accident the house was filled with ti
-v trie fire would strike in preference the elevated conduc- a sulphureous vapour. A clock which stood in the corner W
p- ,i P t0r^'i T pfthe adjoining room was stopped; the ashes from the
eath ot I he attention of Luropean philosophers was now di- hearth were scattered about the room ; the door-case of
I ti durian" i° t^e 8reat discovery of Franklin, and various in- the room was rent asunder, and a piece of the door itself
a d. 1753. (!lvldua s fearless1^ S0US,U. t0 repeat his experiments, actually torn off. The Leyden jar was also broken, and
Among these Professor Richman of St Petersburg was the metallic filings which it contained thrown about the
one of the most enterprising. He had undertaken a se- room.
ries of experiments on the electricity of the atmosphere, One of the most active and ingenious labourers in theiv,
and for this purpose he had erected an electrical gnomon, field of electrical science was our countryman Mr JohnCantoi
which consisted mainly of a Leyden jar, communicating Canton. Before his time it had been assumed as indisputable A-D-1‘
with an iron rod, which rose four or five feet above the that the same kind of electricity was invariably produced
roof of his house, and an electrometer formed of a linen by the friction of the same electric ; that glass, for exam-
tliread with half a grain of lead, the angular ascent ot pie, yielded always vitreous, and amber always resinous
which on the face of a divided quadrant indicated the electricity. Having roughened a glass tube by grinding
^orce L^e accumulated electricity. On the 9th August its surface with emery and sheet lead, he found that it
1752 Professor Richman obtained from the end of the possessed vitreous or positive electricity when excited
lod electrical flashes which could be heard at several feet with oiled silk, but resinous electricity when excited with
ot distance ; and if any person touched the apparatus, new flannel. He found, in short, that vitreous or resi-
a sharp stroke was felt in the hand and arm. On the nous electricity may be developed at wdll in the same tube,
31st May 1753 the electric fire exploded from the appa- by altering the surfaces of the tube and the exciting rub-
ratus with such a force that it was heard at the distance ber, and according as the one or the other is most affect-
of three rooms from the apparatus. On the 6th August ed by their mutual friction. This he illustrated by the
1153 the professor had prepared and adjusted his appa- very beautiful experiment of removing the polish from
latus, and having heard the sound of distant thunder, he one half of the tube. In this case the different electrici-
left a meeting of the Academy of Sciences, and took with ties were excited with the same rubber at a single stroke,
him his engineer, Mr Sokolowr, to draw any interesting and, what is very curious, the rubber was found to move
phenomena that might occur. On their arrival at the much easier over the rough than over the polished half.
professors house, the plummet of the electrometer was Mr Canton likewise discovered that glass, amber, seal-
elevated four degrees from the perpendicular; and while ing-wax, and calcareous spar, were all electrified posi-
the philosopher was describing to his friend the dangerous tively when taken out of mercury; and hence he was led
consequences that might take place if the thread should to the important practical discovery, that an amalgam of
rise to 45 , a tremendous burst of thunder terrified the mercury and tin was most efficacious in exciting glass when
imperial city. Richman leant his head over the gno- applied to the surface of the rubber. Mr Canton found also
mon to observe the indications of the electrometer, and that any body placed within the electric atmosphere of
m tins stooping position, with his head a foot from the another body acquired the electricity opposite to that of
iron rod, a huge globe of bluish-white fire, about the size of the body in whose atmosphere it was placed; and that
Mi Sokolow s fist, shot from the iron rod to the professor’s the whole air of a room could be electrified either po-
head, with a report like that of a pistol. I he blow was sitively or negatively, and made to retain it for a consider-
fatal; he fell back upon a chest and instantly expired, able time.
Sokolow was stupified and benumbed by a sort of steam or Signor Beccaria, a celebrated Italian, kept up the spi-Beccar
vapour, and the red hot fragments of a metallic wire struck rit of electrical discovery in Italy; and in his work on na-Ai11' f
11s clothes and covered them with burnt marks. As tural and artificial electricity, he has given us the results
soon as he lecovered fiom his surprise, Sokolow ran out of many important original investigations. He showed
of the house, acquainting every person with the accident that water is a very imperfect conductor of electricity,
which had taken place. In the mean time Madam Rich- that its conducting power is proportional to its quantity,
man, alarmed by the thunder-stroke, hastened to the and that a small quantity of water opposes a powerful re-
c lumber, and found her husband apparently lifeless, in sistance to the electric fluid. He succeeded in making
t ie attitude of sitting upon the chest, and leaning against the electric spark visible in water, by discharging shocks
tie wa . Medical aid was instantly obtained, but though through wires that nearly met in tubes filled with water,
a vein was opened, from which no blood would flow', and In this experiment the tubes, though sometimes eight or
though every attempt was made to restore life by violent ten lines thick, were burst in pieces. Beccaria likewise
friction and other means, they were all fruitless. A small demonstrated that air adjacent to an electrified body
quantity of blood dropped from the mouth when the body gradually acquired the same electricity; that the electri-
was turned, and on the forehead there was a red spot, city of the body is diminished by that of the air; and that
10m the pores of which a few drops of blood oozed out. the air parts with its electricity very slowly. He con-
oeveral red and blue spots, like leather shrunk by burning, sidered that there was a mutual repulsion between the
w ere found on the left side, the back, and other parts of the particles of the electric fluid and those of air, and that in
ory. I he shoe upon the Professors left foot was burst the passage of the former through the latter a temporary
open, and a blue maik appeared on the foot beneath the vacuum was formed.
a-peiture. Ihere was no corresponding hole in the stock- The science of electricity owes several practical as well Symme
ing, and the coat was uninjured. When the body w'as as theoretical observations to our countryman Mr Robertexpen-
opened, twenty-four hours after death,there was no appear- Symmer. In pulling off his stockings in the evening, Mrnienb’
ance of injury either in the brain or the cranium: a little Symmer had often remarked that they not only gave aA'D' '
extiavasated blood appeared in the cavities below the crackling noise, but even emitted sparks in the dark. The
lungs, mid in the lungs towards the back, which were of electricity was most powerful when a silk and a worsted
a dark brown colour. I he heart, glands, and smaller in- stocking had been worn on the same leg, and it was best
testines, were all inflamed; but the entrails were unin- exhibited by putting the hand between the leg and the
jured. About seventy rubles of silver which were in the stockings, and pulling them off together. The one stock-
jeft coat pocket were not altered by the electric fluid, ing being then drawn out of the other, they appeared more
ELECTRICITY. 571
I tory. or less inflated, and exhibited the attractions and repulsions by counteracting each other, producing all the phenome- History,
of electrified bodies. Mr Symmer’s first trials were acci- na of electricity. He conceived that when a body is said
dentally made with black silk stockings, but he was sur- to be positively electrified, \X, is not simply that it is possess-
prised to find that ones produced no electricity. Two ed of a larger share of electric matter than in a natural
white silk stockings, or two black ones, when put on the state; nor, when it is said to be negatively electrified, of a
same leg and taken off, gave no electrical indications, less; but that, in the former case, it is possessed of a
When a black and a white stocking were put on the same larger portion of one of these active powers, and in the
leg, and at the end of ten minutes taken otf, they were so latter, of a larger portion of the other ; while a body, in
much inflated when pulled asunder, that each of them its natural state, remains unelectrified, from an equal ba-
showed the entire shape of the leg, and at the distance of a lance of these two powers within it.
foot and a half they rushed to meet each other. With worst- Contemporary with Symmer were Delaval, "Wilson,
ed stockings, also, nothing but the combination of black Cigna, Kinnersley, and Wilcke. M. Delaval found that
and white produced electricity. As it was troublesome the sides of vessels that were perfect conductors, were
to electrify the stockings by putting them on and taking non-conductors, and that animal and vegetable bodies
them otf the leg, Mr Symmer excited the stockings by lost their conducting power when reduced to ashes. Mr
drawing them on the hand, which, however, produced a Wilson discovered that when two electrics are rubbed to-
weaker degree of electricity. The electricity was in this gether, the harder of the two is generally electrified po-
case more permanent, and the effects were more powerful, sitively, and the other negatively, but always with oppo-
when the stockings were new or newly washed. When site electricities. Cigna made many curious experiments
an excited white and black stocking are presented to each by using silk ribbands in place of the silk stockings of
other, they attract one another, inclining to each other at Symmer. Kinnersley, the friend of Franklin, made some
the distance of three feet, catching hold of each other important experiments on the elongation and fusion of
within two feet, and at a less distance rushing together iron wires, when a strong charge was passed through
with surprising violence, becoming as flat as so many them in a state of tension; and Wilcke brought to light
folds of silk when they are joined. “ But what appears many new phenomena respecting the spontaneous electri-
most extraordinary is, that when they are separated, and city produced by the melting of electric substances,
removed at a sufficient distance from each other, their The pyro-electricity of minerals, or the faculty possess- Pyro-elec-
electricity does not appear to have been in the least im- ed by some minerals of becoming electric by heat, and of tricity of
paired by the shock they had in meeting. They are again exhibiting negative and positive poles, now began to at-minerals,
inflated, again attract and repel, and are as x*eady to rush tract the notice of philosophers. There is reason to be-
together as before. When this experiment is performed lieve that the lyncurium of the ancients, which, according
with two black stockings in one hand, and two white in to Theophrastus, attracted light bodies, was the tourma-
the other, it exhibits a very curious spectacle; the repul- line, a Ceylon mineral, in which the Dutch had early re-
sion of those of the same colour, and the attraction of cognised the same attractive property, whence it got the
those of different colours, throws them into an agitation name of Aschentrihher, or attracter of ashes. In 1717 M.
that is not unentertaining, and makes them catch each at Lemery exhibited to the Academy of Sciences a stone
that of its opposite colour, at a greater distance than one from Ceylon which attracted light bodies ; and Linnaeus,
would expect. When allowed to come together, they all in mentioning the experiments of Lemery, gives the stone
unite in one mass. When separated, they resume their the name of Lapis Electricus. The Duke de Noya had
former appearance, and admit of the repetition of the ex- heard at Naples that Count Pichetti had seen at Con-
periment as often as you please, till their electricity, gra- stantinople a stone called tourmaline, which attracted and
dually wasting, stands in need of being recruited.” repelled light bodies ; and in 1758 he purchased some of
In the course of these experiments Mr Symmer acci- them in Holland, and, assisted by MM. Daubenton and
dentally threw" a stocking out of his hands, and some time Adanson, he made a series of experiments with them,
afterwards he found it sticking to the paper hangings of which were published separately.
the room. They stuck also to the painted pannelling, This curious subject, however, had engaged the atten- Labours of
and often continued for a whole hour suspended upon the tion of M. iEpinus, a celebrated German philosopher, who TEpinus.
hangings. published an account of them in 1756. Hitherto nothing
Mr Symmer’s attention was next directed to the force had been said respecting the necessity of heat to excite
of cohesion between stockings of black and white silk, the tourmaline ; but it was shown by TEpinus that a tem-
and he found that from ten ounces to nine pounds weight perature between 991° and 212° of Fahrenheit was re-
was necessary to separate the stockings, according to quisite for the development of its attractive powers. Mr
their weight, or according as the rough or smooth surfaces Benjamin Wilson, Priestley, and Canton, continued the
were in contact. investigation; but it was reserved for the Abbe Haiiy
Mr Symmer likewise found that a Leyden jar could be to throw much light on this curious branch of the science,
charged by the stockings either positively or negatively, He found that the electricity of the tourmaline decreas-
according as the wire from the neck of the jar was pre- ed rapidly from the summits or poles towards the midd le
sented to the black or white stockings. When the elec- of the crystal, where it was imperceptible; and he dis-
tricity of the white stocking was thrown into the jar, and covered that if a tourmaline is broken into any number ot
on that the electricity of the black one, or vice versa, the fragments, when excited, each fragment has two opposite
jar will not be electrified at all. With the electricity of poles. Haiiy discovered the same property in the Si-
two stockings he charged the jar to such a degree that berian and Brazilian topaz, borate of magnesia, meso-
the shock from it reached both his elbows ; and by means type, prehnite, sphene, and calamine. He also found
of the electricity of four silk stockings he kindled spirits that the polarity which minerals receive from heat has a
of wine in a tea-spoon which he held in his hand, and the relation to the secondary forms of their crystals, the tour-
shock was at the same time felt from the elbows to the maline, for example, having its resinous pole at the sum-
breast. Independent of these curious experiments, Mr mit of the crystal which has three faces, and its vitreous
bymmer had the merit of having first maintained the pole at the summit which has six faces. In the other
theory of two distinct fluids, not independent of each pyro-electrical crystals above mentioned, Haiiy has de-
other, as Dufay supposed them to be, but co-existent, and, tected the same deviation from the rules of symmetry
S72
ELECTRICITY.
Experi¬
ments of
jEpinus.
History, in their secondary crystals which occurs in tourmaline.
Mr Brard discovered that pyro-electricity was a property
of the axinite ; and more recently Sir David Brewster has
detected it, as we shall afterwards see, in a variety of other
minerals.
In repeating and extending the experiments of Haiiy,
Sir David Brewster discovered that various artificial salts
were pyro-electrical; and he mentions the tartrate of pot¬
ash and soda, and the tartaric acid, as exhibiting this pro¬
perty in a very strong degree. He likewise made many
experiments with the tourmaline when cut into thin slices,
and reduced to the finest powder, in which state each
atom preserved its pyro-electricity; and he has shown
that scolezite and mesolite, even when deprived of their
water of crystallization, and reduced to powder, preserve
their property of becoming electrical by heat. When
this white powder is heated and stirred about by any
substance whatever, it collects in masses like new fal¬
len snow, and adheres to the body with which it is stir¬
red.
In addition to his experiments on the tourmaline, iEpi-
nus made several on the electricity of melted sulphur;
and, in conjunction with Wilcke, he investigated the sub¬
ject of electric atmospheres, and discovered a beautiful
method of charging a plate of air by suspending large
wooden boards coated with tin, and having their surfaces
near each other, and parallel. iEpinus, however, has been
principally distinguished by his ingenious theory of elec¬
tricity, which he has explained and illustrated in a separate
work which appeared at St Petersburg in 1759. This
theory is founded on the following principles. 1. The
particles of the electric fluid repel each other with a force
decreasing as the distance increases. 2. The particles of
the electric fluid attract the particles of all bodies, and
are attracted by them, with a force obeying the same law.
3. The electric fluid exists in the pores of bodies; and
while it moves without any obstruction in non-electrics,
such as metals, water, &c., it moves with extreme diffi¬
culty in electrics, such as glass, rosin, &c. 4. Electrical
phenomena are produced, either by the transference of the
fluid from a body containing more to another containing
less of it, or from its attraction and repulsion when no
transference takes place.
Electricity The electricity of fishes, like that of minerals, now be¬
ef fishes. gan to excite very general attention. The ancients, as
we have seen, were acquainted with the benumbing power
of the torpedo, but it was not till 1676 that modern natu¬
ralists attended to this remarkable property. The Ara¬
bians had long before given this fish the name of raad or
lightning; but Redi was the first who communicated the
fact that the shock was conveyed to the fisherman by
means of the line and rod which connected him with the
fish. Lorenzini published engravings of its electrical or¬
gans ; Reaumur described the electrical properties of the
fish; Kasmpfer compared the effects which it produced
to lightning; but Bancroft was the first person who dis¬
tinctly suspected that the effects of the torpedo were elec¬
trical. In 1773 Mr Walsh and Dr Ingenhouz proved,
by many curious experiments, that the shock of the tor¬
pedo was an electrical one; and Dr Blunter examined
and described the anatomical structure of its electrical
organs. Humboldt, Gay Lussac, and M. Geoffroy, pur¬
sued the subject with success; and Mr Cavendish con¬
structed an artificial torpedo, by which he was able to pro¬
duce artificially the actions of the living animal. The sub¬
ject has been more recently investigated by Dr Todd, Sir
Humphry Davy, and Dr John Davy.
The power of giving electric shocks has been discover¬
ed also in the Gymnotus Electricus, the Silurus Electri-
cus, the Trichiurus Indicus, and the Tetraodon Electricus.
The most interesting and the best known of these singu- pi t
lar fishes is the Gymnotus or Surinam eel. Its electrical v_»"v
organs have been minutely described by Hunter and
Geoffroy; Dr Williamson, Dr Gordon, and Mr Walsh
have published interesting details of its electrical powers;
and Humboldt has more recently given the most roman¬
tic account of the combats which are carried on in South
America between the gymnoti and the wild horses in the
vicinity of Calabozo.
Among the modern cultivators of electricity, our coun-MrCa
tryman, the late Mr Cavendish, is entitled to a distin-dbh, b
guished place. Before he had any knowledge of the1^31^
theory of iEpinus, he had composed and communicated to1810,
the Royal Society a theory of electrical phenomena near¬
ly the same as that of the German philosopher. As Mr
Cavendish, however, had carried the theory much farther,
and considered it under a more accurate point of view,
he did not hesitate to give his paper to the world.
Mr Cavendish made some accurate experiments on the
relative conducting power of different substances. He
found that the electric fluid experiences as much resist¬
ance in passing through a column of water one inch
long, as it does in passing through an iron wire of the
same diameter 400,000,000 inches long, and hence he
concludes that rain or distilled water conducts 400,000,000
times more than iron wire. He found that the water, or
a solution of one part of salt in one of water, conducts a
hundred times better than fresh water ; and that a satu¬
rated solution of sea-salt conducts seven hundred and
twenty times better than fresh water. Mr Cavendish
likewise determined by nice experiments that the quan¬
tity of electricity in coated glass of a certain area in¬
creased with the thinness of the glass; and that in dif¬
ferent coated plates the quantity was as the area of the
coated surface directly, and as the thickness of the glass
inversely.
Although electricity had been employed as a chemical Chemii
agent in the oxidation and fusion of metals, yet it is to electric
Mr Cavendish that we owe the first of those brilliant en¬
quiries which have done so much for the advancement of
modern chemistry. By means of the electric spark he
succeeded in decomposing atmospheric air. By using dif¬
ferent proportions of oxygen and hydrogen, and examin¬
ing the product which they formed after explosion with
the electric spark, he obtained a proportion when the pro¬
duct was pure water. He was equally successful in the
more difficult experiment of exploding oxygen and nitro¬
gen ; but when he combined seven measures of oxygen
with three measures of nitrogen, he obtained from their
explosion nitric acid. As several foreigners had failed
in repeating this interesting experiment, Mr Cavendish,
aided by Mr Gilpin, exhibited it publicly before the lead¬
ing members of the Royal Society on the 6th of Decem¬
ber 1787.
The decomposition of water by the electric spark was
first effected by MM. Paets, Troostwyk, and Deiman;
and improved methods of doing it were discovered and
used by Dr Pearson, Mr Cuthbertson, and Dr Wol¬
laston.
As a chemical agent, however, electricity was now des-Ca w
lined to transfer its supremacy to another science. ^^etaiceie
great discovery made by Galvani in 1790, that the con-tricitVt
tact of metals produced muscular contraction in frogs, and
the invention of the Voltaic pile, in 1800, by M. Volta
of Como, have led to the establishment of a new science,
called Galvanism or Voltaic Electricity, which, though now
proved to be identical with common electricity, requires to
be treated in a separate article. The chemical effects ot
the Voltaic pile far transcended those of ordinary electrici¬
ty, and enabled Sir Humphry Davy to decompose the earths
ELECTRICITY.
573
j, ory> and the alkalies, and thus to create a new epoch in the his-
J O tory of chemistry.
Oiimb, Contemporary with Mr Cavendish was M. Coulomb,
i l 1736, one of the most eminent experimental philosophers of the
dit MG. ]ast century. Anxious to determine the law of electrical
action, he invented for this purpose an instrument called
a torsion balance, which has since his time been univer¬
sally used in all delicate researches, and which is parti¬
cularly applicable to the measurement of electrical and
magnetical actions. iEpinus and Cavendish had considered
the action of the electrical fluid as diminishing with the
distance; but M. Coulomb proved, by a series of elabo¬
rate experiments, that it varied like gravity in the inverse
ratio of the square of the distance. Our countryman Dr
Robison had previously determined, without, however,
having published his experiments, that in the mutual re¬
pulsion of two similarly electrified spheres, the law was
slightly in excess of the inverse duplicate ratio of the
distance, while in the attraction of oppositely electrified
spheres the deviation from that ratio was in defect; and
hence he justly concluded that the law of electrical action
was similar to that of gravity.
Adopting the hypothesis of two fluids, Coulomb inves¬
tigated experimentally and theoretically the distribution
of electricity on the surface of bodies. He determined
the law of its distribution between two conducting bodies
in contact; he measured the density of the electricity in
different points of two globes in contact; he ascertained
the distribution of electricity among several globes (whe¬
ther equal or unequal) placed in contact in a straight
line; he measured the distribution of electricity on the
surface of a cylinder, and its distribution between a globe
and cylinder of different lengths but of the same diame¬
ter. His experiments on the dissipation of electricity
possess also a high value. He found that the momentary
dissipation was proportional to the degree of electricity
at the time ; and that when the electricity was moderate,
its dissipation was not altered in bodies of different kinds
or shapes. The temperature and pressure of the atmo¬
sphere did not produce any sensible change; but the dis¬
sipation was nearly proportional to the cube of the quan¬
tity of moisture in the air. In examining the dissipa¬
tion which takes place along imperfectly insulating sub¬
stances, he found that a thread of gum-lac was the most
perfect of all insulators ; that it insulated ten times better
than a dry silk thread; and that a silk thread covered
with fine sealing-wax insulated as powerfully as gum-lac
when it had four times its length. He found also that
the dissipation of electricity along insulators was chiefly
owing to adhering moisture, but in some measure also to
a slight conducting power.
Towards the end of the last century a series of experi-
ments was made by MM. Laplace, Lavoisier, and Volta,
kiisier *rom which it appeared that electricity is developed when
Volta, S°M or fluid bodies pass into the gaseous state. The
! bodies which were to be evaporated or dissolved were
placed upon an insulating stand, and made to communi¬
cate by a chain or wire with a Cavallo’s electrometer, or
with Volta’s condenser, when it was suspected that the
electricity increased gradually. When sulphuric acid
diluted with three parts of water was poured upon iron
filings, inflammable air was disengaged with a brisk effer¬
vescence ; and at the end of a few minutes the condenser
was so highly charged as to yield a strong spark of ne¬
gative electricity. Similar results were obtained when
charcoal was burnt on a chafing dish, or when fixed air
or nitrous gas was generated from powdered chalk by
means of the sulphuric and nitrous acids.
M. Volta, who happened to be at Paris when these ex¬
periments were made, and who took an active part in
S
s of
hiace,
them, had subsequently observed that the electricity pro- History,
duced by evaporation was always negative. He found
that burning charcoal gives out negative electricity; and
in other kinds of combustion he obtained distinct electri¬
cal indications.
In this state of the subject M. Saussure undertook asaussure.
series of elaborate experiments on the electricity of eva¬
poration and combustion. In his first trials he found
that the electricity was sometimes positive and sometimes
negative when water was evaporated from a heated cru¬
cible of iron ; but he afterwards found it to be always po¬
sitive both in an iron and a copper crucible. In a silver
and in a porcelain crucible the electricity was negative.
The evaporation of alcohol and of ether in a silver crucible
also gave negative electricity. M. Saussure made many
fruitless trials to obtain electricity from combustion, and
he likewise failed in his attempts to procure it from eva¬
poration without ebullition.
Many valuable additions were about this time made to
electrical apparatus, as well as to the science itself, by
Van Marum, Cavallo, Nicholson, Cuthbertson, Brooke,
Bennet, Read, Morgan, and Henley ; but our limits will
not permit us to do any thing more than thus notice their
labours.
The application of analysis to electrical phenomena mayApplica-
be dated from the commencement of the present century, tion ofana-
Coulomb had considered only the distribution of electrici-^sis t.°.
ty on the surface of spheres; but Laplace undertook to in-e ectncity.
vestigate its distribution on the surface of ellipsoids of revo¬
lution, and he showed that the thickness of the coating of
fluid at the pole was to its thickness at the equator as the
equatorial is to the polar diameter, or, what is the same
thing, that the repulsive force of the fluid, or its tension
at the pole, is to that at the equator as the polar is to the
equatorial axis.
M. Biot has extended this investigation to all spheroids M. Biot,
differing little from a sphere, whatever may be the irregu¬
larity of their figure. He likewise determined analyti¬
cally that the losses of electricity form a geometrical pro¬
gression when the two surfaces of a jar or plate of coated
glass are discharged by successive contacts ; and he found
that the same law regulates the discharge when a series
of jars or plates are placed in communication with each
other.
It is to M. Poisson, however, that we are mainly in- M. Pois-
debted for having brought the phenomena of electricity son.
under the dominion of analysis, and placed it on the same
level as the more exact sciences. By assuming the hypo¬
thesis of two fluids, he has deduced theorems for deter¬
mining the distribution of the electric fluid on the surface
of two conducting spheres when they are either placed
in contact or at any given distance; and the truth of
these theorems has been established by experiments per¬
formed by Coulomb long before the theorems themselves
had been investigated.
The cultivation of the new science of Voltaic electrici-Oersted’s
ty had now withdrawn the attention of experimental phi- discovery
losophers from that of ordinary electricity. The splen-e^ec^rH*
dour of its phenomena, as well as its association withismn 182q
chemical discovery, contributed to give it popularity
and importance ; but the discoveries of Galvani and Volta
were destined, in their turn, to pass into the shade, and
the intellectual enterprise of the natural philosophers of
Europe was directed to new branches of electrical and
magnetical science. Guided by theoretical anticipations,
Professor H. C. Oersted of Copenhagen, in 1820, laid the
foundations of the science of Electro-magnetism. He found
that the electrical current of a galvanic trough, when
made to pass through a platina wire, acted upon a com¬
pass needle placed below the wire; and upon repeating
574
History.
Discove¬
ries of x\m
pere.
ELECTRICITY.
Discove¬
ries of Ara^
go, Davy,
and See-
beck.
Discove¬
ries of M.
Savary.
Discove-
ries of Pro'
fessor Er-
man.
Discove¬
ries of Dr
Seebeck,
1822.
the experiment, he discovered the fundamental law, that
the magnetical effect of the Voltaic current had a circular
motion round the current, or round the conductor, or the
wire through which the current passed. M. Ampere
of Paris soon afterwards made the important discovery,
that two wires conducting electrical currents, when sus¬
pended so as to be capable of motion, attracted each other
when the currents moved in the same direction, and re¬
pelled each other when they moved in opposite directions ;
or, to express the fact more simply, two points of electrical
currents repel each other by their similar sides, and attract
each other by their opposite sides ; so that, as Professor Oer¬
sted remarks, an electric current contains a revolving ac¬
tion, exhibiting every appearance of polarity.
In 1820 M. Arago, Sir H. Davy, and Dr Seebeck of
1 Berlin, without being acquainted with each other’s labours,
discovered the power of the electric current to impart
magnetism to iron and steel needles; but the most singu¬
lar discovery on this branch of the subject was made by
M. Savary, who found that small steel needles placed at
different but very short distances from a wire conducting
an electrical current, are magnetised in different directions.
Needles in contact with the wire are magnetised in the
usual or positive direction; while needles at the distance
of 1*1 millimeter, or ^th of an inch, are magnetised in an
opposite direction, which he calls negative. At the dis¬
tance of two inches from the wire there was a neutral line
in which the needles wrere not magnetised at all. When
the distance of the unmagnetised needle wus increased from
three to eight millimeters it again became positively mag¬
netic, the maximum effect taking place at the distance
of 5^ millimeters. Between the distance of 8-6 and 2P4
millimeters the magnetism was a second time negative,
the effect increasing from 8-6 to IPG, and again reaching
the vertical or zero point at 2P4'. Beyond the distance
of twenty-three millimeters the magnetism was again po¬
sitive. With different conducting wires M. Savary found,
that within certain limits the maximum intensity is pro¬
duced at a greater distance from the wire, and the num¬
ber of alternations of positive and negative direction is
also greater in proportion, as the wire is shorter in pro¬
portion to the length of the helix. When needles are
placed parallel to the axis of a helix of narrow windings,
they all receive the same kind of magnetism; but when
the electrical charge is increased from one jar to a bat¬
tery of twenty-two superficial feet, six alternations, viz.
three positive and three negative, are obtained. When
Voltaic electricity is substituted for ordinary electricity,
the alternations are destroyed by a continued current, but
appear when the current is established only for an instant.
These curious experiments were followed by those of
Professor Erman of Berlin, who found that when an elec¬
trical discharge passes through the centre of a circular
disc of steel, and in a line perpendicular to its surface,
no apparent magnetism is developed; but when a slit is
made in the plate, or a sector cut out of it, the side of
the disc opposite to the slit, or the sectoral opening, ex¬
hibits the opposite magnetism. MM. Gay Lussac and
Welther obtained the same result with a steel ring.
The discovery of thermo-electricity by Dr Seebeck in
1822 gave a new impulse to this branch of science. In
studying the influence of heat in Galvanic arrangements,
he was led to believe that magnetism might be developed
in two metals forming a circuit when the equilibrium of
heat in them was disturbed. He accordingly joined a se¬
micircular piece of bismuth with a similar piece of copper,
so as to form a circle by their union ; and when one of the
city b;
Farad
junctions was heated an electrical current was produced, Histc
which could show its existence only by the magnetic
needle, and which exhibited all the magnetical properties
of an electrical current.
In the same year in which Dr Seebeck made this re-Dr ira
markable discovery, the rotation of a magnetical needle day’s (
round an electrical current, and of a body transmittingcoverii
an electrical current round a magnet, were exhibited in a
series of beautiful and highly ingenious experiments by Dr
Faraday, whose subsequent discoveries place him at the
head of the cultivators of this most interesting science.
These experiments were followed by those of Arago, Exper
Barlow, Seebeck, Herschel, and Babbage, in which a re-ments
volving plate of copper gives a rotatory motion to a mag-Arao°
netic needle conveniently suspended ; but notwithstanding others
th% ingenuity and talent with which this subject was treat¬
ed by these eminent individuals, it is to Dr Faraday that
we owe a complete analysis and explanation of this curi¬
ous phenomenon.
This explanation was founded on the great discovery Disco'
of the evolution of electricity from magnetism, by which of maj
Dr Faraday laid the foundation of the new science of mag-to’elei
neto-electricity. By means of a series of simple and beau
tiful experiments with the celebrated magnets of Dr God
win Knight, and with the powerful magnet of Professor Da
niel, Dr Faraday obtained the most unequivocal and strik
ing electrical effects, though the intensity of the electri
city was very feeble, and its quantity small. He obtain
ed a distinct though feeble spark; he succeeded in con
vulsing the limbs of a frog by means of a magnet; and he
perceived also the sensation on the tongue and the flash
before the eyes, but he could not effect chemical decom¬
position by magnetism. Besides obtaining these import¬
ant results, Dr Faraday has clearly established the laws
according to which a magnet developes magnetic cur¬
rents. Fie applies these laws to the explanation of the
reciprocal action of revolving magnets and metals, and he
adduces unquestionable proofs of the production of electri¬
city by terrestrial magnetism.
These important results have been more recently ex¬
tended by Dr Faraday and others. M. Pixii observed
attractions and repulsions in the electricity evolved by
magneto-electric induction; and by an ingenious and
powerful apparatus he obtained a great degree of diver¬
gence in the gold leaves of an electrometer. At the
meeting of the British Association at Oxford in June
1832, Dr Faraday, by means of Mr Snow Harris’s electro¬
meter, subsequently described, succeeded in heating a
wire by magneto-electric induction. By means of the
magneto-electric apparatus of M. Pixii already referred
to, he and M. Hachette decomposed water, and obtained
the oxygen and hydrogen in separate tubes.
In the progress of his electrical researches, Dr Faraday ident
found it necessary for their further prosecution to esta-thevi
blish either the identity or the distinction of the electri-ylectr
cities excited by different means ; and in a paper of great ^
value, he has established beyond a doubt the identity ofpr j>,
common electricity, Voltaic electricity, magneto-electri-
city, thermo-electricity, and animal electricity. The phe¬
nomena exhibited in these five kinds of electricity do not
differ in kind, but merely in degree; and in this respect
they vary in proportion to the variable circumstances of quan¬
tity and intensity, which can at pleasure be made to change
in almost any one of the kinds of electricity, as much as it
does between one hind and another. Dr Faraday has given
the following interesting table of the experimental effects
common to the electricities derived from different sources.
1 The cross indicates that the effect at the top of this table is produced by the electricity mentioned in the column at the side.
ELECTRICITY.
fiory.
Physiologi¬
cal Effects.
JU Electricity.
2. Voltaic Electricity.
3. Magneto-Electricity.
4. Thermo-Electricity,
5. Animal Electricity..
X
X
Magnetic
Deflection.
X
X
Magnets
made.
X
Spark.
tt True
ea ing chemical
Power. .
Action.
Attraction
and
Repulsion.
X
X
X
Discharge
by
Hot Air.
!!. .ion
bvpasure
ofjlinary
an 'oltaic
ekricity.
I Fara¬
ds new
It of elec-
ti il con-
i .ion.
cove,
i of M,
tier.
Dr Faraday was anxious to determine the relation by
measure of ordinary and Voltaic electricity; and after va¬
rious excellent experiments, he obtained as an approxi¬
mation, and judging from magnetical force only, “ that
two wires, one of platina and one of zinc, each one eigh¬
teenth of an inch in diameter, placed five sixteenths of
an inch apart, and immersed to the depth of five eigh¬
teenths of an inch in acid consisting of one drop of oil of
vitriol, and four ounces distilled water at a temperature
about 60°, and connected at the other extremities by a
copper wire eighteen feet long and one eighteenth of an
inch thick (being the wire of the galvanometer coils),
yield as much electricity in eight beats of my watch, or
in jfuths of a minute (or 3‘2 seconds), as the electrical
battery (of fifteen jars) charged by thirty turns of the
large machine in excellent order. The same result was
found to be true in the case of chemical force.”
In the course of his investigations relative to electro¬
chemical composition, Dr Faraday was led to observe the
elfectsdue to a very general lawof electricconduction which
had not formerly been recognised. He found that solid
bodies assume the power of conducting electricity during
liquefaction, and lose this conducting power during con¬
gelation. The Voltaic electricity produced by a battery
of fifteen troughs, or a hundred and fifty pairs of four-
inch plates powerfully charged, wTas incapable of passing
through a thin film of ice three sixteenths of an inch
thick; but when the ice was melted, the electricity pass¬
ed in such quantities as to deflect the magnetic needle
70°. This insulation, however, exhibited by ice is not
effective with electricity of exalted intensity. In making
this experiment with other solid bodies, Dr Faraday chose
those which, being solid, at common temperatures were
fusible, and of such a composition as, for other reasons
connected with electro-chemical action, led to the conclu¬
sion that they would be able to replace water. When the
electric current passed through the solid body employed,
there was no chemical decomposition ; but when the body
was liquefied or fused, the decomposition took place. The
bodies which Dr Faraday found to be subject to this law
will be found in our section on Electrical Conduction.
The degree of conducting power conferred upon bodies
by liquidity is generally very great. In water it is the
feeblest of all; and in the various oxides, chlorides, salts,
&c. it is given in a much higher degree, some a hundred
times greater, than in the case of pure water.
Before we close this brief history of electrical discove¬
ries, we must notice the very remarkable one communi¬
cated to the Academy of Sciences at Paris, on the 27th
May 1833, by M. Peltier, who has announced that, with¬
out changing the producing cause, he can transform quan-
ht'/ of electricity into intensity, and intensity into quantity,
and neutralise two similar currents, proceeding always
horn the same cause, by making them interfere in oppo¬
site directions.
Among the able and active cultivators of electrical Eabours of
science, we must not omit the name of Mr Snow Harris Snow
of Plymouth. His beautiful instrument for measuring the Harris,
heat evolved in electrical action,—his lightning conduc¬
tors for ships,—his measuring electrometer,—his applica¬
tion of it in determining in a new way the law of elec¬
trical attraction, whether it takes place between simply
electrified conductors, or between accumulated electrici¬
ties,—his experiments on the action of spheres and planes,
and bodies of other forms,—on the laws of electrical ac¬
cumulations, and on the controlling power of bodies,—en¬
title him to a high place in the lists of electrical discovery.
PART I.
PHENOMENA AND LAWS OF ELECTRICITY.
Elementary Phenomena and Definitions.
1. If a smooth glass tube, or the glass of a watch, or aElemen-
piece of sealing-wTax, or amber, be rubbed upon the sleeve tary phe-
of a cloth coat, or, what is still better, if it be rubbed with nomena
a piece of dry flannel or woollen cloth, it will be found to ^ns 6 m*
have acquired from this friction a new physical property.
This property will be exhibited by holding the body which
has been newly rubbed above small shreds of paper, gold
leaf, or any thin light bodies placed upon the table. These
bodies will be instantly attracted to it, some of them ad¬
hering to its surface, others falling back to the table, and
others being thrown off from the body as if they were re¬
pelled from it.
The property which has thus been communicated by
friction is called electricity, the body which acquires the
property is called the electric, the attraction which it ex¬
ercises over light bodies is called electric attraction ; and
when the attractive power is produced by friction, the
body rubbed, or the electric, is said to be excited by fric¬
tion, and the body by which it is excited is called the
rubber.
2. In order to study these phenomena with more pre¬
cision, let a small ball B, the size of a pea, made of cork,
or the dry pith of elder, or, what is better
still, of the finely porous pith of the sola
tree from India, be suspended from a stand
ACD by a dry silk thread AB. Having
rubbed a large glass tube with a piece of
dry silk, present it to the ball B, and the
ball will be instantly attracted to the tube,
and will adhere to it. After they have
continued in contact for -a second or two,
withdraw the glass tube, taking care not to touch the ball
with the finger. If the excited glass tube is now a second
time brought near the ball, the ball will recede from it,
or will be repelled by the tube. If, after touching the ball
FT
ELECTRICITY.
576
Phenome- with the finger, so as to deprive it of its electricity, the
11 a an(l above experiment is accurately repeated with a stick of
Laws, sealing-iuax in place of glass, the very same phenomena
will be exhibited; the ball will, in the first instance, be
attracted, and on the second application of the sealing-wax
,it will be repelled. Hence we draw two conclusions,^^,
that both glass and sealing-ivax attract the ball B before
they have communicated to it any of their own electrici¬
ty ; and, second, that both these electrics repel the ball
after each of them has communicated to it some of their
own electricity.
3. Let us now examine what takes place when the ex¬
cited sealing-wax is presented to the ball, after the ball
has received electricity from the excited glass, and vice
versa. For this purpose excite the glass tube, present it
to the ball B, and after it has been a few seconds in con¬
tact, withdraw it. The ball has now received electricity
from the glass tube. Let the sealing-wax be now excited
and presented to the ball, the ball, in place of being re¬
pelled, will be attracted by the wax. Reverse this experi¬
ment, by first presenting the excited wax to the ball,
and then the excited glass, and it will be in like man¬
ner found that the glass repels the ball. Hence it follows
that
Excited glass repels a ball electrified by excited glass.
Excited wax repels a ball electrified by excited wax.
Excited glass attracts a ball electrified by excited wax.
Excited wax attracts a ball electrified by excited glass.
From which we conclude that there are two opposite
electricities, namely, that produced by excited glass, to
which the name of vitreous or positive electricity has been
given, and that produced by excited wrax, to which the
name o£ resinous or negative electricity has been given.
4. If, when the pith ball B is electrified, either w'ith ex¬
cited glass or wax, we touch it with a rod of glass, its
property of being subsequently attracted or repelled by
the excited glass or wax will suffer no change ; but if we
touch it with a rod of metal it will lose the electricity
which it had received, and will be attracted both by the
excited glass or wax, as it was when they were first ap¬
plied to it. Hence the rod of glass and the rod of metal
possess different properties, the former being incapable,
and the latter capable, of carrying off the electricity of
the pith ball. The metal is therefore said to be a conduc¬
tor, and the glass a non-conductor, of electricity.
has been found essential for carrying on electrical inves- Pheno
tigations, and producing powerful electrical effects. The na a
various forms which have been given to the electrical haw
machine will be described in the second part of this arti- ''"''V 1
cle, under the head of Electrical Apparatus, so that we shall
chiefly confine our attention at present to a description of
the plate-glass machine.
This machine, in its common form, is represented in Plate.; :S
Plate CCIX. fig. 1, where AB is a circular disc of platemacliir
glass from eighteen inches to two or more feet in diame-hj'CC i.
ter, and from two to three eighths of an inch thick. ThisFl^'1
disc is fixed perpendicular to a horizontal axis, supported
by two uprights E, F, of a mahogany frame, and is capable
of being turned round with any ordinary degree of velo¬
city, by means of the handle or winch W. The rubbers Rubbe
by which this disc df glass is rubbed or excited are placed
at the upper and lower end of the disc, as seen in the sec¬
tion, fig. 2. The two upper rubbers above A, viz. G, H,
are suspended from the top of the frame, and are fixed by
screws to two flat pieces of wood m, m, which can be
pressed together or slackened by turning the screw s so
that the rubbers G, H may be made to press with the re¬
quisite degree of force against the disc AB which revolves
between them. The lower rubbers M, N below B, are
supported upon the stand, and are similarly put together.
The rubbers are generally flat cushions of silk or soft
leather stuffed with hair.
The prime conductor CD is a semicircle of hollow Prime i-
brass, supported on the upright E by means of the solidducton
glass cylinder R. The two extremities of this conduc¬
tor-, one of which is seen below A, and the other above B,
carry each a row of brass points, and the transverse piece
of brass tube in which the points are inserted terminates
in a varnished wooden ball.
From the upper rubbers an oil silk flap, embracing Silk fl;j
both surfaces of the plate, extends to a little above the
row of points on the conductor; and from the lower rub¬
bers a similar flap extends to a little below the other
row of points. One of these flaps is seen in the figure, but
the other is hid by the upright E.
As it has been found that electricity is developed more Amals •
copiously when the rubbers are covered with an amalgam
of one part of tin and two of mercury, various composi¬
tions have been tried by philosophers. The following
amalgam, recommended by Singer, is equal in efficacy to
any that has yet been proposed. Melt two ounces of zinc
and one of tin, and pour into the crucible six ounces of
mercury. Shake the whole together till it is cold, in an
iron or thick wooden box; and when it has been reduced
to a fine powder in a mortar, mix it with as much lard as
will form it into a paste. The amalgam thus formed must
then be thinly spread on the surface of each cushion ; and
when the disc of glass has been well cleaned from dust,
and from black specks or lines, by means of a little spi¬
rits of wine, the mixture is ready for use.
When a very powerful excitation is required, it is usual
to cover a piece of smooth leather, four or five inches broad,
with the amalgam, and apply it with the hand to the re¬
volving disc ; and it has been found very useful to apply
previously a rag with a little tallow, so as just to give a
slight dimness to the glass.
Although the plate glass machine is generally regardedRona
as the best, yet, from its greater cheapness and facifityO^”1
of construction, the cylinder machine is most commonlyh
used. We shall therefore describe at present one of those
machines as improved by Mr F. Ronalds. This machine
is represented in fig. 3, where A is a cylinder of blue Fig. j
glass about a quarter of an inch thick, supported by the
two mahogany uprights B, B, fixed to the box or case L
which forms the base of the machine. DD is a copper
In the few elementary experiments which we have now
described, the electricity has been produced hy friction;
but the pith ball could have been electrified by a great
variety of other methods, which will be explained in a
subsequent part of this article. In all these cases the ef¬
fects are precisely the same, whatever be the source from
which the electricity is obtained; but as friction is the
simplest means of generating electricity, and as machines
and apparatus have been invented, by means of which it
can be thus produced in great abundance, and accumu¬
lated in great quantities, we shall proceed to describe the
phenomena and laws of electricity as produced by fric¬
tion.
CHAP. I.—ON THE PHENOMENA OF ELECTRICITY PRO¬
DUCED BY FRICTION.
Sect. I.—Description of the Electrical Machine for gene¬
rating Electricity.
Although the friction produced by the strength of the
human arm is sufficient to produce abundance of electri¬
city for ordinary experiments, yet the aid of mechanism
ELECTRICITY.
me-pipe which supports the semicylinder E, which is also
und hollow, and into which the pipe D opens. This semi-
,aws. cylinder carries on its flat side the cushion or rubber, the
surface of which is made concave to suit the convexity of
the cylinder A A. A small spirit-lamp F, the burner of
which consists only of a single cotton thread, is placed, as
shown in the figure, immediately beneath the mouth of
the copper pipe DD. The prime conductor G, which
stands parallel to the cylinder, is a cylindrical tube of thin
copper, rounded at both ends, and carrying at its middle
a row of metallic points, which nearly touch the surface of
the glass cylinder. The conductor G is supported by a
hollow glass support H, opening into the hollow conductor
G. Its lower end at H is fixed to the wooden case C by
means of three screws, one of which is seen at a passing
through a circular piece of hard boxwood, the insider of
which, as well as that of the perforation in the case C, is
lined with leather. The lower end of the glass tube H
terminates, like that of D, within the case C, and a spirit-
lamp is in like manner placed beneath it.
By these ingenious contrivances the rubber and the
conductor1 are kept warm and dry, and in damp weather,
or in a close room, where the air is rendered moist by the
breath of the audience, the machine will be found always
effective and in working order. Mr Ronalds is of opinion
that the excitation of the cylinder is promoted by the ex¬
citation of the amalgam by means of the heat. If similar
means are not taken to heat the interior of the glass cy¬
linder, the development of electricity may be promoted
by holding a hot piece of cloth or flannel beneath the cy¬
linder while it is in operation.
Sect. II.— On the Phenomena of Electrical Attraction and
Repulsion.
Iprical If the electrical machine, when thus prepared, is put in
l,act*on motion, the two rows of points will collect the electricity
• J rePul- which is generated by friction, and the brass conductor
CD, fig. 1, will be filled with the electricity thus produced.
By means of this electricity the following experiments may
be readily performed.
Exp. 1. If we suspend a pith hall by a slender wire,
and bring the ball near the conductor, it will be instantly
attracted by, and adhere to, the conductor, as long as
there is any electricity left. In this case the electricity
imparted to the ball by the conductor is carried oft' by
the conducting wire to the hand, and through the body
to the earth.
If the pith ball is suspended by a dry silk thread, and
held near the conductor, it wdll at first be attracted to it
as formerly; but after it has received as much as it can
take, it will then be repelled by the conductor, from the
repulsive action of the two similar electricities, and it
will not again approach the conductor, till either its own
electricity or that of the conductor has been carried off
by the contact of some conducting body. In either of
these cases the pith ball will be again attracted by the
conductor.
Exp. 2. Suspend a little brass ball by a silk thread,
and bring the ball near the conductor, so as to receive
electricity from it, and be repelled, as in experiment 1.
Then with the other hand bring another brass ball near
to the first, but on the side of it opposite to the conduc¬
tor. The first ball will now be attracted to the conduc¬
tor in consequence of having given out its electricity to
577
the second ball; but having received a new charge of Phenome-
electricity, it will be repelled from the conductor and at- na ami
tracted to the hand or fixed ball. In this way it will os- Laws,
cillate like a pendulum between the conductor and the
fixed ball. If in place of the fixed ball we substitute a
bell, the ball will oscillate as before, and cause the bell to
ring by its successive strokes.
Exp. 3. The beautiful experiment of the electrical bells Electrical
is exhibited in fig. 4*, where AB is a solid glass rod sur-bells,
mounted by a brass ball A, and supported upon a wooden
stand. Two arms of brass crossing at right angles are also
supported by the glass rod, and, by means of wires or
chains hanging from their extremities, are suspended four
bells b, b, b, b. From the middle part of each of these
cross arms is suspended a brass ball by silk threads, so
that each ball when put in motion and made to oscillate
in a plane passing through its own cross arm, may strike
alternately the middle bell V and the one adjacent to it.
If the brass ball is now placed close beneath the brass
knob of the prime conductor, or made to communicate
with it, the electricity of the conductor will be transmit¬
ted through the brass arms to the balls, and the balls giv¬
ing out their electricity to the bells, will strike them al¬
ternately, and cause them to ring, the electricity passing
off through the central bell V into the earth.
The experiment may be made more simply by suspend¬
ing three bells, one from the middle, and one from each
extremity of a brass rod, which is hung by its middle part
from an electrified conductor. Two brass balls are hung
by a silk thread between the central bell and the outer ones.
The outer bells are supported by a wire or chain, and the
central one by a silk thread. This central bell, however,
must communicate with the ground by a chain. When
the machine is put in motion, the electricity passes to the
outer bells, and the insulated balls, being attracted and
repelled, strike the outer bells and the inner one, by
which last the electricity passes into the earth.
A still simpler form of the experiment consists in pla¬
cing two small bells on separate glass stands, at a quarter
of an inch distance, one of the bells communicating with
the prime conductor, and the other with the ground. A
brass ball is then suspended between them by a silk thread,
and when the machine is wrought, the electricity will pass
to the earth through the bells and the ball, the latter oscil¬
lating between them, and ringing them, as long as the cur¬
rent of electricity is kept up.
Exp. 4. Take a dozen of threads about a foot long,
and having tied them together at both ends, hang them,
by a loop attached to the upper knot, to the prime con¬
ductor. When the machine is wrought, the threads will
separate from each other, swell out at the middle, and
assume a form approaching to that of a sphere. If the
threads are merely joined at each end, so that their ex¬
tremities point to two poles, which may easily be done,
they would swell out, and form, as it were, the meridians
of a hollow globe. This pretty experiment we owe to Mr
Wheler.
Exp. 5. Having fastened a piece of sealing-wax to a
wire, and inserted the wire in the hole at the end of the
prime conductor, soften the sealing-wax by the flame of a
candle, and work the machine;—fine fibres of wax like
those of wool will be thrown olf, and may be received on
paper. By gently heating the paper, the result of the
experiment may be fixed. These fibres are thrown off
by the repulsion of the electrified particles of wax, which
becomes a conductor when melted. The same experi-
1 It would be easy to improve this construction, by introducing the heated air of other two spirit-lamps into each end of the
cylinder.
VOL. VIII. 4 D
i
578
ELEC TRICITY.
Phenome- ment might no doubt be made with melted sugar, rosin,
na and an(j other substances.
Laws.
Fig. 5.
Exp. 6. The experiment of the dancing figures is one
of the finest illustrations of electrical attraction and re¬
pulsion. Take two circular discs of wood or pasteboard,
E, F, like those shown in fig. 5. Cover them with tinfoil,
and having suspended the uppermost from the prime
conductor (or from the end D of a metallic rod CD in¬
sulated by the glass stand AB, and whose other extre¬
mity C communicates by a chain with the prime conduc¬
tor), place the other upon a stand G, so that, by means of
the screw nut n, it can be raised or depressed. Place upon
the lower disc small painted figures cut out of paper, and
as soon as the machine is wrought the figures will spring
upon their feet, and execute the most extraordinary move¬
ments, sometimes dancing on their heads, sometimes
hanging by the upper plate, and sometimes flying into
each other’s arms. If these figures are cut out of the
pith of the sola tree, and if the arms and legs are made
separate, and attached by threads to the body, the effect
surpasses all description. The circular discs will answer
equally well if made of metal.
Exp. 7. Suspend from the prime conductor a small
metallic cup nearly full of water, and having placed in it
the shorter end of a syphon made with a capillary glass
tube, of such a bore that the water will with difficulty drop
from it. When the water is electrified by working the
machine, it will be discharged in a continuous stream from
the larger arm of the syphon; and if the electricity is power¬
ful, the current of water will divide itself into several
branches. In like manner, if a condensed air fountain is
electrified, the jet will subdivide itself into minute parts,
and suffer great expansion; but the moment the machine
stops it resumes its original form. In like manner, if a
sponge filled with water discharges the fluid only by drops,
it will, when electrified, let fall an abundant shower, which
in the dark will be luminous.
Exp. 8. In a metallic cup place a piece of lighted
camphor, and when the cup communicates with the elec¬
trified conductor, the camphor will throw off numerous
ramifications, shooting forth its branches like a vegetable
in growth.
An immense number of similar experiments may be
made by placing pith balls under inverted tumblers, and
thin balls of glass within metallic rings; and when the
tumblers and the rings are electrified, the most varied
movements are produced; and the effect is greatly height¬
ened by the accompanying luminosity, which displays itself
in the dark.
The theory of the phenomena which we have now de¬
scribed will be given in a subsequent section.
Sect. III.— On the Phenomena of Positive and Negative
Electricity.
Positive We have already seen that there are two opposition
and nega- electricities, which have received the name of positive or
tiye elec- vitreous, and negative or resinous electricity, the former
tricity. being generated by excited glass, and the latter by ex¬
cited wax.
In order to examine the properties of these two kinds
of electricity, take four stands like that shown in page 575,
consisting of a vertical rod of glass fixed in a wooden base.
From the top of each stand suspend a single pith ball by a
slender wire, and place the four stands, which we shall
call P, P' and N, N' at some distance from each other on
a table. Electrify the pith balls on P, P' by excited glass,
so as to make them positively electrical; and the pith balls
on N, N' with excited wax, so as to make them negatively
electrical. The following phenomena will then be ob- Phenoi
served. If the balls P, P'or N, N'are brought near each naan
other, they will repel one another, but if P or P' is brought ^aw!
near to N or N', the balls will attract each other. Hence
it follows,
That two similarly electrified bodies P, P' or N, N' re-Proper:
pel each other, while two dissimilarly electrified bodies of posit
P, N or P, N' attract each other. and net
If, in place of electrifying the balls with the glass ande*e'
the sealing-wax, we had electrified them with the rubberlncity'
with which they had been excited, we should have found
that the rubber which excited the glass gave out resinous
electricity, and the rubber which excited the wax vitreous
electricity. Hence we learn,
That in electrical excitation positive and negative electri¬
city are simultaneously produced.
In all electrical machines, therefore, where the plate or
cylinder is made of glass, the conductor which takes the
electricity from the glass will be charged with positive
electricity; and as the rubber is negatively electrified, we
may obtain negative electricity from it in the same abun¬
dance, by placing a conductor behind the rubber, and
insulating them both by a glass stand. In the cylinderpi.ee
machine this is easily done, as shown in fig. 6, which re-Fig. G.
presents a machine driven by a wheel and pulley, where
E is the negative conductor placed at the back of the
rubber R, and S the glass stand by which they are both
supported and insulated.
In the plate-glass machine it is more difficult to unite yanj]i
a conductor to the rubbers. In Van Marum’s beautiful rum’s i
electrical machine, shown in fig. 1-5 of Plate CCX. and chine,
which will be more minutely described afterwards, the j’j'(f
positive and negative electricity can be obtained only in
succession ; but Dr Hare, of the university of Pennsyl-Dr Hai
vania, has removed this difficulty by the very ingeniousmachin
contrivance shown in fig. 7, of making the plate revolve^o' 7'
horizontally, and thus allowing the positive and negative
conductors B, F to stand like arches in two vertical planes
at right angles to each other.
The circumstances of surface and structure under
which bodies yield the two opposite electricities by fric¬
tion are still very imperfectly understood. Mr Canton
found that the same body gave out opposite electricities
when rubbed with different substances. Polished glass,
for example, was always positively electrified when excit¬
ed with flannel or silk; but always negatively electrified
when excited by the back of a cat. But, what was still
more strange, he found that rough glass acquired negative
electricity when excited by flannel, and positive electricity
when excited by dry oiled silk. Rough quartz has been
found to exhibit the same difference.
A still more extraordinary^ and instructive anomaly was
observed by Haiiy in exciting a mineral called kyanite.
Some of the crystals he found to acquire positive electri¬
city by friction, while others acquired negative electrici¬
ty. Saussure had announced that they were negatively
electrified by friction ; and when Haiiy obtained an op¬
posite result in his first experiment, he w7as led to examine
the subject more carefully, and to make his trials both
with the natural faces and with those produced by cleav¬
age. “ I have,” he remarks, “ in my collection a crystal
whose opposite faces have presented me with these op¬
posite effects {electricities), and I can assign no other cause
for this singular result than a certain alteration in the
contexture of one of the surfaces.” Hence Haiiy has
given the name of disthene, or two powers, to this mineral.
The remarkable property w'hich Haiiy discovered in the
individual crystal above referred to, may have arisen from
some composite structure which he did not recognise.
As the property of giving positive or negative electn-
:
ELECTRICITY.
579
ji nme- city by friction has been used as a mineralogical charac- experiments which have been made on the subject, which Phenome-
and
,ws.
ter, we shall lay before our readers a general view of the we have collected from a great variety of sources,
Names of the Excited
Substances.
Smooth glass
Rough glass
Quartz, smooth
Quartz, rough
Topaz, smooth
Topaz, rough
Back of a living cat
Hare skin
White silk
Nature of the Elec¬
tricity produced.
f Positive
I Negative
J Positive
[ Negative
Positive
Negative
Positive
Negative
Positive
J Positive
"I Negative
f Positive
'I Negative
Positive
Substances used for Excitation.
Black silk
Woollen cloth
Sealing-wax
Negative
Positive
Negative
( Positive
Baked wood
Sulphur
Resinous bodies
/ Negative
f Positive
j Negative
J Positive
t Negative
j Positive
(Negative
Every substance yet tried but the back of a cat and mercury.
Back of a cat, and sometimes caoutchouc. (Nich. Journ. xxviii. p. 11.)
Dry oiled silk, metals, wax, and resinous matters.
Woollen cloth, human hand, back of a cat, wood, paper, quills.
Flannel, &c.
Flannel, &c.
Flannel, &c.
Flannel, &e.
Every substance yet used.
Human hand, silk, leather, metals, paper, baked wood, and loadstone.
Other finer furs.
Black silk, black cloth, metals.
Human hand, weasel’s skin, paper, hair.
Sealing-wax.
f Hare’s, weasel’s, and ferret’s skin, white silk, human hand, brass, silver,
( iron, loadstone.
Zinc, silver, bismuth, copper, lead, oligist iron.
Platina, gold, tin, antimony, grey copper, grey cobalt, tellurium, &c.
f Rough glass, white wax, sulphur, and all metals except iron, steel, plum-
{ bago, lead, and bismuth.
J Hare’s, weasel’s, and ferret’s skin, human hand, leather, smooth glass,
( flannel, wood, paper, iron, steel, plumbago, lead, and bismuth.
Silk, paper, rough glass, wax, lead, sulphur, and the metals.
Flannel, hare’s skin, smooth glass, quills.
All metals but lead.
Lead and all other substances.
All resinous substances.
All bodies but resinous ones.
th- The most accurate and numerous observations on the development of electricity by friction were made by the
of mi. Abbe Haiiy in reference to the discovery of new characters of minerals. He rubbed the minerals on a wool-
. « - . 1 , . 1 1 _ /"• 1 ,1_ 1   x - i-1  1 r\v
1 US.
len cloth, and when it was necessary to insulate them he fixed them by wax to the end of a stick of gum-lac or
Spanish wax. In this way he divided the mineral kingdom into four classes of bodies in reference to the electri¬
cal character of the minerals.
Class. I.— Containing minerals which possess the insulat¬
ing property? and acquire vitreous electricity by friction.
Boracite.
Topaz.
Axinite.
Tourmaline.
Mesotype.
Prehnite.
Oxide of zinc.
Sphene.
Carbonate of lime.
Carbonate of magnesia.
Arragonite.
Apatite.
Fluate of lime.
Gypsum.
Anhydrite.
Sulphate of barytes.
Sulphate of strontian.
Carbonate of barytes.
Carbonate of strontian.
Sulphate of magnesia.
Siliceous borate of lime.
Nitrate of potash.
Sulphate of potash.
Muriate of soda.
Glauberite.
Hyalin quartz.
Zircon.
Corundum.
Cymophane.
Spinelle.
Emerald.
Euclase.
Cordierite.
Garnet.
Essonite.
Idoerase.
Feldspar.
Apophyllites.
Actinote.
Tremolite.
Diopsidc.
Epidote.
Stilbite.
Analcime.
Nepheline.
Kyanite.
Mica.
Made.
Talc transp.
Diamond.
Carbonate of lead.
Sulphate of lead.
Tungstate of lead.
Carbonate of zinc.
Oxide of tin.
Class II.— Containing minerals which possess the insu¬
lating property {excepting anthracite), and acquire re¬
sinous electricity by friction.
Sulphur. Amber.
Bitumen, Mellite.
Retinasphaltum. Anthracite.
Class III.— Containing conducting substances which ac¬
quire, when they are insulated and rubbed, the one order
vitreous electricity, and the other resinous electricity.
Order 1. Substances which acquire vitreous electricity.
Copper coin.
Pure zinc.
Brass.
Native bismuth.
Native amalgam.
Pure silver.
Native silver.
Silver coin.
Pure lead.
Pure copper.
Native copper.
Order 2. Substances which acquire resinous electricity.
Pure platina. Pure gold.
Native platina. Native gold.
Palladium. Gold coin.
1 That is, they do not require to be insulated or placed upon a substance which does not conduct or carry off electricity, in order to
exhibit their electricity.
Laws.
580
Phenome- Pure nickel,
na and Native iron.
, Hammered iron.
Pure tin.
Amalgam of tin and mercury,
Native arsenic.
Pure antimony.
Native antimony.
Tellurium of nay gag.
Antimonial silver.
Arsenical nickel.
Arsenical iron.
Oxidulated iron.
Metalloidal oxide of manga¬
nese.
Sulphuret of silver.
Sulphuret of lead.
Copper pyrites.
Grey copper.
ELECTRICITY.
Sulphuret of copper.
Graphite.
Common sulphuret of iron.
White sulphuret of iron.
Magnetic sulphuret of iron.
Sulphuret of tin.
Sulphuret of bismuth.
Sulphuret of manganese.
Sulphuret of antimony.
Sulphuret of molybdena.
Chromate of iron.
Oxide of iron.
Jenite.
Black oxide of cobalt.
Oxidulated uranium.
Wolfram.
Tantalite.
Yttro-tantalite.
Black oxide of cerium.
it will not be carried off. Hence metals are said to be Phenor
conductors, and glass and wax non-conductors, of electri- na am
city. Laws.
Bodies vary greatly in the degree in which they con-
duct electricity ; and many of them owe their conducting
power to the water which they contain. The conducting
power of any substance depends on the state of the at*
mosphere at the time with regard to humidity, and on the
intensity of the electricity employed. The following tables
of conductors and non-conductors have been collected
from different authors. The bodies are placed in the or¬
der of their conducting or non-conducting power ; but it
is probable that this order wmuld be greatly changed if
the bodies were all submitted to a new and uniform ex¬
amination.
List of Conductors.
Class IV.— Containing substances which acquire resinous
electricity by friction. The insulating property is limit¬
ed to the very transparent varieties.
Ruby silver.
Sulphuret of mercury.
Red copper ore.
Oligist iron ore.
Sulphuret of arsenic.
Titanite.
Anatase.
Muriate of mercury.
Chromate of lead.
Phosphate of lead.
Molybdate of lead.
Green carbonate of copper.1
Blue carbonate of copper.
Arseniate of copper.
Dioptase.
Phosphate of copper.
Hydrate of copper.
Sulphate of copper.
Phosphate of iron.
Arseniate of iron.
Sulphate of iron.
Sulphuret of zinc.
Red cobalt.
Green oxide of uranium.
White oxide of antimony.
Red oxide of cerium.
Electrical
conduc¬
tion.
As the causes which determine the production of posi¬
tive or negative electricity by friction are wholly unknown,
and require to be carefully investigated, we must warn
the philosopher against the implicit adoption of all the
preceding determinations. Different results have in many
cases been obtained by different observers, and even by
the same observer while using the same materials; and we
could have greatly enlarged the first of the preceding
tables had we inserted the opposite results of different
philosophers. There are two points, however, which re¬
quire to be attended to in such inquiries: 1st, There is a
tendency to the production of negative electricity in the
substance which has the least extent of surface; and, 2dly,
there is a tendency to the production of an opposite elec¬
tricity when the surface of the body is even minutely
scratched.
Sect. IV.— On Electrical Conduction.
It is obvious, from all the phenomena described in the pre¬
ceding sections, that electricity is communicated from one
body to another. The excited glass or wax communicate,
as we have seen, their electricity to a pith ball; and the
electricity of the machine is conveyed first to the prime
conductor, and from that to the bells or other apparatus
which have been already described. If we touch an elec¬
trified pith ball, or any other electrified body, with a rod
of metal of any kind, the electricity of the pith ball will be
instantly carried off; but if we touch it with glass or wax
All metals.
Silver.
Copper.
Lead.
Gold.
Brass.
Zinc.
Tin.
Platina.
Palladium.
Iron heated.
Iron cold.
Charcoal well burned.
Plumbago.
Concentrated acids.
Powdered charcoal.
Diluted acids.
Saline solutions.
Metallic ores.
Animal fluids.
Hot water.
Sea water.
Spring water.
-S
River water.
Ice above — 13° Fahr.
Snow.
Living vegetables.
Living animals.
Flame.
Smoke.
Steam.
Soluble salts.
Rarefied air.
Vapour of alcohol.
Vapour of ether.
Moist earths.
Anthracite.
All the substances and mine¬
rals in the third class of
Haiiy’s list, as given in
Sect. II.
Powdered glass.
Flowers of sulphur.
Resins rendered fluid by heat.
Glass heated to redness.
List of Non-conductors.
Shell-lac.
Amber.
Resins.
Sulphur.
Wax.
Jet.
Glass.
Vitrifications.
Mica,
Diamond,
Transparent gems.
And all the minerals
Class I. of Haiiy’s list.
Raw silk.
Bleached silk.
Dyed silk.
Wool.
Hair.
Feathers.
Dry paper.
Parchment.
Leather.
Air and all dry gases.
Baked wood.
Dry vegetable bodies.
Porcelain,
Dry marble, and
Siliceous and argillaceous
stones in Class
Haiiy’s list.
Camphor.
> Caoutchouc.
| Lycopodium.
J Dry chalk.
Lime.
Phosphorus.
Ice below — 13° Fahr.
Ashes of animal bodies.
Ashes of vegetable bodies.
Oils, the heaviest being the
best conductors.
Dry metallic oxides.
The most perfect non-conductors of electricity are also Insulate
called insulators, from their power of insulating an elec¬
trified body, or preventing any of its electricity from
1 This salt has often the insulating property, and acquires vitreous electricity by friction.
ELECTRICITY.
581
pnonie-
and
Mn>
Clue-
ti: of po-
sijle and
a!; live
ciricity.
K tence
ffli ;at in
pnot-
3 )f con-
"ion.
escaping along its support. It is to Coulomb that we owe
the useful discovery that shell-lac is the most perfect of
all insulators; and hence it is of great value in electrical
inquiries. Coulomb found that the electricity of a pith
ball five or six lines in diameter could be completely in¬
sulated by a cylinder of sealing-wax or gum-lac about
half a line in diameter and eighteen or twenty lines long;
that a very fine silk thread, penetrated and covered with
melted wax so as to form a cylinder one fourth of a line
in diameter, had the same insulating power when its
length was five or six inches; and that an equal degree
of insulation could not be obtained by a fine thread of
glass five or six inches long, or by a hair or a fibre of silk,
unless the electricity insulated was very weak, or the air
very dry. Coulomb found also that the density of elec¬
tricity insulated by a fibre of gum-lac was ten times as
great as that which could be insulated by a silk fibre of
the same length and diameter ; and he established the
following general law, that the densities of electricity insu¬
lated by different lengths of fine cylindrical fibres, such as
those of gum-lac, hair, silk, Sfc. vary as the square root of
the lengths of the fibre.
In examining whether or not positive and negative elec¬
tricity were conveyed with equal facility by conducting
bodies, M. Erman found that there were some bodies
which completely obstructed the passage of one kind of
electricity, while they afforded a ready passage to the
other. As this result, however, was obtained by weak
galvanic electricity, the question is still open to examina¬
tion in reference to ordinary electricity.
Although some bodies are said to be perfect non-con¬
ductors, yet this is not strictly true. A strong electrical
charge can be made to pass through a thin film of the
worst conductor. Dr Ritchie found that electricity per¬
meated thin balls of blown glass ; and though in one case
he found that a small invisible aperture had been made in
the glass, yet in other experiments he could not by any
known method detect the smallest perforation.
It has been long known that imperfect conductors have
their conducting power increased by heat; gases, charcoal,
glass, ice, and resins when melted, are proofs of this. Dr
Ritchie,1 on the authority of some accurate experiments,
is of opinion, that if the body be naturally a pretty good
conductor, the ratio of its conducting power will not be
so much increased by heat as in the case of a less per¬
fect conductor. Marianini found this to be true with fluid
conductors, and Dr Ritchie thinks that it is universally
tlrue.
It appears from some recent experiments made by Pro¬
fessor Delarive of Geneva, that the degree of conducti-
bility of bodies for electricity depends on the quantity of
electricity which traverses them. Hence it follows, that, of
two conducting bodies, that which is the most perfect for
an electric current of a given intensity, may be the worst
conductor for either a stronger or a weaker current. The
conducting powers of bodies, therefore, ought to be re¬
examined in reference to electric currents of different in¬
tensities ; and when such experiments are made with ac¬
curacy, we may expect that they will lead to great im¬
provements in our electrical apparatus.
Much light has been recently thrown on the conduct-
lng pdwer of bodies by the researches of Dr Faraday, of
which we have already given a general account in our
history of electricity. He found that a great number of
solid bodies which were incapable of conducting electri¬
city of low tension, acquired by liquefaction or fusion the
power of conducting it in a very high degree. The fol¬
lowing is a list of the bodies which possessed this pro- Phenome-
perty : na and
Water. Laws.
Oxides. Potassa, protoxide of lead, glass of antimony,
protoxide of antimony, oxide of bismuth.
Chlorides of potassium, sodium, barium, strontium, mag¬
nesium, manganese, zinc, copper (proto-), lead, tin (proto-),
antimony, silver.
Iodides of potassium, zinc, and lead ; protiodide of tin,
periodide of mercury, fluoride of potassium, cyanide of
potassium, sulpho-cyanide of potassium.
Salts. Chlorate of potassa; nitrates of potassa, soda,
baryta, strontia, lead, copper, and silver; sulphates of so¬
da and lead; proto-sulphate of mercury ; phosphates of
potassa, soda, lead, copper, phosphoric glass, or acid phos¬
phate of lime; carbonates of potassa and soda, mingled and
separate; borax, borate of lead, perborate of tin; chro¬
mate of potassa, bichromate of potassa; chromate of lead ;
acetate of potassa.
Sulphurets. Sulphuret of antimony, sulphuret of po¬
tassium made by reducing sulphate of potassa by hydro¬
gen, ordinary sulphate of potassa.
Silicated potassa ; chameleon mineral.
In those substances which soften before they liquefy,
Dr Faraday found it highly interesting to watch the in¬
crease of conducting power as they approached to perfect
fluidity. When borate of lead, for example, is heated by
the lamp upon glass, it becomes as soft as treacle, with¬
out gaining the power of conduction ; and it was only
when brought to a fair red heat by the blowqfipe that it
conducted. When it was quite liquid, it conducted with
extreme facility.
The following bodies were found by Dr Faraday to ac¬
quire no conducting power when they assumed the liquid
state.
Adipocire.
Stearine of cocoa-nut oil.
Spermaceti.
Camphor.
Naphthaline.
Resin.
Gum sandarach
Shell-lac.
Perchloride of tin.
Chloride of arsenic.
Hydrated do.
Sulphur.
Phosphorus.
Iodide of sulphur.
Periodide of tin.
Orpiment.
Realgar.
Glacial acetic acid.
Mixed margaric and oleic
acids.
Artificial camphor.
Caffeine.
Sugar.
Boracic acid and green bottle glass raised to the high¬
est heat by an oxyhydrogen flame acquired no conduct¬
ing power. Flint glass conducted a little when so heated.
When a solid becomes fluid it loses almost wholly its
power of conducting heat, and gains in a high degree that
of conducting electricity, and vice versa ; and hence Dr
Faraday concludes that there is a natural dependence be¬
tween the two classes of facts.
Dr Faraday Concludes his very interesting researches
on this subject with the following summary of conditions
of conduction in bodies, which, though they apply chiefly
to Voltaic electricity, are yet true within certain limits
for ordinary electricity.
1. All bodies conduct electricity in the same manner Conditions
from metals to lac and gases, but in different degrees. 0* electri-
2. Conducting power is in some bodies powerfully in- c.a^ cont'uc-
creased by heat, and in others diminished, yet without1
our perceiving any accompanying essential electrical dif¬
ference, either in the bodies or in the changes occasioned
by the electricity conducted.
1 Philosophical Transactions, 1828, p. 376.
582 ELECTRICITY.
Phenome- 3. A number of bodies insulating electricity of low in-
na and tensity when solid, conduct it very freely when fluid, and
^laws- , are then decomposed by it.
4. There are many fluid bodies which do not sensibly
conduct electricity of this low intensity ; there are some
which conduct it and are not decomposed, nor is fluidity
essential to decomposition.
5. There is but one body yet discovered (periodide of
mercury) which, insulating a Voltaic current when solid,
and conducting it when fluid, is not decomposed in the
latter case.
6. There is no strict electrical distinction of conductors
which can as yet be drawn between bodies supposed to be
elementary and those known to be compounds.
The experiments of Dr Faraday with ice, in which
it appeared that electricity of exalted intensity passed
through it, while it completely stopped Voltaic electri¬
city, confirms the observations of M. Delarive on the
relation between the conducting power and the quantity
of electricity which traverses the conductor ; and the
phenomena seem to indicate that the electric fluid or
matter may consist, like solar light, of different parts pos¬
sessing different powers of conductibility and other pro¬
perties, which may facilitate or obstruct their passage
through solid, fluid, or gaseous bodies. An electric cur¬
rent, composed of different currents, may have some of
its component currents entirely stopped by some bodies,
while other currents are transmitted with the greatest
facility, in the same way as certain rays both of light and
heat are entirely absorbed by coloured bodies, while other
rays are copiously transmitted. Non-conductors, like
black bodies, stop every electrical current. Perfect con¬
ductors, like colourless transparent bodies, may transmit
every electrical current, or absorb a small portion of all
of them in an equal degree; while there may b6 imper¬
fect conductors, which, like coloured bodies, stop some
currents and transmit others. If this should prove cor¬
rect, two bodies which, when used separately, conduct
electricity, would be insulators when joined so as to trans¬
mit the electricity in succession, in the same manner as
two transparent coloured bodies which separately trans¬
mit light copiously, are opaque when combined, the light
which each transmits being absorbed by the other.
Distance have already seen that electricity was conveyed
to which through a distance of four miles. On the ground that
electricity these experiments were made imperfectly, and that an
has been electric charge will prefer a short passage through air to
tone ucte . a passage 0f twenty or thirty feet through thin wire, Mr
Singers has expressed his conviction that the results of
the experiments referred to are incorrect. We are un¬
able, we confess, to appreciate the reasons on which this
opinion is founded; but, even if they have any force,
the original fact has been more than confirmed by Mr F.
Ronalds, who erected at Flammersmith an electrical tele¬
graph, on which the inflections of the wire composed one
continuous length of more than eight miles. “ When a Can¬
ton’s pith ball electrometer was connected with each ex¬
tremity of this wire, and it was charged by a Leyden jar,
both electrometers appeared to diverge suddenly at the
same moment; and when the wire was discharged by being
touched with the hand, both electrometers appeared to
collapse as suddenly. When any person took a shock
through the whole length of wire, and the shock was com¬
pelled to pass also through two insulated inflammable air
pistols, one connected with each extremity of the wire,
the shock and the explosion seemed to occur quite simidtane -
ously. But when the shock was compelled to pass through
the gas pistols, and any one closed his eyes, it was im- Pheno
possible to distinguish more than one explosion, although Mai
both pistols were discharged. When people did not look lja"
at the pistols, and when I sometimes charged only one
highly, and sometimes both lowly, they could never guess,
except by mere chance, whether one or both were fired.
Thus, then, three of the senses, namely, sight, feeling, and
hearing, seemed to receive absolute conviction of the instan¬
taneous transmission of electrical signs through my pistols,
my eight miles of wire, and my own proper person”1
Sect. V.— On the Electric Spark.
Since the discovery of electric light by Otto Guericke Electr
and Dr Wall, the subject has attracted the particular at-spark,
tention of philosophers. In exciting a glass tube, or in
wmrking an electrical machine in the dark, sparks and
streams of light are distinctly visible ; but the phenomenon
is best seen when the knuckle or a brass ball is brought
near to an electrified conductor. A bright light, called
the electric spark, passes from the conductor to the knuc¬
kle or ball, and exhibits a great variety of phenomena,
varying with the nature and intensity of the electricity,
and with the form, magnitude, distance, and nature of
the bodies between which it passes.
Exp. 1. Having screwed into the prime conductor a Form
brass ball about two inches in diameter, and projecting the spj
about three inches, electrify the conductor positively, and
hold another ball near the first. Long ramified zigzag
sparks will pass between the two balls, as shown in fig. 6, PI. CC
where pos. is the positively electrified ball, and nat. the one Pig- 6,
held in the hand in a natural state of electricity. If the
ball on the conductor is very small, the spark will become
a faint divided brush of light. If the ball on the conduc¬
tor is electrified negatively, the spark will be as shown in
fig. 7, clear, straight, and more luminous. If one of the
balls is positively, and the other negatively electrified, the
forms shown in fig. 6 and 7 wall be combined, as in fig. 8.
When, in this last experiment, the distance of the balls
is not too great, the positive zigzag spark will strike the
negative straight spark about one third of the length of
the latter from its point, the-other two thirds becoming
very luminous. Sometimes the positive spark strikes the
negative ball at a distance from the negative spark.
Exp. 2. If two conductors PM, fig. 9, three fourths of Fig. S
an inch in diameter, and having spherical ends, are placed
parallel to each other, at the distance of two inches, so as
to have their ends pointing in different directions six or
eight inches asunder; then, if P is positively electrified,
its spark will strike the other conductor M in its natural
state, as in fig. 9. If M is electrified negatively, and P
connected with the earth, the conductor M will send the
negative spark to P, as. in fig. 10 ; and if the conductors Fig-1
have opposite electricities, the positive spark will appear at
one end, and the negative at the other, as shown in fig. 1L
Exp. 3. Upon the brass stem be, fig. 12, having a fine Fig. I
point at c, place a brass ball A, about three inches radius,
so that the point c can be protruded to any distance be¬
yond the ball, or be drawn within it, as shown in the
figure. In this last state the point produces no effect,
and the zigzag spark appears between the balls.
In proportion, however, as the point is protruded, its
transmitting power is increased, and it may be made to
have the same effect as any ball, from the smallest size to
one three inches radius. When the point projects to a
particular distance, it acts as if no ball were present.
1 Description of an Electrical Telegraph, Qc. p. 4. Lend. 1823.
ELECTRICITY.
583
pfeome- Exp. 4. Hold an insulated sheet of paper at a small
n n(l distance from a positively electrified conductor, and a
"'s' beautiful star with distinct radiations will be thrown upon
^ ^ the paper. If the conductor is negatively electrical, a cone
of rays, with its base on the paper and its apex on the
conductor, will replace the star.
Exp. 5. If the point of a needle is presented to a posi¬
tively electrified conductor in the dark, the point will be
illuminated with a star; but if the conductor is negative,
the needle will exhibit a pencil or brush of light.
The following experiment illustrates the effect of dis¬
tance on the spark.
In mce Exp. 6. Fix a sharp-pointed wire to the end of the
of tance prime conductor, and having electrified it positively, hold
“C2 an uninsulated ball of metal very near the metallic point;
’Py a succession of small and brilliantly white sparks will pass
between them. The white colour will tend to i’ed as the
distance of the ball and the point is increased, and at a
certain distance the sharp explosions will cease, and a
feeble violet light will diverge from the extremity of
the point, covering with its base the nearest half of the
?nce
m on
)ark.
Ii? once
ofi: b-
sti e on
tlii park.
'I ence
°l ? me-
i on
1' 'CX.
H 13.
1 'ftcm
1* ture.
sphere.
The influence of the form of the body upon the spark
which it gives is considerable. Professor Hildebrand of
Erlang found that an obtuse cone with an angle of 52°
gave a much more luminous spark than one with an angle
of 36°, and he found that the parabolic rounding of the
summit, or slight inequalities of surface, are particularly
advantageous in the production of a strong light. The
influence of points on the spark has been already de¬
scribed.
The nature of the body by which the spark is taken
exercises also an influence upon its magnitude and its
colour. Professor Hildebrand made some interesting ex¬
periments on this subject. The pieces of metal had a
conical form, and of the same shape and size. When
they were fixed in the same manner at the end of an in¬
sulated conductor, the sparks which they yielded differ¬
ed much in extent. The following table exhibits the re¬
sults of these experiments, the metals at the head giving
the greatest sparks.
Regulus of antimony. Sul phuret of copper. Lead.
Gold. Tin. Steel.
Silver. Zinc. Tempered steel.
Brass. Iron.
When the spark is white by taking it with a metallic
body, it will under the same circumstances be violet if
taken with the finger. If the spark is taken with ice or
water, or a green plant, its light will be red; and if it is
taken with an imperfect conductor, such as wood, the
light will be emitted in faint red streams.
The medium through which the spark is transmitted
exercises also a remarkable influence on its colour and
form. A spark capable of passing through only half an
inch in common air, will pervade six inches of the Torri¬
cellian vacuum. The apparatus used by Sir H. Davy for
examining the influence of a vacuum, &c. is shown in fig.
13, where ABC is a bent glass tube, A the wire for commu¬
nicating electricity, D the surface of quicksilver or fused
tin for producing a vacuum, D the tube to be exhausted
by the stop-cock C, after being filled by means of the
same stop-cock when necessary with hydrogen, and EF the
moveable tube connected with the air-pump. Sir H. Davy
found, that in all cases when the mercurial vacuum was
perfect, it was permeable to electricity, and rendered lu¬
minous either by the common spark or the charge of a
■Leyden jar. The intensity of these phenomena varied
with the temperature. When the tube ABC was very hot,
the electric light appeared on the vapour of the mercurial
vacuum of a bright green colour, and of great density. As
the temperature diminished it lost its vividness. At 20° Phenome-
below zero of Fahrenheit it was perceptible only in con- na an(i
siderable darkness. When the minutest quantity of rare
air was introduced into the mercurial vacuum, the colour
of the electric light changed from green to sea green, and tjie Spar]J
by increasing the quantity, to blue purple. At a low
temperature the vacuum became a much better conductor.
A vacuum above fused tin exhibited nearly the same phe¬
nomena. At temperatures below zero the light was yellow,
and of the palest phosphorescent kind, just visible in great
darkness, and not increased by heat. When the vacuum
was formed by pure olive oil, and by chloride of antimony,
the electric light through the vapour of the chloride was
more brilliant than that through the vapour of the oil;
and in the last it was more brilliant than in the vapour of
mercury at common temperatures. The light was of a
pure white with the chloride, and of a red inclining to pur¬
ple in the oil.
Upon rarefying the air five hundred times in a glass
vessel a foot long and eight inches in diameter, Mr Smea-
ton made the vessel revolve rapidly on a lathe, at the
same time exciting it with the palm of his hand, A large
quantity of lambent flame appeared under his hand, va¬
riegated with all the colours of the rainbow. Though the
light was steady, every part of it was continualiy chang¬
ing colours.
In carbonic acid gas the light of the spark is white and
brilliant, and in hydrogen gas it is red and faint. When
the sparks are made to pass through balls of wood or
ivory they are of a crimson colour. They are yellow when
taken over powdered charcoal, green over the surface ot
silvered leather, and purple from imperfect conductors.
The following experiments on the spark and electrical Experi-
light are both instructive and entertaining. merits on
Exp. 1. Cover a metallic wire with silk, and form it into'dectrieal
a close flat spiral of not more than twenty-four revolutions, W11-
with the different coils in contact. When a considerable
electric charge (of about two square feet of coated sur¬
face) is passed through it, a vivid light resembling that of
an artificial fire-work will be seen, even in daylight, ori¬
ginating in the centre of the spires. M. Nobili considers
this light as electro-magnetic light, on account of its rela¬
tion to the magnetic state of the spiral, and as similar to
the aurora borealis.
Exp. 2. Take a bound book covered with rich gilding,
and, holding it in one hand, bring it near the prime con¬
ductor. The spark will immediately shoot along the
gilding in sparks or streams of green light, and will ex¬
hibit the pattern in the dark, and enable the observers to
read the gilt title of the book.
Exp. 3. In the preceding experiment the letters them- PL CCX.
selves were covered with a metallic film; but if we con-Fig* in¬
struct an apparatus like that in fig. 14, on which the word
light is left blank in a continuous line of narrow tinfoil
pasted upon glass, and forming seven parallel lines, and
apply the ball B to an electrified prime conductor, the
word light will be seen in the dark in luminous letters
formed by the electric spark passing from one piece ot
tinfoil to the opposite one. Figures of all kinds may in a
similar manner be delineated electrically.
Exp. 4. Another beautiful experiment, called the lumi- Luminous
nous spiral tubes, is shown in fig. 15, where a number ofT'^jY
round pieces of tinfoil are pasted spirally upon four glass 1^‘
tubes a, b, c, d, fixed on a board round a central rod of
glass AB, supporting horizontally a wire mn with brass
balls, and capable of turning round the pivot A. . Elec¬
trify by sparks the wire at A, and pushing the wire rnn
gently round, the ball at the top ol each tube will receive
electricity from a or b, and a brilliant line of light will ap¬
pear to surround each ball in succession, in consequence
584
ELECTRICITY.
Phenome- of the spark appearing between each of the small circles
na and 0f tinfoil.
Laws.
Luminous
jar.
T'iff. 1G.
Exp. 5. The luminous jar show w in fig. 16 is a still more
beautiful experiment. In one which is now before us,
fifty-five squares of tinfoil an inch square, and each per¬
forated with a hole four tenths of an inch in diameter, are
pasted in five rows on the outside and inside of a glass
jar AB, fig. 16, about five inches in diameter and eleven
inches high. The diagonals of the square pieces are
placed horizontal and vertical, and their points or angles
are separated by about one twelfth of an inch. The rows
of the tinfoil squares are similarly placed on the inside
of the jar, with this difference only, that their horizontal
points nearly touch one another at the centres of the cir¬
cular holes of the outer squares. The brass ball A com¬
municates with the inside squares by a wire, and when
it is charged by the prime conductor, a hundred and
ten sparks will be seen at once in a horizontal, and a hun¬
dred and ten in a vertical direction, when the jar is dis¬
charged.
Exp. 6. Take a glass cylinder three inches wide and
three feet long, so fitted up that a brass plate may be let
down from the top of the cylinder, so as to stand at any
distance from another brass plate fixed at the bottom of
the cylinder. When the cylinder is exhausted of air in
the usual manner, and the upper plate communicates w ith
the prime conductor, and the lower one with the ground,
a brilliant sheet of light will pass from the upper to the
Jcwer plate. If the distance of the plates is ten inches, and
if the charge of a Leyden jar is made to pass from the one
to the other, a continuous body of the most brilliant fire
will pass betwreen them.
Sect. VI.— On the Nature and Origin of Electrical Light.
Nature of Dr W ollaston seems to have been the first person who
electrical made any accurate examination of electric light, and the
Wollaston. following is a11 that he has published as the result of his
'experiments. “ When the object viewed is a Wmc line of
electric light, I have found the spectrum to be also sepa¬
rated into several images; but the phenomena are some¬
what different from the preceding (viz. the spectrum of the
blue portion of the flame of a candle). It is, however,
needless to describe minutely appearances which vary
according to the brilliancy of the light, and which I can-
Biot. not undertake to explain.’1 M. Biot, in speaking of elec¬
tric light, remarks, “ that if we look through a prism at
the sparks which pass between two conductors oppositely
electrified, we shall find all the colours which comjmse
common light.”2
Braun- M. Fraunhofer examined the electric spark in a more
hofei. - philosophical manner. In order to obtain a continuous
line of electrical light, he brought to within half an inch
of each other two conductors, and united them by a very
fine glass thread. One of the two was connected with
an electrical machine, and the other communicated with
the ground. In this manner the light appeared to pass
continuously along the fibre of glass, which consequently
formed a fine and brilliant line of light. When this lumi¬
nous line was expanded by refraction, Fraunhofer saw that,
m relation to the lines of its spectrum, electric light was
very different both from the light of the sun and from
that of a lamp. In this spectrum he met with several
lines partly very clear, and one of which in the green
space seemed very brilliant compared with other parts of
the spectrum. He saw in the orange another line not PW
quite so bright, which appeared to be of the same colour na J
as that in lamp-light spectra; but in measuring its angle La'
of refraction, he found that its light was much more ^
strongly refracted, and nearly as much as the yellow rays
of lamp light. In the red rays towards the extremity of
the spectrum, he saw a line of very little brightness, and
yet its light had the same degree of refrangibility as the
clear line of lamp light. In the rest of the spectrum he
saw other four lines sufficiently bright.3 In a subsequent
paper read at Munich in 1823, Fraunhofer observes, that
by means of the large electrical machine in the cabinet of
the Academy of Munich, he obtained a spectrum of elec¬
tric light, in which he recognised a great number of light
lines, and that he had determined the relative places of
the lightest lines, and the ratios of their intensities. What
these positions and ratios were we have no means of
knowing, as we believe that this distinguished philosopher
has not given them to the public.
The nature of electric light has been more recently ex-Brew^
amined by Sir David Brewster. He had long ago shown
that the light of electricity was refracted singly and
doubly, and polarised exactly like all other light; but his
recent observations were made, like those of Fraunhofer,
on the dark and luminous lines which appear in the spec¬
trum formed from it by a prism. Fraunhofer examined
the electric light produced in the manner he has describ¬
ed. In; this species of electric light Sir David Brewster
observed the lines described by Fraunhofer, and also its
remarkable difference from that of the sun and a lamp in
relation to the fixed lines of the spectrum. This differ¬
ence he found to arise from the fact that certain colorific
rays which exist in solar light do not exist in electrical
light, though, in some parts of the spectrum, other rays
of equal refrangibility are visible. The extreme red space,
for example, is wanting, and, generally speaking, much of
the red and yellow light. Hence the light of the elec¬
tric spectrum is green at a line or point of a given refran¬
gibility, where it is yellow in the solar spectrum. These
facts confirm in a remarkable manner the discovery that
the spectrum consists of three superimposed spectra of
blue, yellow, and red light, of equal lengths,4 and receive
from that discovery a complete explanation.
Sir David Brewster examined electric light of various co¬
lours, and produced under different circumstances, and he
found it to differ in its composition in a very remarkable
manner, each variety of electric light varying in the num¬
ber, intensity, and position of its bright and defective rays.
One species of electric light is as different from ano¬
ther as the coloured lights produced in the flame of alco¬
hol in which different saline substances have been dis¬
solved. It would require almost the lifetime of an indi¬
vidual to examine and make drawings of this class of phe¬
nomena while the light passes from a violet, through blue,
green, yellow, and red, up to white light. The bright
lines which occur in the green space have a most singular
appearance. They shine, in reference to the rest, with
the metallic brilliancy of silver ; and each successive spark,
obtained under nearly the same circumstances, will often
present to us these lines under different intensities and
characters. In another part of this work we may be able
to communicate the results of these experiments, which
are now going on. In the mean time they furnish us
with a most important fact relative to the theories which
have been maintained concerning the cause or origin of
electric light.
1 Phil. Trans. 1802.
2 Traltt dc Physique, tom. ii. p. 459.
2 Fraunhofer, Bestimmung, &c. 1814-15, p. 29.
4 Edinr. Trans, voh xii.
ELECTRICITY.
585
PI, jme* It has been the general opinion of philosophers that the
n> n<l electric spark was the electric fluid itself, or, as Biot ex-
lv9, presses it, “ a modification of electricity itself, which had
the faculty of becoming light at a certain degree of ac-
“rf'0? cumulation." ’ * ' *1 ’ " ’
This eminent writer, however, considered
ithis opinion as erroneous, and has devoted a whole chap¬
ter to prove that electric light has the same origin as the
light disengaged from air by mechanical pressure, “ and
that it is purely the effect of the compression produced on
the air by the explosion of electricity” In order to estab-
Thyof lish this theory, M. Biot has stated, on the authority of
H.iot. several experiments, “ that the intensity of electric light
depends always on the ratio which exists between the
quantity of electricity transmitted and the resistance of
the medium; and he has shown, by an experiment with
Kinnersley’s air thermometer, “ that at each spark the
air of the cylinder, driven by the repulsive force, presses
on the surface of mercury, which rises suddenly in the
small tube, and falls back again immediately after the ex¬
plosion.” “ This indication,” he adds, “ proves the sepa¬
ration produced between the particles of the mass of air
where the electricity passes; and from what we know of
its extreme velocity, it is certain that the particles ex¬
posed immediately to its shock ought in the first moment
to sustain individually all the effect of the compression.
They ought, then, from this cause alone to disengage light
as when they are subjected to any other mechanical pres¬
sure. Thus one part at least of the electric light is neces¬
sarily due to this cause; and this being the case, there
is no experiment which can lead us to conjecture that it
is not all due to this cause.”1
These arguments, whatever may be their weight, carry
no conviction to our mind. When we possess two series
of accurate experiments, by which it is proved that light
produced by mechanical pressure in air and gases, of
different bulks, and of different degrees of temperature,
rarefaction, and condensation, has the same colour, the
same composition, and the same general character, as the
light produced by electricity in passing through air and
gases under the very same circumstances, we shall regard
this theory as deserving of consideration.
M. Biot, anticipating the objection that electrical light
is produced in the best vacuum, replies, that a vacuum
such as we can produce is filled with vapours and gas,
and that the barometric one is filled with mercurial va¬
pour. Still, however, the light produced is not produced
by air, and it should be shown that mechanical pressure
is capable of eliciting light in such a vacuum; at all
events, the light ought to bear some proportion to the
degree of rarefaction, whereas Sir H. Davy obtained a
bright light in the best vacuum with mercury, and the
same light in the best vacuum with melted tin.
Anticipating another objection from the fact that the
electric spark, when intense, passes through water, M. Biot
gives a double reply, Is#, that the water itself is probably
compressible, and therefore, we presume, gives out light
during its compression ; and, 2c%, that water always con¬
tains in combination a certain quantity of air, which may
also contribute to the result. It would be desirable, there¬
fore, to ascertain if water, and wrater with much air, give
out light by mechanical compression.
In explaining the fact that electrical light is violet when
the electricity is feeble, and of a brilliant whiteness when
Jt is produced by a violent discharge, M. Biot remarks
I that “ this variation of tints discloses still further the ori¬
gin of the light; for we observe it in substances which
burn according as the combustion is slow or rapid ; that is
to say, according as the oxygen of the air which this Phenome-
combustion absorbs is more or less rapidly condensed. na and
The light which sulphur disengages when it begins to in- t Laws,
flame is as violet as that of feeble electricity, but that of
sulphur in vigorous combustion is white.” The views upon
which this argument is founded are themselves hypothe¬
tical. It is by no means made out that the colour passes
from violet to white as the intensity of combustion in¬
creases ; and, in the very case of sulphur referred to by
M. Biot, Sir John Herschel has proved, that when it is
inflamed in a white hot crucible, it gives out neither blue,
green, nor red rays, but solely homogeneous yellow light, of
a very definite refrangibility, and which contains almost
none of the elements of white light.
A more philosophical view of the probable origin of Sir H.
electrical light has been hinted at by Sir Humphry Davy, Davy,s
in his paper of 1822, already quoted. “ The circumstance,” theory,
says he, “ that the intensity of the electrical light in the
mercurial vacuum diminishes as it is cooled to a certain
point, when the vapour must be of infinitely small density,
and is then stationary, seems strongly opposed to the idea
that it (electrical light) is owing to any permanent vapour
emitted constantly by the mercury. The results with tin
must be regarded as more equivocal; because, as this sub¬
stance cannot be boiled in vacuo, it may be always sus¬
pected to have emitted a small quantity of the rare air
or gas to which it has been exposed ; yet, supposing this
circumstance, such gas must be at least as highly expand¬
ed as the vapour from cooled mercury, and can hardly be
supposed capable of affording the dense light which the
passage of the charged Leyden phial through the vacuum
produces.
“ When the intense heat produced by electricity is con¬
sidered, and the strong attractive powers of differently
electrified surfaces, and the rapidity of the changes of
state, it does not seem at all improbable that the super¬
ficial particles of bodies, which, when detached by the
repulsive power of heat, form vapour, may be likewise de¬
tached by electrical powers, and that they may produce
luminous appearances in a vacuum, free from all other
matter, by the annihilation of their opposite electrical state.
“ In common cases of electrical action, the quantity of
the heat generated by the annihilation of the different
states depends upon the nature of the matter on which it
acts ; and in cases where electrical sparksare taken in fluids,
vapour or gas is always generated; and in elastic fluids,
the intensity of the light is always greater the denser the
medium.”2
About the same time that Sir H. Davy was occupied Discoveries
with these researches, Dr Fusinieri was engaged in those°.f Pr.*'u'
beautiful experiments on electric light which have addedsinieri*
so greatly to our knowledge of its nature and origin. The
results of these experiments, which seem to have been
commenced in 1821, were published in successive years.
In 1825 there appeared, in the Journal of Pavia, a most
interesting communication, of which the following is a
brief abstract, relative to the transport of ponderable mat¬
ter in the electrical discharges of ordinary machines ; and,
in 1831, another of equal importance on the transport of
ponderable substances by lightning.
Dr Fusinieri has proved that the electric spark which
issues from a brass conductor, and traverses air, contains
brass in the state of fusion, and incandescent molecules
of zinc.
When the spark issues from a globe of silver, it contains
in its passage through air silver in fusion, and incandes¬
cent molecules of the same metal.
VOL. VIII.
1 Traite de Physique, tom. ii. p. 463.
* Phil. Trans. 1822, p. 72-73-
4 E
i
586
Phenome¬
na and
Laws.
ELECTRICITY.
If the spark which issues from silver traverses a plate
of copper, the silver which it contains passes also through
the copper in perforating it, and in traversing even a space
of several centimeters, if the passage is oblique from the
one surface to the other.
In this passage a portion of the transported silver is
detained in the aperture which is made in the copper, and
another portion follows the current, and penetrates the
ball which receives the electric spark.
When the electric spark issues from a ball of gold, and
passes into air, it contains gold in a state of fusion, and
also incandescent molecules of gold.
If the spark from gold traverses a plate of silver, the
gold contained in the spark traverses the plate in pier¬
cing it; and in traversing a space of several centimeters
in the silver, if the direction of the passage is oblique,
a part of the transported gold remains in the silver, and
spreads itself over the two surfaces of the plate, and
another part accompanies the electric current, and pene¬
trates the ball which receives the spark. The gold spread
over the polished surface of the silver appears in the form
of a thin circular stratum upon the surface where it enters,
and upon the surface where it leaves the plate. The very
same result takes place if the spark passes from brass to
silver.
These strata or metallic spots are so exceedingly thin,
that after a certain time they are volatilized and disap¬
pear.
Dr Fusinieri also found that in each passage of the
spark there was an opposite and reciprocal transport of
the two metals. In a spark from silver to copper, part of
the copper is transported to the silver, as well as the sil¬
ver to the copper; and the same reciprocal transfer takes
place in a spark from gold to silver.
Accompanying this reciprocal transport, there are two
strong and opposite percussions produced by the transport¬
ed metal, one at the point where it is detached, the other
at the point where it enters the other metal. These two
percussions show themselves, by two opposite cavities
which contain the same metal, in such a state as to indi¬
cate fusion. Here the transported metal exerts two pres¬
sures in opposite directions.
In passing from one metal to another, the electric cur¬
rent leaves the first metal in the second, and takes with it
a small quantity of the second.
The electric spark which issues from a metal into air
contains a group of molecules, the most central of which
are in a state of simple fusion, and the exterior ones are
in a state of greater or less combustion, from their contact
with oxygen, according as the metal is more or less oxid-
able ; and the matter thus contained in the spark is en¬
dowed with a force of spontaneous expansion.1
From these highly interesting facts Dr Fusinieri draws
the following important conclusions respecting the nature
and origin of electric light. 1. The electric spark is not
formed by a pure fluid, or by any imponderable fluid. 2.
The heat and light of the spark proceed from the ignition
and combustion of the particles of ponderable matter. 3.
The presence of air produces on the spark two distinct
effects, the one to hinder its free expansion in space, the
other, by supplying oxygen, to promote the combustion of
the exterior molecules of the group, while the central
molecules are luminous from ignition and fusion alone.
4. In gases without oxygen, the material molecules which
compose the spark ought to be simply in a state of incan¬
descence and fusion, without any combustion of the exte¬
rior particles of the group, in the same manner as this Pheno
takes place for the central parts of the spark in common na ar
air. 5. In gases deprived of oxygen, as well as in a va- Law
cuum, the molecules which compose the spark ought to *
be incandescent; that is, in a state which fits them to emit
light and heat; a phenomenon of the same kind as those
inflammations which chemical experiments prove to take
place even without the aid of oxygen, in so great a num¬
ber of other combinations, or even without there being any
new combinations, by the sole effect of division of parts.
In a later memoir on the transport of ponderable sub¬
stances by lightning, published in the Ann. delk Scienze
del Regno Lomb. Veneto for 1831, Dr Fusinieri has shown,
by a series of laborious and beautiful observations, that
lightning leaves in houses and on trees traces of fer¬
ruginous and sulphureous substances which it contains;
and he infers that iron exists in the clouds, having been
attracted2 from the earth, and principally from moun¬
tains, where the mines are more abundant, and where
storms generally begin to form. Hence, as Dr Fusinieri
supposes, we may connect this fact with meteoric stones,
and with the magnetic currents which surround the globe.
In our cnapter on atmospheric electricity, we may proba¬
bly find space for a further notice of Dr Fusinieri’s re¬
searches.
That the electric spark is a jlame, and consists, like all
other flames, of incandescent molecules in a state of mi¬
nute subdivision, will, we think, be now admitted by every
philosopher; and it cannot fail to be observed how singu¬
larly this result harmonizes with the varied composition of
electric light of different kinds and colours, as ascertained
by Sir David Brewster by means of prismatic analysis ;—
and from the comparison which he is making between the
composition of electric light consisting of different pon¬
derable substances, and that of flames in which the same
ponderable substances exist in a state of incandescence,
there is reason to expect that these two widely separated
classes of phenomena may be strictly identified.
Sect. VII.— On the Law of Electrical Attraction and Re¬
pulsion, and the Attraction of Spheres and Planes.
It is obvious, from the simplest experiments, that the Law i
force of electrical attraction and repulsion diminishes with
the distance. In the theories of iEpinus and Cavendish aml rj ^
nothing more than this simple fact has been assumed. sion>
Newton had supposed that the forces of electricity and
magnetism decreased with the cube, or some higher power,
of the distance. Lord Stanhope inferred, from reasonings
not very conclusive, that the law was the same as that of
gravity; and Dr Robison, so early as 1769, ascertained,
from more than a hundred experiments, that the repulsive
force diminished according to a power of the distance
whose exponent was 2-06, or very nearly as the square of
the distance.
The accurate determination, however, of the law otCoui
electrical attraction and repulsion was left to Coulomb.
The apparatus which he employed for this purpose, and
which is known by the name of the torsion balance, is
represented in Plate CCXI. fig. 1, where ABCD is a jv'if
cylinder, which is covered with a plate of glass AB thir¬
teen inches in diameter. This plate is perforated with
two holes e and a, the former being intended to receive a
tube of glass eG two feet high, carrying on its upper end a
torsion micrometer, consisting of a graduated circle Mr ,
1 Dr Fusinieri likewise found that the electric spark obtained between the two poles of the Voltaic pile, terminated either by me¬
tals or charcoal, contains also particles of these substances extremely divided, and in a state of combustion.
* The iron may be carried off by the lightning which issues from the ground in cases where the clouds are negatively electrihea.
ba¬
il.
ELECTRICITY.
587
p lome.an index M, and a pair of pincers, opened and shut by a
iind ring, for holding a slender silver wire GH, whose lower
ws' end H is also grasped by a similar pair of pincers made
of copper, and about a line in diameter. Through a hole
in these copper pincers there passes a horizontal needle cd.
This needle consists of a silk thread or a straw covered
with sealing-wax, but the end of it, at d, about eighteen
lines long, is a cylinder of gum-lac. It is terminated at c
by a ball of the pith of elder about two or three lines in
diameter, and at d by a vertical plane of paper covered
with turpentine. A circular band of paper EF, divided
into 360°, is pasted round the cylinder on a level with the
needle, and at the hole a there is introduced a small cy¬
linder ab, the lower end of which, made of gum-lac, carries
another ball b of the pith of elder. The instrument is ad¬
justed when a line passing through the centre of the silver
wire GH at P passes also through the centres of the balls
I and c, and points to the zero of the graduated circle EF.
L of the Having fixed a brass pin BC, fig. 2, with a large head
re[hive B, into a handle of sealing-wax AC, and having electrified
the ball B, Coulomb communicated electricity to the balls
^ c. They accordingly repelled each other, and the needle
cd turned round through a certain arch. By turning, how¬
ever, the micrometer button in the direction NP, he twist¬
ed the wire GH, and caused it to return to its first posi¬
tion, and point to the zero of the scale. When this is done,
the force of torsion has been made to balance the repul¬
sive force of the two balls b, c; so that, by comparing the
forces of torsion which balanced the repulsive forces at
different distances of the balls, he obtained measures of
the repulsive force at these distances. W hen the distan¬
ces were 36°, 18°, and 8-|°, he found the angle of torsion,
or the force of torsion, which is proportional to the angle,
to be 36°, 144°, and 575|°; that is, at half the distance
the force is/owr times greater, and at a fourth of the dis¬
tance the force is nearly eight times as great. Hence he
concluded that the repulsive force of two small globes
charged either with positive or negative electricity is inverse¬
ly as the squares of the distances of the centres of the globes.
■ of In applying the same method to determine the law of
attrac-the attractive force which takes place between two oppo-
fbrce. sitely electrified bodies, M. Coulomb met with a difficulty,
arising from the attractive force increasing in a greater
ratio than the force of torsion. From this cause it was
difficult to prevent the balls from coming into contact,
and a delay was created, during which part of the elec¬
tricity had escaped. By providing against this difficulty,
he obtained results which led to the conclusion that the
attractive force of tivo small globes, one electrified positively
and the other negatively, was in the inverse ratio of the
squares of the distances of their centres.
In order, however, to confirm this result by an entirely
different method,'he employed the apparatus shown in
3. fig. 3, where BC is a vertical stand of wood, carrying a
horizontal arm of wood AB, divided into inches, upon
which there slides another piece of wood ED, to which is
suspended, by a fibre of silk fe, a horizontal needle of gum-
lac cd, fifteen lines long, carrying at one end, and perpen¬
dicular to the needle, a circle of gilt paper d, seven lines
in diameter, and at the other end a ball c of gum-lac. A
globe of copper a foot in diameter, or a globe of paper
covered with tinfoil, resting on four insulating cylinders of
glass, coated with sealing-wax, is then placed upon a stand,
so that it can be raised or depressed, and fixed in any posi¬
tion, so that its horizontal diameter passes through dc.
This apparatus is adjusted by placing the globe so that,
when the moveable piece E is at zero of the scale on BA,
the centre of the circle d may just touch the globe. W hen
this is done, place the piece E at three inches on the scale,
so that the distance of d from the globe will be three inches,
Distances of
centres.
9
18
24
Time in which they
were performed.
20
40
60
and then the distance of rZfrom the centre of the globe will Phenome-
be nine inches. Let the globe be now electrified by the
spark of a Leyden jar; then, if a conductor is made to
touch the plate d, the globe will communicate to it the op¬
posite electricity upon removing the conductor, and the
globe and the plate will attract one another. Cause the
needle cd to oscillate through an arch of about 20° or 30°
from the line where the force of torsion is nothing, and
observe the time in which a given number of oscillations,
suppose fifteen, is performed. Repeat the very same
experiment when the piece E is placed at twelve and
eighteen inches on the scale ; that is, when the distances
of the centres of the attracting bodies are eighteen and
twenty-four inches. Ir doing this, Coulomb obtained the
following results :
Number of
oscillations.
15
15
15
As the oscillations in the preceding experiments are
produced by the attraction of the globe and plate d, in
the same manner as the oscillations of a pendulum are
produced by the force of gravity; then, since the time.in
which a given number of oscillations is performed is in¬
versely as the square root of the attractive force, and if
we assume that the attractive force is inversely as the
squares of the distances, or 9, 18, 24, or 3, 6, 8, then
it will follow that the time of oscillation is proportional
to these distances. These times will consequently be 20",
41", and 54", if the attractive force is inversely as the
square of the distance ; but by experiment the times were
20'', 40", and 60". The difference is therefore almost
nothing at 18 inches of distance, but it is nearly y^th at
24 inches. Coulomb has applied a correction to the num¬
ber 54", in consequence of the loss of electricity by the
two bodies during the four minutes which the expeii-
ment occupied. He found by experiment that the action
was diminished ^th of the whole per minute, and con¬
sequently j^th of the whole in four minutes. Hence,
yHO : -y/O = 60" ; 57", a result which now differs only
J_th from 60", the time determined by experiment. Hence
ft°follows, that by both methods of observation, the law
of action is the same for attractive as it is for repulsive
forces.
We are not aware that these experiments of Coulomb
have been repeated and confirmed by other philosophers.
Experiments with the torsion balance and contact plane
are very difficult and precarious, and it is almost impos¬
sible to estimate with accuracy the loss of electricity in
the two charged conductors during the performance of
the experiment. ^ -r-
Under these circumstances, Mr Snow Harris of Ply-i.xpen-
mouth has resumed the subject, and, by new metl™ds ofmentsj*
observation, and instruments of great accuracy, he ha® jjarrjs-
confirmed the law given by Coulomb, both in the case of
simply electrified conductors, and in bodies upon which
given quantities of electricity have been accumulated.
A more particular account of these instruments, and of
the method of applying them, will be given in a subse¬
quent part of this article. .
The law of the attractive force is easily obtained when
the opposed surfaces are parallel planes or rings; but in
the case of spherical conductors, and bodies of other foims,
the conditions become more complicated. Considering
the distribution of the electricity on the spheres to be
uniform, and the whole force exerted to be as the num¬
ber of attracting points directly, and as the squares of
the distances between the respective points inversely, Nlr
Harris has shown that the forces between two spheres will
A 4
ELECTRICITY.
58S
Phenome- be inversely as the distances between their nearest points
na and multiplied into the distances between their centres.
V-^y-O order to submit this result to the test of experiment,
MrIJar- usec*two sP'ieres whose radius was an inch, and obtain-
xis’s expe- ec^' means of his electrical balance, the following results :
riments on
the attrac¬
tions of
spheres
and planes.
Distance of
Centres of
Spheres.
Distance of
nearest Points
by experi¬
ment.
Calculated Distance
of the Points in each
Sphere in which the
Force may be sup¬
posed to be collected.
F orce in
Grains.
2-2
2-5
2-8
8-0
0-2
0-5
0-8
1*0
0-664
1-117
1*496
1-732
12-0
4-25
2-25
1-75
These results confirm the law deduced from theory,
and Mr Harris has established its truth more completely
by extending it to several new cases, the most important
of which, with the deductions, are as follows:
1. Two spheres at the distances in column 1, exert the
same force as two circular planes of equal areas at the dis¬
tances in column 3.
2. The attractive force of two opposed conductors is
not influenced by the form or disposition of the unop¬
posed portions. The attractive force, for example, is the
same, whether the opposed bodies are merely circular
planes, or planes backed by hemispheres or cones. Two
hemispheres also attract each other with the same force
as the spheres of which they are hemispheres.
3. The force between two opposed bodies is directly as
the number of attracting points, the distance being the
same. Thus two circular planes of unequal diameter do
not attract each other with a greater force than that of
two similar areas, each equal to the lesser. In like man¬
ner, the attractive force between a ring and a circular
area of tbe same diameter is equal to that exerted be¬
tween two similar rings each equal to the former.
4. The attractive force between a spherical segment
and an opposed plane of the same curvature, is equal to
that of two similar segments on each other.
Sect. VIII.— On the Dissipation of Electricity by the Con¬
tact of Air, and by Imperfect Insulation.
Dissipa- If we place an electrified body upon a mass of gum-lac,
tion of which is the worst of all conductors, or the best insulator
electricity 0f electricity, we shall find that, in a certain time, the
h)T air- whole of its electricity has disappeared. In like manner,
if we suspend the same body under the same circum¬
stances by a long fibre, or very small cylinder of gum-
lac, we shall also find that in this last case the electricity
will wholly disappear in a certain time; but the time in
this last case will be much longer than in the first case.
If we perform the same experiments in rarefied, moist, or
hot air, we shall find that the electricity disappears faster
than in condensed, dry, and cold air.
In all these cases the electricity is said to be dissipated;
and it becomes an interesting as well as a most useful in¬
quiry to determine the separate influence of these different
causes in carrying off the electricity of electrified bodies.
The only observations which we possess on this subject
we owe to the ingenuity and industry of M. Coulomb.
By means of the torsion balance he determined, in four
days, two in May, one in June, and the last in July, the
ratio of the electric force lost per minute to the total
mean electrical force of the body, the electrical density
varying in the five or six experiments which were made
in each day. The following were the results :
Pheno
naa
Law
v-^v
Hence, in reference to the state of the atmosphere on the
days of observation, we have
May 28.
Ratio of the
Force Lost.
_1^
40
J_
38
J_
42
J_
42
May 29.
Ratio of the
Force Lost.
50
J_
61
\_
54
58
f
54
June 22.
Ratio of the
Force Lost.
I3i
11
J_
13
J_
134
July 2.
Ratio of the
Force Lost.
14
19
J_
30
J_
19
Mean,
404
50|
123
204
Mean Ratio
of Force Lost
per Minute.
Barometer
Inches.
Thermome¬
ter of
Reaumur.
Hygrometer
of Saussure.
May 28.
May 29.
June 22.
July 2.
40i
J_
50|
J_
12f
J_
201
28-3
28-4
27- 11
28- 2
151°
m
15f
15f
/5°
69
87
80
By examining the results for each day in the first of
the preceding tables, it will appear thaf the ratio of the
electric force to the whole force is a constant quantity
during the same day, or when the air has the same de¬
gree of moisture. Hence it follows,
1st, That the loss of electricity is proportional, in the
same state of the air, to the electrical density ; from which it
follows, as Coulomb has shown,
2d, That the ratio of the force lost in a minute to the
total force, is double of the ratio of the loss of intensity of
each body to the total density.
From a great number of experiments made w-ith balls
of different magnitudes, and when the quantity of elec¬
tricity, as well as the electrical density of each ball, were
very different, he found,
3d, That the ratio of the dissipation of the electric force
during a minute, to the total force, is uniformly a constant
quantity.
By using a globe a foot in diameter, cylinders of all
lengths and magnitudes, circles of paper and of metal, &c.
he found,
4th, That when the air was dry, and the degree of elec¬
tricity not great, the ratio of the decrease of the electrical
density to the density itself is always a constant quantity,
ivhatever be the form or the magnitude of the electrified body.
By using pith balls, imd balls of' copper and sealing-wax,
he found,
5th, That the law of dissipation is not influenced by the
nature of the body.
It appears, from the second of the preceding tables, that
the dissipation increases with the degree of moisture, as
indicated by Saussure’s hygrometer; and, by comparing
the observations, he concluded,
6 th, That the diminution of the repulsive force, or, what
is the same, of the electric density, is proportional to the cube
of the weight of the quantity of water dissolved in a given
quantity of air. He found also,
ELECTRICITY.
589
] nonic- 7tl), That the dissipation of electricity increases with the
i and temperature.
aws. in the course of these valuable researches Coulomb as-
certained that there was no dissipation along the fibre
which supported the electrified bodies which he em¬
ployed; and he found also that there were other causes
of dissipation, which produced effects of a considerable
amount, and which yet remain to be discovered.
]3ipa- Having thus determined the laws of dissipation by the
t by contact of air, Coulomb proceeded to inquire into the
i effect causes of dissipation along imperfectly insulating bodies,
i: ilation. experiments which he performed for this purpose
were made on the same days with those made on the dis¬
sipation by air, so that he was able to determine by cal¬
culation the portion which was lost by aerial contact, and
the portion lost by imperfect insulation.
When a highly electrified ball was suspended by a silk
fibre, the dissipation of its electricity was much more
rapid than it should have been by the contact of the air,
and therefore a part of it was owing to the imperfect in¬
sulating power of the silk thread. But when the intensity
of the electricity was diminished to a certain degree, the
silk fibre was as good an insulator as the gum-lac. A cy¬
linder of gum-lac eighteen lines long did not cease to
insulate perfectly till the degree of electricity was nearly
triple of that which is insulated by the silk fibre.
Coulomb likewise found, that when a silk thread, or
hair, or any fine cylindrical electric, began to insulate
perfectly, the electrical density of the body which was
insulated was proportional to the square root of the length
of the support; that is, if a silk fibre one foot long insu¬
lates perfectly when the electrical density is D, it will
require a fibre four feet long to insulate perfectly when
the electrical density is 2 D, or double.
M. Coulomb’s experiments seem to have been made
only with one kind of electricity. M. Biot, however,
found that the dissipation was nearly the same, whether
the insulated body was electrified negatively or positively.
Sect. IX.— On the Distribution of Electricity.
itribu- When any body is electrified by presenting it to the
I °f, prime conductor, the electricity, though it enter at one
-tncity.part 0f b0(iy} js obviously distributed over the whole
of it, as every part of the body gives distinct indications
of its new state. It becomes an interesting inquiry, there¬
fore, to ascertain by what powers the electricity is thus
distributed over the body ; to determine whether it is dis¬
tributed throughout the substance of the body, or only on
its surface; and to discover the laws of its local distribu¬
tion, whether it exists on single bodies, on two or more
equal or unequal bodies placed in contact, and on bodies
of different forms.
These various topics have been treated by Coulomb
with that ipgenuity and sagacity which distinguish all
his labours ; and his torsion balance is the principal appa¬
ratus which was found necessary.
In order to determine whether electricity was distri¬
buted over conductors by a repulsive force between the
particles of the electric fluid, or by some affinity or elec¬
tric attraction for one body in preference to another,
he found, by using a pith ball and a ball of copper, that
the pith ball received exactly one half of the electricity
of the ball of copper, and that the ball of copper had no
more affinity or electric attraction for the electric matter
than the pith ball. This experiment was varied by using
a disc or circle of iron ten lines in diameter, and a paper
disc of the same size. In this case also he found that the
electricity was equally distributed between the two discs;
and he obtained the same result by using various other Phenome-
substances, and performing tbe experiments with a large na and
torsion balance, with globes of five or six inches diameter. t Haws. ^
In all experiments of this kind, the two balls must be
allowed to remain a short time in contact, as several
seconds elapse before an imperfectly insulating ball is
capable of acquiring from the other half of its electricity.
When the experiment is made with circular discs, the
surface of the one must be placed symmetrically on the
surface of the other.
In order to determine whether the electricity pervaded Superficial
the whole substance of the conductor, or was distributed^®*1^!1*
on its surface, Coulomb provided an electrometer, consist-^ectl.-c;t
ing of a small circle of tinsel, suspended by a fibre of gum-
lac, which, when suspended in a cylinder of glass, is so ex¬
tremely sensible that a force equal to the sixty thousandth
part of a grain was sufficient to repel the ball of the needle
through an arch of more than ninety degrees.
The conductor whose electrical state he proposed to
examine was a solid cylinder of wood four inches in dia¬
meter, and pierced with several holes four lines wide and
four deep. This cylinder was then supported upon an in¬
sulating stand, and electrified by sparks from a Leyden
jar. He then took a small circle of gilt paper one and a
half line in diameter, and about tbe eighteenth part of a
line in thickness, and he insulated it at the exti'emity of a
cylinder of gum-lac a line in diameter.
Having electrified the tinsel of his electrometer, he
brought the circle of gilt paper into contact with the
surface of the electrified wooden cylinder, and upon pre¬
senting the circle to the electrometer it repelled the tin¬
sel with great force. The same circle was then intro¬
duced into one of the holes of the cylinder, so as to come
in contact with the bottom of the hole, and rest upon it.
When it was taken out, without touching the sides of the
hole, and presented to the electrometer, it gave no indi¬
cations of electricity. In the first case, the small circle
carried off electricity from the part of the surface which
it touched ; but in the second case it carried off none, so
that there was no electric matter in the interior of the
cylinder, even at the depth of four lines.
These curious results, thus established by accurate ob¬
servation, may be proved by two very pretty experiments,
which have been given by Biot. Let S, fig. 4, be a PI. CCXI.
spheroid of conducting matter, suspended by a perfectly Fig* 4.
insulating fibre A of gum-lac. Form two cups BC, made
of gilt paper or tinfoil, or any other conducting material,
so as to fit exactly the spheroid when united, and fix to
each of them an insulating handle L, L of gum-lac. Elec¬
trify the spheroid S, and holding a cup in each hand by
the handles L, L, apply them, as in the figure, to the sur¬
face of the spheroid. Upon withdrawing the cups, it
will be found that they have abstracted from the spheroid
S all its electricity, and that so completely, that it will
not affect the most delicate electrometer, while the cups
will be found to possess the same quantity of electricity
which originally existed in the spheroid.
The other experiment of M. Biot is shown in fig. 5, Fig. 5.
where AB is an insulated cylinder, moveable round a
horizontal axis, and which may be turned by the winch
H, composed of several rods of glass. Around the cy¬
linder there is wrapped a metallic ribband CD, whose ex¬
tremity D terminates in a semicircle, and is attached to
a silk cord F. This apparatus is made to communicate
with an electroscope E, composed of two linen threads
carrying two pith balls. When the metallic ribband is
electrified, the balls and the threads will diverge. Upon
unrolling the metallic ribband, by pulling the silk thread F,
the pith balls at E collapse, and indicate a diminution of
the electrical repulsion ; and if the ribband be sufficiently
590
ELECTRICITY.
Phenome- long, compared with the electric charge given to the ap-
Laws Para.tus’ the separation of the balls may become quite in-
sensible ; but they will again diverge, and indicate an in¬
crease of electrical intensity, if we again roll up the rib¬
band upon the cylinder.
Method of Having thus ascertained that electricity occupies the
measuring surfaces of conductors, the next point to determine is the
the distri, ]aw of its distribution in bodies of different forms, that is,
electricity *;0 ascer^a‘n intensity, or the electrical density, at dif-
J'ferent points of the surface.
The following was the method used by Coulomb for
this purpose: In the balance with which he made his
fust experiments he suspended his needle by a fine silver
Pi. CCXI. wire. He then took a cylinder of gum-lac, and having
Fig. 6. bent it as shown at ced, he attached to it a circle of gilt
paper five or six lines in diameter, and the eighteenth
part of a line thick. Having electrified the body whose
electrical density was to be ascertained, he electrified the
disc, carried by the needle by means of an insulated pin
as formerly, and then touched the circle d with any
part of the body where he wished to ascertain the elec¬
trical density. This circle was then placed in the ba-
, lance, and the quantity of its electricity measured. Hence,
as the quantity which the circle acquires by its tangen¬
tial contact with the body is either the same as that of
the point which it touches, or proportional to it, it be¬
came easy to ascertain the electrical density of differ¬
ent points of conductors, by touching those points with
the circle d,. and subsequently measuring its electricity.
During the time, however, which elapses between differ¬
ent observations, a part of the electricity wrill be dissi¬
pated, so that an error is necessarily introduced in com¬
paring the electrical density of any two points a and b.
In order to correct this error, he proceeds thus: Having
measured the electricity in a, he then, after an interval,
suppose of three minutes, measures the electricity in b.
He then remeasures the electricity in a three minutes
after he measured the electricity of 6, and the mean of
these two measures for a will be the electrical density
of a at the time when that of b was measured.
Distribu- By the method now described Coulomb measured the dis-
tricitvona t!',butIion ^ electricity on a conducting sphere, and he found
globe; ^ ia^1 le electrical density was the same on every part of it.
on the sur- In_a similar manner Coulomb found that the electrical
face of a density on the middle of the cylinder is to that of its ex¬
cylinder: tremity as TOO is to 2-30; that the density of the middle
was to that of a point two inches from the extremity, as
TOO to 1-25 ; and that the density in the middle was to
that of a point situated in the hemisphere which termi¬
nated the cylinder, and one inch from its extremity, as
to 1 SO. Hence it appears that the electricity is very
much condensed upon the two last inches at the extre¬
mity of the cylinder, and that it varies very slightly from
the middle to within two inches of the extremity.
From various experiments, conducted in a
Relative
electrical
densit esofl-0^OUS that, already described, Coulomb obtained the
two globes f°ll0vv.in^resal‘s relative to the manner in which the
in contact. e!.e^.t^.lcal fll,1.d distributes itself between two globes A, B,
of different diameters, after they have been placed in con¬
tact, and separated, so that the electricity is distributed
uniformly over their surfaces.
Ratio of the Radii
of the Globes.
A
1
1
Ratio of the Surfaces
of the Globes.
B
to 1
2
Ratio of Electri¬
cal Densities.
4
8
Infinity.
to
B
1
4
16
64
Infinity.
A
1
1-08
1-30
1- 65
2- 00
to
In order to explain this table, we shall take the case of Pheno.
two globes 6^ inches and 24 inches, which were actually ua ar
used by Coulomb. The small globe of 6£ inches having Taw,
been electrified, it was touched with the other globe of WY'
24 inches, and when they were separated, so That the
electricity of each was uniformly diffused over their sur¬
faces, it was found that the quantity of electricity pos¬
sessed by the large globe w^as to that possessed by the
small one as 1M to 1; but as the surfaces of the two
globes are as 14-8 to 1, a greater ratio than the other, it
follows that the two globes are not charged with electri¬
city in a ratio as great as that of their surfaces ; that is, a
given area on the small globe contains a greater quantity
of electricity, or has a greater electrical density, than the
same area in the large globe. The electrical densities in
the third column are therefore found by dividing the ratio
of their surfaces by the ratio of the quantities of fluid
which they contain, and the quotients will be the ratio
of the densities given in the third column. Thus, in the
present case, 14*8-r- 11T = T3333, the electrical density
of the small globe 6^ inches in diameter, that of the lar^e
one of 24 inches being 1.
Such is the electrical state of two electrified globes when Two en
placed at a distance. It now becomes a curious point to globes,
ascertain how the electricity is distributed when one or
more equal or unequal globes are in contact. When two
equal globes are in contact, the thickness of the stratum
of electricity, if it varies in thickness, or the electrical den¬
sity, if it is equally thick, is nothing at the point of con¬
tact, but increases from the point of contact equally in
different azimuths to the opposite point of the globes,
where it is a maximum. This law of increase varies with
the ratio of the diameters of the globe.
In the case of two equal globes, the electrical densities Two ur
at different distances from the point of contact were ase(lual
follows: globes.
Distances from the
Point of Contact.
0°
20
30
60
90
180
Ratio of Electrical
Densities.
0
0
1
3- 72
4- 78
5- 03
W hen two unequal globes are in contact, the one being
twice the size of the other, the density of the small globe
was almost nothing at 30°. From 60° to 90° it increased
in the ratio of 10 to 17, and from 90° to 180° in the ratio
of 75 to 100.
W hen the one globe was four times the size of the
other, the density of the small one was nothing up to 30°,
from 30° to 45° it rose to 1, at 90° it was 4, and at 180°
it was 5*72. The density of the large globe was nothing
to the fourth or fifth degree from contact. From this point
it increased rapidly, and from 30° to 180° it was almost
uniform.
If we separate the two unequal globes, a curious phe¬
nomenon takes place. At a certain distance, which is not
great, the point of the little globe which was in contact
with the larger globe, and which had no electricity, now
shows negative electricity till they are farther separated.
At a certain distance the electricity becomes again no¬
thing, and at a greater distance the same point becomes
'positive,
W hen the large globe is eleven inches in diameter, and
the small one eight, and both positively electrified, the
point of the large globe which touched the small one is
always positively electrified, whatever be the distance of
the two. The similar point of the small globe, however,
ELECTRICITY.
591
me will be negatively electrified till the distance of the two
iZd" is one inch, at which distance the electricity becomes no-
jaws. thin0-, and beyond it it becomes positive. If the small
globe is only four inches in diameter, the same pheno¬
mena take place, but at the distance of two inches and
five lines. .
eral When six equal globes, two inches m diameter, were
ial placed in one line in contact, and electrified, and then
bes. examined by the torsion balance, Coulomb found that the
electrical density of the Jirst was to that of the second as
148 to 100, and that of the Jzrst to that of the third as
156 to 100. When twelve similar globes were similarly
placed, the density of the first was to that of the second
as 150 to 100, and that of the first to that of the sixth as
170 to 100. When twenty-four similar globes were simi¬
larly placed, the electric density of the first was to that
of the second as 156 to 100, and to that of the tu-elfth as
175 to 100. At equal distances from the extremities of
the row the electric densities were equal, and the density
always least in the middle.
The last series of Coulomb’s experiments which we
shall notice at present, are the highly important ones
relative to the distribution of electricity between a globe
and cylinder. When the globe was eight inches in dia¬
meter, and the cylinder thirty inches long, he obtained
the following results :—
Diameter of Cylinder.
24 lines
12
2
Mean Electric Density of the
Globe to that of the Cylinder.
1 to 1-30
1 — 2-00
1 — 9-00
Hence the electrical densities of different cylinders are in
the inverse ratio of the power f- of their diameter, which
approaches very much to unity when the diameter of the
globe is very much greater than that of the cylinder.
When the globes are different, and the cylinders re¬
main the same, the electric density of the cylinders will
vary as the diameters of the globes, if their diameters are
much greater than that of the cylinder. Hence, call¬
ing D the mean electric density ot the globe, d that of
the cylinder, R the radius of the globe, and r that of
the cylinder, we have d ~ —— or a —   , whenli
is much greater than r. Coulomb found the constant
. ,9
co-emcient m to be -r^.
48
rod with the point, the electricity will be rapidly discharg- Phenome-
ed from it, and will be seen streaming out from it in the ”a anrl
dark. ,
The experiments contained in the preceding section
afford a beautiful and satisfactory explanation of the ac¬
tion of points. We have already seen that the electri¬
city communicated to a cylinder is so distributed that /
the electrical density of the extremity is 2-30, while
that at the middle is 1 ; and that when the electrical den¬
sity of a globe is 1, that of a cylinder two lines in diame¬
ter and thirty inches long is 9. But we may consider
'points as cylinders of small diameter and great length,
and, following the result now mentioned, we shall find
that the electrical density at the rounded extremity of a
cylinder two lines in diameter will be 9 X 2*3 = 20,7,
while that of the globe which the cylinder touches is only
one. In order to make this plain, we have represented in pi. CCXI.
fig. 7 a cylinder or rod AB, in which the ordinates of the Fig. 7-
curve McN represent the electrical density at different
points of the cylinder, or the thickness of the stratum of
electricity at these points. The ordinate cd being 1,
the ordinates AM and BN will be 2,3. But it may be
shown, from the law of repulsion, that the re-action of the
electric fluid upon the adjacent air varies as the square of
the thicknesses of the electric strata, or as the squares of
the electric densities. Hence the squares of the ordi¬
nates cd, AM, or 1, and 2-30 X 2*30 = 5-27, will repre¬
sent the re-action at d and A, that is, the electric fluid will
have five times the tendency to escape at A, from what it
has at d.
When the point A is connected with a ball B, as in fig. Fig. 8.
8, the tendency of the electric fluid to escape at A will
be seen from the ordinates of the curve BM, the ordinate
at A being very great. We have already seen that the
ordinate AM, or the electrical density at A, is 20-7 times
as great as the electrical density at B. Hence 207 X
20-7 =: 428-49 will represent the tendency of the electri¬
city to escape from A, the tendency to escape from B
being only one. But this tendency to escape is resisted
by the air ; and as the amount of resistance varies with the
density, moisture, and temperature of the air, there will
obviously be some degree of electrical density which will
overcome that resistance. This result experience com¬
pletely confirms, for even in the common state of the air
a very great quantity of electricity is not necessary to
make its way from a pointed conductor.
This tendency of points to discharge their electricity
against the resisting air, enables us to perform some beau¬
tiful electrical experiments, in which a motion of rotation
Sect. X.— On the Action of Points, and on Electrical
Rotations.
ction of The influence of points in silently drawing off electri-
rnits. c;ty from a conductor has already been mentioned, and
also their influence in discharging electricity from any
conducting body in which they are fixed. Both these
effects are distinctly seen if a person insulates himself by
standing on a stool with glass feet, placed near an electri¬
fied prime conductor. If he takes in his hand a rod of
metal with a ball at one end and a sharp point at the other,
and holds the point at a certain distance from the conduc¬
tor, he will be able to electrify himself in consequence of
drawing the electricity from the conductor, whereas if he
holds the ball at the same distance, he will receive no
electricity at all. On the contrary, if he connect himself
with the prime conductor by a chain till he is charged
with electricity, and then throws aside the chain, he will
not be able to discharge the electricity quickly from his
body by holding out the ball, whereas if he holds out the
is effected.
Exp. 1. If one, two, or any other number of wires are Electrical
placed, as in fig. 9, so as to have beneath their centre of gra-
vity A, a hollow cup, which rests on the top of an insulated11§-
stand AB; and if the points rn, o, n, p of these wires are
made short, and are turned in the same tangential direc¬
tion ; then, if we connect them with the prime conductor
by a chain C, so as to electrify them, the electricity will
issue from each point; and as it will be resisted by the air
against which it presses, the arms will turn round in a di¬
rection opposite to that in which the electric fluid is dis¬
charged, in the very same manner as the rotatory motion is
effected in Barker’s mill. In the dark a stream of light
will exhibit the discharge of the electricity, and when the
velocity of rotation becomes sufficiently great, the four
streams will form a beautiful circle of light.
Exp. 2. The Electrical Orrery, as it is called, is found- Electrical
ed on the same principle. A spherical ball of metal S, orrery,
fig. 10, representing the sun, has its inner concave surface l’1#- t-
supported on a pivot on the top of an insulated stand CD.
From the ball S extends a wire SE, the turned-up extre-
ELECTRICITY.
592
Phenome- mity of which supports upon a pivot another ball E,
na. and which represents the earth, having a wire passing through
Lau-s. jt? an[| carrying at one end a small ball M, representing
the moon, avhile the other end is bent into a sharp point m.
A sharp point H is also fixed to the arm EF. If these
balls are electrified as in the last experiment, by a chain A
connecting them with the prime conductor, the discharge
of electricity from the point H will give a rotatory motion
to the arm CE and the earth E, while the electrical dis¬
charge from the point m will give a rotatory motion to
the moon M round the earth E. In this manner the
moon revolves round the earth, while the earth and moon
are together carried round the sun.
Electrical Exp. 3. By the same principle a chime of bells may be
bells. rung in a more elegant manner than that which is exhibit¬
ed in fig. 4, Plate CCIX. Five cross arms of wire are made
to revolve upon the pivot A of an insulated stand AB, as
Fig. 11. shown in fig. 11, and each wire has its extremity pointed
and turned in the same direction. To one of these arms C,
which is purposely made longer than the rest, is suspend¬
ed a glass ball or clapper 6, by a silk thread ab, and im¬
mediately behind it a rod CD. Eight bells are placed
upon the stand, and if a chain connects the point A with
the prime conductor, the discharge of the electricity from
the points will move the cross arms round, and cause the
clapper b to ring the bells during its revolutions.
Electrical Exp. 4. The electrical inclined plane, shown in fig. 12,
inclined acts upon the same principle. Two straight parallel wires,
plane.^ MO, NP, are stretched upon the insulating stands M, N, O,
j ig- — p? fixed on a base of wood. Across these wires is placed
a wire ab, having another wire cd at right angles to
it, terminated by two bent points lying in a plane pass¬
ing through cd, and at right angles to ab. When the ap¬
paratus is electrified by a chain, the electricity is dis¬
charged at the points Z> in a vertical plane, the wires re¬
volve, and the wire cd rolls up the inclined plane, in op¬
position to the force of gravity.
Electrical In order to explain the phenomena of attraction and re-
atti action pulsion which have been already described, we must avail
sion PUl" ourse^ves °f several principles which have been either
previously deduced from experiment, or which may be
readily proved.
1. The electric fluid has a tendency to escape from all
electrified bodies, whether conductors or non-conductors,
in consequence of the mutual repulsion of its particles.
2. The electric fluid is prevented from escaping from
bodies so rapidly as it would otherwise do, by the pres¬
sure of the air with which they are surrounded, and which
is itself a bad conductor of electricity.
3. If the pressure of the air is increased, the escape of
the electricity is diminished ; and if the pressure of the
air is diminished, the escape of the electricity is increased.
4. In conductors the electric fluid passes with the ut¬
most facility and rapidity among the material particles, and
does not seem to be in any way acted upon by them.
5. In non-conductors the electric fluid escapes from them,
and moves among their material particles with difficulty;
so that there is some force by which the electric fluid ad¬
heres to or is detained by the material particles of non¬
conducting bodies.
With the aid of these principles, we are now able to ex¬
plain the three different cases of electrical attraction and
repulsion.
PI. CCXI. !• When the two bodies are non-conductors. Let A be a
Fig. 13. fixed electrified non-conducting body, and B another of
the same kind capable of moving. The particles of the Pheno
electric fluid in A will repel each other; but this repul- "a ai
sive force cannot produce any motion on the centre of ■*-,aw
gravity of the ball, as their united tendency is to produce
rest. The same is true of the repulsive force of the
electric fluid in B. Let us suppose that A and B are both
electrified positively, or both negatively, then the repul¬
sion between the electric fluid in A, and that in B, will
cause B to recede from A, because the electric fluid in
B adhering as it were to the particles of B, cannot recede
from A without taking the body along with it. In like
manner, if A is positive and B negative, or vice versa, the
attraction of the positive electric fluid for the negative
electric fluid will cause the electric fluid in the move-
able body B to approach to that in A, and, by its bring¬
ing the material particles along with it, will produce the
phenomena of attraction.
Hence it follows that the attractions and repulsions of
non-conducting bodies are produced by the attractions and
repulsions of the electric fluid, which, from its adhesion
to their matter, causes them to partake in its motion.
2. When the one body is a non-conductor, and the other a Fig. l-
conductor. Let A, fig. 14 and 15, be a fixed and non-con- lo-
ducting body, and B a moveable and conducting body.
When these two spheres are separate, the electric fluid
is distributed on the surface of each in a stratum or thin
shell of equal thickness ; but when they are brought near
each other, the fluid is distributed as in fig. 14, when A
and B are oppositely electrified, and as in fig. 15, when
they are similarly electrified ; the space between the dark-
circles and the i otted outlines representing the section of
the stratum of electrified fluid upon each sphere. The
arrangement of the fluid in fig. 14 is produced by the at¬
traction of the fluid in A for the fluid in B, and vice versa,
producing an accumulation of it on each sphere on the
sides nearest one another; and the arrangement of the
fluid in fig. 15 is produced by the repulsion of the two
opposite fluids, producing an abstraction of the fluid from
the sides nearest one another, and an accumulation of it
on the sides farthest from each other. But since the non¬
conducting sphere A is fixed, the adhesion of its fluid to
its material particles cannot produce any motion; and
since there is no adhesion between the fluid in the con¬
ductor B and its material particles, these particles, or the
body which they compose, cannot move along with the
fluid. The accumulated fluid, however, at the points
O, O, fig. 14 and 15, tends to escape from the spheres in
virtue of the mutual repulsion of its own particles ; but it
is restrained by the pressure of the air, which re-acts upon
it. But the pressure of the air is an uniform force on
every part of the sphere ; and as the force with which the
electric fluid resists this uniform pressure is greatest at
the sides O, O, the ball B, in fig. 14, will recede in virtue
of this force from A; and the ball B, in fig. 15, will from
the same cause approach to A. The attraction, therefore,
of the two opposite fluids in fig. 14 produces, through the
agency of the atmosphere, a repulsion of the moveable
sphere ; and the repulsion of the similar electric fluids in
fig. 15 produces, through the same agency, an attraction
of,the moveable to the fixed sphere.
Hence it follows that the attractions and repulsions of
two bodies, one a conductor and the other a non-conduc¬
tor, are merely apparent, and are produced solely through
the agency of the atmosphere.
3. When the two bodies are conductors. In this case the
phenomena will be nearly.the same as in the last; for, by
making A a conductor, we have only removed the adhe¬
sion between its fluid and the particles of which the body
is composed, a force which was not brought into play in
case 2, owing to A being fixed.
Sec r. XL—Explanation of the Phenomena of Electrical
Attraction and Repulsion.
ELECTRICITY. 593
ienome- In the preceding observations we have taken no notice
a and 0f the decomposition of the natural electricities of the two
Laws, bodies, as the reader is not yet prepared for this considera-
tion. We have supposed one of the spheres to be fixed
and the other moveable, merely to simplify our illustra¬
tions ; but it is obvious that the same effects would have
been produced, but only with different degrees of inten¬
sity, if the two spheres had been moveable.
In order to show that apparent attractions and repul¬
sions may be produced by the mere resistance of the air,
and without any mutual action between the particles of
the two bodies which are attracted and repelled, M.
Biot has employed a very happy illustration, on which
we have ventured to make a slight improvement. Let
,, n; B, fig- 16, be a glass globe filled with water, and sus-
' pended by a string A. Make a hole in two opposite
points of it, C and D, from which the water can flow, and
having closed them with wax, fill the globe with water.
With a burning mirror M, whose focus is at C, condense
the sun’s rays RR, and melt the little plug of wax at C.
The water will instantly rush out, and the globe B will
move away from M as if it had been repelled by the mir¬
ror. Repeat the same experiment by placing the mirror
at M', N', and throwing the sun’s rays upon the opposite
plug D by reflexion from the plain mirror mn. The plug
D being melted, the water will flow out at D, and the
globe B will approach to M, N, the mirror having appear¬
ed to repel the globe in the first case, and to attract it
in the second, though the motion in both cases arises nei¬
ther from attractive nor repulsive forces, but merely from
an unbalanced pressure at D when the water flowed out
at C, and an unbalanced pressure at C when the water
was discharged at D.
Sect. XII.— On Electrical Induction, or the Decomposition
of the Combined Electricities hy Actions at a distance.
ilectrical In the preceding sections we have considered the phe-
jiduction. nomena of electricity as produced by friction, and as com¬
municated or transmitted by conductors to other bodies.
But it has been found that electricity may be developed
in bodies by the mere influence of an electrified body
placed at a distance, and we shall now proceed to inves¬
tigate the laws which regulate this interesting class of
phenomena.
• CCXII. Let AB be a cylindrical conductor supported horizon-
g. 1. tally upon an insulating stand S, and having hemispheri¬
cal ends at A and B. Suspend from the points A, B, C, D,
E, F, similar pairs of pith balls attached to wires or linen
threads, and, having insulated it carefully by the stand S,
touch it with the fingfer in order to see that it contains no
free electricity. Let an electrified sphere M be now
brought near it, so that A, B, M are in the same straight
line, and that no spark can pass from M to B. When this
has been done, it will be observed that the pith balls di¬
verge as in the figure, the divergency being a maximum at
A and B, and equal at these points, becoming less at C
and D, where it is also equal, and still less at E and F,
where the equality of divergence still exists. Between E
and F there will be found some neutral point where the
pith balls exhibit no divergence, and this point will shift
its position according to the distance of the electrified
body M. If we now suspend an unelectrified pith ball by a
silk thread, and bring it near to different parts of the cy¬
lindrical conductor, we shall find that it is attracted to it
in all places except the neutral point between E and F.
From these experiments we are led to the important
and curious result, that an unelectrified body may be electri¬
fied by the influence of an electrified body acting upon it at
VOL. VIII.
a distance. The electricity is in this case said to be in- Phenome-
duced, and the phenomenon is called electrical induction. ail<l
If we now electrify the pith ball which was suspended ,_~aws'
by a silken thread, and bring it near to the cylinder AB,
we shall find that it is attracted by one half of the cylin¬
der from A, for example, to the neutral point between E
and F, and repelled by the other half from B to the same
neutral point.
From this experiment we infer that the electricity on
one half of the cylinder, from one extremity to the neutral
point, is positive, while the electricity in the other half is
NEGATIVE.
Bring the electrified pith ball near the electrified body
M, and it will be found that, if it was formerly repelled
from B, it will be attracted by M, and vice versa ; so that
we conclude that the electricity induced upon the half of the
cylinder nearest the electrified body is always opposite to that
of the electrified body.
If we now measure the electricity of the body M, both
before and after the preceding experiments, and make al¬
lowance for the dissipation of it through the agency of the
adjacent air, we shall find that no part of its electricity
has been communicated to the cylinder AB ; and if, while
the cylinder AB is electrified by the inductive influence
of M, we either remove M to a distance, or discharge its
electricity by touching it with the finger, the electricity
of the cylinder AB will instantly disappear. In like man¬
ner, AB will recover its electrical state the moment that
M is brought near it.
Hence it follows that the positive and negative electrici¬
ties developed in a conducting body by the presence of an
electrified body are not communicated to it by that body, but
have existed in a state of combination in the substance of the
conductor, and have only been separated from their state of
combination by the action of the electrified body.
As the intensity of the positive electricity, as well as its
quantity, is the same in one half of the conductor as that
of the negative electricity is in the other half, and as there
is no remaining ox free electricity in the cylinder AB when
the body M is withdrawn, it follows that the union or re¬
combination of the two electricities has neutralized or sa¬
turated each other. But as the two united electricities
have not been destroyed by their union, they exist in a
new state, which is called the natural electricity o'! \io&\qs,.
The electricity, therefore, which thus naturally resides
in conductors,"consists of equal quantities of positive and
negative electricity, which neutralize each other’s action,
and are consequently incapable of producing any of the
phenomena of free electricity, or of a portion of positive
or negative electricity existing in a separate state.
With these explanations, we are now able to understand
how the cylinder AB is electrified by the influence of
the electrified body M. We have clearly proved, by di¬
rect experiment, that bodies similarly electrified repel
each other, while bodies oppositely electrified attract each
other; and we have shown in Section X. that this repul¬
sion and attraction does not take place between the ma¬
terial particles of the bodies, but between their electrici¬
ties, or the electric fluids which they respectively contain.
Hence we may enunciate the law in the following manner :
Similar electricities repel each other, and dissimilar electrici¬
ties attract each other. Now when the sphere M, which we
shall suppose to be electrified positively, is brought near
the cylinder AB, in which the electricity exists in its na¬
tural or combined state, it will repel all the positive elec¬
tricity, and attract all the negative electricity, overcom¬
ing the tendency which each has to diffuse itself in vir¬
tue of the mutual repulsion of its own particles, and the
tendency which the two opposite electricities have to re¬
combine by their mutual attraction. Hence all the nega-
ELECTRICITY.
594
Phenome- tive electricity will be attracted to and occupy the half
na and P'13 0f ti)e cylinder, and all the positive electricity will be
Laws, repelled, and occupy the remoter half EA. If M is nega-
lively electrified, the opposite effects will be produced.
Let the body M be now withdrawn, the repulsive and at¬
tractive forces which it exercised upon the natural electri¬
city of AB will cease, and the two electricities, separated
by its action, will recombine by their mutual attraction, as
well as by the mutual repulsion of the particles of each,
and the cylinder AB will be restored to its natural state
of electricity.
The principle of electrical induction which we have now
illustrated enables us to give a satisfactory explanation
of the phenomena of attraction which have been describ¬
ed in Section II. It was there shown that electrified
bodies attracted light and unelectrified bodies that were
brought near them ; but it will now appear that these ap¬
parently unelectrified bodies were first electrified by in¬
duction, and, in consequence of the decomposition of their
natural electricities, were attracted by the excited body.
P1.CCXII. Thus, if M, Plate CCXII. fig. 1, is an electrified body
placed in a perfect vacuum, and AB a small light body
suspended near M, and capable of moving towards it,
then AB will be so electrified by the influence of M, that
the electricity of the same name as that of M will be ac¬
cumulated in the half FB of the cylinder, and the other
electricity in the half EA. But the electricity of M at¬
tracts that of BF more powerfully than it repels that of
EA, and consequently the light body AB will be attract¬
ed to M in consequence of the previous decomposition
of its native electricity. If this decomposition cannot be
efiected by M, or if it takes place with difficulty, the body
AB will not be attracted, or will be attracted less readily.
M. Biot has illustrated this position by the following sim¬
ple experiment. Suspend by fine silk threads two small
balls of equal dimensions, one of them being made of pure
gum-lac, and the other of gum-lac either gilt on its surface
or covered with a thin plate of tinfoil. When these two
balls are placed beside each other, and at a small distance,
bring near them an electrified tube of glass or sealing-
wax, and it will be seen that the gilt ball will be more
strongly and easily attracted than the other. The un¬
coated ball of lac will not begin to be attracted till after
a certain time, when the decomposition of its natural elec¬
tricity has been effected ; and thus its electrical state will
continue after the removal of the electrified body. The
first ball, though gilt, acquires also in this manner a per¬
manent electricity, because the gum of which it is com¬
posed is impregnated with the electricity developed at
its surface, and both of them are in this respect assisted
by the contact of the air, which, under the influence of
the electrified body, tends especially to carry off from them
the one of the two electricities, which is repelled by this
body, while it has less effect upon the other, whose proper
repulsive force is concealed by attraction. Hence, says
M. Biot,1 we observe in general, that insulated bodies
which have for some time been under the influence of
an electrified body, end in having an excess of electri¬
city of a kind opposite to its own, and the effects of which
are seen when they are ivithdrawn from the influence of
that body.
In examining the action of M upon AB, fig. 1, we sup¬
posed that no change took place in the electrical condi¬
tion of M; but this is not the case, for the body AB, as
soon as its natural electricity has been decomposed, be¬
gins to re-act upon M, through the agency of its separated
electricities. These separated electricities not only tend
by their attractive and repulsive forces to change the dis- Phenoi
tribution of the free electricity which exists in M, but naan
also to decompose its natural electricity, and thus to in- Laws
crease its free electricity by one of the two separated elec-
tricities. When this change has been effected upon the
electrical state of M, its action upon AB will also change.
It will decompose a new quantity of the natural electri¬
city of AB, and distribute the positive and the negative
electricities of which it is composed in the halves AE, BF;
and these new portions will again re-act upon M, till a
permanent equilibrium is effected among all the attractive
and repulsive forces which are thus brought into play.
Supposing such an equilibrium to be established be¬
tween the two bodies M and AB, we shall proceed to exa¬
mine the phenomena which are produced by the introduc¬
tion of a third body. For this purpose let AB represent
the conducting cylinder, and M the electrified body, as in
fig. 2. Let an insulated conducting body O, in its naturcdY\.CC] [
state of electricity, be now brought near AB, so as to Fig. 2.^
touch it, and let us suppose that the electricity of M is
positive, and consequently that the electricity in the half
BE is negative, and that in AE positive. If we now remove
the body O, and examine its electrical state, we shall find
that it has acquired positive electricity, and we shall ob¬
serve that the divergency of the pith balls at A has dimi¬
nished, while their divergency at B has increased. If we
again remove the cylinder AB from the influence of M,
or remove M from it, we shall find that AB is charged
with negative electricity. Previous to the contact of 0 with
A, the positive electricity in AE repels the negative elec¬
tricity in M, and attracts the negative electricity in BE.
Hence it contributes by both these actions to weaken the
attraction of the positive electricity in M for the negative
electricity in BE, and its repulsion for the positive elec¬
tricity in AE. But when, by the contact of the third con¬
ductor O with the end A of AB, we withdraw a portion
of the positive electricity in AE, we at the same time in¬
crease the attraction between M and BE, and the repul¬
sion between M and AE, by diminishing the force by
which that attraction and repulsion were weakened. Hence
the increased action of M will decompose an additional
portion of the natural electricity of AB, drawing the ne¬
gative part of it to EB, and repelling the positive part of
it to AE. The electricity, therefore, which is accumu¬
lated at B or in EB is greater than that accumulated at
A or in EA, because the third conductor O has taken
away a part of the positive electricity in AE. Hence,
when we remove AB from the influence of M, so as to
allow its separated electricities to re-combine, there is an
excess of negative electricity, with which of course AB
will be found charged. It is therefore obvious that the
divergency of the balls should be greater at B than at
A, as was found to be the case from the excess of nega¬
tive electricity which existed at B while the cylinder was
under the influence of M.
In the experiment, as above described, the third con¬
ductor O was insulated, and could therefore carry off only
a portion of the positive electricity in AE, corresponding
to its size : but if we use a conductor which communicates
with the ground, the whole of the free electricity in AE
will escape ; the pith balls at A will exhibit no divergency,
while those at B will diverge still more than they did for¬
merly ; and this divergency will suffer no diminution by
again touching the end A with the insulated conductor.
If the conductor AB is now removed out of the influence
of M, the divergency of the balls at B will be still further
augmented. The cause of these phenomena is very obvi-
1 Traiti de Physique, tom. ii. p. 233-4.
icnome- ous. When all the positive electricity in AE has escaped
ia and into the earth, it no longer counteracts the action of M
Laws. Up0n BE, so that this action is augmented; and the con-
sequence of this is, that M decomposes a fresh portion of
the natural electricity of AB, the positive part of which
passes off, by the mutual repulsion of its own particles, into
the earth, while the resinous part is collected in BF, and
increases the divergency of the balls at'B. Hence, when
AB is removed from the influence of M, the excess ot' ne¬
gative electricity will be greater than previously, and the
divergency of the balls at B will increase conformably
with observation. The very same phenomena will be ob¬
served if the body M is charged with negative electri¬
city, and may be described in the very same words by
changing only the terms positive for negative and negative
for positive.
CHAP. II.—ON THE ELECTRICITY PRODUCED BY HEAT,
PRESSURE, AND SEPARATION OF PARTS.
In the preceding chapter we have given a general and
popular view of the phenomena of electricity, and we have
explained the remarkable phenomena of electrical induc¬
tion. In our experiments and observations on these sub¬
jects we have made use of the electricity which is gene¬
rated by the friction of tubes of glass or sticks of sealing-
wax, or which is obtained from the common electrical
machine. But electricity can be obtained from various
other sources, and its properties are the same, from what¬
ever source it is obtained, provided it is used in the same
quantities and of the same intensity.
As there is no part of the science more interesting to
the general reader than that which relates to the different
modes in which electricity can be obtained from organized
and unorganized bodies, we shall enter fully into this
branch of the subject, and shall treat, in successive chap¬
ters, of the electricity produced by heat and pressure, by
change of form and separation of parts, by animal bodies,
and by the elements of our atmosphere.
Sect. I.— On Pyro-electricity, or the Electricity produced
in Minerals by Heat.
■ro-elec. In our history of the science we have already given a
Clty- general view of the progress of discovery in this interest¬
ing branch of electricity. We shall now, therefore, pro¬
ceed to describe the phenomena which are developed by
heat in various minerals and artificial salts.
1. On the Pyro-electricity of Tourmaline.
Hirma- The tourmaline is a very common mineral, which crys¬
tallizes in long slender prisms. Its primitive form is an
obtuse rhomb, the axis of which coincides with the axis
of the prism. It has also one negative axis of double re¬
fraction, which is coincident with the axis of the rhomb;
and it possesses some remarkable properties in reference
to the absorption of common and polarized light, which
will be described in another article. This mineral ac¬
quires vitreous electricity by friction; and when two tour¬
malines are rubbed together, the one acquires vitreous
and the other resinous electricity.
In order to observe the electricity which heat deve-
lopes in certain minerals, we have found it convenient to
use the thin internal membrane of the Arundo Phragmites,
which was cut with a sharp instrument into the smallest
pieces, or, what is still better, the thin transparent scales
which cover the buds of several plants of the genus Pinus,
595
and which are pushed off at the expansion of the bud in Phenome-
spring. These minute fragments are well dried, and the na and
pyro-electricity of any mineral is determined by its pow- , Eaws.
er of lifting one or more of these light bodies after the
mineral has been exposed to heat. When we wish, how¬
ever, to determine the kind of electricity which is deve¬
loped in any pole of a mineral, we must employ a small
instrument, called an electroscope, such as that used by
Haiiy, which is shown in Plate CCXII. fig. 3, where AB Haiiy’s
is a needle of silver or brass, terminated on one side by a vitreous
globule B of the same metal, and on the opposite side bye^ectro"
a small bar or narrow plate G of transparent Iceland spar, jq^cxil
fixed to A by wax or any other means. This needle car- 3
ries at its middle point U a cup of rock-crystal, by which s
it rests on a steel pivot at the upper end of the piece of
wire D, fixed in a cylinder E of gum-lac or sealing-wax.
A small weight G is made to move along the arm BD to
balance the needle in a horizontal position. In order to
prepare this little instrument for observation, take the
lever by the end B, with the right hand, and with two of
the fingers of the left hand press two of the opposite faces
of the crystal G, and then place the lever upon its pivot D.
Haiiy calls this apparatus a vitreous or positive electro¬
scope.
The resinous or negative electroscope, which is shown in Hauy’s
Plate CCXII. fig. 4, differs from the preceding only in resinous
having a simple needle of silver or copper AB, with twoe*ectr0'
globules A, B at its extremities, and having a cup C of the^J^
same metal. In order to prepare this electroscope for ”
use, a stick of sealing-wax is rubbed with a piece of wool¬
len cloth, and then made to touch one of the globules of
the needle, which is immediately repelled.
In order to determine the kind of electricity generated
in any pole of a crystal by heat, we have only to apply it
to either of these electroscopes. If it attracts the globule
of the vitreous electroscope, or repels that of the resin¬
ous one, its electricity will be resinous; and if it repels
the globule of the vitreous one, and attracts that of the
resinous one, the electricity will be vitreous.
Haiiy used another apparatus in his experiments with Hauy’s
tourmaline, which he considers preferable to all others. general
A rectangular plate of metal hk, bent up at right angles “{!Par^tus*
at its two ends h, k, is balanced on a steel needle by a 1 lg' J‘
cup of agate x, which is confined by a circle of silver and
two screws s, z. Towards the extremities of the lower
surface of the plate hk are fixed two silver wires pi, uy,
having a slightly oblique direction, and terminated by two
silver globules i, y. The use of these little balls is to
lower the centre of gravity of the apparatus, so that the
plate hk may always remain supported during its revolu¬
tion on the pivot. Let us now suppose that we wish to
determine the two kinds of electricity which exist in the
poles of a tourmaline. Take one of the Spanish crystals,
which is the best for the purpose, both from their thin¬
ness and their length, and having heated it either at the
fire or at the flame of a spirit-lamp, by holding it in a pair
of iron pincers with a wooden handle, place it at mn, as
shown in fig. 5, in the two notches made on purpose in the
bent-up pieces h, k; and having held near its poles in
succession a stick of excited sealing-wax, that pole, v, will
be the vitreous one which is attracted by the wax, and the
other, r, the resinous one which will be repelled by it.
After measuring the intensity of the electricity in dif¬
ferent points of the tourmaline, Haviy found that the elec¬
tricity was distributed nearly in the same manner as in a
cylindrical conductor electrified by induction. The vitre¬
ous electricity was a maximum near one extremity of the
crystal, and gradually diminished towards the middle of
the crystal, where it disappeared. Here the resinous
electricity appeared very faintly, and gradually increased
ELEC TRI GIT Y.
596
ELECTRICITY.
Phenome- towards the other end of the crystal, near which it was a
na and maximum.
vJ^aW-S' ; If tourmaline, when rendered electrical by heat, is
broken in pieces, each piece will have a vitreous and a
resinous pole, whether it is broken from the vitreous or
the resinous end, the extremity of the fragment always
possessing the same kind of electricity as that of the pole
to which it was nearest when it formed part of the crystal.
It had been early noticed that the tourmaline became
electrical only at a particular temperature, and that its
electricity disappeared at temperatures above and below
that particular degree of heat. If we heat the tourmaline
beyond this temperature, and allow it gradually to cool,
it will soon arrive at that temperature (between 30° and
80° of Reaumur, 99° and 212° of Fahr. according to iEpi-
nus) at which it exhibits its electrical properties. As the
temperature falls, its electricity becomes progressively
feebler, and finally disappears. Haiiy, however, found that
other changes take place as the cooling of the mineral
increases. At a certain degree of coldness its electricity
re-appeared, and gradually increased till it reached its
maximum, when it again disappeared gradually. But,
what was very interesting, the electricity was not the
same as before; the pole which was formerly vitreous
was now resinous!1 It is extremely probable that the
same changes would continue to take place both above and
below the temperatures at which these two opposite states
were produced. Haiiy caused the foci of two burning-
glasses to fall upon the poles of a tourmaline, and he ob¬
served that, after each pole had acquired its electricity,
it then ceased to act, and finally exhibited an electricity
of an opposite kind.
Haiiy has ingeniously explained the phenomenon of
each fragment of a tourmaline having two different poles,
like the crystal to which it belonged, by supposing that
every integrant particle of a tourmaline is itself a little
tourmaline with its two poles. “ Hence it follows,” says
he, “ that in the entire tourmaline there will be a series
of poles alternately vitreous and resinous; and such are
the quantities of free fluid which appertain to these dif¬
ferent poles, that in all the half of the tourmaline yet un¬
broken, which manifest the vitreous electricity, the vitre¬
ous poles of the integrant molecules are superior in force
to the resinous poles in contact with them ; while the con¬
trary obtains in the half which manifests the resinous
electricity ; whence it follows that the tourmaline is in
the same state (speaking generally) as if each of its halves
were only solicited by quantities of vitreous or resinous
fluid equal to the differences between the fluids of the
neighbouring poles. Now, if the stone be cut at any
place whatever, as the section can only take place between
two molecules, the part detached will necessarily com¬
mence with a pole of one kind, and terminate with a pole
of a contrary nature.”
Mr Sievright of Meggetland fitted up a tourmaline so
as to bring the action of its two poles very near each other.
It resembles the letter 1) with an opening in its round
part, the straight line representing the tourmaline, and
the two bent portions are pieces of silver wire rising out
of two silver cups, one of which embraces each pole of the
tourmaline. If a pith ball, or a ball of sola, is suspended
between the two ends of the silver wires, it will vibrate in
a beautiful manner, in virtue of their opposite actions.
iEpinus, it appears, fitted up the tourmaline in a manner
somewhat resembling that which has been described. Sir
Humphry Davy has stated the curious fact, which we
believe has never been verified by any subsequent ob- Phenon
server, that “ when the stone is of considerable size, na anc
flashes of light may be seen along its surface.”2 Laws.
On the Pyro-electricity of thin Plates of Tourmaline.
The electricity exhibited by ordinary crystals of tour- Pyro-ek
maline is very feeble; and though two good tourmalines,tridtyc
when floated in water upon corks, will approach and re-^Pk
cede from each other when they are excited by a suitable j^ourn
temperature, yet these tourmalines are not capable of lift- e-
ing one another, or of adhering to an unelectrified body,
by decomposing the natural electricity of the part of it
with which they are brought in contact.
A method of increasing the electrical action of tourma¬
line, and of enabling one large piece to lift another, and
even to adhere to other bodies, has been used by Sir David
Brewster. He cut thin slices out of a large crystal of
tourmaline so that they had parallel faces perpendicular
to the axis of the original crystal, as represented in fig. 6,H.CCX
where VVVV is the vitreous face of the plate, correspond-^- 6i
ing to the vitreous pole of the crystal; and ItRRR the
resinous face ; each of these faces being perpendicular to
the edge VR of the prism, and consequently to the axis
of the crystal. When the two faces of the plates thus
formed are ground flat and well polished, one plate will
readily lift another. If we place one of these plates upon
a piece of flat plate glass, placed horizontally upon a table,
the tourmaline will slip off the glass if the latter is
slightly inclined to the horizon. But if the glass has been
previously heated, the tourmaline plate will adhere to it;
and by inverting the glass, the tourmaline will adhere to
it even in that position, supporting its own weight by its
attraction for the glass. The intensity of the electricity
may be easily measured at different temperatures, by as¬
certaining the angle of inclination at which the weight of
ihe tourmaline overcomes its adhesive force. The plate
which exhibits this powerful action obviously consists of
an infinite number of minute crystals of tourmaline, with
vitreous and resinous poles; and as the pointof maximum in¬
tensity is situated near the extremity of each crystal, all the
vitreous poles will be situated in a plane near the vitreous
surface VVVV, while all the resinous poles will be situat¬
ed near the resinous surface RRRR. If a rectangular
plate of the same size, like VVRR, fig. 7, is cut out of a
crystal, so that its surfaces are parallel to the axis of the
prism, it will adhere to the heated glass plate with much
less force than in the preceding case. These plates of
excited tourmaline adhere to all metallic bodies, to wax,
and to all minerals that have been tried.3
If there was no mistake in the experiment by Sir H.
Davy, described in a former paragraph, respecting the ap¬
pearance of a flash of light in a mounted tourmaline, it will
doubtless be best verified by mounting several plates of
equal thickness, cut out of a broad tourmaline, placing them
all in the same plane, and combining their effects in two
wires. A powerful little pyro-electrical battery might
thus be made, from which both a shock and a flash might
be obtained.
Having found that the electricity of plates of tourma¬
line was more powerful than crystals of it, Sir David
Brewster conceived the idea of examining its pyro-elec¬
tricity, when its fragments were infinitely small, or when
it was reduced to the finest powder or dust. Ihe analogy
of magnetic bodies led to the notion that the pyro-elec¬
tricity would disappear, while the results obtained with
short prisms in the form of plates strengthened the oppo-
1 This inversion of the poles was discovered by Mr Canton.
Elements of Chemical Philosophy, vol. i. p. 130. 3 see Edin. Phil. Journal, 1819, vol. i. p. 205.
ELECTRICITY.
? iome- site opinion, that the pyro-electricity might even be in-
and creased by this process. He therefore “ pounded a por-
iws. tion of a large opaque tourmaline in a steel mortar till it
was reduced to the finest dust. I then placed the powder
upon a plate of glass, from which it slipped off by inclin¬
ing the glass, like all other hard powders, without exhibit¬
ing any symptoms of cohesion, either with the glass or
with its own particles. When the glass was heated to
the proper temperature, the powder stuck to the glass;
and when stirred with any dry substance, it collected in
masses, and adhered powerfully to the substances with
which it was stirred. This viscidity, as it were, or dispo¬
sition to form clotted masses, diminished with the heat,
and at the ordinary temperature of the atmosphere it
recovered its usual want of coherence."1
M. Becquerel has lately made some experiments on
the pyro-electricity of the tourmaline. He found that
when the crystal was of a certain length it became elec¬
trical both by heating and cooling; and that crystals of
a greater length ceased to become electrical by heating.
When the length of the crystal was eight centimeters, or
three inches and one ninth of an inch long, they ceased
to exhibit electricity either by heating or cooling. M.
Becquerel remarks, that if this law is inversely true, that
is, for very small lengths, the atoms of the tourmaline ought
to acquire a considerable electrical polarity by the smallest
changes of temperature.^
2. On the Pyro-electricity of the Borate of Magnesia.
ate of The electricity developed in boracite by heat is con-
it;nesia. siderably less than that of the tourmaline. In 1791 the
Abbe Haviy discovered the pyro-electricity of this mine¬
ral ; hut he found it extremely difficult to determine the
vitreous and resinous poles. He naturally expected to
find two opposite poles, as in the tourmaline; but a suc¬
cession of attractions and repulsions which took place
very rapidly perplexed him extremely. Considering,
however, that the boracite was a cubical crystal with three
axes, and the tourmaline a rhombohedral one with only
one axis, he conceived that the former crystal has a vi¬
treous pole at the one end of each axis, and a resinous
pole at the other end. This conjecture he verified by
experiment; and the poles were found to be so placed
that each alternate pole possessed the opposite electricity:
the experiments, however, which are necessary to esta¬
blish this result require to be made with great care, par¬
ticularly in reference to the repulsive actions, which take
place only within a very limited space; so that, in order
to obtain the repulsion of one of the resinous poles on a
body which is itself in a resinous state of electricity, we
must direct this body exactly to the repulsive point, other¬
wise it will be attracted towards the neighbouring points,
which are in their natural state, or nearly so.
It is a curious fact in reference to the preceding results,
that the boracite has been lately found by Sir David
Brewster to possess distinct double refraction ; and con¬
sequently it cannot, as he concludes, have the cube for its
primitive form, or three axes of crystallization. He in¬
fers that its primitive form is a rhombohedron of ninety
degrees, the form which separates the obtuse and acute
rhombohedrons ; and hence it is a most remarkable cir¬
cumstance that its electrical poles should be arranged in
the manner described by Haiiy. We hope, however, to
be able to reconcile these discordant results.
3. On the Pyro-electricity of the Topaz.
3paz. rpiie pyro-electricity of the Brazilian topaz was disco-
597
vered by Mr Canton in 1760. The Abbe Haiiy detected Phenome-
the same property in the topaz of Siberia, and found that ”a and
the poles resided in the two opposite summits of the se- 1_>_aw^'
condary form of the crystal. Haiiy at first thought that
the Saxon topazes did not possess pyro-electricity, al¬
though they often preserved excited electricity for more
than half an hour when the weather was favourable. He
afterwards found, however, that they became electrical by
heat if previously insulated. Sir David Brewster found pyro¬
electricity in the greenish-blue topazes of Aberdeenshire.
Haiiy observed that the Siberian topazes often preserve
their pyro-electricity during several hours, and sometimes
from twenty to twenty four hours.
Among some topazes which Haiiy received from M.
Langsdorf, there was one which exhibited resinous elec¬
tricity at both of its poles, and indications of vitreous elec¬
tricity in the middle of the crystal. This effect was pro¬
bably owing to one or more strata of cavities containing
fluids, which may have interrupted the distribution of the
electricity in the same manner as a fissure.
4. On the Pyro-electricity of Mesotype.
Haiiy discovered that some crystals only of this mine- Mesotype.
rpl were electrical by heat; but as he was not able to
obtain complete crystals, he detached from its support
one about five and a half lines long, and found the pyra¬
midal summit to be resinously electrified. Mem. Instit.
tom. i. p. 54-55. In the first edition of his mineralogy,
however (vol. iii. p. 168), he states that the pyramidal
summit exhibits vitreous electricity by heat, and the frac¬
tured end resinous electricity; but in the second edition
of his mineralogy he has omitted altogether that passage,
and said nothing whatever on the subject.
The mesotype of Haiiy’s first edition included the Au¬
vergne mesotype, the apophyllite, the scolezite, and the na-
delstein ; and therefore it is difficult to say to which of
these minerals his observations are applicable.
Sir David Brewster found distinct pyro-electricity in
the mesotype of Auvergne.
5. Pyro-electricity of the Scolezite.
The scolezite is a compound crystal, in which the faces Scolezite.
of composition are parallel to the axis of the prism. Sir
David Brewster found it to possess pyro-electricity, the
pyramidal summit having vitreous, and the fractured end
resinous electricity.
6. Pyro-electricity of Mesolite.
The mesolite, which has been separated from the scole- Mesolite.
ziie both by distinct chemical and optical characters, is
distinguished still further by its being composed of four
simple crystals, whose faces of composition are parallel to
the axis of the prism, whereas the scolezite consists of
two prisms separated by a thin film or vein. Sir David
Brewster likewise observed the pyro-electricity of this
mineral, and found that its crystallized summit possessed
vitreous electricity, and its fractured end resinous electri¬
city, when heated.
7. On the Pyro-electricity of the Powders of Scolezite and
Mesolite when deprived of their Water of Crystallization.
In the experiments above recited on the powder of
tourmaline, the mineral had suffered no other change by
trituration than that of being reduced to minute fragments.
It became interesting therefore to compare the pyro-elec¬
tricity of such a powder with that of the powder of a
pyro-electrical mineral, on which an essential chemical
1 Ed'ai. Journal of Science, October 1824, No. ii. p. 213.
2 Edinburgh Journal of Science, 1828, No. xvi. p. 3Go.
598
Phenome'
na and
Laws.
ELECTRICITY.
change had been induced. With this view Sir David
Brewster reduced to powder the crystals of scolezite and
mesolite, and by the application of heat drove olf their
'r^r water of crystallization, which is doubtless an essential
ingredient in every mineral species. When the powder was
exposed to a proper heat on a plate of glass, it adhered
to it like the powder of tourmaline; and when stirred
about by any substance whatever, it collected in masses
like new-fallen snow, and adhered strongly to the body
which was used to displace it. “ This fact,” says Sir David
Brewster, “ is a very instructive one, and could scarcely
have been anticipated. As several minerals differ only
in the quantity of their water of crystallization, the pow¬
der which was thus pyro-electrical could not be consider-
* ed either as scolezite or mesolite, but as another substance
not recognized in mineralogy. The pyro-electrical pro¬
perty, therefore, developed by the powder, cannot be re¬
garded as a property of the minerals of which the powder
formed a part, but merely as a property of some of their
ingredients. In which of the ingredients, or in what com¬
bination of them, the pyro-electricity resides, may be
easily determined by further experiments.”
8. Pyro-electricity of Axinite.
Axiuite. In his Manual of the Mineralogist and the Geological
Traveller, AL Braard has stated that some crystals of this
mineral become electric by heat. Haiiy has confirmed
this observation, but no accurate experiments on the po¬
sition and electricity of its poles have been made.
9. Pyro-electricity of Calamine.
Calamine. So early as 1785 M. Haiiy discovered the pyro-electri¬
city of this mineral, which being an oxide of zinc, is the
more remarkable, as it is the only metallic body in which
this property is very distinctly developed. Haiiy found
that every crystallized specimen which he tried was pyro-
electrical, and that it acquired this property also by cool¬
ing. His first observations on the return of the electric
action were made on the crystals of oxide of zinc from
Limbourg, near Aix-la-Chapelle; and a portion of the
acicular variety from the Brisgau. In the winter of 1819
he placed a crystal on a window where the temperature
was II degrees Cent, below zero, and having left it there
a few seconds, he found that it acted very sensibly on a
magnetic needle not insulated. He next placed it in a
room whose temperature was four degrees above zero,
and he observed that its polar action progressively dimi¬
nished and disappeared. He then brought it within a yard
of a fire, and had the satisfaction of observing its polarity
return, the pole which was formerly vitreous being now
resinous.
10. Pyro-electricity of Sphene.
Sphene. Haiiy has found that some crystals of this mineral pos¬
sess pyro-electricit}', but he has not determined the posi¬
tion or nature of its poles.
11. Pyro-electricity of Prehnite.
Prehnite. This mineral crystallizes in right rhomboidal prisms.
Hairy found it to be pyro-electrical, and that its poles are
in a direction corresponding with the smaller diagonal of
the crystal.
12. Pyro-electricity of other Minerals.
Other 'Ih6 property of becoming electrical by heat has been
minerals, found by Sir David Brewster to exist in a great number
of minerals; and he has given the following list of those Pheno
in which he succeeded in detecting it: na ar
Calcareous spar. Yellow orpiment. Law
Beryl yellow. Analcime. '-'V
Sulphate of barytes. Amethyst.
Sulphate of strontites. Quartz, Dauphiny.
Carbonate of lead. Idocrase.
Diopside. Mellite ?
Fluor spar red. Sulphur native.
Fluor spar blue. Garnet.
Diamond. Dichroite.
13. Pyro-electricity of artificial Crystals.
In examining the physical properties of artificial crys-Artifici
tals, Sir David Brewster found that several of them, when cr.vstafc
well dried, were electrical when heated. The following
is the list of those in which he detected this property.1
Tartrate of potash and soda. Sulphate of magnesia.
Tartaric acid. Prussiate of potash.
Oxalate of ammonia. Sugar.
Oxymuriate of potash. Acetate of lead.
Sulphate of magnesia and Carbonate of potash.
soda. Citric acid.
Sulphate of ammonia. Oxymuriate of mercury.
Sulphate of iron.
Dr Faraday2 has more recently discovered a remarka-Oxalati
ble degree of pyro-electricity in oxalate of lime. Having oflime
obtained some of this salt by precipitation, and dried it,
when well washed, in a Wedgewood’s basin, at a tempera¬
ture of about 300° Fahr. till it was so dry as not to dim a
cold plate of glass held over it, Dr Faraday remarked that,
when it was stirred with a platina spatula, it became in a
few moments so strongly electrical that it could not be
collected together, but flew about the dish whenever it
was moved from its sides into the sand-bath. This phe¬
nomenon took place whether the salt was placed in glass,
porcelain, or metallic basins, or stirred with glass, porce¬
lain or metallic rods. When the particles were well ex¬
cited and shaken on the top of a gold-leaf electrometer,
the leaves diverged two or three inches. The same phe¬
nomena took place when it was cooled out of the contact
of air. WFen it was excited in a silver capsule, and left
out of contact with the air, the powder continued electri¬
cal for a great length of time, proving its very bad con¬
ducting power, in which it probably surpasses all other
bodies. Dr Faraday remarks, that oxalate oflime stands
at the head of all other bodies yet tried, in its power of
becoming positively electrical by heat.
14. On the Connection between the Pyro-electricity of Mi¬
nerals and their Secondary Forms.
It is well known that the opposite and corresponding
sides of crystals are similar in the number, disposition,
and figure of their faces. Haiiy, however, found that
pyro-electrical crystals deviate from this symmetry, so that
there are certain supernumerary planes at one pole which
are not seen at the other. This is true of tourmaline, bo-
racite, topaz, and oxinite, and may possibly be found to be
a general fact among pyro-electrical crystals, though we
do not expect that it will. In the crystals above men¬
tioned, the vitreous electricity resides in that pole where
the supernumerary planes are found, and the resinous
electricity in the other.
This deviation from symmetry as existing in the tourma- H-CG
line is shown in fig. 8, where A is the vitreous pole at the I'S'
summit of a pyramid with jive planes, and B the resinous
pole at the summit of a pyramid with three planes.
1 Edinburgh Journal of Science, October 1824, p. 212.
2 Id. October 1825 ; and Quarterly Journal, No. 38, p. 338.
ELECTRICITY.
•nome- The deviation from symmetry in the boracite is more
i and remarkable. The resinous pole at s, fig. 9, is marked with
one plane, while the vitreous one has the same plane s
with other three planes rrr, fig. 10.
£ ,, ^ From the preceding facts, Haiiy is of opinion that, dur-
j jo, ing the formation of these crystals, the two electrical fluids
have influenced, in an opposite manner, the laws by which
the crystallization was regulated.
Sect. II.—On the Influence of Heat upon the Electric
Fluid in Metallic Bodies.
ji ience The experiments which have been made on this subject
o( ;at. we owe chiefly to M. Becquerel, of whose labours we shall
endeavour to give a brief account. It had been long ago
shown by M. Desaignes that metallic bodies are capable
of electric excitation by heating and cooling. By raising
the temperature of one end of a plate of silver, while the
other retained the temperature of the surrounding air, he
succeeded in producing contractions in a frog, by making
the nerve communicate with one end of the plate, and the
muscle with the other end. Other philosophers had ob¬
served the influence of heat, and they believed that it in¬
creased the repulsive force of each of the two fluids. In
proof of this they sealed hermetically at a lamp a tube of
glass which had been previously electrified interiorly, and
by raising its temperature it gave very distinct signs of
electricity. M. Becquerel, however, has remarked, that the
glass, becoming a better conductor when heated, allowed
a portion of the fluid accumulated in the interior of the
tube to pass; so that the experiment does not prove that
the electrical power of the tube was increased. In order
to determine if any does take place, M. Becquerel made
the following experiment.
i 11. Let AB, fig. 11, be a Leyden jar, at the surface of
which is fixed a conductor RS. The jar is closed by a
cork gg, through which there passes a rod hb, fixed at its
upper end to a small glass receiver abc, and carrying at its
opposite end a mass of metal P. When the jar has been
electrified interiorly, it is placed in another vessel filled
with ice, so that the conducting rod RS is without it. The
cork gg and the metal P having been taken out, and the
mass P heated and replaced as in the figure, the iron
P will gradually heat the interior of the bottle without
sensibly altering the temperature of its outer surface,
which is surrounded with ice. If we then present the
button S to an electroscope, there will be perceived an
indication of free electricity, and consequently the heat
has not increased the action of the electric fluid in the
interior of the jar ; for if it had done so, the electricity of
the exterior surface would have been decomposed, and
the rod RS would have communicated to the electroscope
the repelled electricity.
But though heat exerts no action on the free fluid, this
is far from being true with the natural fluid. When a
metallic wire mm', or a series of metallic molecules m, m!,
m'\ &c. connected together by the force of aggregation, is
connected by one of its ends with a heated body, such as
a piece of red-hot glass, the moment that the heat enters
it this extremity becomes positively electrical, while the
negative electricity is driven to the adjacent molecules;
but m! receiving the heat of m, m” that of m', &c. the second
molecule, which is heated at the expense of the first,
takes from this last its positive electricity, and gives to
it negative electricity, and so on for all the other mole¬
cules. Hence there will arise a series of decompositions
and recompositions of the natural fluids while the eleva¬
tion of temperature lasts.
M. Becquerefs next experiment was to place on the
599
upper plate of Bohnenberger’s gold leaf electroscope (tak- Phenome.
ing care to avoid the contact of metals) a platinum wire «a and
whose other end is coiled into a spiral. This outer end Laws,
is brought to a red heat by a spirit-lamp, which is soon
withdrawn, and the spiral is then touched with a band of
wet paper. After having made the lower plate commu¬
nicate with the common reservoir, the small band of pa¬
per is found to have carried away positive electricity, and
negative electricity remains free on the surface of the
metal. It we repeat the experiment in an inverse man¬
ner, that is, if we hold between the fingers the platinum
wire by the end opposite to that of the spiral, and make
this last communicate when it is red hot with a band of
wet paper, we shall find that the band carries away posi¬
tive electricity. This result, which takes place also with
gold and silver, does not depend on the electricity which
is disengaged during the combustion of the alcohol, since
the experiment did not commence till the lamp was with¬
drawn. Nor can it be ascribed to the presence of water
in the band of paper, nor to the alteration of the latter
by the effect of heat, two causes which are capable of
producing electricity, since the same result is obtained
when we carry away the positive electricity of the me¬
tal by a tube of glass brought to the same temperature as
the metal.
In order to make the experiment in this way, take a
glass tube of a very small diameter, and whose length is
little more than half an inch, and fix to one of its ends a
platinum wire one fiftieth of an inch in diameter, solder¬
ing it with a lamp. A wire of the same metal, but of a
very small diameter, is fixed at the other end of the glass
tube, and the largest platina wire is then put in commu¬
nication with one of the plates of the condenser, avoiding
the contact of metals, and the free end of the other wire
is held between the fingers. A red heat is then commu¬
nicated to the end of the small tube to which this last
wire is fixed. As its temperature is much higher than
that of the other, which is larger and more distant from
the focus of heat, and as the tube becomes at the same
time a conductor of electricity, the natural electricity of
each wire is decomposed. According to the disposition
of the apparatus, we shall have the difference of the ef¬
fects, which will be to the advantage of the small wire,
whose end in contact with the tube possesses the highest
temperature. In order to obtain this result, it is not neces¬
sary to use a heat so high as that of a red heat. By this
process we avoid every foreign cause which is capable of
modifying the result.
Iron and copper give similar results; but the electric
effect produced by oxidation is in this case combined
with that of difference of temperature. M. Becquerel
has proved that the oxidation is not the sole cause of the
electricity obtained with oxidable metals; and he con¬
cludes that heat exerts over the natural electric fluid of
all metals a similar action, which probably varies in inten¬
sity in different metals, according to their nature. With
bismuth, tin, and antimony, the effects are scarcely sen¬
sible.
The following is Becquerel’s theory of the preceding
phenomenon. It is an incontestable fact that all bodies
contain between their molecules a neutral electric fluid ;
and M. Becquerel thinks that a rise of temperature es¬
tablishes round two contiguous molecules an accumula¬
tion of opposite electricities, the quantity of which is pro¬
portional to this temperature, but whose recomposition is
effected without there having been an apparent separa¬
tion of the two electricities. It is therefore an electrical
effect of motion. When the molecules are separated, each
of them takes the excess of electricity relative to the
portion of electricity which surrounds it.
600
ELECTRICITY.
rhenome- The influence of heat on the natural electricity of me-
na and tals may be shown by means of the lamp without flame,
Laws. jn j.w0 following experiments given by Becquerel. Let
^Tccxti AB’ 12, be a c0PPer lamP witb alcoho1’ cc a tube»
Fio 12 11 an(^ dd a cork through which there passes a glass tube EF,
~> ’ covered with a varnish of gum-lac. A cotton wick passes
through this tube, one end of it going into the alcohol,
while to the other end there is fitted a platina spiral g,
which becomes incandescent throughout as soon as its
temperature is sufficiently raised. By means of this con¬
struction the platina spiral communicates with the inte¬
rior of the lamp only by means of the vapour of alcohol
and the wick. If we now place this apparatus on the
upper plate of an excellent electroscope, whose lower
plate communicates with the ground, and touch the spiral
with an ordinary platina wire, it is evident that we carry
off the negative electricity which the spiral takes during
the combustion of the alcohol, and also the negative elec¬
tricity furnished by the end of the wire which has the
lowest temperature. In this case the spiral will be found
to have become positively electrical. If we touch the
spiral with a band of wet paper, a contrary result will be
obtained; the spiral will become negatively electrical, be¬
cause the incandescent metal transmits positive electri¬
city to the wet paper, which is no doubt stronger than
the negative electricity acquired by the spiral during
combustion.
Sect. III.— On the Electricity produced by Pressure.
Experi- The electricity produced by pressure seems to have
ments of been first observed by the Abbe Haiiy in Iceland spar,
M. Haliy. which seems to be more susceptible of this species of ex¬
citation than any other mineral. If we take into one hand
a rhomb of this mineral, holding it by two of its opposite
edges, and at the same time lightly touch two of its pa¬
rallel faces by two fingers of the other hand, and then
bring it near to the small needle of the electroscope, it
will exhibit vitreous electricity. If the two opposite planes,
in place of being touched, are pressed between the fin¬
gers, a still greater degree of electricity will be developed.
M. Haiiy has observed this property of becoming posi¬
tively electrical by pressure in topaz, especially the va¬
riety which is colourless, euclase, arragonite, fluor-spar,
and carbonate of lead, all of them substances which are
capable of being mechanically cleaved into smooth laminae.
The experiments are always most successful with pure
and transparent specimens. Sulphate of lime and sul¬
phate of barytes do not evolve electricity by pressure.
In all the minerals above named which furnish positive
electricity by pressure, positive electricity is also produ¬
ced by friction ; and in those substances which develope
resinous electricity by pressure, such as a properly shaped
piece of elastic bitumen, resinous electricity is also pro¬
duced by friction. Hence it has been inferred, that in
pressing minerals friction is produced, and that the pre¬
ceding phenomena are only those of excitation by fric¬
tion.
Experi- Libes, however, has stated a fact which appears to
ments of be hostile to this explanation of the phenomena. He
M. Libes. took a metallic disc insulated by a glass handle, and hav¬
ing pressed it on the surface of varnished silk, either when
single or several tifnes folded, the disc acquired resinous
and the silk vitreous electricity, and the quantity of elec¬
tricity increased with the pressure. In order to ascertain
if friction was a remoter cause of these effects, he set the
disc lightly down upon the silk, and rubbing it backwards
and forwards so as to produce the effects of friction, the
disc became vitreously and the silk resinously electrified, a
result the very opposite to that which was produced by Phenon
pressure. na am
This curious subject has been recently examined with Laws
much attention and success by M. Becquerel. Having
constructed an apparatus for compressing two bodies with ments of
a given quantity of pressure, and also an electrical balance M. Bee-
of Coulomb, whose platinum torsion wire is sufficiently fine querel.
to compare very small electric forces, M. Becquerel
sought to determine the phenomena which took place
when two bodies were placed under the action of a given
pressure and then quickly separated. He found that the
excess of electricity acquired by each body was propor¬
tional to the pressure as long as it was not great enough
to disorganize the body; but if the two bodies are expos¬
ed to a certain pressure, and if this pressure is reduced
to one half without changing the contact, the effect of the
pressure lost subsists during a time, which depends on
the degree of conducting power, so that if we immediate¬
ly withdraw the bodies from compression, each of them
will carry off an excess of the opposite electricity greater
than that due to the remaining pressure. In place, how¬
ever, of separating the bodies when the pressure has been
diminished, let the pressure taken away be restored, and
let this mode of action be several times repeated, the fol¬
lowing results will be obtained:
Let a very thin disc of cork be pressed against a plate
of Iceland spar with a weight of four kilogrammes ; with¬
out changing the contact, let this pressure be reduced to
one half, and after a minute let the bodies be separated.
The tension or intensity of the electricity of each disc is
represented by 170. When the separation took place
during the whole pressure of four kilogrammes, the inten¬
sity would have been 250 ; and during a pressure of two
kilogrammes it would have been 125, or one half. Hence
it appears, that in the first case the effect produced by
the pressure which was lost still subsisted in part, for it
would only have been 125 for two kilogrammes, in place
of 170, as given by experiment.
In place of separating the bodies when the pressure has
been reduced from four to two kilogrammes, let the pres¬
sure of two kilogrammes which was removed be restored, and
let us repeat several times the alternate action of simple
and double pressures ; it will then be found that the disc ot
each never possesses a greater electrical intensity than
250 relative to the strongest pressure. From these re¬
sults M. Becquerel draws the following conclusions : first,
that the electricity developed by pressure is proportional
to the pressure; and, second, that when the molecules
have been compressed, the effect of the pressure lost will
subsist for some time, even though the contact has not
ceased to subsist. This is not the case with conducting
bodies, seeing that the two electricities disengaged in¬
stantly recombine whenever the pressure ceases.
The following are some of the numerical results ob¬
tained by M. Becquerel:
Cork pressed against Iceland spar.
Pressures. Intensity of Electricity.
1  L5
2  3-4,
3  5-6
4  6
Cork pressed against polished crystals of sulphate oj
barytes.
1  1-05
2  2-1
3  31
4 .  4-2
6........... 6-3
ELECTRICITY.
601
pborne-
rmd
irs.
Cork pressed against polished quartz.
4 3-9
Sect. IV.— On the Electricity produced by Cleavage and
Separation of Parts.
Phenome¬
na and
Laws.
Cork pressed against sulphate of lime.
4 1-9
When two insulated discs, one of cork and the other of
caoutchouc, are pressed against each other, the cork after
pressure is negatively electrical, and the caoutchouc posi¬
tively electrical. When the cork is pressed against the
skin of an orange, the cork is positive and the skin nega¬
tive.
When cork is pressed against Iceland spar, sulphate of
lime, fluor spar, sulphate of barytes, the cork is negative
and the minerals positive; but when cork is pressed
against kyanite, retinasphaltum, pit-coal, amber, zinc,
silver, &c. the cork is positive, and the minerals or metals
negative.
When insulated cork is pressed against any part of the
animal body free from moisture, the cork receives an ex¬
cess of negative electricity. The hair and down of ani¬
mals produce nearly as much electricity by pressure as
Iceland spar, but of the opposite kind. Cork pressed
lightly against inspissated oil of turpentine is negatively
electrified.
When two discs of the same substance, such as skin or
amadou, are pressed against each other, the one becomes
negative and the other positive.
The electricity thus developed by pressure is lasting.
Haiiy found it to continue eleven days with Iceland spar.
Sulphate of barytes of Royat parts with it instantly unless
well insulated; but a well insulated crystal retains it half
an hour. The duration of the electricity seems to be in¬
versely as the conducting power. Becquerel supposes the
internal surface of the body to be, like the Leyden jar,
charged with the opposite electricity; so that dissipation
is prevented by the action of the two electricities.
In these phenomena the electricity never appears till the
bodies are separated.
When the temperature of any body is raised, it has the
greater tendency to acquire negative electricity by fric¬
tion. In like manner, by heating Iceland spar, it may be
made to give negative electricity by pressure against cork.
If we cut a piece of well-dried cork into two pieces by a
very sharp knife, and press the cut surfaces against each
other, no electricity is developed ; but if one of the pieces
is heated slightly near the flame of a candle, and the pres¬
sure applied, each surface will, when separated, exhibit
opposite electricities. The same is true of two pieces of
Iceland spar.
rtricity R has been long known that electricity is produced dur-
separa. jng vi0]ent disruption of a body, or by tearing it asun-
der, or by separating a laminated body, or by breaking a
body across, or by crushing it, or even by cutting it into
portions.
Mr Bennet observed that when an unannealed glass tear,
or Prince Rupert’s drop, was put upon a book, it electri¬
fied the book negatively. Mr Wilson noticed that if a
piece of wood, when dry and warm, is rent asunder, one ot
the separated surfaces becomes vitreously and the other
resinously electrified. When a stick of sealing-wax is
broken across, one of the surfaces of fracture is vitreous¬
ly and the other resinously electrified.
pert’0m electricity developed by the bursting of a Prince
»ps.
Rupert’s or unannealed glass drop was found by Sir
David Brewster to be accompanied with a flash of light.
“ These drops,” says he, “have three different cleavages,
one like the lines of a melon diverging from the apex of
the drop, another concentric with the surface of the drop, ' -
and another oblique to the axis. Having laid one of these
drops upon a table in a dark room, and covered it with a
plate of thick glass to prevent any of the fragments from
reaching the eye, the drop was burst by breaking off a
part of its tail, and the whole of it appeared luminous,
so that at the instant of the fracture a quantity of faint
light, of the same shape and size of the drop itself, was
distinctly visible. The drop which gave this singular re¬
sult was made of flint-glass, and was the largest that he
had ever seen. Every other flint-glass drop produced a
distinct electrical light; but in none of them except the
large one could he see the luminous shape of the drop.
The same light appeared when they were burst under
water. The small glass drops made of bottle-glass never
exhibited any light at the moment of bursting ; but it was
almost always visible, in small sparks, in bottle-glass drops
of a larger size.” The same author observed also a bright
electric light when the water-proof cloth manufactured by
Charles Mackintosh, Esq. was separated by tearing it into
its two component pieces, which are united by a thin film
of caoutchouc. He found also that the same light was
produced by tearing quickly cotton and other cloths, and
by separating the films of mica. The same effects are
produced by breaking barley-sugar or sugar-candy.
When the plates of mica, or the laminae of sulphate of
lime, are quickly separated, each of the two plates, when
separated, carry off an excess of the opposite electricities,
the one being vitreously and the other resinously electri¬
fied. If these two plates are again placed together in the
position which they occupied previous to their separation,
and a slight pressure used to make them adhere, M. Bec¬
querel found that the same phenomena took place as at
the instant of their first separation, that is, each plate
took the same kind of electricity. This property conti¬
nued only a few moments, perhaps till the molecules had
taken their ordinary state of equilibrium, which is aided
by increasing their temperature. The effects above de¬
scribed he found to be more distinct in proportion as the
crystal was more heated previous to the cleavage.
The electrical phenomena produced by cleavage, and Cleavage,
by tearing asunder and crushing bodies, differ in degree
only from those produced by pressure, as in every case of
a separation of parts there must be an approximation of
the molecules in one direction. If we press, for example,
a piece of caoutchouc in one direction, or draw it out in
an opposite direction till it breaks, the effect of both these
mechanical actions is an approximation of the molecules
in the same direction. Hence the electrical phenomena
are nearly the same. The light produced by the collision
of hard bodies, or by the separation of the parts of bodies,
is no doubt produced by the rapid recombination of the
two electricities when developed at the points of pressure.
A very curious phenomenon was observed by Sir Da- Cleavage
vid Brewster during his numerous experiments on theof t0Paze3‘
cleavage of topazes, in which there were cavities con taint¬
ing very highly expansible fluids. His practice was to make
the cleavage plane pass through a fluid cavity, and thus
to open the cavity and allow its contents to be seen and
examined. When this was done, the most expansible ot
the two fluids flowed from the cavity upon the polished
and electrified face of cleavage, and continued to expand
and contract itself alternately, now collecting itself into
a drop, and then expanding itself into a flat disc. These
motions continued till the fluid evaporated; and the ef¬
fect was no doubt owing to the electricity produced by
evaporation, as well as to that produced by cleavage.
vol. vm.
4 G
602
Phenome¬
na and
Paws.
Wood
shavings.
ELECTRICITY.
Sifted
powders.
Eennet’s
experi¬
ments.
The experiments of Mr Wilson on the electricity of
wood shavings belong, to a certain extent, to the present
section. Having had occasion to work very dry wood that
had lain for several hours over a very large fire, he ob¬
served the shavings adhering to the tools and to every
thing that they came in contact with. When the dry
wood was scraped with a piece of window glass, the shav¬
ings were always vitreously electrified; but when it was
chipped with a knife, the electricity of the chips was vi¬
treous when the wood was hot and the knife not very
sharp, but resinous when the wood was perfectly cold.
The electricity of the knife was always opposite to that of
the chips. The surface of the shaved or chipped wood
was seldom electrified, but when it was, the electricity
was very feeble, and of the same kind as the weakest of
the other two. The wood used in these experiments was
beech and cherry tree.
Sect. V.— On the Electricity of Sifted Poivders.
As it has not been determined whether the electricity
produced by the falling of sifted powders arises from fric¬
tion, pressure, or separation of parts, we have thought it
best to describe them in a separate section.
In 1786 Mr Bennet observed that when powdered chalk
was blown from a pair of bellows upon the cap of his gold-
leaf electrometer, vitreous electricity was produced when
the cap was six inches from the pipe of the bellows, and
resinous electricity when the distance of the pipe was three
feet. The vitreous electricity first produced was changed to
resinous by breaking the stream of air in the bellows-pipe
with a bunch of wire, silk, or feathers, or by removing the
pipe so as to make air issue in a wide stream.
Powders.
Rosin.
Flowers of sulphur.
Powdered glass.
Ditto.
Steel filings.
Brass filings.
Gunpowder.
Fine emery.
Amalgam of tin and mercury.
Mercury.
Soot.
Ashes of pit-coal.
Spoon.
Glass or paper.
Ditto.
Dry paper, warm.
Brass.
Glass or paper.
Glass.
Glass.
Glass.
Glass.
Glass.
Glass.
Experi- The most accurate experiments on the electricity of
™eilgS . powders were made by Mr Singer. The following results
r inge1' were obtained by sifting the powders on the cap of a deli¬
cate electrometer, through sieves of hair, flannel, or mus¬
lin, the sieve being cleaned after every experiment.
The following bodies produced negative electricity.
Copper,
Zinc.
Tin.
Iron.
Bismuth.
Nickel.
Black lead
Lime.
Magnesia.
Barytes.
Strontites.
Alumine.
Silex.
Brown oxide of copper.
White oxide of arsenic.
Red oxide of lead.
Litharge.
White lead.
Red oxide of iron.
Acetate of copper.
Sulphate of copper.
Sulphate of soda.
Phosphate of soda.
Carbonate of soda.
Carbonate of ammonia.
Carbonate of potash.
When the plate which receives the powders at a dis¬
tance of three inches was moistened or oiled, Mr Bennet
found that the electricity was opposite to that produced
when the plate was dry.
When powdered chalk fell from one plate to another
placed upon the electrometer, resinous electricity was
produced; and Mr Bennet obtained the same result when
he used red ochre, yellow rosin, coal ashes, black lead,
powdered quicklime, powdered sulphur, flowers of sulphur,
sand, rust of iron, or iron filings.
When powdered chalk was placed on a metal plate upon
the cap of the electrometer, and blown away with the
mouth or bellows, it produced permanent vitreous elec¬
tricity ; and the same result is obtained if the chalk is
merely blown over the plate, or if a piece of chalk is drawn
over a brush placed on the plate.
When chalk or other powders were sifted upon the cap
of the electrometer, resinous electricity was produced; but
when the instrument was placed in a dusty road, and the
dust excited by a stick fell upon the cap, vitreous electri¬
city was developed.
M. Cavallo repeated these experiments with some im¬
portant variations. He insulated a metallic plate upon a
glass stand, and having connected it with a cork ball elec
trometer, he made the dry powder fall from a spoon about
six inches above the plate. The electricity communicat¬
ed to the plate was conveyed to the electrometer, and its
nature indicated in the usual manner. When the powder
was of a conducting nature, like the amalgam of metals, it
was placed in a glass phial, or upon a plate of wax; and
sometimes the spoon was insulated, in which case it was
always found to possess an electricity opposite to that of
the plate. In this manner M. Cavallo obtained the follow¬
ing; results:
Phenoi
naan*
Law)
Cavallt
experi¬
ments.
Electricity of Plate.
Negative.1
Negative.
Negative.
Po-sitive.
Negative.
Positive.
Negative.
Negative.
Negative.
Positive.
Negative.
Negative.
Carbonate of lime.
Muriate of ammonia.
Common pearl ashes.
Boracic acid.
Benzoic acid.
Oxalic acid.
Citric acid.
Tartaric acid.
Cream of tartar.
Strength of Ditto.
Strong.
Less strong.
Weaker.
Very weak.
Oxymuriate of potash.
Pure potash.
Pure soda.
Rosin.
Sulphur.
Sulphuret of lime.
Starch.
Orpiment.
The following bodies produced positive electricity.
Wheat flower. Wood charcoal.
Oat meal. Sulphate of potash.
Lycopodium. Nitrate of potash.
Quassia. Acetate of lead.
Powdered cardamum. Oxide of tin.
Mr Singer obtained the following results by bringing
an insulated copper plate repeatedly in contact with ex¬
tensive surfaces of powders spread upon a dry sheet of
1 Strongly positive when the spoon was insulated.
ELEC T K1CI T Y.
603
I nome- paper, the copper plate being brought in contact with the
iand condenser after every repetition of the touching, until a
aws* sufficient charge was communicated. Very distinct effects
v Were produced with the alkalies by contact with a copper
or silver plate, an experiment which had failed in the
hands of Sir H. Davy. The pure alkali being broken
into small pieces, was exposed in an open phial for a
quarter of an hour to a moderate heat not sufficient to
fuse the alkali. It was then reduced quickly to a powder
in a dry and warm mortar, and distributed instantly over
a dry sheet of card paper, which for some time continued
to attract moisture from the alkali as rapidly as the alkali
absorbed it from the air. The whole operation was per¬
formed as rapidly as possible. The following tables con¬
tain the substances that gave positive and negative elec¬
tricity, the copper plate being always electrified opposite¬
ly to the powders.
Lime.
Barytes.
Strontites.
Magnesia.
Pure soda.
Electricity Positive.
Pure potash.
Common pearl ashes.
Carbonate of potash.
Carbonate of soda.
Tartaric acid.
Electricity Negative.
Alumine.
Carbonate of ammonia.
Sulphur.
Rosin.
Benzoic acid.
Boracic acid.
Oxalic acid.
Citric acid.
Silex.
From the preceding experiments, which were several
times repeated with uniform results, Mr Singer infers
that they are unfavourable to the idea of natural electric
energy; and he considers the result with sulphur and
resin, viz. that the electricity is similar to that produced
by their friction, as almost establishing the opinion that
the contact of dissimilar bodies is in general the primary
source of electrical excitation.
CHAP. III.—ON THE ELECTRICITY PRODUCED BY CHANGE
OF FORM.
It has been long ago observed that electricity is deve¬
loped when bodies change their form, or pass from one
state into another. This important fact is exhibited when
melted bodies pass from the fluid into the solid state,
when fluids are converted into vapour, and when bodies
are decomposed by combustion. The phenomena exhi¬
bited in these three cases of change of form are very in¬
teresting, and will be described in the following sections.
Sect. I.— On the Electricity developed during the Melting
and Cooling of Resinous Bodies.
ftricity In our history of electricity we have already given a
' i'tal general account of the experiments by which Mr Stephen
Gray discovered a method of developing electricity by
the fusion and cooling of resinous bodies. In his nine¬
teenth experiment he formed a large cone of stone sulphur
ot thirty ounces avoirdupois, by melting the sulphur in a
tall glass. The cone began to attract bodies two hours
alter it was taken out of the glass, and the glass itself ex¬
hibited a feeble attractive power. When the sulphur was
lifted out of the glass on the following day, its attractive
force was very strong, and that of the glass imperceptible.
In making these experiments Mr Gray had occasion to
place the cone of sulphur on its base between the two
windows of his chamber, and to invert the glass over it. Phenome-
Whenever the glass was removed from the cone of sul- na an(I
phur, it exhibited electrical attraction as strongly as the
cone, and they both preserved the property for several
weeks. The glass, however, at last attracted at a less
distance than the sulphur, that is, its attractive force di¬
minished most quickly.
These interesting inquiries were resumed by Mr Wilcke Experi-
of Rostoch, who gave the name of spontaneous to then,ent °f
electricity developed by cooled resins. He found thatWllcke-
the sulphur acquired a strong electricity whether the
glass in which it was fused was insulated or not; but it
was always stronger when the vessels were not placed on
electrics, and strohgest when the glass vessel had a me¬
tallic coating. The electricity of the glass was always
positive, and the sulphur negative. The electricity of the
sulphur did not appear till it began to cool and contract,
and it was a maximum at its point of greatest contraction.
At this time the electricity of the glass was a minimum,
having previously reached its maximum at the time when
the sulphur was shaken out of it. Melted sealing-wax be-
comes negatively electrical when poured into glass, and
positively electrical when poured into sulphur. Sealing-
wax poured into a vessel of baked wood showed negative,
and the wood positive electricity. When sulphur was
poured into wood it was negative, but it acquired no elec¬
tricity whatever when poured into sulphur or rough glass.
iEpinus pursued this subject by melting the sulphur inOfjEpinus.
metallic dishes. The sulphur and the dish showed no
electrical signs when they were cooled, but the moment
they were separated the electricity of each was very
strong, that of the dish being always negative, and that of
the sulphur positive. The electricity invariably disap¬
peared when the sulphur was replaced in its dish, and re¬
appeared upon their separation.
If the electricity was abstracted either from the sulphur
or from the dish when they were separated, they both
exhibited, when re-united, the electricity which had not
been taken away, and which always existed on the surface
of the sulphur.
Mr Sanders, a maker of chocolate, having observed Electricity
that the chocolate exhibited electricity during its cooling, melted
communicated the fact to Mr Henley, who having pre-c*loco*ate'
viously repeated the experiments of Mr Gray, resumed
the subject. From several experiments made by Mr San¬
ders under his direction, he found that by heating the
chocolate over and over again, the electrical property
gradually disappeared; and that it could at any time be
restored by the addition of a small quantity of olive oil.
The most elaborate series of experiments on this sub-Experi-
ject were made by MM. Van Marum and Van Troostwyck. meats of
The substances which they employed were sulphur, seal-Van
ing-wax, gum-lac softened with rosin, rosin, pitch, and wax.ram*
These substances were all poured when in a fluid state on
the surface of mercury, and all of them, except the sul¬
phur, were electrical after their removal from the metallic
surface. These soft solids were next melted in insulated
vessels of baked clay, and also in linen and gauze insu¬
lated by silk cords; but though Volta’s condenser was
employed, no proof could be obtained that they had lost
any portion of their natural quantity of electricity.
In order to verify the suspicion that friction was the The elec-
source of the electricity generated in the melting and tricity
cooling of soft solids, they poured them upon copper, tin, owing to
lead, glass, and porcelain, and they invariably found thatfnctlon-
they acquired the same kind of electricity as if they hadbeen
rubbed by the body on which they were poured. In confir¬
mation of this opinion they found that the lower surface of
each plate was much more strongly electrified than the
upper one, and no difference of effect was perceived when
Mi
604
ELECTRICITY.
Phenome- the plates were even one inch and a half thick. To ob-
na and tain still more complete evidence of this conclusion,
' Laws, they melted gum-lac and rosin, and having suspended
' plates of copper by silk cords, they caused the plates to
come in contact with the melted gum, without produ¬
cing any friction. After the gum was cooled, and the
plates again raised, not a trace of electricity could be dis¬
covered.
From these results their authors infer that the electri¬
city exhibited in this class of phenomena is not produced
either by the separation of the fused substance from the
electric on which it is melted, or by the fusion or subse¬
quent cooling of the body, but that it is generated by
the friction which the particles of the electric bodies un¬
dergo when they disperse themselves over the surfaces of
the dishes into which they are poured. The electricity
thus produced is masked or counterbalanced by the oppo¬
site electricity acquired by the dish, and therefore does
not appear till the one is separated from the other.
Electricity The electricity produced during the congelation of glacial
of congela- sulphuric acid and other substances has probably a simi-
sublimtf ^ar origin ’ an^ ^ likely tkat tke electrical effects which
tion. are observed when calomel fixes itself by sublimation to
the upper part of a glass vessel, may belong to the same
class of facts. This branch of the subject, however, has
been but very imperfectly studied, and will form a fine
topic of research for some young and active philosopher.
Electricity
of evapora¬
tion.
Experi¬
ments of
Lavoisier,
Laplace,
and Volta.
Electricity
of chemical
action ;
of combus¬
tion ;
of evapo¬
ration.
Bennet’s
experi¬
ments.
Sect. II.— On the Electricity developed during Evapora¬
tion and the Extrication of Gases.
The development of electricity during the transition of
bodies from the solid or fluid state into the state of va¬
pours or gases, was first investigated by MM. Lavoisier
and Laplace, with the assistance of M. Volta. Two kinds
of apparatus were used in these experiments. In both
of them the bodies to be vaporized were insulated by var¬
nished supports of glass; and in those cases where the
electricity was quickly disengaged, a common electroscope
communicating with the body was used to indicate it,
whereas, when the effect was likely to take place continu¬
ously, Volta’s condenser was employed.
When hydrogen gas was rapidly disengaged from iron
filings by the action of sulphuric acid, the condenser of
Volta afforded a strong spark, and the electricity was
negative.
When carbonic acid gas was evolved from powdered
chalk, no sensible spark was educed, but the electricity
generated was negative.
When nitrous acid diluted with two parts of water was
poured upon iron filings placed in six separate vessels, so
as to generate nitrous gas, a distinct negative electricity
was obtained without a spark.
During the combustion of charcoal in three insulated
chafing dishes strong negative electricity was generated;
and a spark could easily have been obtained, by increasing
the quantity of charcoal.
Having arranged three insulated furnaces of hammered
iron, and made them communicate with the electroscope,
water was thrown upon them when heated. In the first
experiment the electricity generated was negative, and in
the other two positive ; a discrepancy which they ascrib¬
ed to the cooling which accompanied the evaporation, the
positive electricity produced by cooling being supposed
to counterbalance the negative effect occasioned by eva¬
poration.
Mr Bennet, before whom Volta had repeated his expe¬
riments in England, published, in the Phil. Trans, for
1787, the following interesting facts on the same subject.
Having placed a metallic cup with a red-hot coal in it upon Phenoir
the cap of his gold-leaf electrometer, he threw a spoonful "aanc
of water into the cup. The cup was electrified negatively, Ijaws'
while the ascending column of vapour exhibited V^v>*
electricity. When water is poured through an insulated
cullender, containing hot coals, the descending drops of
water are negatively, and the ascending vapour positively
electrified; and Mr Bennet regards this as a good illus¬
tration of the electricities of fogs and rain. A more sim¬
ple and certain method of making these experiments con¬
sists, according to Mr Bennet, in heating the small end
of a long tobacco pipe, and pouring water into the head.
The water, being allowed to run through the heated end,
is suddenly expanded into steam, and, when projected
upon the cap of the electrometer, exhibits signs of elec¬
tricity. If the pipe, when fixed in a cleft stick, is fixed on
one electrometer, while the steam is received upon the
cap of another, the two opposite electricities will be si¬
multaneously exhibited. The vapour of alcohol and ether
exhibits the same phenomena as that of water, but sul¬
phuric acid and oil generate only smoke, and exhibit no
electrical indications.
M. Saussure devoted much attention to this interesting Experi-
branch of electricity. He confirmed the general results ments o
obtained by Volta, Lavoisier, and Laplace, and proved ^aussur!
that negative electricity was constantly produced by the
evaporation of water. He then determined the degree
and kind of electricity produced by evaporation when it
was carried on in vessels of different metals, and kept at
different temperatures. The apparatus which he employ¬
ed consisted of a well-baked vessel of clay, four inches in
diameter and fifteen lines thick, which was insulated upon
a clean and dry goblet of glass. Upon this clay vessel he
placed a crucible, or any other dish powerfully heated;
and this crucible was made to communicate with the
electrometer by means of a wire. Fifty-four grains of
distilled water were thrown upon the crucible, and, by
means of a time-piece and an electrometer, he observed
the duration of the evaporation, and the intensity and
character of the electricity.
In his first series of experiments the crucible was of
iron ; the number of projections of the water varied from
1 to 21, the time of the projection from 0" to 17', the dura¬
tion of the evaporation from 2^" to 118", and the degree
of electricity from 1 to 18 tenths of a line. In ten of
these experiments the electricity was positive, and in six
negative. In four of the negative experiments the strongest
electricity was 7, 13, 17, and 18 tenths of a line, and in
four of the positive experiments the strongest was 3, 3, 5,
and 8 tenths; thus showing, as might have been thought,
that the weak positive electricity was produced by some
secondary cause.
But in repeating the same series of experiments with
the same iron crucible, he found very different results.
The projections of water varied from 1 to 23, their time
from 0' to 14' 10", and the duration of the evaporation
from 2^" to 120". The electricity was now always posi¬
tive, and its intensity varied from 0 to 30 tenths of a line.
When the experiment was repeated with a copper cru¬
cible 3^- inches wide at top, 2 inches wide at bottom, 3 inch¬
es high, and weighing 57 ounces, the electricity was always
positive, and its intensity varied from 0 to 33 tenths of a
line, the maximum effect taking place when the duration
of evaporation was 165", a mean between the shortest and
longest times. In another experiment with the same
copper crucible, made under the very same circumstances,
the electricity was negative at the end of the first projec¬
tion, but afterwards became positive, and continued so
till the experiment was complete.
In the next experiment the crucible was of pure silver,
ELECTRICITY.
605
PI ome. 2f inches wide at top, 1^ at bottom, 12± inches high, IJ
r md line thick, and weighing 16 ounces. At the first trial,
w% when the evaporation was very slow, the electricity, which
^r-/ was always very feeble, was t/irice negative, and thrice 0.
In a second trial it was also negative at first, but it be¬
came positive afterwards, and then vanished. In a third
trial the electricity was stronger and negative. The balls
of the electrometer now diverged 31 lines. It then be¬
came when the balls diverged -^jths of a line ; and
at the third projection, when it was still positive, the se¬
paration of the balls was so great as six lines.
Saussure’s next experiment was made with a cup of
porcelain, surrounded with sand in a clay crucible.
The electricity was negative, and the evaporation remark¬
ably rapid. Its intensity varied from 0 to 8 lines. The same
results were obtained with different porcelain crucibles.
When alcohol and ether were substituted for water, and
the silver crucible used, the electricity was negative.
With the former the greatest intensity was 1 line, and
with the latter 4*2 lines.
From these experiments Saussure infers, with great he¬
sitation, that the electricity is positive with those bodies
which are capable of decomposing water, or of being
themselves decomposed by their contact with water; and
that it is negative with those which are not decomposed.
He ascribed the result with silver to its being adulterated
with copper or other oxidable metals. The negative elec¬
tricity of burning charcoal he supposes to arise from the
readiness with which it loses its heat in contact with
water.
Saussure was unable to procure electricity either from
combustion or by suddenly exploding heaps of gunpow¬
der ; and all his attempts failed to develope electricity,
without ebullition, by evaporation, from large surfaces of
wet linen or white iron.
fltn- M. Cavallo followed Saussure in this inquiry, though
he does not seem to have been acquainted with the la¬
bours of the Swiss philosopher. He found that evapora¬
tion from iron produced negative electricity wdien the
iron was free from rust, but positive when it was very
rusty. He found also that white and clear flint glass
produced positive, while bottle glass evolved negative elec¬
tricity. From these various researches it is not easy to
deduce any thing like a general principle. The subject
indeed requires to be resumed, and great attention paid
to the chemical changes which take place during the pro¬
gress of the experiments.
Sect. III.— On the Electricity developed in Flame and
Combustion.
i tricity We have already seen, in the preceding section, that
J ime* MM. Lavoisier and Laplace obtained distinct indications
of electricity by the combustion of charcoal, and Volta in¬
forms us that he never failed to obtain it. Saussure, on
the contrary, as has been mentioned, never could deve¬
lope electricity either by combustion or the explosion of
gunpowder; and Sir Humphry Davy equally failed to pro¬
cure it by the combustion of iron or of charcoal in air or
in pure oxygen.
The electrical relations of flame have been subsequently
examined by M. Erman of Berlin and Professor Brande. M.
Erman concluded, from some experiments, that the insu¬
lated flames of wax, oil, alcohol, and hydrogen gas conduct
only positive electricity, while the flame of phosphorus con-
!n.
of
Lllo.
ducts only negative electricity. It was noticed by Mr Phenome-
Cuthbertson that when the flame of a common candle was na ami
placed halfway between two equal balls, the one positive- v_^aws*
ly and the other negatively electrified, the flame was at-
tracted to the negative ball, which consequently became
very warm, while the positive ball continued compara¬
tively cold.
In pursuing this idea Mr Brande placed the flames ofExperi-
various bodies between two insulated brass balls, one ofments °f
which was insulated positively and the other negatively, rande*
and obtained the following results.
Flames, Sf c. attracted to the Negative Ball.
Olefiant gas.
Sulphuretted hydrogen, slightly.
Arseniated hydrogen.
Flame of hydrogen, weakly.
Sulphuret of carbon.
Potassium in combustion, and its fumes.
Flame of gum benzoin.
Smoke of benzoin.
Charcoal emitted by camphor in combustion.
Resinous bodies in combustion exhibit the same pheno¬
mena as charcoal.
Flames attracted to the Positive Ball.
Sulphurous acid vapour.
A small flame of phosphuretted hydrogen, slightly.1
Fumes of white arsenic, slightly.
Large flame of carbonic oxide.
Vapour of burnt sulphur.2
Flame of phosphorus.
Vapour of phosphorus.
Stream of muriatic acid.
Stream of nitrous gas.
Vapour of benzoic acid.
In order to explain these phenomena, Mr Brande sup*
poses, that since some bodies are naturally negative, and
others positive, the positive ones will be attracted by the
negative ball, and the negative ones by the positive ball.
This conjecture was not confirmed by future observa¬
tion, and did not lead philosophers to any certain conclu¬
sions. The subject, however, was resumed by M. Pouillet,
who arrived at a general result, which explains in a satis¬
factory manner the errors and contradictions of preceding
observers.
The first point which occupied his attention w$s the Experi-
combustion of charcoal; and in his earliest experiments ments of
he found with surprise that he could sometimes obtain Eouil-
from it positive and at other times negative electricity, et*
while at other times he could not obtain the slightest
electrical indications. In explaining these discrepancies,
he supposed that one of the electricities was taken by the
charcoal, and the other by the oxygen or carbonic acid;
and in order to determine the truth of this supposition he
made the following arrangement. Having taken a cylin-Combus-
der of charcoal, he placed it vertically six or eight centi-tion of
meters below a plate of brass which rests upon one of the charcoa •
discs of the condenser. The charcoal having a commu¬
nication with the ground, was lighted at its upper end
without the fire reaching the lateral surface, and there
arose a column of carbonic acid, which struck the plate of
brass, and in a few seconds charged the condenser. The
electricity which the condenser received from the carbo¬
nic acid was always positive, whereas Lavoisier, Laplace,
and Volta made the electricity negative. When the char-
1 When the flame was large it was equally attracted by both balls.
* The direction of the flame could not be determined.
600 ELECTRICIT Y.
Phenome- coal was held nearly horizontally, so that the carbonic
na and ac;c{ which was generated could rise only by ascending
, ^aws- along the base of the charcoal, which was now vertical, no
sensible effect icas obtained ; and when the lateral as well
as the upper surface of the charcoal, placed vertically,
was lighted, an uncertain result was obtained.
In order to determine the electricity of the charcoal
itself, M. Pouillet places the base of the cylinder upon
the disc of the condenser; and after lighting the upper
end of it, and keeping up the fire by a gentle blast of air,
the condenser was charged, and showed that the electri¬
city taken by the charcoal was negative. When the char¬
coal burnt on all its surface, or when it touched the con¬
denser only in a few points, no electrical effects were ob¬
served. In the last of these cases a small quantity of
electricity only can pass by a small number of points, and
in the first case the positive electricity of the ascending
carbonic acid was recombined with the negative electri¬
city. In order to produce intense and rapid electrical
effects, several cylinders of charcoal, of the same height,
should be placed on their ends, and near each other, upon
a sufficiently large plate of brass; and when all the cylin¬
ders are made to burn at their upper ends, and their
united columns of carbonic acid received by another brass
plate communicating with the condenser, and raised a few
inches, or even a foot, above it, a strong charge of positive
electricity will in a few seconds be communicated to the
brass plate. When the electricity of the charcoal is re¬
quired, we have only to unite the condenser to the brass
plate upon which the burning cylinders are placed, and
in a few seconds the condenser will be abundantly char¬
ged with negative electricity.
When the combustion is maintained by a current of
oxygen, the electricity is not only much more intense,
but is much more quickly developed ; and the gold leaves
of the condenser separate to their maximum divergency
in an instant. The first point, however, to be attended
to in every form of the experiment, is to burn only the
upper horizontal surface, so that the carbonic acid forms
and ascends in a moment, and without touching any other
body till it deposits its electricity on the brass plate. So
essential is this condition, that if we burn even a deep
cavity on the circumference of a vertical cylinder of char¬
coal, and do this even with a jet of oxygen, the electrical
indications are sometimes positive and sometimes negative,
just as the electricity of the gas or the charcoal predomi¬
nates.
Experi- M. Pouillet next entered upon the more arduous in-
mentsof vestigation of determining whether or not electricity is
Pouillet. produced by change of condition or chemical affinity.
Volta had supposed that carbon, in becoming gaseous, ab¬
sorbed the positive and left to the remaining solid parts the
negative electricity which we find in them. M. Pouillet,
on the contrary, supposed that if electricity is disengag¬
ed from two elements which combine, positive electricity
would be given out by the one and negative by the other;
and that when these elements separate, each of them re¬
quired to take up the fluid which they had lost.
Combus- By forming combinations unaccompanied by changes of
tion of condition, M. Pouillet resolved this question. He first
hydrogen. j.rje[} t]iat 0f oxygen and hydrogen. The flame of hydro¬
gen, like charcoal, gave electricity, sometimes strong and
sometimes feeble, sometimes posfft'w and sometimes nega¬
tive ; and it was some time before he discovered the cause
of these discrepancies. That the gases are not very good
conductors of electricity, he found by the following very
curious experiment. Having set a very small spirit-lamp
upon a common electroscope, and about five or six feet
above it a feebly charged body, such as a stick of electrified
rosin or a plate of glass, he observed that the gold leaves
diverged greatly, though the same charged body could pro- Phenon
duce no divergence if held even so near as an inch to the naam
electroscope without flame. This apparatus enabled our Laws,
author to discover the smallest trace of electricity. If'^Y>
we turn the plate of an electrifying machine, the air of
the room is electrified; and the flame which ascends in
that air is charged at the moment with electricity of the
same name. A pile in action electrifies the air in the
same manner, as the flame of the electroscope proves. A
charcoal fire, or even a lighted candle, developes carbonic
acid electrified positively, which is shown also by the elec¬
troscope. The atmospheric air, in short, is always electri¬
fied ; and if it enters a room by any opening, it will pre¬
serve itself in an electrified state so- long as to affect the
results of experiments on stnall quantities of electricity.
These causes of error being excluded, M. Pouillet re¬
peated his experiments on the combustion of hydrogen.
The gas was emitted from a glass tube, and the flame,
which was vertical, was about three inches long and four
or five lines broad.. The brass plate was now set aside,
and the electricity conducted to the condenser by a pla-
tina wire, whose end is coiled into a spiral. The spire
is vertical, and the circumvolutions are sometimes so
large as to surround the flame without touching it, and
sometimes so small as to be completely enveloped in the
interior of the flame. When we approach this flame from
the exterior outline of the spire, and keep it ten milli¬
meters distant, we obtain indications of positive electri¬
city. As the distance of the flame diminishes, the elec¬
tricity becomes more and more intense; but when the
flame touches the spire, the electricity becomes weak, and
its nature uncertain. The same thing is observed when
the flame passes to the interior of the spire, and in the
direction of its own axis. Hence there exists round the
apparent flame of the hydrogen a sort of atmosphere, more
than ten millimeters in thickness, charged with positive
electricity. Positive electricity being thus developed in
the combustion of hydrogen, Pouillet tried to discover
the negative electricity which must have been set free.
He placed a small spiral in the centre of the flame, and
when it was enveloped on all sides, negative electricity
was collected by the condenser. If we plunge the spire
half way into the bright part of the flame, no electricity is
manifested. Hence it follows that the inside and outside Electrn
of the flame are in opposite electrical states, the formerof^nu
being negative and the latter positive, and that there is
an intermediate layer of the flame where the electricity
disappears. On these facts M. Pouillet thus reasons. In
the thickness of the exterior atmosphere of the flame,
when the positive electricity appears, the combination of
oxygen and hydrogen is not effected, for the hydrogen
cannot arrive there. The electricity is therefore commu¬
nicated, and it must come from the oxygen which predo¬
minates on the outside, and which envelopes in some mea¬
sure all the jet of hydrogen. This combined oxygen
must therefore disengage positive electricity, which com¬
municates itself to the neighbouring strata of air sufficient¬
ly heated to conduct it. In like manner the hydrogen pre¬
dominates in the interior of the flame, and the negative
- electricity must be disengaged from the hydrogen which
burns, and which it communicates to the excess of un¬
combined hydrogen. If this view is correct, it is proba¬
ble that, at a certain distance above the flame, the two op¬
posite electricities ought no longer to appear, as they must
have combined; and this is proved to be the case by the
fruitless attempt to collect electricity at a distance suffi¬
ciently great above the vertical flame. At the distance,
however, of a few inches, other phenomena appear. The
two electrical fluids appear there in the same quantity,
but they are not recombined; for if we present a solder-
ELECTRICITY.
607
pi iome-
iand
ws.
E?ri-
mits of
JfjBec-
qijel.
ed plate of zinc and copper, the zinc will attract the posi¬
tive and the copper the negative electricity.
When the hydrogen issues from a metallic in place of
a glass tube, and a communication is made with the con¬
denser and not with the ground, the metal tube, which
touches the hydrogen without touching the flame, always
takes the negative electricity; and, on the contrary, if the
tube communicates only with the ground, it loses in this
manner the negative electricity which it had before
taken to the condenser, and the product of the combus¬
tion preserves an excess of positive electricity.
In pursuing this inquiry in a similar manner, M. Pouil-
let found that the flames of alcohol, ether, wax, the oils,
fatty substances, and several vegetable bodies, present
exactly the same phenomenon as the flame of hydrogen.
He observed, however, that the particles of charcoal which
float in all these flames, and which, according to Sir H.
Davy, give them the lustre with which they burn, render
them also more fitted to manifest negative electricity.
From these results M. Pouillet has deduced the general
conclusion, that in combustion the molecules of oxygen which
combine disengage positive electricity, which may be com¬
municated to the neighbouring molecules not yet combined ;
and that the combustible body, on the contrary, disengages
negative electricity, which can, in like manner, be communi¬
cated to all the neighbouring combustible parts.
The experiments of M. Pouillet were repeated by M.
Becquerel in 1827, on the flames of hydrogen gas or alco¬
hol ; but he commenced them with some reserve, for, as
they were made by means of platina wires plunged in
the flame, he supposed that the phenomena were not only
owing to the electricity disengaged during combustion,
but also to some property which the metals acquired at a
certain temperature. The following is the general fact,
without entering into any of the details of his experi¬
ments: A platinum wire communicates by one end,
through the intermedium of a band of wet paper, with
one of the plates of a condenser*, the other end being
plunged in one of the envelopes of a flame produced by
the combustion of alcohol, contained in a vessel of cop¬
per, which the observer holds in his hand. The end of
the wire may even be placed without the flame, provided
it is so near it as to become red hot. The wire soon
takes a considerable excess of negative electricity, which
ought not to be ascribed entirely to that which the alco¬
hol carries off1 during combustion. In order to prove this,
let us resume the last experiment but one. As soon as
the end of the platinum wire attains a red heat, let us
withdraw the lamp, and touch this end of the wire with
a band of wet paper, or rather with the end of a tube of
hot glass; the effect is the same as when the wire touched
the flame, or was at a small distance from it. It is very
probable that the disengagement of the electricity is due,
in this last case, in part to the difference of temperature
between the two ends of the wire, and that the flame has
carried off’ the positive electricity of the wire, or the band
of wet paper, as the hot glass tube had done. This opinion
is confirmed by the circumstance that the effect is the
same whether we bring the wire to a red heat in the inte¬
rior or in the exterior of the flame, neither of which pos¬
sesses the same kind of electricity. Notwithstanding this
result, M. Becquerel still admits, that during the combus¬
tion of alcohol and hydrogen, the exterior envelope of the
flame is charged with positive electricity.
M. Becquerel has endeavoured to explain the curious
fact discovered by M. Erman, and already referred to.
Having placed upon an electroscope a lamp without flame,
whose platinum wire was kept at a red heat by the burn¬
ing vapour of the alcohol, he held above the spiral the
negative pole of a dry pile, and the two gold leaves in¬
stantly diverged. He next held the positive pole above Phenome-
tbe spiral, but there was now no divergence of the leaves, na and
Hence the platinum wire afforded a passage only to the Ijaws-
negative electricity. The contrary effect took place when
the electricity passed from an incandescent wire to an¬
other which was not so ; and hence M. Erman found
that the incandescent wire was reciprocally a conductor
and insulator of each fluid.
In order to show that this conclusion is incorrect, M.
Becquerel presented successively to a red-hot platinum
wire the two poles of a dry pile, and it conducted equally
well both kinds of electricity. Besides, as he remarks, it
appears, from our knowledge of the electrical effects pro¬
duced in gaseous combustion, and by increase of tempera¬
ture, that part of the air which surrounds the red-hot
wire of the lamp without flame ought to be in a positive
state of electricity, and the wire which is in the middle
of the alcoholic vapour in a negative state. Moreover, it is
evident, from what has been already stated, that the part
of the wire which is red hot ought easily to yield positive
electricity to contiguous bodies. This being admitted,
when we present to this wire the negative pole of a dry
pile, there are two reasons why the negative electricity
should neutralize both the positive electricity of the sur¬
rounding air, and that of the red-hot wire which tends to
escape from it. The negative electricity of the wire then
becoming free, manifests its action upon the electroscope.
In repeating the experiment in an inverse manner, that is,
by causing each of the two electricities to escape succes¬
sively by the red-hot wire, as this last tends to be nega¬
tive, it neutralizes the positive electricity which arises,
and sets free that of the surrounding air and of the red-
hot end of the wire. It is not therefore necessary to
have recourse to a reciprocity of insulating and conduct¬
ing action in the red-hot wire in order to explain the
phenomenon, for the fact admits of an easy explanation
on the properties above explained.
Sect. IV.—On the Electricity of the Solar Rays.
Our readers are no doubt aware that Dr Morrichini and Electricity
others succeeded in magnetising needles by the action ofof the solar
the blue rays in the solar spectrum. Other philosophersrays*
have failed, even in good climates, in obtaining decided
indications of magnetism, so that accurate researches are
still wanting to remove this opprobrium from our experi¬
mental physics. The very same observations are appli¬
cable to the development of electricity by the influence
of solar light; but still it is necessary, in a work like this,
that we should give some account of the experiments
from which this electrical action has been inferred.
In a memoir on the influence of solar light in the pro-Experi-
duction of electric and magnetic phenomena, Professorments
Saverio Barlocci of Rome relates the following experi-I5ar ocu ’
ments: Having formed the prismatic spectrum by the
solar rays, he caused the red rays and the violet rays to
fall upon two discs of blackened copper, each of which
was attached to a copper wire. Two copper nuts sliding
upon a vertical glass rod, and to which the two wires
were fixed, allowed the discs to be brought near each
other or separated at pleasure. A prepared frog was
then suspended by the body to the upper wire, and the
legs were placed upon the lower one. The red rays being
made to fall on one disc, and the violet on the other, the
extreme parts of the two wires were brought into contact,
and distinct signs of contraction were observed in the frog.
M. Matteucci of Forli has more recently investigated of Mat-
the same subject. Having exposed to the sun a delicate teucci.
condensing electrometer of gold leaf, he soon perceived
ELECTRICITY.
608
Phenome- the leaves diverge and open themselves on that side of
na and the glass which was directly exposed to the solar action,
as if they had been attracted by it. Hence he was led
to suspect that glass thus exposed was electrified; and in
order to ascertain this, he placed some plates of it in the
sun, and having in a few minutes touched them in dif¬
ferent places with the ball electrometer, a perceptible
divergence took place. This divergence was much more
apparent when he touched the plates even lightly with a
flat surface, as the effects of the friction did not afford a
doubtful result.
Having inferred from these results that the solar rays
had the power of developing electricity in glass, M. Mat-
teucci endeavoured to ascertain whether this was owing
to the existence of electricity in the rays themselves, or
to the increased temperature of the glass. He therefore
heated a plate of glass repeatedly, and having tried it with
the electrometer, he never could discover in it any signs
of electrical action. M. Matteucci likewise observed that
the glass plate exposed to the rays of the sun never be¬
came electric if placed beneath another glass plate, or if
the face of the sun was obscured by a cloud.
Dr Faraday likewise made experiments on the solar
spectrum, in the same manner as that used by M. Bar-
locci, with the exception that he used a very delicate gal¬
vanometer in place of a frog ; but, to use his own words,
“ no electricity could be obtained by means of an English
sun.”
M. Delarive has still more recently (Bibl. Univers. July
1833, p. 326) stated that, after taking every precaution to
avoid the action of extraneous causes, he could not disco¬
ver in the solar rays the slightest trace of electricity.
Experi¬
ments of
Dr Fara¬
day.
Sect. V.— On the Electricity produced by Vegetables.
Electricity Mr Read seems to be the only author who, previous to
of vegeta- the researches of M. Pouillet, had made any distinct state-
tion. ment respecting the electricity of vegetable bodies. He
had concluded, from several experiments, that vegetable
putrefaction is always electrified negatively, while the
surrounding atmosphere is electrified positively. It is to
M. Pouillet, however, that we owe all our knowledge on
this subject, and in the present section we shall commu¬
nicate to our readers a general abstract of his researches.
Research- That the various parts of plants act upon atmospheric
es ofM. air is well known. At the expense of the oxygen they
1 ouillet. sometimes form a large quantity of carbonic acid gas,
which disengages itself insensibly; and sometimes they
exhale pure oxygen, proceeding from some combination
which goes on in the interior of the plant.
As carbonic acid gas is electrified vitreously at the mo¬
ment of its formation, from charcoal in combustion, M.
Pouillet conceived that a considerable quantity of elec¬
tricity ought to be produced during the exhalation of this
acid from growing plants. This idea was soon confirmed
by experiment, and M. Pouillet was led to the important
conclusion that vegetation is an abundant source of elec¬
tricity, and is therefore a powerful cause in the generation
of the electricity of the atmosphere.
He took twelve capsules of glass, about nine inches in
diameter, and coated them externally, but only to a dis¬
tance of one or two inches towards the edge, with a film
of gum-lac varnish. They were then arranged in two
rows at the side of each other, either on a table of very
dry wood, or on a table which was itself varnished with
gum-lac. When they were filled with vegetable mould,
they were made to communicate with each other by me¬
tallic wires, which went from the interior of the one to
the interior of the other, passing over the edges of the
capsules. In this manner all the insides of the twelve Phene
capsules, and the mould which they held, formed only one naӣ
conducting bocty. If electricity is communicated to such Law
a system, it will be distributed over the twelve capsules ''“’’Y
and will remain there, as it cannot pass into the ground*
nor even into the exterior surfaces of the capsules, on ac¬
count of the film of gum-lac round their edges. The up¬
per plate of a condenser is now put in communication
with one of the capsules by means of a brass wire, and its
lower plate with the ground by the same means ; and these
communications are so made that they may be kept up
even for several days. The grain of which we wish to
study the effects is then sown in the earth in the cap¬
sules, and from this moment the laboratory must be
closely shut, and neither fire nor light, nor any electrical
body, admitted.
This experiment was made during the dry north and
east winds of the month of March. During the two
first days the surface of the mould was dried up, and
the grains swelled ; the germ projected about a line out
of its envelope, without, however, appearing above the
thin stratum of earth which covered the grain ; and the
condenser, after several trials, gave no signs of electri¬
city. On the third day the germs had come out of the
mould, and began to raise their points towards the window,
which had no shutters. Upon now trying the condenser, M.
Pouillet saw a divergence in the gold leaves, and he found
the electricity to be negative in the capsules, and positive
in the gases which were disengaged. Hence M. Pouillet
infers that the rapid action which the rising germ exer¬
cises on the oxygen of the air disengages electricity.
The apparatus was then put into its usual state, and
after the lapse of some hours the action of the germ
again charged it with electricity. Upon visiting the appa¬
ratus next morning, M. Pouillet found that it gave a very
strong electric charge, and the electricity was of the same
kind as before. During the next eight days the vegeta¬
tion continued active, and at all times of observation, both
during the day and night, the condenser exhibited more
or less electricity, according to the time that had elapsed.
After twelve hours the divergence of the gold leaves was
more than an inch, and the electricity of the earth in the
capsules was always negative. Damp weather followed,
and it was then impossible to collect the least quantity of
electricity.
M. Pouillet’s next experiment was to make two vegeta¬
tions of corn, two of cresses, one of gillyflower, and one
of lucerne; but he was obliged to maintain in his labora¬
tory an artificial dryness, by spreading in a very large
apartment several bushels of quicklime broken into very
small fragments, and he also distributed in porcelain sau¬
cers several kilogrammes of muriate of lime, and placed
them near the capsules. The condenser now exhibited a
more intense electricity than before, and in each opera¬
tion the development of the vegetable action, and that
of the accompanying electrical phenomena, were observed
during ten or twelve days. So rapid was the develop¬
ment of electricity, that after the three or four first days
of vegetation, if the condenser was put into the natural
state after one observation, and it was then replaced for
experiment only during one second, it was then found
to be charged with electricity. “ But,” as M. Pouillet
observes, “ it is evident that, during one second, the weight
of oxygen which combines and disengages during a languid
vegetation, of only three or four square feet, is a weight so
feeble, and a fraction of a millegramme so imperceptible,
that the electricity which it disengages is not sensible to
the condenser. One is apt to fear, after this, that the
electricity has another source, and that it can only be de¬
veloped by some foreign cause; but upon reflection we
'ELECTRICITY.
609
pimme- see that the earth of the capsules is so dry that it be-
and comes an imperfect conductor, that the electricity is re-
l'vs- tained, and that it is it which charges the condenser. To
be certain of this, it is sufficient to place successively in con¬
tact with the condenser, one, two, three, or a greater num¬
ber of capsules, and we shall see the charge increase in pro¬
portion as the number increases; in short, it is sufficient
to place them in communication with the ground for a
long time, when they will no longer give a charge to the
condenser, and it will be many hours after that before they
communicate a sensible electricity. It is without doubt
this imperfect conductibility of the dried earth which has
rendered it impossible for me to observe until now any
electrical charges during the periods of day or night, al¬
though I took every precaution to observe it, presuming
that if the disengagement of carbonic acid produce resin¬
ous electricity in the ground, the disengagement of oxy¬
gen ought, on the contrary, to produce vitreous electricity.
“ It is perhaps the same cause which has given birth to
another phenomenon, which I have not yet studied suffi¬
ciently to give an exact account of it. It happened twice
that the electric signs had ceased during two or three
days, and that they were then presented in opposite direc¬
tions, that is to say, the capsules had exhibited vitreous
electricity, and had continued to exhibit it, with a very
weak intensity, during the rest of the vegetation.”
Sect. V.— On the Electricity of Living Animals.
tricity
otping
lals.
When we consider the structure of organized bodies
endued with life and motion, we should naturally expect,
from the phenomena described in the preceding section,
that electricity would be developed in the chemical pro¬
cesses, and changes which are incessantly taking place.
During the processes of digestion and assimilation, for
example, in which both solid and fluid bodies are chang¬
ing their form, and in the process of respiration, in which
the atmospheric air is decomposed, electricity cannot fail
to be developed in greater or less intensity.
Another source of electricity in animal bodies is no
doubt the friction between the clothing and the skin ; and
the electricity thus generated will be more or less intense,
according to the state of the atmosphere, the nature of
the clothes, and the constitution and habits of the indivi¬
dual.
But, independent of the electrical phenomena which
arise from these causes, we find in certain fishes a regu¬
lar system of electrical organs, by which they either de¬
fend themselves from the attacks of their enemies, or seize
the prey which nature has provided for their use. The
curious phenomena which have been observed relative to
these subjects will be described under separate heads.
Art. 1. On the Electricity of the Human Body.
^ tricity Long before electricity had become a science, electri-
^ehu- cal phenomena had been distinctly observed. Cardan
relates, that sparks were emitted from the hair of a Car¬
melite monk, whenever it was stroked backwards; and
Faber mentions a young woman from whose hair sparks
of fire always fell when it was combed. Cassandra Buri,
a Veronese lady, often terrified her maid-servants by bril¬
liant sparks, and a crackling noise, which were emitted
when her body was rubbed, or even touched slightly, by a
linen cloth. Antonio Ciampi, a bookseller at Fisa, emit¬
ted sparks from his back and arms with a crackling noise,
whenever he pulled off a narrow shirt and a piece of cloth
which he wore upon his breast.
Gesner relates, that in Germany, where heated stoves
VOL, VIII.
prevailed, it was exceedingly common to observe crack¬
ling flames issue from the shirts of persons who had been
previously warming themselves at a stove.
The experiments of Mr Symmer on the electricity of
silk stockings that had been worn, which we have already
detailed, correspond with the preceding facts ; and there
are few individuals who have not observed similar electri¬
cal phenomena in changing different parts of their dress.
That the electrical effects exhibited in the human body Experi-
are, generally speaking, produced by the friction of thements°f
clothes against the skin, has been proved by the experi- $aussure
mentsof Saussure, Landriani, the Abbe Bertholon, and M.
Volta. M. Saussure examined the electricity of his own
body by means of Volta’s electrometer and a condenser, and
he never could discover any electricity in it when he was
perfectly naked, when his clothes were cold, or when he
was in a state of perspiration. In other states of his body
and dress, the electricity which did manifest itself was
sometimes positive and at other times negative, without
any apparent cause for these variations. When he bent
his body forwards, and raised himself suddenly, the balls
of the electrometer diverged to a considerable distance,
and then collapsed; but if he drew away his hand when
the balls were thus divergent, they continued in this state
of divergency, and exhibited positive electricity. Saus¬
sure observed also that the motion produced by respira¬
tion is of itself sufficient to produce a small quantity of
electricity; for when he remained on the insulating stool
in a state of the most perfect repose that a living being
could observe, distinct indications of electricity were ma¬
nifested when he laid his hand for some time on one of
Volta’s condensers.
The most complete series of experiments on the elec-of Hem-
tricity of the human body were made by M. J. J. Hem-mer.
mer of Manheim. He insulated himself upon a board
supported by glass feet, and then touched for about half
a minute a condenser. The condenser was then applied
to Saussure’s improved electrometer, and, by means of a
glass tube excited by woollen cloth, he examined the na¬
ture of the electricity. The following are the results of
experiments which he made upon himself on the 21st of
February 1786, and which he has repeated upon persons
in every state of body and mind, and under every variety
of dress and temperature.
1. The electricity of the human body is common to all
men. It was found in thirty persons of all ages and
sexes; but it varied in strength in difi’erent individuals,
and was positive in some and negative in others.
2. The intensity and character of the electricity often
varies in the same person. In 2422 experiments M. Hem-
mer found it 1252 times positive, 771 times negative, and
399 times imperceptible. Out of 94 experiments made
upon his maid-servant, it was 17 times positive, 33 times
negative, and 44 times imperceptible.
3. The electricity of the body is naturally positive ; for
when it is subject to no violent exertion this is always its
character. Out of 356 experiments made upon himself
when sitting at rest, and when the natural heat of his
body was not disturbed, his electricity was 322 times po¬
sitive, 14 times negative, and 10 times imperceptible.
4. The natural positive electricity of the body is chan¬
ged into negative by cold, or is greatly diminished. Out
of 62 experiments made upon himself when he came from
a temperature of 32° of Fahrenheit, his electricity was
38 times negative, 15 times positive, and 7 times imper¬
ceptible.
5. The natural positive electricity of the body is
changed into negative by lassitude. Out of 16 times
that he walked backwards and forwards in his apartment,
or was otherwise employed, he found the electricity only
4 H
610
ELECTRICITY.
Phenome- once weakly positive, 10 times negative, and 5 times im-
na and perceptible. In 32 experiments made when he was stand-
■ y ing at rest, the electricity was 2 times weakly positive
~*- <^**s anj go times imperceptible.
6. The natural positive electricity of the body is chan¬
ged into negative by sudden, speedy, and violent motion.
It is obvious from these experiments, that the human
body possesses no electrical organs over which the will
exercises any control, and that its electricity depends on
the chemical and physical changes which are taking place
either in its interior or upon its surface.
It has been supposed that the remarkable phenomena
of spontaneous combustion in the human body are some¬
how or other connected with its electrical state; but we
possess no accurate data by which the truth of this opi¬
nion can be tried.
Art. 2. On the Electricity of the llaia Torpedo.
Electricity The remarkable property of giving an electrical shock
of the tor- possessed by this fish was known in the time of Aristotle
pedo. an(i Pliny, and has been distinctly described by Appian.
Redi, Reaumur, Kaempfer, and Bancroft, successively de¬
scribed the phenomena which it exhibited; and Lorenzini,
so early as 1678, published good engravings of the elec¬
trical organs of the torpedo.
Experi. The first person, however, who made accurate experi¬
ments of ments on the torpedo was Mr Walsh. He confirmed the
Walsh. remarkable observation of Kasmpfer, that the shock could
be evaded if the person who touched the animal held in
his breath at the time. Air Walsh made two series of
experiments on this fish, one when it was placed in the
air, and the other in the water. In the first series he
placed a living torpedo upon a table covered with a wet
napkin, round which stood five persons who were insulat¬
ed. Having suspended from the ceiling by strings two
brass wires, each thirteen feet long, one of them was made
to communicate by one extremity with the wet napkin,
while its other extremity was plunged in a basin of water
placed upon a second table, on which other four basins of
water stood. The first of the five insulated persons
plunged a finger of one hand in the basin in which the
above-mentioned wire was placed, and a finger of the
other hand into the second basin. The second person
put a finger of one hand in this second basin, and a fin¬
ger of the other in a third basin, and so on till the five
persons formed a communication with each other by the
water in the basins. The end of the second wire was
plunged in the last basin, and Mr Walsh having taken the
other end of this wire in his hand, touched the back of
the torpedo, when all the five persons experienced a shock
which differed only in force from that of the Leyden jar.
The shock seldom extended beyond the touching finger,
and out of 200 only one reached above the elbow. When
the torpedo was insulated, it gave forty or fifty shocks to
insulated persons, without any diminution of its force. Mr
Walsh found that the shock was communicable through
iron wires and other conductors, but not through air, glass,
and other electrics ; and he was never able either to pro¬
duce a shock, or move the pith balls of an electrometer.
In the series of experiments in water, Mr Walsh held a
large and powerful torpedo in both hands by its electric
organs, and after plunging it about a foot under water, he
raised it suddenly to the same height in air. The instant
the lower surface of the fish touched the water in descend¬
ing, he received a violent shock, and the instant the same
surface quitted the water in ascending, he experienced a
still more violent shock. A writhing of the fish accom¬
panied both these shocks, particularly the last. The in¬
tensity of the shock under water was scarcely one fourth
of that at the surface, and not much more than one fourth Phenor
of those given ih the air. The number of shocks in a na am
minute was about twenty, generally two and always one Laws
when he was wholly in the air, and sometimes two when '"''Y'
he was below water. When the finger of one hand touched
the upper part, and the thumb of the same hand the low¬
er part, of a single organ, the shock was twice as great as
when it passed through the arms, and Mr Walsh conclud¬
ed that the two sides of the fish are in opposite electrical
states.
Dr Ingenhousz, who repeated and confirmed these ex-Experi.
periments, says that the sensation of the shocks is the meats o
same as if a great number of very small electrical bottles Ingen-
were discharged very quickly through his hand. M. Spal-*10USZ;
lanzani found the shocks strongest when the fish was* laid
upon a plate of glass. When the animal was dying the
shocks were not given at intervals, but resembled a conti¬
nual battery of small shocks. The battery continued se¬
ven minutes, and in this time he experienced 316 shocks.
Spallanzani also found that the foetus gave perceptible
shocks like the full-grown fish.
In the year 1805, MM. Humboldt and Gay LussacofHum
examined the properties of the torpedo at Naples, butbol(,taii
they do not seem to have added much to the observationsGay
made by Mr Walsh. They found that a person accus-sac'
tomed to electric shocks could with some difficulty sup¬
port the shock of a vigorous torpedo fourteen inches long;
that before each shock there is a convulsive movement of
the pectoral fins; that the animal must be irritated previ¬
ous to the shock; that the shock may be felt when a sin¬
gle finger is applied to a single surface of the electric or¬
gan ; that an insulated person will not receive a shock if
he touches the fish with a key or any other conducting
body; and that the least injury done to the brain of the
fish prevents its electrical action.
At the request of Mr Walsh, the celebrated anatomist Electric
Dr Hunter examined the electrical organs of a torpedo organs,
about eighteen inches long, twelve broad, and two thick.
These organs are placed on each side of the cranium and
gills, reaching from thence to the semicircular cartilages
of each great fin, and extending in length from the ante¬
rior extremity of the animal to the transverse cartilage
which divides the thorax from the abdomen. Within
these limits the organs occupy all the space between the
skin of the upper and outer surfaces. This description
will be understood from fig. 1 of Plate CCXIIL, which re-Plate
presents a female torpedo, the skin B having been flayed CCXII
from the under surface of the fish, to show the electric %1-
organs A. The nostrils, in the form of a crescent, are shown
at c, and the mouth, having a crescent form, opposite to
the nostrils, at d. The mouth is furnished with several
rows of small hooked teeth. The bronchial apertures are
shown at E, five being on each side; F is the place of the
heart, gggg the place of the anterior transverse cartila¬
ges, hh the exterior margin of the great lateral fin, i its
inner margin on the confines of the electrical organ, l the
abdomen, mmm the place of the posterior transverse car¬
tilage, which is single, united with the spine, and sustains
the smaller lateral fins nnnn on each side; O is the anus,
and P the fin of the tail.
Each organ is about five inches long, and about three
inches broad at the anterior end, and half an inch at the
posterior extremity. Each organ consists wholly of per¬
pendicular columns reaching from the upper to the under
surface of the body, and varying in their lengths accord¬
ing to the thickness of the parts of the body where they
are placed. The longest column is about one and a half
inch, the shortest about one fourth of an inch, and their
diameter about two tenths of an inch. The figures of the
columns are irregular hexagons or pentagons, and some-
ELECTRICITY. 611
pf ome- times have the appearance of being quadrangular or cylin-
j and drical. The number of columns in the fish examined by
ws. j)r Hunter was 470 in each organ; but in a very large
fish four and a half feet long, and weighing seventy-three
pounds, the number was 1182 in each organ. The num¬
ber of partitions in a column one inch long was 150. The
nerves inserted into each electric organ arise by three
very large trunks from the lateral and posterior part of
the brain; and when they have entered the organs they
ramify in every direction between the columns, and send
in small branches on each partition, where they are lost.
Dr Hunter remarks that there is no part of any animal
with which he is acquainted, however strong and constant
its natural action, which has so great a proportion of nerves;
and’he hence concludes that, if it be probable that these
nerves are not necessary for the purposes of sensation or
action, they are subservient to the formation, collection,
or management of the electric fluid.
M. Geoffroy de St Hilaire has more recently examined
the torpedo. He analysed the fluid in the cells of the
hexagonal columns, and found it to consist of albumen
and gelatine; and, what is very curious, he discovered
organs analogous to those of the torpedo in other species
of the same genus llaia, which do not possess any elec¬
trical power.
0?m- Some useful observations were made upon the torpedo
thand of the Cape of Good Hope in 1812 by Mr John T. Todd.
e ;n* The torpedos of this locality are never more than eight,
j nor less than five inches in length, and never more than
L‘ five, nor less than three and a half inches in breadth.
The columns of their electrical organs were larger and less
numerous in proportion than those described by Hunter,
and they appeared to be of a cylindrical form. The
shocks of these torpedos were never sensible above the
shoulder, and seldom above the elbow joint. The electri¬
cal discharge was generally accompanied by an evident
muscular action, as shown by an apparent swelling of the
superior surface of the electrical organs. From a great
variety of experiments, which we have not room to enu¬
merate, Mr Todd drew the following conclusions:
1. That the electrical discharge is a vital action depen¬
dent on the life of the animal.
2. That the action of the electrical organ is entirely
voluntary.
3. That frequent action of them is injurious to its life,
and, if continued, deprives the animal of it.
4. That when the nerves and the organs are cut, the
torpedo loses the power of giving a shock, though it ap¬
pears more vivacious, and lives longer, than those in which
this change has not been produced, and in which the elec¬
trical power is exerted.
5. That the possession of one organ only is sufficient to
produce the shock.
6. That the perfect state of all the nerves of the elec¬
trical organs is not necessary to the production of the
shock.
7. That (as was shown by Dr Hunter) a more intimate
relation exists between the nervous system and electrical
organs of the torpedo, both as to structure and functions,
than between the same and any organs of any animal with
which we are acquainted.
In 1816 Mr Todd made another series of experiments
at La Rochelle, principally with the view of determining
whether the torpedo possessed any voluntary power over
the electrical organs, either in exciting or interrupting
their action, except through the nerves of these organs.
Shocks were given by the torpedo even when one half of
each electrical organ was removed; and also when an in¬
cision was made extending round the circumference of both
organs, so as to leave no attachment between these organs
and the animal except the nerves. When the large late-Phenome-
ral cartilages were removed, and a large portion of the sur- na an(l
faces of the electrical organs denuded, two distinct shocks t i
were received ; but the fish being much injured, soon died.
During these experiments, Mr Todd observed how power¬
fully the action of the electrical organs was excited by
the cutting of the scalpel; and on one occasion, when he
pressed on the electrical organ with his left hand, and
held the scalpel wet in the other while cutting the elec¬
trical organ, he received a distinct shock in the right
hand through the scalpel. He observed also that all the
nerves of the electrical organs arise from the medulla ob¬
longata, notwithstanding the long course which three of
them are obliged to follow.
Mr Todd informs us that the torpedo called la tremble,
which occurs on the coast between the Loire and the
Garonne, is eaten by the poorer inhabitants, who carefully
avoid the electrical organs, which are supposed to possess
some disagreeable properties.
In 1814 and 1815, when Sir H. Davy was on the shores Observa-
of the Mediterranean, he was desirous of ascertaining whe-tions and
ther or not the electricity of the torpedo possessed theexPeri-
chemical and magnetic powers of that agent. In both of
these trials he could neither decompose water, nor in"j)avy *-
fluence a highly delicate magnetic electrometer; and he
seems disposed to infer that there is a stronger analogy
between the common and animal electricity than between
common and Voltaic electricity, and that it is probable
that animal electricity will be found to be of a distinc¬
tive and peculiar kind.
This eminent chemist intended to pursue these in¬
quiries, but his ill health prevented him ; and in his latest
illness he requested his brother, Dr John Davy, to carry
on the investigation. Dr Davy accordingly pursued the 0f£)r John
inquiry at Malta, and succeeded in obtaining several Davy,
important results. Lie placed a needle perfectly free
from magnetism within a fine copper spiral wire one and
a half inch long and one tenth of an inch in diameter,
containing about 180 convolutions, and weighing about
four and a half grains. By the electricity of a torpedo
about six inches long, he succeeded in communicating dis¬
tinct magnetism to this needle; and he repeated the ex¬
periment with the same success with fishes of different
sizes. Dr Davy likewise succeeded in throwing into vio¬
lent motion the needle of a magnetic multiplier. With
every fish he tried he obtained decisive results, and he
met with no instance of a fish which had the power of
magnetising a needle in the spiral wire failing to move the
needle in the multiplier, though he met with more than
one example of a fish whose electricity was equal to the
latter effect and not to the former. Dr Davy, however,
failed in obtaining any igniting power, or the faintest spark,
by means of the torpedo. Lie also found that air was not
impermeable to the electricity of the torpedo; but he
never could exhibit any influence on the electrometer, or
any indications of attraction and repulsion in air. Dr chemical
Davy’s experiments on the chemical agency of this species and mag-
of electricity were highly satisfactory. He decomposed netical el-
strong solutions of common salt, nitrate of silver, and^ects*
superacetate of lead, and he inferred that the under sur¬
face of the organ corresponds to the zinc, and the upper ,
surface to the copper extremity of the Voltaic battery. In
the deviation of the needle in the multiplier produced by
the torpedo, the action of its under surface corresponded
with the zinc plate, and that of the upper surface with
the action of the copper plate. In like manner, the ex¬
tremity of a needle that received polarity from a torpedo
when placed in a spiral wire, had southern polarity when
it was nearest the under surface of the fish, and the other
extremity of course northern. In one experiment Dr Davy
ELECTRICITY.
012
Phenome- connected the spiral with the multiplier, and having
Lawsf c^argec^ lhe former with eight needles, a single discharge
'_)_aws, from an active fish moved the needle in the multiplier
powerfully, and converted all the needles into magnets,
each of them as strong as if one only had been used.
Substance Dr Davy’s next object was to ascertain “ the exact na-
oi its or- ture 0f the substance of the electrical organs, or the pe-
■t)railb’ culiar structure of which they are composed.” The elec¬
trical organs when wet weighed 302 grains; and when
completely dried by sixteen hours exposure to the boiling
heat of water, they weighed only twenty-two grains. They
appeared to him to consist of 7*28 of matter not evapo-
rable at 212°, and of 92-72 water. When the electrical
organs are immersed in boiling water, they suddenly con¬
tract in all their dimensions, and the columns, from pen¬
tagonal, which they generally are, become circular. The
electricity of a small Voltaic trough, the shock of which
was just perceptible, distinctly affected the voluntary mus¬
cles of the live torpedo, but did not in the least affect the
electrical organs. Their substances appeared to be nei¬
ther sensitive nor contractile by the application of other
stimulants ; and hence he infers that these organs “ are
not muscular, but columns formed of tendinous and ner¬
vous fibres, distended by a thin gelatinous fluid.” Dr
Davy never could observe satisfactorily in the fresh fish
the horizontal partitions which Dr Hunter had counted.
After describing more fully and accurately than Dr Hun¬
ter the distribution of the three great trunks of the ner¬
vous system, Dr Davy describes the mucous system, which
forms a conspicuous part of the anatomical structure of
the fish. It consists of several clusters and chains of
glands, distributed chiefly around the electrical organs, at
different depths beneath the cutis, and of strong trans¬
parent vessels of various lengths and sizes opening ex¬
ternally in the skin for the purpose of pouring out the
thick mucus secreted by the glands, and destined for
lubricating the surface. This system, which was not no¬
ticed by Dr Hunter, was described, but imperfectly, by
Lorenzini. Dr Davy thinks that this system may not
only be aided by, but also aid the secretion of the mucus.
In comparing the phenomena of the torpedo with those of
other kinds of electricity, Dr Davy notices the following
points of difference: “ Compared with Voltaic electricity,
its effect on the multiplier is feeble; its power of decom¬
posing water and metallic solutions is inconsiderable; but
its power of giving a shock is great, and so also is its
power of magnetising iron. Compared with common elec¬
tricity, it has a power of affecting the multiplier, which,
under ordinary circumstances, common electricity does
not exhibit; its chemical effects are more distinct; its
power of magnetising iron and giving a shock appears very
similar; its power of passing through air is infinitely less,
as is also (if it possess it at all) its power of producing
heat and light.”
These differences have been explained in different ways
by different authors. Mr Cavendish endeavoured to ac¬
count for them on the principles of common electricity.
Mr Nicholson did the same with much ingenuity. Volta
at first supposed that the superposition of the different
cells in the columns, formed of substances some of which
excite electricity by contact, while others transmit it, cor¬
responds to that of the metallic and moist conductors of
which the pile is composed; but he afterwards showed to
Sir H. Davy another form of the pile, which he thought
fulfilled the conditions of the organs'of the torpedo ; a pile
of which the fluid substance was a very imperfect conduc¬
tor, such as honey, or a strong saccharine extract, which
required a certain time to be charged, and which, though
it did not decompose water, communicated nevertheless
weak shocks when charged. MM. Humboldt and Gay
Lussac were more inclined to compare the action of the Phenom
torpedo to a chain of small Leyden phials, like Cavendish, naand
than to the Voltaic pile. In order to explain why no spark ^aws-
is given by the torpedo, Mr Cavendish proved by experi-
ment that the distance through which the spark flies is
inversely, or rather in a greater proportion than the square
root of the number of jars ; and hence the torpedo may
contain sufficient electricity to give a shock, without being
able to make it pass through such a space of air as is re¬
quisite for the production of the spark. He accounted
also for the absence of every appearance of attraction and
repulsion, from the known fact that the shock of a battery
so weakly electrified as to be incapable of passing through
a chain, which is the case with the electricity of the tor¬
pedo, is not capable of producing any divergency in the
pith balls of an electrometer. Mr Cavendish corroborated
these views by constructing an artificial torpedo of thick
leather, connected with glass tubes and wires, and covered
with a piece of sheep-skin leather, which was an exact
imitation of the real torpedo. The battery was composed
of forty-nine jars of very thin glass, and contained about
seventy-six feet of coated surface.
Humboldt has enumerated the following speeies of the
torpedo which are electrical: Torpedo narke, Bisso; tor¬
pedo unimaculata ; torpedo marmorata ; torpedo Galvanii.
Art. 3. On the Electricity of the Gymnotm Electricus.
The electrical eel of Surinam, or gymnotus electricus, pos- Electric
sesses electrical organs different from those of the torpedo, ofthegy
and exhibits different electrical properties. Its common notus.
size is about three feet in length ; though Dr Bancroft
was told that some have been seen in the Surinam river
upwards of twenty feet long, and whose shock proved im¬
mediately fatal.
Richer was the first person who made known in Europe
the electrical properties of this fish ; and experiments have
been since made upon it by various naturalists. It is
from the observations, however, of Dr Williamson of Phi¬
ladelphia, Dr Garden of Charlestown, and Mr Walsh, that
our knowledge of its properties is derived ; and these may
be summed up in the following manner:
1. When the gymnotus is touched by the hand, a shock
is felt in the fingers, and often as far up as the wrist and
elbow; and when it is touched with an iron rod twelve
inches long, the shock is felt in the finger and thumb.
2. If the eel is provoked by one person, the hand of an¬
other person held in the water will experience a small
shock.
3. When the eel was touched and provoked with one
hand, and the other held in the water at a small distance,
a shock passed through both arms; and the same effect
was produced when the hand held a wet stick in the wa¬
ter ; and when the same experiment was made by eight or
ten persons who joined hands, a shock was also experienced.
4. When the first of eight persons pinched the tail,
while the last touched the head, they all experienced a
severe shock.
5. The shock of the eel was found to pass through those
substances which are conductors, and to be stopped by
those which are non-conductors, of common electricity.
6. An insulated person electrified, exhibited no marks of
electricity; and pith balls refused to diverge either when
suspended over the eel’s back, or touched by an insulated
person when he received the shock.
7. Dr Williamson succeeded in making the electricity
of the eel pass through a small space of air, and exhibit the
electric spark when the fish was in the open air; but the
spark is not visible when the fish is placed in water.
In the preceding experiments the gymnotus was in a
ELECTRICITY. 613
1 mome. large vessel, supported by pieces of dry timber about
and three feet above the floor. A small hole having been
aws- bored in the vessel, a person who held his finger in the
stream of water which flowed from it experienced a
shock when the eel was irritated.
Dr Williamson threw a cat fish into the same vessel
with the gymnotus, and in a short time it gave the cat
fish a shock, and caused it to turn up its belly and re¬
main motionless.
(erva- Experiments on the gymnotus have more recently been
t s of made by M. Fahlberg of Stockholm, and by MM. Hum-
I ilberg. boldtand Bonpland. The Swedish philosopher succeeded
in obtaining an electric spark from the eel when placed in
the air, by interrupting the conducting chain by two gold
leaves pasted upon glass, and a line distant from each
other; but he never could discover any phenomenon of
attraction or repulsion, though he employed very delicate
electrometers, and caused very strong shocks to pass
through them.
(Hum- While MM. Humboldt and Bonpland were in South
lit and America, where the little streams, and even the basins of
- 1Plan(1, stagnant water, are filled with electrical eels, they enjoy¬
ed the finest opportunities of studying the phenomena of
their electrical action. Having imprudently placed both his
feet on a fresh gymnotus, Humboldt experienced a more
dreadful shock than he ever received from a Leyden phial,
and which leftaviolent pain in his knees, and inalmostevery
joint, during the rest of the day. When both he and M.
Bonpland held a fish, the one by the head or by the middle
of the body, and the other by the tail, and, standing on
the ground, did not join hands, one of them received
shocks which the other did not feel; and hence they
concluded that the eel could direct its strokes where it
chose, or towards the point where it was most strongly ir¬
ritated, sometimes discharging them from the whole sur¬
face of its body, and sometimes from one point only.
The gymnoti that had been rendered extremely tame
during their voyage from Surinam to Stockholm were
made to fast a long time, and when fishes were put into
the tub they killed them at a distance, the electrical
stroke passing through a very thick stratum of water. . A
fresh-caught gymnotus was placed by Humboldt beside
little tortoises and frogs, which, ignorant of their danger,
placed themselves upon its back. I he frogs did not re¬
ceive the shock till they touched the body of the eel.
When they recovered the}7 leapt out ot the tub. Hum¬
boldt remarks that this gymnotus was not yet sufficiently
tamed to attack and devour frogs.
Upon cutting a very vigorous fish through the middle
of the body, Humboldt observed that the fore part alone
gave shocks. The shocks, however, are equally strong in
whatever part of the body the fish is touched, though it is
most disposed to dart them forth when the pectoral fins,
the electrical organ, the lips, the eyes, or the gills are
pinched. Humboldt remarks that no person has ever per¬
ceived a spark issue from the body of the fish itself. He
irritated it for a long time during the night, at Calabozo,
in perfect darkness, without observing any luminous ap¬
pearance. .
fhod of Iffie method or fishing the electrical eels by horses, as
tin8 the described by Humboldt, is too interesting to be omitted
in a popular article. The Indians having brought about
sej thirty wild horses, forced them to enter a pool of muddy
watei’ surrounded with fir trees. “ Ihe extraordinary
noise caused by the horses’ hoofs makes the fish issue from
the mud, and excites them to combat. These yellowish
and livid eels, resembling large aquatic serpents, swim on
the surface of the water, and crowd under the bellies of Phenome-
the horses and mules. A contest between animals of so na and
different an organization furnishes a very striking spec- Laws-
tacle. The Indians, provided with harpoons and long
slender reeds, surround the pool closely; and some climb
upon the trees, the branches of which extend horizontal¬
ly over the surface of the water. By their wild cries,
and the length of their reeds, they prevent the horses
from running away, and reaching the banks of the pool.
The eels, stunned by the noise, defend themselves by the
repeated discharge of their electric batteries. During a
long time they seem to prove victorious. Several horses
sink beneath the violence of the invisible strokes which
they receive from all sides in organs the most essential to
life, and, stunned by the force and frequency of the shocks,
disappear under the water. Others, panting, with mane
erect, and haggard eyes expressing anguish, raise them¬
selves, and endeavour to flee from the storm by which they
are overtaken. They are driven back by the Indians into
the middle of the water; but a small number succeed in
eluding the active vigilance of the fishermen. These re¬
gain the shore, stumbling at every step, and stretch them¬
selves on the sand exhausted with fatigue, and their limbs
benumbed by the electric shocks of the gymnoti.
“ In less than five minutes two horses were drowned. The
eel being five feet long, and pressing itself against the
belly of the horses, makes a discharge along the whole
extent of its electric organ. It attacks at once the heart,
the intestines, and the plexus cceliacus of the abdominal
nerves. It is natural that the effect felt by the horses
should be more powerful than that produced upon man
by the touch of the same fish at only one of its extremi¬
ties. The horses are probably not killed, but only stun¬
ned. They are drowned from the impossibility ot rising
amid the prolonged struggle between the other horses
and the eels.
“ We had little doubt that the fishing would terminate
by killing successively all the animals engaged; but by
degrees the impetuosity of this unequal combat diminish¬
ed, and the wearied gymnoti dispersed. They require a
long rest and abundant nourishment to repair what they
have lost of galvanic force. The mules and horses ap¬
pear less frightened ; their manes are no longer bristled,
and their eyes express less dread. The gymnoti approach
timidly the edge of the marsh, where they are taken by
means of small harpoons fastened to long cords. When
the cords are very dry the Indians feel no shock in rais¬
ing the fish into the air. In a few minutes we obtained
five large eels, the greater part of which were but slight¬
ly wounded. Some were taken by the same means to¬
wards the evening.”
The gymnotus is the largest of the electrical fishes. A
fish of three feet ten inches long, obtained by Humboldt,
weighed twelve pounds. The transverse diameter of the
body was three inches five lines. The gymnoti of the
Cano de Bera are of a fine olive-green colour. The under
part of the head is yellow mingled with red. Two rows
of small yellow spots are placed symmetrically along the
back, from the head to the end of the tail. Every spot
contains an excretory aperture, which keeps the skin of
the animal covered with a mucous matter, which, as Vol¬
ta has proved, conducts electricity twenty or thirty times
better than pure water.1
Dr Hunter examined, with his usual skill, the electrical Electrical
organs of this fish ; and in fig. 2 we have copied his en-organs ot
graving of it, in which the skin is removed to show the the gym-
structure. In this figure A represents the lower surface!^**-
   CCXIII.
Fig. 2.
i
1 Humboldt notices it as remarkable that no electrical fish is covered with scales.
614
ELECTRICITY.
Phenome- of the head; C, the cavity of the belly ; B, the anus; E,
na and t]le where the skin remains; GG, the fin along the
, lower edge of the fish ; EE, the lateral muscles of this
gn) removed and laid back with the skin to expose the
small organs; L, part of the muscle left in its place ; FF,
the large electrical organ ; HHH, the small electrical
organs; mmm, the substance which separates the two
organs; and n, the place where this substance is remov¬
ed. These organs occupy nearly one half of the part of
the flesh in which they are placed, and form more than
one third of the whole fish. There are two pair of elec¬
trical organs of different sizes, and placed on different sides;
the large one F occupies the whole of the lower and late¬
ral part of the fish, constituting the thickness of its fore
part, and extending from the abdomen to near one end of
the tail, where it terminates nearly in a point. The two
organs are separated at the upper part by the muscles of
the back, at the lower part by the middle partition, and
by the air bag at the middle part. The lesser organ
stretches along the lower edge of the fish, and nearly as
far as the other, terminating almost insensibly near the
end of the tail. The two small organs are separated from
each other by the middle muscle, and by the bones in
which the fins are articulated. The large organ may be
seen by merely removing the skin, which adheres to it by
a loose cellular membrane; but in order to see the small
organ, the long row of small muscles which move the fin
must be removed. The electrical organs consist of two
parts, viz. flat partitions or septa, and thin plates or mem¬
branes intersecting them transversely. The septa are thin
parallel membranes stretching in the direction of the fish’s
length, and as broad as the semidiameter of the animal’s
body. The septa vary in length, some of them being as
long as the whole body. In a fish two feet four inches long,
the distance of the septa was nearly half an inch ; and in
the broadest part of the organ, which was one and a quar¬
ter inch, there were thirty-four septa. In the small organ
the septa have a somewhat serpentine direction. They
are only the fiftieth of an inch distant, and there are four¬
teen septa in the breadth of the organ, which is half an
inch. The very thin plates which intersect the septa have
their breadth equal to the distance between any two septa.
There is a regular series of these plates from one end of
any two septa to the other end, 240 of them occupying a
single inch.
Art. 4. On the Electricity of the Silurus Electricns.
Silurus
electricus.
Fig. 3.
The silurus electricus, of which we have given a drawing
in fig. 3, is a fish about twenty inches long, which is found
in the Senegal, the Niger, and the Nile. It is eaten by
the Egyptians, who dress its flesh, and salt its skin as an
aphrodisiac medicine. The shock of this fish is distinct¬
ly felt when it is laid on one hand, and touched by an iron
rod six feet long held in the other. Its electrical organs,
according to M. Geoffroy, are much less complicated than
those of other electrical fishes. They lie immediately be¬
low the skin, and stretch all round the body of the animal.
Their substance is a reticulated mass, the meshes of which
are clearly visible, and these cells are filled, like those of
other electrical fishes, with an albuminous gelatinous mat¬
ter. The nerves distributed over the electric organs pro¬
ceed from the brain, and the two nerves of the eighth pair
have a direction and nature peculiar to this species.
Art. 5. On the Electricity of the Tetraodon Electricus.
Tetraodon In the cavities of the coral rocks in Johanna, one of
electricus. the Canary islands, Lieutenant Paterson discovered the
tetraodon electricus, which he found to possess the pro¬
perties of other electrical fishes. It has a long projecting Phe
mouth, and is seven inches long and two and a half broad, na^nd
The colour of its back is brown, of its belly sea-green, of Laws,
its sides yellow, of its fins and tail sandy-green. Its body
is covered with red, green, and bright white spots. It
has large eyes, and its iris is red, tinged with yellow on
its outer edges. It is found also in the American seas.
Lieutenant Paterson found this fish in water whose
temperature was 56° or 60° Fahrenheit; and having
caught two of them in a linen bag, he had no sooner taken
one of them in his hand than he received so severe a
shock that he was obliged to let it go. He carried the
two fishes to the camp, and though one of them died, and
the other was in a state of great debility, he was able to
obtain the evidence of the surgeon and the adjutant in
favour of his discovery. The former having held it be¬
tween his hands, received a distinct electrical shock, and
the latter received a shock by merely touching the fish
on its back with his finger.
Art. 6. On the Electricity of the Trichiurus Electricus.
This fish, which we believe is the Trichiurus Indicus ofTnchinn
Shaw, inhabits the Indian seas, and has been found to electricus
possess the power of giving an electrical shock. It has a
pointed snout, and belongs to the family taenioides, of the
order acanthopterygii.
Other electrical fishes have been met with, but the de-Other elei
scriptions given of them do not enable us to determine tficabisht
whether or not they are the same as those which we have
described in this section. Mr Maxwell, in his observa¬
tions on Congo and Loango, mentions his having found at
sea an electrical fish, which made the sailors who took it
exclaim “ that the devil was in the fish.” When ex¬
amining it attentively, Mr Maxwell found that his asto¬
nishment arose from his having received an electrical
shock. Before each shock the skin upon its back and
sides became very tense. It was like a cod, and weighed
thirty pounds. He gave it to the natives to eat, and
they praised it much. No electrical fish of such a size
has, so far as we know, been found, and it is highly pro¬
bable that it is a new species.
Sect. VI.— On the Electricity of the Atmosphere.
There is perhaps no branch of electricity so highly in- Electric!!
teresting as that which treats of the electricity of the at-of the at¬
mosphere, whether we consider it in reference to our-
selves as beings exposed to its tranquil as well as to its
disturbed influence, or in reference to the grandeur and
beauty of the phenomena which it exhibits.
The methods which have been adopted for examining
the electricity of the atmosphere consist in elevating long
vertical rods, the summits of which collect the electricity,
or in extending insulated wires in a horizontal direction,
or in sending up kites into the higher regions.
M. le Monnier, the Abbe Mazeas, Mr Kinnersley, Bec-
caria, Saussure, Ronayne, Cavallo, Read, Crosse, Ronalds,
Schubler, &c. have made numerous experiments on the
electricity of the atmosphere in its ordinary state. Le
Monnier discovered that there was always more or less
electricity in the atmosphere; that there was a regular
diurnal period in which the electricity increased from sun¬
rise, wdien it was scarcely perceptible, till three or four
o’clock in the afternoon, when it reached its maximum;
and that it again diminished till the fall of the dew, when
it again increased, and subsequently diminished, till mid¬
night, when it became insensible.
ELECTRICITY. 615
pnorae- M. Beccaria found that the electricity of the air was
and always perceptible in a clear sky and calm weather. In
aws- rainy weather, without lightning, it always appeared a
short time before the rain fell, and during its actual fall,
but disappeared soon after the rain had ceased,
pvjri. Saussure made many important observations on this
m' ;s of subject. He found that the electricity of the air was
Sasure; very strong at nine o’clock in the morning; that it gra¬
dually diminished till six o’clock p. m., when the first mi¬
nimum took place; that it afterwards increased to eight
o’clock p. m., when the second maximum took place. It
then diminished again with some irregularities till six
A. m., when it reached its second minimum. It then
increased again till eleven o’clock in the evening, when
it again became a maximum. The electricity of the at¬
mosphere has therefore a daily period, like the sea, in¬
creasing and decreasing twice in twenty-four hours. It,
generally speaking, reaches its maximum intensity a few
hours after sunrise and sunset, and descends again to its
minimum before the rising and setting of that luminary.
Saussure also observed that the electricity of the air is
strongest during fogs, unless when they change into rain.
Saussure likewise found that the electricity of clear wea¬
ther is always positive ; and the opinion of Volta is there¬
fore highly probable, that the electricity of the atmo¬
sphere is essentially positive, and that the negative electri¬
city which appears in rain, snow, and storms, is derived
from more elevated clouds, which are electrified negative¬
ly by the discharge of a portion of their electricity into the
earth or other clouds, in the same manner as an electro¬
meter acquires negative electricity when it is touched at
the instant that the air is electrified positively,
ofiasse; These results were confirmed by subsequent observers,
whose observations we have not room more particularly
to notice; but we shall make no apology for giving some
account of the more recent and valuable observations of
Mr Crosse and Mr Ronalds. Mr Crosse’s experiments
were made with an insulated copper wire, extending ori¬
ginally a mile and a quarter in length, and supported upon
two masts from 100 to 110 feet high. The wire was one
sixteenth of an inch thick. It was subsequently shorten¬
ed to 1800 feet in consequence of its being exposed to
depredations. From the observations made with this ap¬
paratus, which was in use eighteen months, Mr Crosse de¬
duced the following conclusions.
1. The electricity of the atmosphere in its ordinary
state is invariably joosifo've. It is always fullest during the
night. It increases at sunrise, diminishes towards noon,
increases again towards sunset, and again diminishes to
its nocturnal minimum.
2. The electrical state of the wire is disturbed by fogs,
rain, hail, snow, and sleet. It becomes negative when they
first come on. It frequently changes to positive, increas¬
ing gradually in strength, and then decreasing, a change
from positive to negative occurring every three or four
minutes.
3. The approach of a charged cloud at first sometimes
produces positive and sometimes negative electricity. Its
intensity increases and then diminishes and vanishes,
being succeeded by the opposite electricity, which in¬
creases to a higher maximum, and then diminishes and
disappears, and is again followed by the electricity which
first appeared. In general the electricity increases at
every repetition, till sparks issue in a copious stream from
the conductor to the receiving ball, sometimes with inter¬
ruptions, and again returning with fresh energy. When
this happens, a powerful stream of air issues from the wire
and the connecting apparatus. An explosive stream of
electricity rushes from the one ball to the other at every
flash of lightning, and a brilliant light is thrown upon sur¬
rounding objects. When the lightning increases, it is wise Phenome-
to let it pass into the ground. na and
4. The wire is almost as strongly electrified during a driv- . i
ing fog and a smart rain as during a thunder storm, and the
electricity passes into opposite states in a similar manner.
5. A very feeble degree of positive electricity occurs in
cloudy weather. When rain falls it changes to negative,
and again becomes positive when the shower is over.
The following table contains a list of the different states
of the air in which its electricity appears, those at the top
of the list being those in which it is most powerful.
1. Regular thunder clouds.
2. Driving fog with small rain.’
3. A fall of snow, or a brisk hail storm.
4. A smart shower in a hot day.
5. A smart shower in a cold day.
6. Hot weather after some wet days.
7. Wet weather after some dry days.
8. Clear frosty weather.
9. Clear warm summer weather.
10. A sky obscured by clouds.
11. Mackerel or mottled sky.
12. Sultry weather with light hazy clouds.
13. A cold damp night.
14. Weather during north-east winds, with a sensation of
dryness and cold not shown by the thermometer.
By means of an electrical apparatus, founded on a new Experi-
method of electrical insulation, Mr Ronalds made some meats of
interesting observations on Vesuvius at the time of mo-R°nalds,
derate eruptions, and another series at Palermo during
the prevalence of a sirocco. The rod of the electrometer
was placed perpendicularly on the highest pinnacle of
Mount Vesuvius, on the north side of the great crater,
and about five hundred yards distant from it, a ravine
being interposed. The following were the results;
1. The electricity was always positive.
2. The intensity of it increased as the sun rose, unless on Vesu-
when it was affected by the explosions of the volcano.’vius;
Vex-y frequent variations took place in the intensity, some¬
times accompanying changes of the wind, sometimes fol¬
lowing explosions from the crater, sometimes attending
the approach of vapour from an aqueous fumerole, when
the intensity of the electricity was always increased, and
sometimes occurring without any apparent cause.
3. The black fumes from the old crater diminished the
intensity more frequently than the white fumes, and very
rarely increased it. Mr Ronalds supposes that the black
fumes may be in a negative state; and that the white
fumes, consisting principally of aqueous vapoui’, sulphuric
and muriatic acids, and sulphur, may, when these vapours
are condensed, and when the sulphur sublimes in the air,
be brought into a positive state; and that these two
states of the two fumes may sometimes act separately on
the electrometer, or sometimes wholly and sometimes
partially neutralize each other, either by induction or po¬
sition, or by a discharge from the one to the other.
The observations of Mr Ronalds on the electricity of at Palermo,
the atmosphere during a dry sirocco, were made on the
roof of Page’s hotel, in Palermo. The electricity was al¬
ways positive, the straw electrometer of Volta varying
from five to twenty-one degi'ees. The electrical pheno¬
mena were diametrically opposite to those of the ordinaxy
state of the atmosphere in serene weather, as the electric
tension increases almost progressively from sunrise till
the hottest part of the day, viz. about three o’clock p. m.,
when it gradually declined until sunset.
In the arctic regions in 1819-20, there were no sen¬
sible indications of electricity “ in the summer months,
when the clouds become more dense and frequent, and
even when a slight shower of rain falls.”
616 ELECTRICITY.
Phenome- A series of most interesting observations have been re- Ellvanguen is situated 1331 feet above the sea, in 48° 57'pi
na and cently made by Professor Schubler of Tubingen, on the 25" of N. lat., and Stuttgard at 847 feet, in N. lat. 48° 46' naTn
electricity accompanying the condensation of aqueous va- 32". Professor Schubler observed no fewer than four hun- Law;
Observa- Pours ^le atmosphere, as affected by the direction of dred and twelve atmospherical precipitations. He used '"'‘v’
tions of t,ie winds- They were carried on during thirty months, the straw electrometer of Volta, and a simple condenser-
Schubler. between January 1805 and August 1811. Thej^rs# series and in storms he never pushed his observations beyond
was made at Ellvanguen, during sixteen months, from the 600th degree of the instrument.
January 1805 to April 1806; and the second at Stuttgard, The following table contains the results of these obser-
during fourteen months, from June 1810 to August 1811. vations.
Direction of the Winds
corresponding to the
Observations.
North 
North-east..
East 
South-east..
South 
South-west.
West 
Nortlvwest.
The three north winds,
N.W.—N.—N.E 
The three south winds,
S.E.—S.—S.W 
The three west winds,
S.W.—W.—N.W....
The three east winds,
N.E.—E.—S.E 
All the winds.
Number of observed Pre¬
cipitations, classed accord¬
ing to the Nature of their
Electricity.
Ratio of the
Number of Posi¬
tive and Nega¬
tive Precipi¬
tations.
Positive.
12
11
3
4
5
28
73
25
48
37
126
18
161
Negative-
11
12
5
7
13
65
106
32
55
85
203
24
100 ; 91
100 ; 109
100
100
166
175
100 : 260
100 : 232
100
100
145
128
Mean Intensity of each of
the two Electricities.
Positive.
131
105
15
19
26
66
75
31
100 : 114
100 : 230
100 : 161
100 : 133
251
74
57
57
71
100 : 155
69
Negative.
99
132
13
10
23
33
39
46
75
26
38
72
43
Mean Inten¬
sity of the
Electricity,
without con¬
sidering its
Nature.
116
120
13
13
24
44
53
40
75
39
48
72
53
Total Num¬
ber of Preci¬
pitations
observed.
23
23
8
11
18
93
179
57
103
122
329
42
412
From these observations Professor Schubler draws the
following conclusions :
1. The ratio of the positive to the negative precipitations
follows a regular variation, setting out from the north or
south wind, and proceeding either by the east or west
winds.
2. By a north wind, the positive precipitations are a
little more frequent than the negative ones; by a south
wind, the negative precipitations are more than double the
positive ones.
3. The negative precipitations, by the three south
winds, viz. south-east, south, and south-west, are double
those by the three north winds, viz. north-west, north, and
north-east, the ratio being 114 to 230.
4. The east and %vest winds hold a mean in this respect.
The fonwer, however, approach more to those of the north,
and the latter to those of the south, the electricity being
oftener negative by the three west winds than by the three
east winds in the ratio of 161 to 133.
5. The electricity of all the observed precipitations is
oftener negative than positive in the ratio of 155 to 100.
6. The mean intensity of the positive electricity is, on
the contrary, more considerable than that of the negative,
in the ratio of 69 to 43.1
7. The intensity of the electricity, abstraction being
made of its nature, is the strongest by the three north
winds, particularly the north-east and north.
8. The electricity is at an average the weakest by the
three south winds. Its intensity is by these three winds
in the ratio of 39 to 75 w eaker than by the three north
winds.
9. By the three winds the electricity is in the ratio
of 72 to 48 stronger than by the three west winds.
10. The mean intensity of the electricity of all the pre¬
cipitations, whether positive or negative, observed in all
directions of the winds, is almost the same as that of the
electricity of the precipitations observed during the west
winds alone.
11. During the north and east winds the opposite elec¬
tricities appear most distinctly, and almost with equal in¬
tensities. The west winds, and particularly the south,
exhibit, on the contrary, a more feeble electricity, but a
greater number of negative precipitations.
12. The greatest number of electrical precipitations takes
place during west wunds, and the least during east winds.
The mean direction of the wind during the whole of the
precipitations is 860,9, making use of the formula of
Lambert, in which the south is marked by 0°, the west
by 90°, the north by 180°, and the east by 270°. The
number 860,9 corresponds with the west with four de¬
grees of declination to the south-west.
With respect to the cause of the phenomena now de¬
scribed, Professor Schubler is of opinion, that at the mo¬
ment of the precipitation of the vapours in our atmo¬
sphere, positive electricity is at first developed, and the
negative appears to arise most frequently from the in-
1 Considering the quantity of the two electricities as made up of their intensity, and the number of times that either of them is
observed, the ratio of the quantities of positive and negative electricity observed will be 690 to 666, nearly that of equality.
ELECTRICITY.
nome- fluence of the former. The precipitations which first take
and place during storms, or passing rains and snows, are com-
aws- monly positive, and are soon followed with negative ones
of nearly equal intensity. This alternation often happens
several times, during which the drops of rain, hailstones,
sleet, and snow, continually vary in their size, density,
and continuity. At last the electricity growing weaker
and weaker, ends by remaining negative ; and sometimes
after the storm a rain falls with negative electricity.
It is however not uncommon to see regular and con¬
tinuous rains negative from their commencement, and
during whole days. This fact, together with the feeble
intensity of this kind of electricity, seems to favour the
opinion that it is often owing to the partial evaporation
experienced by the drops of rain during their fall.1 In
confirmation of this he adduces the fact of the negative
electricity of the fine aqueous dust at the foot of cascades,
which is sometimes so strong in large waterfalls as to
make the electrometer diverge more than 100 degrees.
This explanation, Professor Schubler alleges, agrees also
with the great frequency of negative rains in south winds,
and of positive ones in north winds. A current of warmer
air, and consequently more light and more elevated, in
the first case ought to facilitate the evaporation of drops
of rain during their fall; whilst, by the colder north wind,
and consequently more heavy and nearer the surface of
the earth, the clouds have in general a lower position, and
the evaporation of the drops of.rain is less easy, and almost
nothing.
From these observations it also follows that we must
not infer the negative state of the cloud from the nega¬
tive electricity of the rain which falls from it; for it may
happen that rain coming from clouds slightly positive, may
become negative by the partial evaporation of the falling
drops.
M. Schubler also remarks, that the great intensity of
the electricity, and the distinct manner in which the
two electrical principles alternately predominate during
north and east winds, seem to arise chiefly from the dry¬
ness of the air during their continuance; to which we
must add the situation of the clouds brought by these
winds near the surface of the earth, the electricity of
which may then naturally exert a more sensible influence
upon our instruments.
The positive electricity of the atmosphere was found
by Saussure to increase in intensity in proportion to the
height at which it was collected. When MM. Gay Lus-
sac and Biot ascended in a balloon, they collected atmo¬
spheric electricity from the clouds below them, by sus¬
pending a wire about 160 feet long from the balloon, and
stretching it with a ball of metal. The electricity col¬
lected at the upper end of this thread was very percep¬
tible in their electroscope ; and when it was examined
with a stick of sealing-wax, it was found to be resinous or
negative, although the weather was perfectly serene. This
result, though apparently inconsistent with the observa¬
tions of Saussure and others, has been shown by M. Biot
XIII ^ Perfectly reconcilable with them. In fig. 4, Plate
4. CCXIII. let WW' be the wire, let us call A the stratum of
atmosphere through which the wire passes, B the stratum
above this, and C the stratum below it; and let us sup¬
pose, what is true, that the atmosphere has positive elec-
tncity, which increases with the height. The positive
electricity in the superior stratum A will attract the ne¬
gative electricity of the wire WW' with a force equal to
617
+ p, and will repel the positive electricity of WW' with Phenome-
a force equal to +N. The positive electricity in the na and
lower stratum C will do the very same, but in an opposite ^J^aws~
direction, and with an inferior degree of force, viz. + p
and + n, since the electricity increases with the altitude.
Hence it follows that the negative electricity of the wire
wall be attracted towards its upper end by an excess of
force equal to P —p, and the positive electricity will be
repelled to its lower end with an excess of force N — n.
io MM. Gay Lussac and Biot, therefore, who observed
the electricity of the wire at its upper end, the electricity
should be negative; and to M. Saussure and others, who
observed it at its lower end, it should be positive.
Upon the same principle, M. Biot explains a very inte¬
resting experiment made by M. Hermann. A very sen¬
sible electroscope with gold leaves is fixed at a certain
height in the atmosphere when the weather is clear, and
it there gives no perceptible indications of electricity. A
metallic wire, or any other conductor, placed horizontally
at the end of an insulating rod, is then placed and kept a
short time in a stratum of air a few feet only above the
electroscope. It is afterwards quickly brought down so
as to touch the electroscope, and the gold leaves diverge
with vitreous or positive electricity; but if, on the con¬
trary, the insulated wire is placed and kept a short time
in a stratum of air below the electroscope, and is then
quickly raised and made to touch the electroscope, the
leaves will diverge with negative electricity. In order to
explain these opposite results, we must consider that the
insulated conductor is charged at each time with the de¬
gree of electricity which belongs to the stratum in which
it is placed. When it is carried rapidly, therefore, so
that its state is not quite destroyed by the contact of the
molecules of air among which it is placed, it will commu¬
nicate this state to the electroscope. If it comes from above,
it will carry to it an excess of positive electricity; if it comes
from below, it will carry to it a defect of the same elec¬
tricity, or an excess of negative electricity. “ In general,”
says M. Biot, “ let + E be the quantity of free vitreous
electricity which the insulated conductor ought to pos¬
sess, in order to be in a state of electrical equilibrium in
the stratum of air where the electroscope is placed, so
that whilst it has + E, the molecules of air of this stra¬
tum neither give nor take any tiling from it. Let it now
be carried to a superior stratum, where it takes E + <$E,
5E indicating the small excess of vitreous electricity which
it has there taken. If we then bring it back quickly into
the stratum of the electroscope, it will have + 5E too
much, and it will communicate this excess to all bodies
that touch it. It will communicate it also to the elec¬
troscope if it touches it promptly, and, until the latter
has lost by the contact of the air this excess which it
has imparted, its leaves will diverge vitreously. On the
contrary, when the insulated conductor returns from the
lower region, it has E — 3E of vitreous electricity. If
we make it touch the electroscope, the latter will partake-
of its state. Then the quantity of vitreous electricity
which it will possess can no longer be in equilibrium with
the influence of the mass of the surrounding air, and its
natural fluid will be decomposed. But the excess of vi¬
treous fluid which will result from this cannot cause the
gold leaves to diverge, because its repulsive force will be
wholly employed in compensating that of the exterior
electricity E. The repulsive force, then, of the resinous
will alone be exerted, because nothing compensates it;
INI. Delarive is of opinion, not only that the evaporation thus occasioned must be very feeble, considering that the air is charged
and almost always saturated with humidity ; but that if it did take place, it could not generate electricity, as M. Pouillet has shown
that the conversion of pure water into vapour produces no electricity. He is disposed to seek for the cause of the negative electricity
0 rain either in the mechanical action of the air on the falling drops, or in the sudden change of temperature which they experience.
vol. vm. ’ 4 !
618 ELECTRICITY.
Phenome- and the gold leaves will diverge in virtue of this electri-
na and city? untd it lias been carried away and neutralized by
the immediate and successive contact of the molecules of
' air. Experiments of this kind present the unique case of
an indefinite medium, which is air, of which all the mole¬
cules are individually charged with an excess of electri¬
city of the same kind, adhering to their surface ; so that
the entire mass of the medium is found penetrated with
it in a proportion which varies with the altitude. Con¬
sequently the different particles of this medium can only
be at rest from the mutual compensation of their repul¬
sive forces combined with their gravity ; and the same
condition is also applicable to conducting bodies which
are immersed in it. Thus, for all these bodies the electri¬
cal equilibrium cannot take place when their natural elec¬
tricities are completely neutralized, but only when they
possess an excess of either electricity which corresponds
to the stratum where they are found, an excess which
is vitreous in the atmosphere when it is pure. If they
possess a greater excess of this same electricity, they
will act only in virtue of this excess upon each other, and
upon all the molecules of the surrounding air. They ought,
therefore, to repel one another mutually. If, on the con¬
trary, the excess of electricity which they possess is less
than that which they would naturally take in the stratum
where we place them, the mass of the medium will act upon
each of them in virtue of this difference, and their natural
electricities will be decomposed as far as is necessary to
supply what they want of the electricity of the medium.
In virtue of this addition they will repel the medium
as much as the medium repels them, and will experience
no more action from it. But they will act upon each
other with the excess of opposite electricity which they
have acquired ; and if the medium is an indefinite fluid
composed of particles susceptible of electrifying itself by
contact, this excess Mull gradually dissipate in space.
Many curious experiments would be necessary to esta¬
blish the laws of electrical equilibrium, under circum¬
stances sufficiently different from those which we have
been generally accustomed to consider.”
Electricity The electricity of clouds M7as noticed by some of the
of clouds, earliest writers on the electricity of the atmosphere.
Canton observed that certain clouds were charged with
positive and others with negative electricity; and he
noticed that the electricity indicated by his apparatus
often changed five or six times in half an hour. This
fact was confirmed, as we have seen, by the observations
of Mr Crosse. These irregularities, however, remained
unexplained till Mr Luke Howard distinctly proved that
the electricity at the circumference of a nimbus is ne¬
gative, while that of the centre is positive ; and he sug¬
gested it as an interesting subject of inquiry to ascertain
if the negative electricity was descending and the positive
ascending. Mr J. Foggo undertook this inquiry, and in
1823 he erected a conductor armed with a smoking
match, and erected from a south window. On the 12th
of March 1824 there was a brisk wind from the north-
M'est, with frequent shoM'ers all around. About three
p. m. large dense clouds, which discharged heavy showers
of hail, passed over the zenith. Between the showers the
electricity was always positive, and the leaves of the elec¬
trometer showed their maximum divergency. So poM'er-
ful indeed was the electrical state of the air, that by rub¬
bing the outside of the glass of a detached electrometer
with soft leather, the leaves opened more than forty de¬
grees. During the showers, or when the clouds were
over head, though no precipitation took place, the electri¬
city M’as invariably positive, and so strong that sparks
could at any time be drawn by the finger from the con¬
ducting wire. Mr Foggo likewise ascertained that by tak¬
ing hold of the wire he could at pleasure intercept the elec- Phenom
trie fluid from reaching the instrument, so that the charge naand
must have been received from the atmosphere or cloud. ^aws-
When the edge or the circumference of the cloud was ''T'*
nearly over the conductor, the electricity became nega¬
tive, and appeared to be fully as strong as when it was
positive. Mr Foggo, however, now found that it could
not be intercepted as formerly b}' taking hold of the wire,
or by touching it with a pointed steel rod. Hence he
concluded that the electricity was not proceeding from
the cloud ag before, but was given oft’by the earth to the
cloud. When the steel point was presented to the instru¬
ment, the divergence was so much increased as to endan¬
ger the gold leaf, and sparks were heard to pass rapidly
between the point and the electrometer, while sharp pricks
were experienced when the finger was brought near the
brass cap.
Such are the general electrical phenomena of the atmo-Identity
sphere during its ordinary changes ; but they appear with of electr
neu' splendour, and at once rouse the interest of the phi-f'ty aoc*
losopher and the dread of the vulgar, when they are exhi-^ltnil'
bited in the terrific grandeur of thunder and lightning.
We have already seen that various writers had pointed
out the identity of lightning and the electric spark; and
though Franklin has obtained the special honour of hav¬
ing been the first who brought down fire from heaven,
Arripuit fulmen ecelo, sceptrumque tyrannis,
yet he was no more the first who snatched the thunder¬
bolt from heaven, than he was the first who MTested the
sceptre from kings.
When Franklin called the attention of philosophers to
the various points of resemblance between lightning and
the electric spark, he conceived the idea of collecting the
electricity of the atmosphere by means of pointed conduc¬
tors, and of thus preserving buildings from its explosions.
One of the first philosophers who endeavoured to verify
these views was M. Dalibard, who, at the instigation of
Buffon, erected an atmospherical conductor at Marly le
Ville, about six leagues from Paris. An iron rod, forty
feet long, an inch in diameter, and pointed at its upper
end, was erected in a garden upon three large poles, and
insulated by silken strings, and a stool with glass feet. In
M. Dalibard’s absence a thunder-storm appeared on the
10th May 1752, between two and three p. m., and M.
Coiffier, who had the charge of the apparatus, drew
sparks with a crackling noise from the lower end of it.
Having called M. Raulet, the curate of the parish, this
gentleman continued for some time, and in the presence
of many of his parishioners, to draw large sparks of blu¬
ish fire from the conductor. A few days afterwards, on
the 18th May, M. Delors drew similar sparks from a rod
ninety-nine feet high, erected in Paris. The strongest
of them w’ere drawn at the distance of nine lines, and the
conductor afforded sparks even when the cloud had mov¬
ed at least two leagues from above the place of observa¬
tion. On the 19th day Buffon obtained, at Montbar, simi¬
lar evidence of the identity of electricity and lightning.
In our history of electricity Mre have already given an Observ
account of the observations of the apparatus by which
Franklin, in the month of June 1752, obtained sparks of 01
electricity from the atmosphere during a thunder-storm.
Attempts were everywhere made to repeat this remark¬
able observation; and the most successful of these was
that of M. Romas, who, according to a decision of the
Academy of Sciences, had invented the electrical kite
more than a year before it was employed by Dr Franklin.
The kite constructed by M. Romas was seven feet five
inches high, three feet in its greatest width, and with a
surface of eighteen square feet. The string was a cord
ELECTRICITY. 619
enome- wrapped round with copper wire. On the 7th June 1753
a and this kite was elevated to the height of 550 feet, by means
Laws. 0f a string 700 feet long, and inclined 45° nearly. A
silk cord three feet and a half long was fixed to its extre¬
mity, and suspended a large stone to govern the motion
of the kite. A tube of white iron, about a foot long and
an inch in diameter, was placed near the junction of the
string and the silk cord, as a conductor, from which the
sparks were to be drawn. From this conductor the spec¬
tators drew sparks with their fingers, keys, canes, and
swords ; and M. Romas having presented his knuckle,
received a shock which struck him in the elbows, shoul¬
ders, breast, knees, and ankles. Seven or eight persons
joined hands, and the shock struck the feet even of the
fifth person. The storm now increased, and black clouds
gathered in the zenith. At the distance of six inches
sparks two inches long were obtained by a discharging
rod. The electricity continuing to increase, flashes of
fire about a foot long, three inches wide, and three lines
in diameter, were frequently received, and the noise of
them was audible at the distance of 500 feet. At this
time he felt the sensation of a spider’s web on his face
when he was five feet from the string. The kite was now
650 feet high, and the wind blowing strong from the east,
when M. Romas saw on the ground, about three feet
from the white-iron tube, three straws dancing up and
down below it. One straw was twelve, another five, and
the third four inches long. The electricity having in¬
creased still more, the longest straw was attracted by the
tube, accompanied with* three loud sounds, which some
compared to the crack of a postilion’s whip, and others to
that of a large pot of earthenware dashed in pieces on a
pavement. This crash was heard even in the centre of
the town, and the accompanying flash had the form of a
spindle eight inches long and four or five lines in diame¬
ter. The long straw followed the string of the kite, and
was seen moving with great rapidity even at the distance
of ninety or a hundred yards, now attracted and now re¬
pelled by the string, each attraction being attended with
long plates of fire and constant explosions. A phos¬
phoric smell was distinctly felt. A permanent cylinder
of light, about three or four inches in diameter, surround¬
ed the string.
M. Romas again raised his kite on the 16th August,
and though the storm was not severe, yet in an hour he
obtained thirty beams of fire, nine or ten feet long, and
about an inch thick, each accompanied by a noise like that
of a pistol. When the glass of his discharging-rod was
two feet long, he was able to conduct beams of fire six or
seven feet long as easily as he had done those of seven or
eight inches, without feeling the slightest shock. On this
occasion the string of the kite was above a thousand feet
long, and the metallic wire which was coiled round it was
continuous throughout.
use of It is obvious, from the preceding facts, that the well-
- rolling known phenomenon of thunder and lightning is entirely an
1‘unden. electrical one, the lightning being the electric spark, and
the thunder the sound which accompanies it prolonged
by successive echoes from among the clouds. That the
clouds are capable of reflecting sound was determined by
direct obsezvation on the sound of cannon, made by Messrs
Arago, Matthieu, and Prony. They observed that in
a perfectly serene sky the explosions of their guns were
always single and sharp, whereas when the sky was over¬
cast, or when a cloud came in sight and covered any con¬
siderable portion of the horizon, the sound of the gun
was attended by a long-continued roll like thunder; and
sometimes a double sound was heard from a single shot.
Sir John Herschel, however, has pointed out another
cause for the rolling of thunder, as well as for its sudden
and capricious bursts and variations of intensity. “ To Phenome-
understand this cause,” says he, “ we must premise that, naand
cceteris paribus, the estimated intensity of a sound will be t ^aws-
proportional to the quantity of it (if we may so express
ourselves) which reaches the ear in a given time. Two
blows, equally loud, at precisely the same distance fi'om
the ear, will sound as one of double the intensity; an hun¬
dred struck in an instant of time will sound as one blow
a hundred times more intense than if they followed in such
slow succession that the ear could appreciate them singly.”
Now let us conceive two equal flashes of lightning,
each four miles long, both beginning at points equi-dis-
tant from the auditoi’, but the one running out in a straight
line directly away from him, the other describing an arc
of a circle having him in its centre. Since the velocity of
electricity is incomparably greater than that of sound,
the thunder may be regarded as originating at one and
the same instant in evezy point of the course of either
flash. But it will reach tlze ear under very different cir¬
cumstances in the two cases. In that of the circular
flash, the sound from every point will az-rive at the same
instant, and affect the ear as a single explosion of stun¬
ning loudness. In that of the rectilinear flash, on the
other hand, the sound from the nearest point will arrive
sooner than from those at a greater distance ; and those
from different points will arrive in succession, occupying
altogether a time equal to that required by sound to run
over four zniles, or about twenty seconds. Thus the same
amount of sound is in the latter case distributed uniform¬
ly over twenty seconds of time, which in the former ar¬
rives at a sinale burst; of course it will have the effect of
a long roar, diminishing zn intenszty as it comes from a
greater and greater distance. If the flash be inclined
in direction, the sound will reach the ear more com¬
pactly (i. e. in shorter time from its commencement), and
proportionally more intense. If (as is almost always the
case) the flash be zigzag, and composed of broken recti¬
linear and curvilinear poz’tions, some concave, sozne con¬
vex to the ear; and if, especially, the principal trunk se¬
parates into many branches, each bz'eaking its own way
through the air, and each becoming a separate souz-ce of
thunder, all the varieties of that awful sound are easily
accounted for.
The distance of the point in the atmosphere where the Distance of
lightning is generated, may be readily computed by mul- thunder,
tiplying 109° by the number of seconds which elapse
between the flash and the first stroke of thunder. The
pi’oduct will give in feet the distance required.
The general phenomenon of thunder and lightning oc¬
curs during the passage of electricity between two clouds
oppositely electrified, or one of which has an inferior
charge of the same kind of electricity; but it appears in
its most appalling forzn when the accumulated electricity
of the clouds descends to the earth, shivering the strong¬
est oak in its passage, rending the thickest wralls, setting
fiz’e to houses, or stacks, or foz-ests, and instantly destzmy-
izzg animal life, when the frail tenement of man or of beast
happens to obstruct its path, or afford to it a more easy
transit. Soznetimes, however, the thunderbolt passes Ascending
from the earth to the clouds, and in this case it is called thunder-
the ascending thunderbolt. The Marquis Mafici was the K) t‘
first who observed this curious phenomenon. He distinct¬
ly saw during a storm the lightning issue fz'ozn the ground
with a loud noise. The Abbe Lioni and M. Seguier ol
Nisznes saw the lightning rise in the form of a flame six
feet high, followed by a loud noise.
One of the most interesting cases of the ascending bolt
has been recorded by John M illiams, Esq. It took place
upon the hills above the village of Great Malvern, on
the 1st of July 1826. A party had taken refuge from the
620
ELECTRICITY.
Phenome¬
na and
Laws.
on Mount
Breven;
storm in a circular building roofed with sheet iron, and
one of the ladies on entering the hut expressed her alarm
lest the lightning should be attracted by the iron roof.
T They had scarcely entered their retreat, and were about
to partake of some refreshment, when a violent storm of
thunder and lightning came on from the west. About forty-
five minutes past two, a gentleman who stood at the eastern
entrance saw a ball of fire which seemed to him moving
on the surface of the ground. It instantly entered the
hut, forcing him several paces forwards from the doorway.
On his recovering from the shock, he found his sisters on
the floor of the hut, fainting, as he imagined, from terror.
Two of the ladies had died instantly; another lady, and
the rest of the party, were much injured. The explosion
which followed the flash of lightning was said by the in¬
habitants of the village to have been terrific. Mr Wil¬
liams, who immediately examined the hut, found a large
crack in the west side of the building, which passed up¬
wards from near the ground to the frame of a small win¬
dow, above which the iron roof was a little indented. Mr
Williams conceived it to be quite clear, from the place of
the fragments of stone and other appearances, that the
clouds were negatively electrified during this storm.
Electrical Various electrical phenomena of a very interesting kind
phenomena have been observed by travellers when ascending lofty
on moun- mountains. in 1767, MM. Saussure, Pictet, and Jalla-
bert, when on the top of Mount Breven, received small
electric shocks at their finger ends by stretching out their
arms, and a whistling noise even accompanied them. The
gold button on M. Saussure’s hat yielded distinct sparks,
on Mount In 1814, a party of Englishmen experienced similar effects
iEtna; on Mount iEtna during a storm of thunder and lightning
accompanied by a heavy fall of snow. One of the party
felt his hair moving, and upon raising his hand to his
head a buzzing sound issued from his fingers. The rest
of the party experienced the same sensations, and by
moving their hands and fingers they produced a variety
of musical sounds, audible at the distance of forty feet,
on Ben- On the 27th of June 1825, Dr Hooker and a party of
Nevis. botanists witnessed effects like those described, during a
fall of snow on Ben-Nevis when there was no thunder¬
storm. The snow fell very heavily for nearly two hours.
Soon after it began, a hissing sound was heard everywhere
around them, and continued about an hour and a half.
It seemed to proceed from every point in the vicinity; and
on arriving at the cairn on the summit of the mountain,
they could almost determine the stones from which the
electricity issued. The hair of several of the party ex¬
hibited, when touched, the usual electrical phenomena.
On the Before quitting the subject of lightning, we must sub¬
transport mit to our readers a brief account of the remarkable ob-
°|^ Poni^r" servations made by M. Fusinieri on the ponderable sub-
stances bv stances transported by lightning in its passage, and which
lightning. *t deposits in a permanent state on the bodies which ob¬
struct its passage. When we consider the magnitude of
the scale on which the great electrical machine of our at¬
mosphere enables us to study its effects, it appears strange
that so little attention has been paid to those interesting
phenomena which accompany the electric stroke. M. Fusi¬
nieri is the only person who has made this an object of spe¬
cial investigation ; and the results to which he has been led
possess, as might have been expected, a very peculiar inte¬
rest. The following are the general results which he ob¬
tained: Lightning contains, like the common electric spark,
matter in a state of extreme division, and in a state of ig¬
nition and combustion. In the matter deposited by light¬
ning on houses and on trees which have been struck by it,
he has found iron, sulphur, and carbon. Lightning divides
and subdivides itself indefinitely into spai’ks, which end in
being not much larger than those of ordinary machines;
Laws
and each of these sparks contains ponderable substances Phenomt
in the state of extreme division already mentioned. The na and
lightning deposits the substances with which it is charged
while it passes through them, and while it breaks hard
bodies ; and it deposits them on the surface by which it
enters the body, as well as on that by which it escapes,
and also on the surfaces of fracture. When the resistance
to its passage is not great, it leaves no perceptible deposit;
and the quantity of matter deposited increases, and is
proportional to the difficulty with which the lightning
traverses the body. At the same time that lightning de¬
posits the matter which it contains, it takes up new mat¬
ter from the combustible bodies, such as iron, charcoal,
&c. through which it passes. The deposited matter tends
always to expand itself in thin films on the surface which
receives it, and it does this most readily on surfaces that
are smooth and free from all asperities.
In examining the traces left by lightning when it fell at
Vicenza in 1829, and at Padua in 1831, M. Fusinieri made
the following observations: It deposited on the surface
of a wall by which it entered the house, a thin layer of
pulverulent matter, of a brown colour at its centre, and
yellowish and much less deep at its margin. When this
matter was collected and carefully examined, it proved to
be iron in different degrees of oxidation. Upon some
stones which the lightning had detached from the wall
there was found a stratum the fiftieth of an inch thick,
and of a brownish colour, which seemed to have under¬
gone a species of fusion. This stratum was sulphuret of
iron, which gradually changed into a sulphate of the same
metal. M. Fusinieri indeed had previously found small
crystals of sulphuret of iron upon an iron rod which the
lightning had struck, and also upon a stone to which it
had passed from the iron. The position of these crystals
indicated that they had been formed in the middle of the
passage of the lightning; a fact which he considered as
proving that the electric matter could transport sulphur
across metal itself. When the lightning escaped from the
wall, it deposited upon the wood a dust composed of small
aggregated grains, which had all the qualities of ferrugi¬
nous matter. In pursuing the passage of the lightning,
it was found to have divided itself into a great number ot
sparks more or less voluminous upon the windows, formed
of pieces of rectangular glass united in a leaden frame.
The traces left on the glass and on the lead were very
slight, and there were only a few marks on the glass very
near its contact with the lead. The traces on the lead
were small cavities, round which there had been a fusion
of the metal. Some of these cavities passed through the
whole thickness of the lead, and their diameters varied
with the size of the sparks that had produced them. In
general, each cavity of any size was surrounded with se¬
veral smaller cavities, which seemed to prove that each
discharge was accompanied by smaller electric sparky dis¬
seminated around it. Besides these cavities, the light¬
ning had Spread on the surface of the metal a stratum of
pulverulent matter, which adhered so strongly to the lead
that none of it could be detached without removing at the
same time a portion of the metal. Each large cavity was
the centre of one of these strata, which appeared to be
composed of globules of lead in the central part, and fer¬
ruginous dust on the margin. The glass, though an in¬
sulating body, was, as we have mentioned, marked also by
the lightning. The origin of the thin strata formed on its
surface was at those points where it had been in contact
with the lead; but they extended much beyond this, and
were composed at first of a powdery matter, sometimes
blackish and sometimes whitish ; and beyond this they
terminated in continuous and diaphanous laminae, which re¬
flected the colours of thin plates. The central and pulve-
ELECTRICITY.
paorae- rulent portion was lead ; the exterior portion, and the thin-
and nest, appeared to be iron more or less oxidated. On one oc-
IWS- casion one of these thin plates was formed of an extremely
thin stratum of metallic iron not oxidated. M. Fusinieri
had formerly succeeded in diffusing metals in thin plates
upon mercury by the common electric spark; and he con¬
siders the fact, that the same phenomenon takes place on
glass as on mercury, as demonstrating that the effect is
not owing to a molecular attraction of the surfaces, but
solely by the property of expansion which is possessed in
a state of fusion by those substances which are transport¬
ed by the lightning. This property belongs in an espe¬
cial manner to combustible bodies, particularly to metals,
though these last do not all enjoy it in the same degree.
Iron, for example, is more expansible than lead, as is de¬
monstrated by the thin films which are deposited by elec¬
trical discharges.
M. Fusinieri next proceeds to describe the traces of
iron, &c. which lightning deposits upon trees. By means
of chemical re-agents and the magnetic needle he had pre¬
viously determined that traces of iron had been left by
lightning on two poplars and a pear-tree which it had
struck; and he also found traces of sulphur at the extre¬
mity of the roots of a poplar tree, at which the lightning
had escaped. These observations were confirmed subse¬
quently by many others. A poplar having been struck at
Casale, near Vicenza, on the 14th May 1829, M. Fusinieri
found that the part of the trunk deprived of its bark was
covered with small black spots, which he regarded as pro¬
duced by the sparks already mentioned which had been
disseminated by the electric current at the instant its bark
was carried away. The bark itself must have been re¬
duced into extremely small parts, and immediately con¬
sumed, for not a vestige of it could be found. It would ap¬
pear also that the lightning had carried away a part of the
wood which it decomposed, such as the carbon, while the
rest was volatilized. Traces of sulphur were found at the
foot of the tree; and the lightning having insinuated itself
between the bark and alburnum of the roots, there was
felt, by removing the former, a strong odour of sulphuret¬
ted hydrogen, similar to, though more powerful than, that
which the traces of sulphur had left upon the ground.
The roots torn asunder by the lightning were impregnat¬
ed with a moist and brownish matter, which was extrane¬
ous, but which had penetrated into their organic tissue
with the lightning which conveyed it. This matter ex¬
haled the same fetid odour as the surrounding earth, es¬
pecially that portion of the earth which, from being in
contact with the roots, was impregnated with the same
brownish matter. In penetrating farther into the earth,
it was found traversed by serpentine furrows, covered
with a cinereous matter, the odour of which was the same
as that which was exhaled by the other traces of light¬
ning. The serpentine form of these furrows clearly indi¬
cated the tendency of the lightning to disseminate itself.
All these substances and deposits were carefully collect¬
ed and examined by M. Fusinieri.
In a pear-tree which had been struck with lightning
in 1827, M. Fusinieri discovered very remarkable effects.
Though its trunk, three feet in diameter, was torn into four
parts throughout its whole length, no foreign matter nor
odour could be perceived either in its roots or in the earth.
At the places where the branches joined the trunk, the
substance of the pear-tree was altered to the depth of se¬
veral lines. It had acquired an acid taste and a reddish
colour. It exhaled while burning a penetrating and pe-
621
culiar odour, and it continued to burn without flame till Phenome-
it was completely consumed. The matter of the light- ria an(l
ning had therefore penetrated the tissue of the wood, and , Ijaws-
there presented traces of iron.
M. Fusinieri has collected and detailed many interest¬
ing observations respecting the substances deposited by
lightning upon the various parts of houses which have been
struck by it; but we regret that our limits will not permit
us to pursue any farther this most important subject.
These and many other facts seem to prove that iron
exists in the air and in clouds; and it is well known that
the same metal mixed with manganese, nitrous salts, and
organic substances, is found in rain water. M. Fusinieri
is of opinion that the iron has been drawn from the earth,
and chiefly from mountains, where the mines are most
frequented, and where storms commonly begin to form.1
The colouring matter of snow and rain, and the existence
of meteoric stones, prove the existence in our atmosphere
of dry and ferruginous vapours, the molecules of which
are more or less rarefied or condensed according to the
causes which may generate them. The fact that meteoric
stones fall during the prevalence of storms and other elec¬
tric phenomena, and especially the fact that hailstones
have sometimes a nucleus of small pieces of sulphuret of
iron, appear to M. Fusinieri to afford the true origin of
these remarkable bodies. It has been already proved also,
that electricity does transport matter; and when we con¬
sider, as Ampere has shown, that magnetic currents sur¬
round our globe, that matter in an extreme state of sub¬
division spontaneously expands itself, that radiating heat,
like electricity, transports ponderable substances, we may
obtain a very simple explanation of the origin of meteoric
stones. As the temperature of the surface of the globe
is not high enough to detach from it the material bodies
which exist in the atmosphere, M. Fusinieri concludes that
we ought to attribute this action to other causes, which
are yet to be discovered, rather than deny a fact so com¬
pletely demonstrated.
Among the remarkable effects of atmospherical electri-Fulminary
city may be numbered the production of what are called tubes.
fulminary tubes. These tubes are of different lengths, and
are produced by the passage of lightning through beds of
sand, the particles of sand being agglutinated by the ac¬
tion of the electric fluid. Dr Fidler has collected and
described many of these tubes from different localities;
and their electrical origin has been placed beyond a doubt.
M. Hachette conceived the idea of imitating these tubes
by using a strong electrical battery; and he and M. Savart
and M. Beudant having placed a quantity of pounded
glass in a hole made in a brick, and having caused the
electrical discharge of the battery to pass through the
pounded glass, they succeeded in forming tubes exactly
similar to those formed by atmospherical electricity. One
of those which they made was an inch long, its external
diameter varying from one sixteenth to one eighth of an
inch, and its internal diameter being the fiftieth of an
inch. In another experiment, where a little chloride of
sodium was mixed with the pounded glass, the length of
the tube was an inch and a fifth, and of uniform diameter.
Its mean external diameter was one fifth of an inch, and
its internal diameter one twentieth of an inch. When they
used powder of felspar or pounded quartz, they could not
succeed in making the tubes.
Among the phenomena of atmospherical electricity, Hail,
one of the most interesting is the production of hailstones,
particularly those of an enormous size. The connection
1 The returning stroke of lightning, when it passes from mountains or places containing iron and other metals, must necessarily
carry along with it these substances in a stale of extreme subdivision. See p. G20.
622
ELECTRICITY.
Laws.
Volta’s
theory.
Matteuc-
Phenome- between the formation of hail and an atmosphere highly
11 a and charged with electricity has been long ago recognised ;
but our almost total ignorance of the subject may be in¬
ferred from the character of the hypotheses which have
been framed to account for the production of hail. Volta
supposes that a small globule of snow becomes a hail¬
stone, gradually increasing in size by being kept in a
state of reciprocating motion between two clouds charged
with opposite kinds of electricity, until the gravity of the
constantly increasing mass overpowers the electrical force,
or till the electricity of the clouds is spent by their mu¬
tual re-action. M. Matteucci has justly objected to this
ci’s theory, strange hypothesis, that it is difficult to conceive how a
hailstone nearly two pounds in weight could be formed
by such a process. He denies that the clouds possess an
electric force sufficient to produce such an effect; and,
admitting that such a force dees exist, he maintains that
the electricity would be directly discharged from the one
to the other. M. Matteucci conceives that the hailstones
are produced instantaneous!)', and that they fall completely
formed. He considers that there can be only two epochs
in their formation, viz. the production of the snowy nu¬
cleus ; and, secondly, that of the icy crust which covers
it. When a cloud has its temperature greatly reduced, it
is easy to conceive its surface covered with small flocks
of snow; and if an electrical discharge should in this
case pass through it, it would give rise to hail, by oblig¬
ing the cooled vesicles to condense round each snowy
nucleus. It is this shock, he observes, which is necessary
to destroy the inertia of the particles, which ought to
unite to each other, as is seen in the experiment of the
congelation of water with the cryophorus of Wollaston.
M. Matteucci was led to these views by studying the
hail-storm which took place at Tussi on the 24th July
1832. About six o’clock a. m., after a brilliant sun, the
whitish and scattered clouds were seen suddenly to unite,
and to form a thick mass scarcely detached from the ho¬
rizon, and which covered the country with a thick dark¬
ness, that continued uninterrupted by the effects of strong
electrical discharges. An impetuous north-west wind soon
rose, and was followed by copious rain mixed with hail.
This storm, which lasted about fifteen minutes, was fol¬
lowed by a lucid interval, after which there fell a thick
snow, which ceased and began again several times. “ I
do not wish,” says M. Matteucci, “ to cite any facts which
might appear fabulous ; but it appears certain that a hail¬
stone was found which weighed fourteen pounds, and that
another in falling upon a house* forced its way through
the roof; that trees from three to six centimeters in dia¬
meter were destroyed ; that oxen were wounded, and that
several walls were overthrown or rent by the force of the
hail. I state as certain, the fact that hailstones collected
a few instants after their fall, still weighed a pound and a
half. M. Pouillet assures us that he can himself certify
that hailstones have fallen half a pound in weight. I can
certify that they have fallen three times that weight.”
In consequence of the demonstrated connection be¬
tween hailstones and a certain electrical state of our at¬
mosphere, M. Lapostoile, professor of physic at Amiens,
proposed to protect vineyards and other cultivated grounds
from the destructive effects of hail, by erecting wooden
poles twenty-five feet high, for the purpose of carrying
off the atmospherical electricity. The use of these hail-
rods has extended itself over France, Switzerland, Ger¬
many, and Italy ; and it is not easy to resist the evidence
that has been collected of their efficacy, notwithstanding
the opposition that they have met with from many scien¬
tific individuals. Each pole is supposed to protect a circle
of a hundred or a hundred and thirty feet, in the centre
of which they are placed. Rods of metal being too ex¬
Paragreles.
pensive, they are made of wood, in a way which will be Phenon
described in a subsequent part of this article. Each rod n» am
does not cost more than a few shillings, and the practice Ijaws
is to take them up after having put them under cover w^'
with the other rural implements, and replace them at the
vernal equinox.
Another phenomenon, which is either formed by at-Water-
mospherical electricity or connected with it, is the wa-sP°uts.
ter-spout, a meteor of rare occurrence, and often most
destructive in its effects. That distinct electrical pheno¬
mena are developed during the continuance of certain wa¬
ter-spouts cannot be doubted ; but the electricity has in
these cases been supposed to be a secondary phenomenon,
produced by the motion of the air. This view of the sub¬
ject has received some support from the researches of M.
le Comte Xavier de Maistre, who has succeeded in imitat¬
ing the principal phenomena of water-spouts, and even the
co-existing ascending and descending currents, by the me¬
chanical circular motion of a liquid; and it is to this me¬
chanism of the water-spout that the electrical phenomena
are ascribed. The lower parts of the atmosphere, and those
above the clouds, are brought to the same point by the
two interior and opposite currents of the spout, and strata
of air charged with vapour, and often with different electri¬
cities, are thus brought into union, and produce the elec¬
trical phenomena in question.
The well-known phenomenon called sheet or summer light- Sheet o
ning has recently been examined by M. Matteucci of Bo-
logna. This ingenious author considers it to be proved1^11,11
that there is an accumulation of one of the two electrici¬
ties at the surface of the earth; and he ascribes this elec¬
tricity either to evaporation or to the analogous causes
which M. Pouiilet has substituted for it, or to chemical
actions which are constantly going on in the interior of
the earth. In order that this electricity may not escapeMatleu
and pass immediately into the mass of the globe, as soon “
as it is developed it is necessary that the ground in which j|.tnill
it is accumulated may not be a conductor, either from its
own nature, or in consequence of the evaporation which
dries it. It is also chiefly in high and insulated places
rather than in the plains, above rocks rather than above
forests, in summer rather than in winter, in the middle
of the day rather than in the night, that these stormy
clouds show themselves, whose formation cannot be well
accounted for but by the influence of the electricity which
the ground retains. To what other cause, he asks, can
we attribute those clouds which are sometimes suddenly
formed on the flanks of mountains, and afterwards rise
into the air, without any variation of temperature, any
change of barometrical pressure, or any other apparent
modifleation in the state of the atmosphere? In applying
these principles to the explanation of summer lightning,
he considers the electricity of the earth's surface to be de¬
tained there by the desiccation of the ground, which renders
it an insulator. At the moment of sunset, and during the
night, the vapours which are thus condensed by cooling
near the ground form a conducting stratum which serves to
re-establish by degrees the electrical equilibrium between
the atmosphere and the earth, which are charged with op¬
posite electricities. It is chiefly in the plains, he conceives,
that we ought to observe sheet lightning; and it ought to
last a much longer time, because on elevated and insulat¬
ed places the flow of electricity accumulated during the
day will be much more rapid, on account of their form and
position in the middle of an atmosphere more rare, more
cold, and consequently more highly charged with vapours.
These electrical discharges between the ground and the
atmosphere may, according to our author, take place with
much force, and produce even violent effects, especially
if the ground and the atmosphere are too much dried;
ienome-
1a and
Laws.
iirora bo-
ilis.
ELECTRICITY. G23
and he supposes that some earthquakes, and particularly atmosphere, such as from 62 and 105 miles, the lowest as I’henome-
those which take place after great droughts, may be owing given by Cavendish and Dalton, to 500 and even 1000 antl
to this cause. This supposition explains, in a satisfactory miles, as measured by other observers; but that they ap-
manner, the process employed by the ancients, and often pear even close to the earth, in the lowest region of the
with success, to protect from earthquakes those places atmosphere, is clearly established by a decisive observation
which are subject to them, and which are particularly of Captain Parry’s.1 In the first of these cases it would
those where the nature of the ground renders the accu- be in vain to look for electrical indications, when the me-
mulation of electricity easy, and its escape difficult. This teor is so far beyond the sphere of our electroscopes and
process consisted in sinking into the ground, even to a the reach of hearing; but, in the latter case, we may rea-
considerable depth, long bars of iron, which, according to sonably expect not only to observe the peculiar electric
the explanation given above, ought to facilitate the esta- state of the atmosphere, but also to hear the sound which
blishment of the electric equilibrium, by establishing a invariably accompanies the passage of the fluid. This view
metallic communication between the interior of the ground of the subject reconciles the apparently contradictory ob-
and the surface, which, by its insulating faculty, retains servations which have been made on the aurora; and the
its electricitv. connection of the phenomenon with the magnetic meridian,
Among the atmospheric meteors generated by electri- as well as its influence in certain cases on the magnetic
city the aurora borealis holds a distinguished place. The needle, present no difficulty since the recent discoveries
phenomena which it exhibits have already been fully de- respecting the connection between electricity and mag-
scribed under another article (the Aurora Borealis), netism.
hut it belongs to our present subject to treat briefly of its That the other luminous phenomena of the atmosphere Fire-balls.
electrical origin. The crackling and hissing noise of elec- have their origin in its electricity cannot be doubted. Pire-
tricity passing from one place to another" has been dis- balls or globes of fire have been observed at altitudes from
tinctiy heard in this country by Mr Nairne and M. Ca- 30 to 100 miles, and moving with velocities varying from
vallo, and we can ourselves bear testimony to the same 5 to 33 miles in a second. These balls of light sometimes
fact. In the north of Europe the sound accompanying the leave behind them a luminous track after they have va-
northern lights is an universally admitted fact, and proves nished. Sometimes they explode into globes of a smaller
beyond a doubt that, in certain auroras at least, the atmo- size, sometimes they are dispersed into divided sparks, and
sphere is highly charged with electricity. Mr Trevelyan at other times they are accompanied with showers of me-
learned when he was in Faroe that the peculiar smell teoric stones. Falling or shooting stars are only the same
which accompanies electrical discharges was distinctly felt phenomena on a smaller scale; they appear at all seasons,
during a brilliant aurora ; and in the year 1821 Sir David but most frequently during the prevalence of the northern
Brewster had the good fortune to observe, at Belleville in lights, and generally in the lower regions of the atmo-
Inverness-shire, an aurora the phenomena of which were sphere. The prismatic columns of light which were ob-
actually combined with those of a thunder-storm. This served by Mr Fisher and others in the arctic regions have
case is so remarkable, and so instructive, that we shall give obviously an electrical origin. “ On the afternoon of the Columns of
the description of it in his own words: “ On the evening 25th October Mr Fisher observed at Winter Harbour two light.
of the 29th August, about half past nine o’clock, p. m., vertical columns of prismatic colours, about 15° on each
when there was" not a breath of wind, and when the ther- side of the sun, which was below the horizon; they were
mometer stood at 63°, the noise of very distant thunder about 5° long, and their lower end touched the horizon :
was heard towards the south ; sheets of very brilliant they continued for about an hour, from noon to one o’clock-
lightning illuminated the sky, issuing in general from a Similar columns were observed two or three times, and
small black cloud near the horizon. 1 was surprised, how- about the same time the aurora appeared.
ever, to observe, that, with the exception of a few thin The fireof St Elmo,or Castorand Follux, is a brilliant hgnt Fire of St
black clouds, which were rendered visible by the light- which frequently appears on the summits of ships’masts, on Elmo.
ning, the greater part of the sky was covered with shining the points of bayonets, on the tops of speai s, and on the
masses, like those which form the aurora borealis. The tips of the ears of horses. It is obviously nothing moie than
stars were easily seen through this luminous matter, which the electricity discharging itself either from or into pointec
was arranged in irregular masses separated by clear in- bodies. Its connection with the electrical state of the
tervals, but having a tendency to assume the appearance atmosphere is obvious from the following account of the
of irradiations diverging from the cloud whence the light- phenomenon as given by Lord Napier, who saw it in the
ning appeared to issue. When the lightning flashed, it Mediterranean in June 1818. “ About nine, when the
was propagated in a particular manner along these masses ship was becalmed, the darkness became intense, and w as
of light; but, what was very singular, the luminous patches rendered still more sensible by the yellow fire that gleamed
were constantly in a tremulous or undulating motion upon the horizon to the south, and associated by the deep-
during the intervals of the flashes of lightning. They toned thunder which rolled at intervals in the mountains,
shifted their place and changed their form exactly like accompanied by repeated flashes of that forked lightning
the light which appears in many of the varieties of the whose eccentric course and dire effects set all description
aurora borealis. As the luminous clouds now described at defiance. By half past nine the hands were got aloit
did not appear in the northern part of the horizon, and to furl the top-gallant sails and reef the top-sails, in pie-
were distinctly related in their position and form to the paration for the threatening storm. When retiring to rest,
thunder-cloud from which the lightning emanated, we a sudden cry of St Elme and St Ann was heard horn t lose
are entitled to refer the two classes of phenomena to the aloft and fore and aft the deck. On observing the appear-
peculiar electrical condition of the atmosphere, and to ance of the masts, the main top-gallant-mast head, from
suppose that the phenomena of the aurora borealis may the truck, for three feet downwards, was completely enye-
have an analogous origin.” It seems now to be clearly loped in a blaze of pale phosphoric light flitting and cieeping
proved that aurorae exist not only at great heights in our round the surface of the mast. The fore and nuzen top-
1 Mr \V. C. Trevelyan observed that the aurora borealis in Faroe and Shetland was often seen very low, not more than 40 or GO
feet above the sea, and he learned that in both countries it is distinctly heard.
624 ELECTRICITY.
Phenome- gallant-mast heads exhibited a similar appearance. This
na and lambent flame preserved its intensity for the space of eight
v ^aws- or ten minutes, and then it gradually became fainter, till
it diminished at the end of half an hour.”
An interesting case of the fire of St Elmo, in which the
electricity first settled on the most prominent metallic
body, and then on the bodies next in conducting power,
is described in the memoirs of the Count de Forbin. “ In
the night,” says he, “ it became extremely dark, and it
thundered and lightned fearfully. As we were threaten¬
ed with the ship being torn to pieces, I ordered the sails
to be taken in. We saw upon different parts of the ship
above thirty St Helmo’s fires; amongst the rest was one
upon the top of the vane of the mainmast, more than a foot
and a half in height. I ordered one of the sailors to take
the vane down; but scarcely had he taken the vane from
its place, when the fire fixed itself upon the top of the
mainmast, from which it was impossible to remove it.”
Sometimes the electricity of the atmosphere shows itself
at the yard arms and mast heads of vessels, in the form of
balls of fire. Captain Clavering of the Griper experienced
a severe gale, which lasted three days without intermission,
when about 100 miles to the west of the Fiord of Dron-
theim. This gale was remarkable for the small amount
of the effect produced on the barometer, on its approach,
during its continuance, or after its cessation ; and Captain
Clavering was induced, from this and other causes, to
ascribe it to a disturbed state of electricity in the atmo¬
sphere. It was accompanied with very vivid lightning,
which is particularly unusual in high latitudes during
winter, and by the frequent appearance and continuance
for several minutes of balls of fire at the yard arms and
mast heads. Of these no fewer than eight were counted
at one time. This phenomenon is obviously an interesting
variety of the fire of St Elmo.
■*Fhe observations which have been detailed in the pre¬
ceding section place it beyond a doubt that the electri¬
city generated in our atmosphere is identical with that
which is developed by friction. Philosophers, however,
have sought to establish their similarity as chemical agents.
M. Bonjol, for example, has decomposed water by means
of the electricity of the air collected by an insulated
pointed rod, in stormy states of the atmosphere ; and the
late unfortunate Mr Alexander Barry, who lost his life in
the cause of science, succeeded in August 1824 in decom¬
posing a solution of sulphate of soda coloured with syrup
of violets. Bubbles of hydrogen appeared in the tube con¬
nected with the string of the electrical kite, while bubbles
of oxygen appeared in the tube connected with the ground.
In about ten minutes the blue liquid in the first tube became
green from the separation of the soda, while the sulphuric
acid, by passing to the pole in the bther tube, changed its
contents, as usual, red. See page 632.
CHAP. III. ON THE CHANGES PRODUCED BY ELECTRI¬
CITY ON ORGANIC AND INORGANIC BODIES.
Changes That electricity is a powerful agent in the material
produced wrorld, has long been the opinion of those who have studied
by electri- its effects. We have clearly seen that it performs a dis-
clt-' tinguished part in the economy of our atmosphere ; but there
is reason to believe that its agency is still more general,
and that it exercises an influence almost universal over the
laws of inorganic matter, as well as over the functions of or¬
ganic life. Our knowledge, however, on these subjects is
but in its infancy; and though the following sections will
present to the reader many interesting and important phe¬
nomena, he will not fail to deduce from them the conclusion,
that a wide field of discovery is yet unexplored, and that
there is no branch of science more likely to reward the dili- Phenon
gence of the young philosopher than that which treats of naan
the agency of the electric fluid in animal and vegetable Laws
life, its effects upon inorganic matter, and its connection
with the imponderable agents of light and heat. The gene¬
ral effects of electrical action may be comprehended under
the following heads:
1. On the mechanical changes produced by electricity
on inorganic bodies.
2. On the chemical changes produced by electricity on
inorganic bodies.
3. On the changes produced by electricity on phospho¬
rescent bodies.
4. On the changes produced by electricity on odori¬
ferous bodies.
5. On the magnetic effects of electricity.
6. On the effects of electricity on animal bodies.
7. On the effects of electricity on vegetable bodies.
Sect. I.— On the Mechanical Changes produced by Electri¬
city on Inorganic Bodies.
Although we know nothing of the real nature of the elec-Mechar
trie principle, yet, from its properties and effects, it hascale^e(
been found convenient to speak of it as a fluid. Its action0?e!ect
upon bodies which either obstruct its motion, or afford it •’
a ready passage, renders its analogy with a fluid still more
striking, and we are thus enabled to comprehend pheno¬
mena which it would otherwise be more difficult to under¬
stand. A canal with a smooth bottom and sides may be
considered as a good conductor of the aqueous fluid, and
a river with a rocky bed and a tortuous course may be
regarded as a bad conductor. Small quantities of water
turned into each of these conductors will find its way by
a slow movement, without injuring the surfaces over which
it flows, just as a small or a large wire will carry off small
quantities of electricity without suffering any mechanical
change. But when the current of water is deep and strong,
it will overcome its obstructions, burst its barriers, and de¬
stroy the channel which at first confined it; while the same
current running with the same velocity in a smoother bed
will make its way without producing any change upon the
materials over which it runs; in the same manner as a small
metallic wire will sometimes be expanded and sometimes
burst in pieces when it transmits with difficulty an electric
discharge, whereas the same discharge will find an unob¬
structed passage through a wire of still greater diameter.
The influence of electricity in expanding solid bodies Expans
was discovered by Dr Priestley during his experiments on
the effects of explosion through metallic substances, when
he found that a chain was actually shortened after the charge
of a battery had been sent through it. A length of chain
of exactly twenty-eight inches, after having transmitted a
charge of sixty-four square feet of coated glass, was short¬
ened one fourth of an inch, or ^j-gth part of the whole.
Mr Nairne found that a piece of hard drawn iron wire,
ten inches long and y^yth of an inch in diameter, after re¬
ceiving many times in succession a discharge of twenty-six
feet of coated glass (or nine jars), was shortened ^ths of an
inch, or yyyd of an inch, by such discharge. Its length was
examined after the sixth, ninth, and fifteenth discharges.
The total contraction of the wire was fully one inch and one
tenth, or one ninth of the whole length.
Mr Brooke obtained a contraction still higher than this,
by passing a charge of nine bottles or sixteen feet of coated
surface nine times in succession through a steel wire twelve
inches long and y-Qoth of an inch in diameter. The wire
was shortened one inch and a half or one eighth of its
whole length.
If the wire, however, through which the shock is passed
ELECTRICITY. 625
me. iias suspended to it a weight so as to stretch it consider- The reader who has perused with attention our chapter Phenome-
ami ably, the wire will be increased in length, in place of being on Electric Light, will recognise in these experiments the
aws diminished. This effect is by no means inconsistent with origin of those beautiful results which have been obtained
^ose already described. The heat, which, as we shall after- by Fusinieri, by passing the electric shock from a metallic Diffu^ion
£ansion.war(js see, jg aiwayS eVolved during the transmission of an ball to a polished metallic surface; and the diffusion ofofmetals
electric charge, produces a softness short of fluidity, which solid bodies into metallic vapour, as it maybe called, is into va-
allows the extending force to overcome the absolute tena- finely illustrated in the following experiments. Take three pour,
city of the wire. strips of window glass, each about three inches long and
It is very obvious that the contraction of the wire in one one wide, and having placed two narrow strips of gold leaf
dimension in these experiments was owing to its expansion or leaf brass between them, so that the ends of the gold
in a direction at right angles to the length, in the same leaf project a little beyond the glass, transmit the charge
manner as a piece of caoutchouc extended in one direction of a large Leyden jar through the gold leaf. I he gold leaf
is shortened in the other. Mr Nairne indeed observed that will be found to be melted by the shock, and driven into the
the wire had increased in thickness ; but though he used a surface of the glass. The outer plates of glass are gene-
pair of scales which turned with one eighth of a grain, he rally broken in this experiment, and the middle one, which
could not observe any change in the weight of the wire. frequently remains entire, has an indelible metallic stain
The same phenomenon takes place in fluid metals. If, upon each of its surfaces. This stain is obviously the me-
for example, we fill a capillary or thermometer tube with tallic vapour of the gold driven into the pores of the glass,
mercury, and transmit through the mercurial column an The dispersion of gold or silver into a metallic vapoui
electrical charge, the metal will suffer such a degree of ex- may be exhibited in another manner. Let a strip of gold
pansion as to burst the tube to pieces. or silver leaf, or Dutch metal, be fixed with gum to toe
When the body which transmits the shock has a less surface of a piece of paper, and be placed in such a manner
conducting power than metals, the tendency to expand between the forceps of an universal discharger, that a
will of course be still greater. If a little water, for example, strong electrical charge may be passed through it. Ihe
is placed in a glass tube, and a shock passed through the metallic strip will entirely disappear, in consequence of
water, the tube will burst by the expansion of the fluid; having been dispersed into a vapour or powder, pait of
and the experiment will succeed even if a common drink- which remains in a state of oxidation on the paper, which,
ine glass is filled with water and substituted for the tube, from this cause, receives a greenish-brown tinge.
Beccaria placed a drop of water in the centre of a solid Ihe metallic colours thus obtained have been employe
glass-ball, and burst the ball by transmitting a shock for impressing ornamental figures upon paper or silk. In
through the fluid drop. This experiment was beautifully order to do this, trace the outline of the figures on thick
varied by the Italian philosopher, who constructed a small drawing paper, and having cut it out as in stincil plates,
mortar, and having put a ball into it, he placed behind the place it on the silk or paper intended to be ornamented,
ball a drop of water, so as to lie between the two wires When a gold leaf is laid upon it, and a. card above the
which passed through the side of the mortar. When an gold leaf, the whole is placed in a press or beneath a weight,
electric charge was sent through the two wires, the ex- and an electrical charge sent through it; the metallic stain
pansion sustained by the water drove out the ball with is limited to the portion of the drawing paper that is cut
great velocity. M. Lullin gave the ball a still greater im- away, and consequently any outline figure may be readily
pulsion by substituting a drop of oil for the drop of water, impressed upon the ground employed to receive it.
Even when the conductor is air, a violent expansive ef- Dr Franklin was the first person who impressed metallic
feet is created during the transmission of the electric shock, stains upon glass by electrical discharges. Tine gold com-
This effect is well shown by fitting a cork cap into an ivory municated a reddish stain and silver a greenish one, and
mortar having a cavity an inch deep and half an inch wide, the metallic vapour, when driven into the pores of glass,
When a shock is sent through the wire in this cavity, it is was able to resist the action of the strongest aqua regia.
expanded so suddenly as to drive out the cork with great
violence.
When the electric shock is made to pass through solid Sect. II.— On ihe Chemical Changes produced by Electric
bodies which are imperfect conductors, such as wood, stone, city on Inorganic Bodies.
sugar, and glass, they will be broken by the expansion which ... ^ • i
is produced. In the case of glass not very thick, it will be The effects of electricity as a chemical agent are strik-Chemica
broken into innumerable pieces. When the glass is so thick ingly displayed in its power of evolving heat, and conse‘Educed
as to resist the shock, it is marked with vivid prismatic co- quently of inflaming and fusing bodies, and lt.s.PowerLot ky eiectri.
lours, which Mr Henley supposes to be thin laminae of promoting chemical composition and decomposition. ^ecity.
the glass separated from one another by the shock. influence of electricity in producing combustion ma} e
The expansive effect created by the shock is finely exhi- shown by several beautiful experiments. # .
bited by dipping a clean brass chain in melted rosin, and Eocp. 1. do light a candle by electricity. Having wrap vo ution
laying it upon paper. If the charge of thirty-two square ped some loose cotton wool round the extremity of a longot ea .
feet of coated glass is sent through it, the resinous coating brass pin or wire, roll the cotton in the powder of white
will be driven off from every part of the chain, which will or yellow rosin. Bring the naked end of the wne into
be entirely cleared of it. contact with the external coating, while the cotton end is
When a clean uncoated brass chain is laid upon a plate applied to the brass knob of a charged jar, and the rosin
of glass, and a charge of thirty-two square feet passed and cotton will be instantly inflamed,
through it, the glass will be marked in every part of its sur- By dipping the cotton in oil of turpentine, and using a
face where it was touched by the chain, every marking large jar, the cotton may be inflamed m a similar manner ;
having the width and colour of the link. The metal could and its inflammation will be promoted by strewing upon it
be scraped off the glass at the outside of the mark, but some fine brass dust.
it was actually driven in other places into the pores of the Exp. 2. To light a candle in another way. rus a
glass. Dr Priestley, who made this interesting experiment, wire up through the middle of the candle to within a
produced a similar effect upon glass with a silver chain, short distance of the wick, and having connected the out-
and small pieces of other metals. side coating of a charged jar, by means of a chain, with the
VOL. VIII. K
626
Phenome¬
na and
Laws.
Inflamma¬
tion of bo¬
dies.
ELECTRICITY.
Mr Snow
Harris’s
instrument
*br measur¬
ing the
evolution
of heat.
Plate
CCXIY.
Fig, 1, 2.
lower end of the wire, touch the wick with the knob of
the jar, and the candle will be lighted.
Exp. 3. To inflame phosphorus, fyc. Having placed
powdered phosphorus, rosin, or camphor, on some cotton
wool, and wrapped it round one of the knobs of a discharg¬
ing rod, apply the knob thus covered to the ball of a
charged jar, and the naked knob to the external coating
of the jar, and the powder will be set on fire.
Powdered rosin floating on water may be set on fire by
transmitting a charge over the surface of the water be¬
tween two points.
Exp. 4. To inflame alcohol or ether. The alcohol or
ether being placed in an insulated metallic cup, electrify the
cup, and upon taking a spark from the cup either with the
knuckle or any other conductor, the fluid will be set on fire.
If ether is placed in a thin stratum upon the surface of
water, in a clean wine glass, a spark taken from the surface
will inflame the ether when the water is connected with
the prime conductor.
Exp. 5. To inflame gunpowder. Upon the end of an
insulated metallic wire fix a small cartridge, and when
the cartridge is presented to the knob of a charged jar, the
powder which it contains will be exploded.
Exp. 6. To exhibit the heat evolved by electricity. Take
a wooden rod, for example one of red fir, about one inch
thick and ten inches long, and place it between the ball
of the conductor and the conducting wire ; put the ball of
a thermometer in a hole bored in the wood, and in a few
minutes the mercury will rise to about 112°. Van Marum,
who made this experiment, found that in three minutes the
mercury rose from 61° to 88°, and in five minutes to 112°.
The evolution of heat by electricity is finely shown by
means of a beautiful and delicate instrument constructed
by Mr Snow Harris. Mr Children and other philosophers
had deduced from a variety of facts that the heat evolved
by a metallic wire while transmitting an electric charge, is
in some inverse ratio of its conducting power; and hence
Mr Harris was desirous of measuring the relative degrees
of heat so evolved by various metals and alloys in a gaseous
medium such as air, and thus to discover their precise re¬
lations as conductors of electricity. The instrument which
he used for this purpose is represented in Plate CCXIV.
fig 1, and is little more than an air thermometer, the me¬
tallic wire to be examined being made to pass air-tight
through the ball. A glass tube CDA, whose bore is re¬
gular, and somewhat less than one tenth of an inch, has
one of its extremities DA bent upwards and outwards for
about two inches, and is united by welding to a spherical Phenoi
reservoir A, containing a coloured fluid.1 This tube is naan
fixed to a correctly divided scale E, supported by a suit- Ijawi
able base ; and the zero of the scale is at o, on a level with
the coloured fluid in the reservoir A. Above the reser¬
voir A is screw ed air-tight, by means of brass caps closely
cemented, a glass ball B, three inches in diameter; and
through this ball a metallic wire m, n, varying from yJ-th
to jth of an inch in diameter, may be passed air-tight by
means of small flanges of brass m, n, fig 2, cemented in
and round two holes drilled through the ends, each flanch
having a small projecting shoulder to receive the wire,
and upon wdiich are screwed two brass balls a, b, so as to
render the whole air-tight. In order to fix the wire, the
brass parts are made quite clean internally, and the wire
being passed directly through them, is gently stretched,
and then compressed in the holes by small pegs of tough
wood, so as to insure a good contact. The pegs and the
wire are allowed to project a little, to enable the observer
to substitute different wires expeditiously. When an
electrical explosion of sufficient force is now made to tra¬
verse the wire m, n in the ball B, the heat which it evolves
will be made evident by the ascent of the coloured fluid
along the scale E.
Mr Harris now submitted to examination equal wires
of different metals ; and in order to insure the transmission
of equal and similar explosions through each of them, he
adopted the following contrivance. Two equal brass balls
were fixed at a given distance, as in Lane’s discharging elec¬
trometer. One of them, which was insulated, was placed
in immediate connection with the positive side of the bat¬
tery, while the other was connected with the negative side;
the metallic wire to be examined forming part of the cir¬
cuit. This last connection was made by means of two fixed
copper wires inserted into the balls on each side of the
glass, and made perfect at the points of junction. When
the charge therefore of the battery was sufficiently intense
to pass the given interval, the discharge took place through
the wire in the ball. Mr Harris used a battery of Jive
jars, each containing square feet of coated surface.
They were placed on a metallic base communicating with
the negative conductor, and were charged by means oflong
copper rods projecting immediately from the bottom of
each jar. The machine employed was a plate one, with a
disc of glass three feet in diameter.
The results which Mr Harris obtained from an exten¬
sive series of experiments are given in the following table
Metals.
Copper 
Silver 
Gold 
Zinc 
Platinum 
Iron 
Tin 
Lead 
Brass 
Gold 1 part, copper 1 part..,
Gold 3 parts, copper 1 part.
Gold 1 part, copper 3 parts.
Effects.
Metals.
6
6
9
18
30
30
36
72
18
20
25
15
^ (
f-5
Copper 1 part, silver 1 part...
Copper 1 part, silver 3 parts.
Copper 3 parts, silver 1 part.
Gold 1 part, silver 1 part 
Gold 1 part, silver 3 parts....,
Gold 3 parts, silver 1 part....,
Tin 1 part, lead 1 part 
Tin 3 parts, lead 1 part 
Tin 1 part, lead 3 parts........
Tin l part, zinc 1 part 
Tin 3 parts, zinc 1 part 
v Copper 8 parts, tin 1 part.
Effects
6
6
6
20
J5
25
54
45
63
27
32
18
Mr Snd
Harris’
experi¬
ments (
the evo
tion off
by eled
city.
Considering the heat to be in the inverse ratio of the heats evolved from silver and copper are alike, and also
conducting power, it appears from this table, ls£, That the those from iron and platinum, and from zinc and brass,
1 Ibis fluid may consist of rectified alcohol, one part distilled water, three parts coloured tincture of cochineal, with a little sul¬
phuric acid to make the whole sour.
ELECTRICITY.
627
I nome- while the heats evolved from lead and tin are as 2:1; and
und from zinc and gold, and from brass and gold, as 2:1. 2e%,
.aws. silver and copper being regarded as the best conduc-
"Y'w' tors, from being the least heated by the explosion, the con¬
ducting power of
Gold to copper will be as 2: 3
Zinc or brass to copper or silver 1: 3
Platinum or iron to copper or silver..! : 5
Tin to copper or silver 1: 6
Lead to capper or silver 1:12
‘idly, That the conducting power of an alloy of gold and
copper, or gold and silver, is less than either metal se¬
parately ; and that the difference in the conducting power
increases with the quantity of the inferior conductor al¬
loyed ; and that tin and lead in alloy have a conducting
power equal to the mean of their two separate conducting
powers. And, kthly, that copper alloyed with an eighth
part of its weight of tin becomes as much heated by an
electrical explosion as iron.
slot! of Many beautiful experiments have been made by differ-
itallic ent philosophers, on the fusion of metallic wires. Mr
es‘ Kinnersley, in the presence of Dr Franklin, transmitted
the charge of a case of bottles through a fine iron wire.
After first appearing red hot, the wire was melted into
spherical drops like small shot. With a battery of thirty-
two square feet, Dr Priestley melted into globules wires
even so large as the seventieth of an inch in diameter,
sometimes placing them in tubes of glass, and sometimes
in paper. The most complete experiments, however, on
the fusion of wires were made by Mr Brooke, Van Ma-
rum, Baron Kienmayer, Mr Cuthbertson, and Mr Singer.
The following are a selection from their most successful
experiments.
The last of these experiments was made by Mr Cuth¬
bertson, and the last but one by Mr Singer. Mr Singer
found that the power of any coated surface to melt wires
varies with the thickness of the jars; which confirms the
conclusion of Mr Cavendish, that the quantity of electri¬
city necessary to charge different jars of the same extent
of coated surface is inversely as the thickness of the jars.
'■Sin- “ The effects of gradually increasing the power of the
r’s expe-charge,” says Mr Singer, “ when wires of the same length
nents. an(i dimeter are employed, are very remarkable. If the
wire be iron or steel, its colour is first changed to yellow,
then (by an increased charge) blue, by a further increase it
becomes red hot, then red hot and fused into balls ; it we
continue to increase the charge, it becomes red hot and
drops into balls, then disperses in a shower of balls, and
lastly disappears with a bright flash, producing an apparent
smoke, which, if collected, is a very fine powder, weigh¬
ing more than the metal employed, and consisting of it
and a portion of the oxygen of the atmosphere, with which
it has combined.”
The experiments of Van Marum were made with a
much greater extent of coated surface, and the effects
No. of
Bottles.
15
jars
Square
Feet of
Coated
Surface-
16
16
48
48
40
Grairs of
Repulsion
inBrooke’s
Electro
meter.
Length
of
Wire.
32
32
30
45
4
15
12
12
3
1
3
6
18
60
Diameter
of Wire.
yfo
rL
T7J5
T70
T7Lo
 J 
15 0
1
250
1
iTo
Efffect produced.
Steel wire melted.
Brass ditto ditto.
Steel ditto ditto.
Steel wire not ditto.
Steel wire melted.
Lead ditto ditto.
Iron ditto ditto.
Iron ditto ditto.
produced were consequently much more intense,
following are a few of his results :
The
Square Feet
of Coated
Surface.
130
130
225
225
225
225
225
225
225
Length of
the Wire.
180 inches
300
120
1.20
5
3-5
0-25
0-25
0-25
Diameter in
parts of
an inch.
TST
i
240
1
737
1
3TT
1
-T3:
33
33
33
Effect produced.
Iron wire melted.
Iron ditto ditto.
Lead ditto ditto.
Tin ditto ditto.
Iron ditto ditto.
Gold ditto ditto.
Silver ditto ditto.
Copper ditto ditto.
Brass ditto ditto.
Phenome¬
na and
Laws.
Van Ma-
rum’s ex¬
periments.
In the course of these experiments Van Marum observ¬
ed the curious fact, that when a charge of 225 square feet
of coated surface was transmitted through fifty feet of iron
wire, the jars were not entirely discharged, and the residual
charge was capable of melting two feet of the same wire.
With the view of determining the relative fusibility of
different metals, Van Marum applied the same electrical
charge to wires of different metals drawn to the same dia¬
meter. The following were the results with wires the 32d
of an inch in diameter.
Metals. Length of Wire Fused.
Lead 120 inches.
Tin 120
Iron  5
Gold     3^
Silver   4
Copper  %
Hence he concludes that lead and tin are the worst me¬
tals for conductors, and copper, brass, and silver, the best.
M. Cavallo made some interesting experiments on theCavailo’s
fusion of grains of native platinum by means of electricity, experi-
He placed the grains in a groove one tenth of an inchroems.
deep, cut in the surface of a cake of wax. A battery was
discharged through a line of metallic grains thus arrang¬
ed, and in this way they were partially but decidedly
fused. He found the whiter grains to be more easily fused
than those of a dark-grey colour.
Another of the chemical effects of electricity is its power Oxidation
of promoting the combination of metals with oxygen, or, of metals,
what is the same thing, of oxidating them. Beccaria and
others had observed this property of electrical action, but
it is to Mr Cuthbertson and Mr Singer that we owe the
most complete series of experiments on this subject. The Mr Cuth-
apparatus used by Mr Cuthbertson is represented in Plate bertson’s
CCXIII. fig. 5, where AB is a cylinder of glass two inches apparatus,
and a half in diameter and eight inches high. A brass cap ccxill.
is screwed on the lower brass cap B, and in the interior of 5>
the vessel is fixed a small roller CD, on which is coiled a
quantity of wire attached to a pack-thread at intervals of
four inches. Into the centre of the upper cap A is screw¬
ed a brass tube F, about three inches long; the end of
the pack-thread and wire is pushed through it by means
of a long needle, and hog’s lard is placed in the tube so
that the thread and wire may move through it air-tight.
By this means the wire is stretched along the axis of the
glass cylinder, and when one length of it is exploded,
another is drawn forward by the contiguous pack-thread,
without opening the cylinder. The quantity of air ab¬
sorbed in the process is indicated by a gage. It consists
of a glass tube, about ten inches long, screwed into the
lower end of the stop-cock, and plunged in a vessel of
628
ELECTRICITY.
Laws.
Phenome-quicksilver, the rise of which, when the stop-cock isopen-
na and ej5 w;u a measure of the air absorbed. Mr Cuthbert-
son found that the air was always deprived of a portion
of its oxygen. When hydrogen or nitrogen was used in
place of atmospheric air, no oxidation took place in the
wire, and the wire was melted and minutely divided. The
results obtained by Mr Cuthbertson are given in the fol¬
lowing table, each wire being ten inches long.
Mr Cuth-
bertson’s
experi¬
ments.
Metals.
Lead
Tin
Zinc
Iron
Copper
Platina
Silver
Gold
Diameter
of Wire.
i
Vo
i
-So
i
■So
i
TTo
I
15 0
TJO
1
'15 0
1
150
Charge in Grains
of Cuthbertson’s
Electrometer.
20
20
45
35
35
35
40
40
Colour of the Oxide
when collected.
Light grey.
Nearly white.
Nearly white.
Reddish brown.
Purple brown.
Black.
Black.
Brownish purple.
Mr Sin- Mr Singer repeated these experiments with shorter and
ger’s expe-finer wires, and with a moderate electrical charge. The
riments. wires were not placed in receivers, but stretched parallel
to the surface of a sheet of paper, at the distance of one
eighth of an inch. The following were his results with
wires five inches long.
Dr Wol¬
laston’s
experi¬
ments.
Metals.
Lead
Tin
Zinc
Iron
Copper
Platina
Silver
Gold
Diameters
of Wire.
Charge in
Grains of
Cuthbertson’s
Electrometer.
i
TFo
TWO
rhv
TWO
I
iHo
12
11
17
12
12
13
18
18
Colours of the Figures
on Paper.
Brown and blue grey.
Yellow and grey.
Dark brown.
Light brown.
Green, yellow, and brown.
Grey and light brown.
Grey, brown, and green
Purple and brown.
Revival of
metallic
oxides.
When Mr Singer made the explosion over glass, he
found that a portion of the metal appeared immediately
under the wire in an unoxidated state, while the oxidated
portion produced round the other a figure of some width.
The figures are in this way more beautiful, though less
permanent, than when they are produced upon paper.
The oxidating power of common electricity is finely
exhibited in the following experiment, given by Dr Wol¬
laston. Having coloured a card in a strong infusion of
litmus, a current of electric sparks was passed along it
by means of two fine gold points, which touched the card
at the distance of an inch from each other. After a very
few turns of the machine, and when the card was nearly
dry, a redness at the place of the positive wire was dis¬
tinctly manifest to the naked eye; and when the expe¬
riment was repeated with the negative wire on the same
spot, it was restored to its original blue colour.
The metallic oxides may be revived, or restored to the
metallic state, by means of electricity. Beccaria, who
discovered this property, revived the oxide of zinc, and
produced quicksilver from cinnabar by exploding a jar
between two pieces of the calces. The following method
of making this interesting experiment is given by Mr
Singer. Introduce into a glass tube some oxide of tin, so
that the oxide may cover about half an inch of the lower
internal surface of the tube when it is laid horizontally.
Place the tube on the table of Henley’s discharger, and
introduce the pointed wires into its opposite ends, that Phenon
the oxide may lie between them. When several strong na and
charges have been sent through the tube, a part of the Lm-
tube will soon be stained with metallic tin, which has been
revived by the transmitted electricity. The charge of a
very moderate-sized jar is sufficient to revive the mercury
and sulphur which compose vermilion.
The deoxidating power of negative electricity is well il-Deoxid£
lustrated by the following elegant experiment of Dr Wol-ingPow
laston’s. Having coated with wax about two or three inches0;11^
of the middle of a fine silver wire, the hundred andtwen- ec nu
tieth of an inch in diameter, he cut the wire through in
the middle of the wax, so as to expose a section of it.
The two coated extremities of the divided wire were
plunged in a solution of sulphate of copper, placed in an
electric circuit between the two conductors, and sparks
taken at the distance of one tenth of an inch were passed
through the solution. After a hundred turns of the ma¬
chine, the wire communicating with the negative conduc¬
tor had a precipitate formed upon its surface, which by
burnishing was clearly copper, whereas there was no such
coating upon the other wire. The direction of the elec¬
tric current being reversed, the order of the phenomena
was reversed, and the copper was shortly re-dissolved by
the aid of the oxidating power of common electricity, and
a similar precipitate formed upon the opposite wire. Dr
Wollaston obtained similar results from gold wires and a
solution of corrosive sublimate.
The influence of electricity in effecting chemical com-Influem
position and decomposition forms one of the most inte-°fel?ct:
resting departments of electrical and chemical science.C1^ 1.nc
The most valuable researches which have been madep0sition
on this subject were carried on by means of the Voltaic and deo
battery, and must necessarily be detailed under anotherpositior
article ; but the discoveries which were made through the
agency of the electrical machine fall to be recorded in
the present section.
One of the earliest experiments on the influence ofExperi-
electricity as a powerful chemical agent, was made by“’en^rc
Mr Warltire, who fired a mixture of atmospheric air andjV 3
hydrogen gas by means of electricity in a close copper
vessel containing about three pints. Although no air
could escape by the explosion, yet a loss of two grains
was perceived in every experiment. When the vessel
which contained the gases was clean and dry, a dewy
moisture was found adhering to the inside of the vessel.
Guided by this indication, Dr Priestley entered upon the Of Dr
subject. Having placed a blue solution of water and lit- Prieslk
mus in a glass tube, he transmitted through it a current
of electrical sparks from a brass wire. In two or three
minufes the blue liquor became red, particularly at the
part where the sparks entered, and the air inclosed in
the tube was diminished. The appearance of an acid
having been formed at the expense of the air confined
in the tube, induced Dr Priestley to place the tube in the
receiver of an air-pump, so that by gradually exhausting
the air, the part of it inclosed in the tube expanded and
pushed out the discoloured liquor. Upon again admitting
the air, a new portion of the litmus solution was intro¬
duced, while the confined air remained the same as be¬
fore, and resumed the space which it had occupied after
the passage of the electric current. After this the elec¬
trical sparks were no longer able to alter the colour of
the solution, or to cause any decrease in the volume of
the confined air.
In passing a current of electric sparks through olive
oil, turpentine, oil of mint, and ether, Dr Priestley found
that an inflammable gas was evolved.
In his experiments on the gases Dr Priestley was more
successful in transmitting the spark through ammoniacal
ELECTRICITY. .629
ome- gas ; he found that two hundred shocks passed through a C. When the experiment is completed the apparatus is Phenome-
^and* given quantity of the gas produced an increase of volume again weighed. The increase of vyeight is due to the
ws. equal to one fourth of the whole. Upon subsequently mercury introduced, and its volume is equal to that of the
admitting water, the original quantity operated upon was air transferred to the tube A, fig. 6. The bore of the
absorbed, and the remaining gas, equivalent to the ex- tube A was generally one tenth of an inch in diameter,
pansion effected by the electric shocks, was found highly and the aerial column in the bend of the tube from one
inflammable. half to three fourths of an inch.
Dr Priestley likewise passed an electrical current, con- In transmitting the electric spark through this tube,
sisting of slight shocks continued for about an hour, Mr Cavendish, instead of making one end of it communi-
through an inch of carbonic acid gas confined in a glass cate with a conductor, placed an insulated ball at such a
tube one tenth of an inch in diameter, when, upon admit- distance from the conductor as to receive a spark from it,
ting the water, one fourth part only was absorbed. In a and made a communication between that ball and the
similar manner Dr Priestley succeeded in decomposing mercury in one of the glasses, the mercury in the other
carburetted hydrogen, the charcoal being deposited in a glass communicating freely with the ground,
pulverulent form on the interior of the tube. When a In transmitting the electric spark through common air
succession of electric sparks from a moderate-sized con- in contact with a blue aqueous solution of litmus, a red
ductor during the space of five minutes had failed in ef- tint was produced in the solution. When lime-water was
fecting this decomposition, he found that two shocks of inclosed in the tube instead of litmus, and sparks trans-
a jar, each of which might be produced in less than a mitted till there was no further diminution in the volume
quarter of a minute with the same machine in the same of the included air, no cloudiness appeared in the lime-
state, were sufficient to cover the wdiole of the inside of the water, and the diminution of volume, amounting to one
tube with the black carbonaceous matter. Dr Priestley third of the original bulk of the air, exceeded the dimi-
remarked in these experiments that no shock, however nution from deoxidation alone, which would have been
powerful, would decompose the gas, if the quantity ope- only one fifth.
rated upon were great. When this experiment was repeated with some impure
Leri. The power of electricity as a chemical agent was stu- oxygen gas, a considerable diminution of volume waspro-
i tsof died with peculiar success by the Honourable Mr Caven- duced, but there was no cloudiness in the lime-water, and
t Hon. dish. In the year 1781 he fired 500,000 measures of hy- none could be perceived by adding to it a little carbonic
: Ca-' drogen with about two and a half times that quantity of acid gas; a small portion of caustic ammonia, however,
Tlsh‘ atmospheric air, and having by this means obtained a him- produced a brown precipitate. Hence it is obvious that
dred and thirty-five grains of pure water, he was led to the lime-water was saturated with some acid formed in
the conclusion that water was composed of two gases, the process.
viz. oxygen and hydrogen. In pursuing these enquiries Having inclosed in the tube some of the same im-
Mr Cavendish made use of the apparatus shown in fig. 6 pure oxygen in contact with soap leys, the diminution
of Plate CCXIII. The air to be examined was confined of volume proceeded faster than with the lime-water, the
t xm. in a bent glass tube A, filled with mercury, and having its greater strength of the alkaline lixivium acting as a more
. C. ' ends immersed each in a vessel of the same fluid. The powerful absorbent of the acid which was generated.
air to be electrified was introduced by a piece of glass When pure oxygen or pure azote was used no absorp-
. 7. tube ABC, fig. 7. In order to use this apparatus, the tion took place; but when five volumes of pure oxygen
tube ABC being filled with mercury, is introduced as in were mixed with three of common air, the absorption was
fig. 7, with its bent extremity uppermost, into the vessel almost total; and as common air contains about one part
containing the gas, and standing in the pneumatic trough, of oxygen and four of azote, the mixture of five parts of
In this part of the process the orifice at C is stopped by oxygen and three of common air was equivalent to seven
a finger, by withdrawing which a little mercury will de- parts of oxygen and three of azote.
scend through C, and an equal volume'of the gas will Mr Cavendish now supplied the interior of the tube
enter at the end A. When the gas has been admitted in with a little alkaline ley, and having introduced a mix-
suflicient quantity into the tube ABC, it is withdrawn and ture of seven parts of oxygen and three of azote, he trans-
reversed, the end C, which is placed uppermost, remaining mitted a current of electric sparks, admitting fresh gas
carefully closed. The extremity A, which fits the end of as the volume of air diminished. When the diminution
the tube in fig. 6, is introduced beneath the mercury in ceased, a little pure oxygen, and afterwards a little com-
either of the glasses, and by withdrawing the finge* from mon air, were added, in order to see if the absorption ceased
the upper end C of the transferring tube, the mercury will from any want of a proper proportion in the two elements,
descend, and the gas will be forced into the tube A, fig. As this was not the case, the soap leys were separated
6. The orifice of the transferring tube should not be from the mercury, and were found to have become perfect-
greater than that of a common thermometer tube. ly neutral, from their having no effect on the colour of
In order to introduce portions of air successively during litmus. When the leys were evaporated a dry nitrate of
the same experiment, Mr Cavendish used a tube AB of potash was obtained. By repeating this experiment on a
r, 8. a small bore (see fig. 8), a bulb C, and a tube DE, having more extended scale, Mr Cavendish demonstrated that
a bore larger than that of AB. This apparatus having the soap leys had been converted into a solution of nitre,
been first filled with mercury, the bulb C and tube AB and therefore established the great truth that nitric acid
are filled with the gas, by introducing the end A beneath had been formed during the process, and that nitric acid
the inverted jar, upon the shelf of the pneumatic trough, is a compound of oxygen and azote.
and then drawing the mercury from the leg D by means By means of the great Teylerian electrical machine at Apparatus
. of a syphon. The aperture A being closed, the apparatus Haerlem, Van Marum, Van Troostwyk, &c. made many and expe-
is weighed. The extremity A, fig. 8, is then fitted into experiments on the chemical agency of electricity. The™™®1^0
the end of the tube A, fig. 6. When it is required to force apparatus which they used, shown in Plate CCXIII. fig. 9, rum/
air out of this apparatus into the tube, a wooden cylinder consists of a tube of glass DE, twelve inches long and a
with a tight fitting is thrust down into the tube ED, an quarter of an inch in diameter, hermetically sealed, and
additional quantity of mercury being occasionally poured having a gold or platina wire Dc? an inch and a half long
in at E to supply the place of what is forced into the bulb fixed at D. Another platina wire Ee was carried up from
ELECTRICITY.
630
Phenome-the open end ot the tube E to e, within one eighth of an
na and jnch of the end d of the upper wire. The tube DE hav-
ing been filled with distilled water, the open end of it E
Apparatus was jmmersefi in a vessel V containing quicksilver, and
and expe- t^ie upper end D of the wire Do? was brought into con-
riments of tact with the insulated brass ball C, placed at a little dis-
Van Ma- tance from AB, the prime conductor of the electrical ma-
^h1, chine. The lower wire Ee, immersed in quicksilver, com¬
municated with a chain VG connected with the outer
coating of a Leyden jar containing about a hundred and
forty-four square inches of coated glass, and having its
ball M in contact with the prime conductor AB. When
the electrical discharges were sent through the distilled
water, the gas was disengaged as long as the ball C was
in contact with the conductor; but upon increasing its
distance, a position was found where the gas was disen¬
gaged, and ascended to the top of the tuber, The evolu¬
tion of the gas continued till it reached nearly the lower
extremity of the upper wire, and then a discharge caused
the whole gas to disappear, its place being supplied by
water. With this apparatus the Dutch philosophers made
the following experiments.
Oxygen gas from re<\ precipitate had its original volume
diminished one twentieth, and the properties of what re¬
mained were not changed.
Nitrous gas had its volume diminished to less than one
half. There were no red fumes when it was mixed with
atmospheric air, neither was there any condensation. It
would not support combustion, and it lost its usual smell.
A kind of powder covered the surface of the mercury, con¬
sisting of a new combination formed from the mercury.
Hydrogen gas, obtained from sulphuric acid and iron,
suffered no diminution. Owing probably to some admix¬
ture of common air, it gave a slight redness to tincture of
turnsol.
Olefiant gas from sulphuric acid and alcohol had its
original volume tripled, and in some degree lost its inflam¬
mability.
Sulphurous acid gas, from sulphuric acid and char¬
coal, had only one eighth of its volume absorbed by water.
Black spots were formed on the inside of the glass receiv¬
er. It had little smell, and extinguished a candle.
Muriatic acid gas experienced a considerable diminu¬
tion of volume, but the remainder was readily absorbed
by water. The electric sparks would not pass through
more than two inches and a quarter of this gas.
Carbonic acid gas from sulphuric acid and chalk had
its volume increased a little, and was made less absorbable
by water.
Ammoniacal gas\\a.& its volume at first almost doubled,
and then experienced a slight diminution. It became in¬
capable of being absorbed by water, and exploded by the
contact of flarqe.
Fluoric acid gas experienced no perceptible change.
Atmospheric air gave a slight redness to tincture of
turnsol, and at the same time became sensibly deoxyge-
nated. The diminution of volume was j-^-ths, the mean
of three experiments ; and of the same air not electrified
£§§ths, the mean of three experiments.
I he Dutch philosophers made many other experiments
which we have not space to describe, and in 1789 they
succeeded in repeating the experiment of Cavendish on
the decomposition of water.
Dr Wol- Hitherto a powerful apparatus was deemed necessary
laston’sex-for effecting the decomposition of water, and a succession
and a ™uS °f (liscllar£es froni a coated surface was deemed indispen-
ratus.^31 sa^‘e- Wollaston, however, considering that the de¬
composition must depend upon a proper proportion be¬
tween the quantity of water and the decomposing force,
conceived the idea of reducing the surface of communi¬
cation between the air and the metal which conveyed the Phenor
electricity. ^ naan,
“ Having procured,” says he, “ a small wire of fine Lavvs
gold, and given it as fine a point as I could, I inserted it
into a capillary glass tube ; and after heating the tube sojDr^01
as to make it adhere to the point, and cover it in everypTrimen
part, I gradually ground it down till, with a pocket lens, land app;
could discern that the point of the gold was exposed. ratus.
“ The success of this method exceeded my expecta¬
tions. I coated several wires in the same manner, and
found that when sparks from the conductors before men¬
tioned were made to pass through water by means of a
point so guarded, a spark passing to the distance of one
eighth of an inch would decompose water when the point
exposed did not exceed one seven hundredth of an inch
in diameter. With another point, which I estimated at
TJooo^1’ a succession of sparks one twentieth of an inch
in length afforded a current of small bubbles of air.
“ I have since found that the same apparatus will de¬
compose water with a wire one fortieth of an inch di¬
ameter, coated in the manner before described, if the
spark from the prime conductor passes to the distance of
four tenths of an inch of air.
“ In order to try how far the strength of the electric
spark might be reduced by proportional diminution of the
extremity of the wire, I passed a solution of gold through
a capillary tube, and, by heating the tube, expelled the
acid. There remained a thin film of gold lining the inner
surface of the tube, which, by melting the tube, was con¬
verted into a very fine thread of gold through the sub¬
stance of the glass.
“ When the extremity of this thread was made the
medium of communication through water, I found that
the mere current of electricity would occasion a stream of
very small bubbles to rise from the extremity of the gold,
although the wire by which it communicated with the
positive or negative conductor was placed in absolute con¬
tact with them. Hence it appears that decomposition of
water may take place by common electricity as well as by
the electric pile, although no discernible sparks are pro¬
duced. The appearance of two currents of air may also
be imitated, by occasioning the electricity to pass by fine
points of communication on both sides of the water; but
in fact the resemblance is not complete, for in every way
in which I have tried it, I observed that each wire gave
both oxygen and hydrogen gas, instead of their being
formed separately, as by the electric pile.
“ I am inclined to attribute the difference in this re¬
spect to the greater intensity with which it is necessary
to employ common electricity; for, that positive and ne¬
gative electricity so created have each the same chemi¬
cal power as they are observed to have in the electric
pile, may be ascertained by other means.”
The preceding experiment, which is only an elegant re¬
petition of one formerly made by Dr Pearson and the
Dutch philosophers, has excited much attention, and can¬
not be regarded as any proof of the identity of ordinary
and Voltaic electricity; Dr Faraday justly remarks that
it should never be quoted as establishing true electro¬
chemical decomposition, because the law which regulates
the transference and final place of the evolved bodies has
no influence here. The water is decomposed at the two
poles by an independent action, and the oxygen and hy¬
drogen evolved are the elements of the water existing at
the wires the instant before. The substitution of the fin¬
ger for one of the points will not interfere with the ac¬
tion of the other. But although Dr Wollaston did not
decompose water in any way analogous to that of the pile,
}'et Dr Faraday seems to have succeeded in doing it by
the same apparatus ; but when he considered that he had
ELECTRICITY, 631
1 ■nome-obtained the true effect, the gas evolved was so small in
and quantity that he could not ascertain whether or not oxy-
iffs. gen was emitted at the one wire and hydrogen at the
other, as ought to have been the case,
jj'ara- The inability of Dr Wollaston’s apparatus to exhibit in
i sajipa-an unquestionable manner true electro chemical decom-
risand pOSjtion being thus obvious, Dr Faraday devised the fol-
E ts" i°win£ ingenious arrangement for effecting chemical de-
' ’ composition by ordinary electricity, and by means of it
he effected true electro-chemical decompositions, perfectly
identical with those produced by Voltaic electricity. The
plate machine which he used had its glass disc fifty inches
in diameter. It had two sets of rubbers. The prime con¬
ductor consisted of two brass cylinders, connected by a
third, the whole length being twelve feet, and the surface
in contact with air was 1422 inches. When well excited,
one revolution of the plate gives ten or twelve sparks,
each an inch long; and sparks or flashes from ten to four¬
teen inches long may easily be drawn from the conduc¬
tors. When moderately worked, each turn of the ma¬
chine is made in four fifths of a second. The electric
battery consists of fifteen equal jars, each twenty-three
inches in circumference, and coated eight inches upward
from the bottom, so as to contain 184 inches of glass
each, coated on both sides, independent of the bottoms,
which are thicker glass, and contain each about fifty square
inches.
In order to carry off instantaneously electricity of the
feeblest tension, Dr Faraday formed what he calls a dis¬
charging train. This discharging train consisted in con¬
necting a sufficiently thick wire metallically, first with the
metallic gas pipes of the house, then with the metal pipes
of the public gas works of London, and lastly with the
metallic water-pipes of London. This arrangement was
so effectual that the electricity even of a single Voltaic
trough was instantly carried off; and this was essential to
the success of many of his experiments.
The arrangement for applying the apparatus now de-
I e scribed to chemical decomposition is shown in Plate
(KIV. CCXIV. fig. 3. Two pieces of tinfoil a, are placed upon
1'3' a glass plate raised above a piece of white paper to prevent
the interference of shadows. , One of these pieces, «, is
connected by an insulated wire c, or by a wire and wet
string, with the electric machine, and the other piece, h,
by a wire g, with the discharging train or the negative
conductor. Two pieces of fine plati.na wire must then be
1 4 provided, bent as in fig. 4, so that the part d shall be
nearly upright, whilst the whole rests on the three points
cfp. By this means we can obtain at pleasure surfaces of
contact as minute as possible; the connection can be dis¬
continued or removed in a moment, and the substances
which are acted upon can be readily examined. With
this apparatus Dr Faraday obtained the following results.
1. Having made a coarse line on the glass plate with a
solution of sulphate of copper, the ends p and n of the
platina wires were put into it, the foil a being connected
by a wire and wet string with the positive conductor of
the machine, so that no sparks passed. After twenty
turns of the machine there was so much copper precipi¬
tated on the end jo that it looked like copper wire, no ap¬
parent change having taken place at n.
2. A large drop of a mixture of equal parts of muriatic
acid and water coloured a deep blue by sulphate of indigo
was placed on the glass, so that the ends p and n wrere
plunged in opposite sides of it; one turn of the machine
evolved sufficient chlorine to exhibit bleaching effects round
P' Twenty revolutions produced no effect at n, but there
was so much chlorine got free at p, that when the drop
was stirred the whole became colourless.
3. Flaving mingled a solution of iodide of potassium
with starch, the ends p and n were immersed in a drop of Phenome-
it as before ; on turning the machine iodine was evolved na and
at p, but not at n. Laws.
Dr Faraday improved his apparatus still further by
wetting a piece of filtering paper in the solution to be ex- j,r , ,ara*
amined, and placing it on the glass beneath the points/*, «.ratug
The paper will retain the substance evolved at the point experi-
of evolution; its whiteness will render visible the leastments.
change of colour, and will allow the point of contact be¬
tween it and the wires/*, w to be contracted to the utmost
degree. Dr Faraday found a piece of paper moistened
in the solution of iodide of potassium and starch, or of
the iodide alone, to be with certain precautions a most
admirable test of electro-chemical action ; and when it is
placed and acted upon in the manner already described,
it will exhibit the evolution of iodine at/* by half a turn
only of the rpachine. He found, indeed, that with these
adjustments, and the use of iodide of potassium on paper,
chemical action is sometimes a more delicate test of elec¬
trical currents than the most delicate galvanometer.
A piece of litmus paper wetted in a solution of muri¬
ate or sulphate of soda was quickly reddened at /j, and a
similar piece wetted in muriatic acid was soon bleached
at/*, no similar effects taking place at n.
A piece of turmeric paper wetted in a solution of sul¬
phate of soda was reddened at n by two or three turns of
the machine, and by twenty or thirty turns abundance of
alkali was evolved at the same place. By turning the
paper round so that the spot came under /*, and working
the machine, the alkali soon disappeared, the place be¬
came yellow', and a brown alkaline spot appeared in the
new part under n.
Dr Faraday next combined a piece of turmeric paper
with a piece of litmus, wetting both v/ith a solution of
sulphate of soda. The paper was placed so that p was on
the litmus and n on the turmeric paper. By. a few turns
of the machine acid was evolved at p and alkali at n, as
in galvanic decomposition. These various decompositions
were equally effected whether the electricity passed to
the foil a from the machine through water or wire only,
by contact with the conductor, or by sparks there, provid¬
ed the sparks were not so large as to cause the electricity
to pass in sparks from p to n, or towards n.
Dr Faraday’s final experiment deserves peculiar notice,
as affording a case in which there is the most perfect ana¬
logy between the effects of ordinary and Voltaic electri¬
city. Three compound pieces of litmus and turmeric
paper, when w'etted by a solution of sulphate of soda,
were disposed on a plate of glass as shown in fig. 5. The Plate
wire m was connected with the prime conductor, £ with CCXIV.
the discharging train, and the wires r and s connected5*
the moistened pieces of paper, each wire resting on three
points, one of the points, at r and s, being on the glass, and
the others on the papers, the ends/*./*,/» resting on the lit¬
mus and n, n, u on the turmeric paper. When the machine
had been worked for a short time, acid was evolved at all
the poles/*,/*,/*, by which the electricity entered the solu¬
tion ; and alkali at the other poles w, w, n, by which the elec¬
tricity left the solution. '
The precaution above referred to, in using the iodide
of potassium as a test of electro-chemical action, is that
no sparks should be passed in any part of the current,
and no increase of intensity allowed by which the electri¬
city may be induced to pass between the platina wires and
the moistened papers, otherwise than by conduction ; for if
the electricity burst through the air, a different effect is
produced. The litmus paper is in this case reddened by
the spark, and iodine will be evolved from paper mois¬
tened by iodide of potassium. This effect is owing to the
formation of nitric acid by the oxygen and nitrogen of
ELECTRICITY.
632
Phenome- the air. The acid thus formed reddens the litmus paper,
na and or prevents the exhibition of alkali in the turmeric paper,
Laws. or evoives iodine from the iodide of potassium. We
have thus a simple and elegant method of illustrating Mr
Cavendish’s experiment of forming nitric acid from the
atmosphere.
M. Bon- M. Bonjol of Geneva has announced that he has de-
jol’s expe- composed water by common electricity. The electricity was
riments. obtained from an insulated lightning rod; and the decom¬
position is said to have proceeded continuously and rapid¬
ly even when the electricity of the attnosphere was by no
means powerful. M. Bonjol is also said to have decom¬
posed potash and chloride of silver, by passing the sparks
of an ordinary machine through these substances placed
in narrow tubes. Dr Faraday justly regards these as not
cases of true electro-chemical decomposition, but as ana¬
logous to that of Dr Wollaston’s apparatus, arising either
from a very high temperature acting upon minute por¬
tions of matter, or perhaps connected with the results
produced in air by the passage of the spark.
Experi- One of the most remarkable decompositions, however,
ments of which has been obtained previous to Dr Faraday’s expe-
Dr Barry. rjments, is that of the late Mr Barry. This experiment
is given as a proof of the chemical action of atmospheric
electricity; but, as Dr Faraday has shown, it possesses a
much greater interest if confirmed. The following is his
own account of it:—“ In August 1824 I elevated the
kite in an atmosphere favourable to the exhibition of its
phenomena. It was raised from an apparatus firmly fixed
in the earth, and was insulated by a glass pillar. The
usual shocks were felt on touching the string, which sim¬
ple fact I am induced to mention from the circumstance
of no electrometer having been employed. The portion
of string let out, with a double gilt thread passed through
. it, was about 500 yards. I then made the connection
Fig. 6. shown in fig. 6, where the straight glass tubes, A, B, hav¬
ing platina wires passed from above half way down their
axes, and standing in their respective glass cups C, D, were
filled with a solution of sulphate of soda coloured with
Mixed Gases.
Atmospheric air and hydrogen,
100 oxygen and 200 hydrogen,
160 chlorine, 100 hydrogen,
Muriatic acid gas and oxygen,
Carbonic oxide and oxygen,
Nitrogen and oxygen,
Sulphurous acid and oxygen,
Phosphuretted hydrogen and oxygen,
Sulphuretted hydrogen and oxygen,
150 oxygen and 200 ammonia,
100 olefiant gas and 284 oxygen,
100 olefiant gas and 100 oxygen,
100 carburetted hydrogen and 100 oxygen,
100 carburetted hydrogen and 200 oxygen,
Compound Gases.
Muriatic acid,
Fluoric acid,
Nitrous acid,
Carbonic acid,
100 sulphuretted hydrogen,
100 phosphuretted hydrogen,
100 ammonia,
100 olefiant gas,
100 carburetted hydrogen,
syrup of violets, connected also with each other by the Phenoir
bent glass tube E, likewise filled with the above solution na and
in the usual manner. A portion of gilt thread d was then La''s’
brought from the tube at A, and united to the kite-string
K, whilst a similar thread b was carried from B to the
earth. Bubbles of hydrogen in A, and of oxygen in B,
soon appeared. In about ten minutes the blue liquid in
A became green from the separation of the soda, whilst
the sulphuric acid, by passing to the pole in the tube B,
changed its contents, as usual, red.1
The effect now described as produced by afmosjofoncDr Fara
electricity was never produced by common electricity. Dr day’s ob
Wollaston and other philosophers could not obtain thesemtio
gases in separate vessels, and Dr Faraday kept his power-011 t^lem
ful machine in action for a quarter of an hour, during
which 700 revolutions were made, without producing any
sensible effect, although the shocks that it could then
have given must have been more numerous and powerful
than could have been taken with any chance of safety
from the kite-string of Mr Barry. Dr Faraday thinks “ it
just possible that the air which was passing by the kite
and string, being in an electrical state sufficient to produce
the ‘ usual shocks’ only, could still, when the electricity
was drawn off below, renew the charge, and so continue
the current. The string was 1500 feet long, and con¬
tained two double threads ; but when the enormous quan¬
tity which must have been thus collected is considered,
the explanation seems very doubtful.” Dr Faraday there¬
fore considers Mr Barry’s experiment as a very import¬
ant one to repeat and verify; and he remarks, that if it is
confirmed, it will be the first recorded case of the true
electro-chemical decomposition of water by common elec¬
tricity, and will supply a form of electrical current which
is exactly intermediate, both in point of quantity and in¬
tensity, between those of the common electrical machine
and the Voltaic pile.
The effects of electricity on mixed and compound gases Effects
are exhibited in the following table, taken chiefly from electric
Mr Singer’s work on electricity. on gase
liesults.
Water and nitrogen.
Water.
200 muriatic acid gas.
Chlorine (and water) ?
Carbonic acid.
Nitric acid.
Sulphuric acid.
Water and phosphoric acid.
Water and sulphurous acid.
Water and 100 nitrogen.
Carbonic acid and water.
Carbonic oxide and hydrogen.
Carbonic oxide and hydrogen.
Carbonic acid (and water ?)
Results.
Hydrogen! ]y[essrs Henry and Dalton.
Hydrogen J ^
Nitric acid and nitrogen.
Carbonic oxide and oxygen.
Sulphur and 100 hydrogen.
Phosphorus and 100 hydrogen.
150 hydrogen and 50 nitrogen.
Carbon and 200 hydrogen.
Carbon and 200 hydrogen.
1 Phil. Trans. 1831, Part I. p. 165, 166.
lenome-
1a and
Laws.
fluence
electri-
y on pu-
faction
d fer-
: station.
ifluence
electri-
:y on co-
ars.
I ?sults
] tained
‘Mr
l.rim-
, ire.
ELECTRICITY.
633
The effects thus indicated are regarded by Mr Singer
as mechanical, and as arising from the momentary agita¬
tion into which the various media are thrown by the ac¬
tion of the spark, which tends to promote a new arrange¬
ment of parts. This theory, of which Mr Singer himself
not only saw, but has stated, the difficulties, cannot now
be maintained with any show of reason ; and there can be
no doubt that the effects in question arise from a molecular
polarity related to the two poles of the electric circuit, or
to the two kinds of electricity which exist in nature.
It has been asserted, but not from any extensive series
of accurate experiments, that putrefaction and fermenta¬
tion are promoted by electricity. M. Achard of Berlin,
considering that, in animals killed by lightning, the pro¬
cess of putrefaction advances with great rapidity, cut a
piece of beef into three parts, and electrified one piece
positively for ten hours, another negatively during the
same time, while the third was not electrified at all. On
the fourth day the electrified pieces had an intolerably
fetid smell, while the unelectrified piece had only begun
to smell a little. The same result was obtained with a
piece of boiled veal. M. Achard also killed several birds
by electrical shocks, and having killed others by sticking
a needle through their heads, he placed them all under
similar circumstances. The birds killed by electricity
became putrid much sooner than the rest. The influence
of electricity on fermentation was studied also by M.
Achard. A handful of rye brought into a state of fer¬
mentation for the purpose of being distilled, was sepa¬
rated into two portions, one of which was electrified and
the other not. Five hours afterwards the vinous fermen¬
tation had ceased in the electrified portion, but did not
cease in the other portion till after the lapse of eight hours.
The influence of electricity upon colours is a subject of
peculiar interest, and cannot fail to prove a rich field of
discovery to those who may enter upon it with ardour.
That electricity does alter the colour of particular bodies is
undoubted; but whether it produces a real chemical change
on these bodies, or merely a transient change in their
power of absorbing specific rays of the spectrum, remains
to be determined. The few experiments made by Cavallo
are extremely vague and disparate. He found that vermi¬
lion, carmine, verdigris, white and red lead, had their co¬
lour altered by the electric shock ; and that the colours of
orpiment, gamboge, sage-green, red ink, ultramarine, Prus¬
sian blue, and of a few other compounds, were not al¬
tered. The eye, however, is no judge of a real change of
colour. It can judge only of the general result of the Phenome-
change, without indicating the nature of the change or na and
changes that have taken place. A body, too, which may t Laws,
have lost or gained the power of absorbing definite rays
of the spectrum, may often appear to have suffered no
change at all, provided that the sum of the changes is a
colour similar to the original colour of the body.
In producing these effects, namely, putrefaction, fer¬
mentation, and change of colour, the electric fluid may
act, not by any virtue of its own, but by the intermedium
of those ponderable substances which the spark carries
along with it, and consequently leaves in bodies.
Sect. III.— On the Changes produced by Electricity on
Phosphorescent Bodies.
Although the phenomena of phosphorescence have been Influence
lately much studied, yet philosophers are very little ac-°f electri-
quainted with its cause, whether it is developed by theon
light of the sun, the action of heat, or the transmission 0fI)hosPh°-
electricity.
Almost all bodies may be rendered luminous during
the transmission of an electric discharge through their
substance; but unless this luminosity continues after the
discharge is over, the body cannot be said to have been
rendered phosphorescent by electricity. In his numerous
experiments on this subject, Mr Skrimshire invariably
kept his eyes closed till the sound of the discharge had
been heard, and therefore the light which he then saw
was not the light of the electric spark, modified by its
transmission through the body, but was a real phospho¬
rescence, which continued after the original cause of it
was withdrawn.
The substances which he submitted to examination
were placed on a horizontal brass plate, fixed to the ball
of the prime conductor, and he then tried to obtain a
spark from the body by means of a common discharger.
The body was next placed upon a table, and the charge
of a Leyden phial passed over it, at the distance of about
a quarter or half an inch above its surface; and, as a last
trial, the charge of the jar was made to traverse its sur¬
face by resting the points of the discharging rod at an
inch or more distant from each other, upon the specimens
under examination.
The following table contains a general view of the re¬
sults obtained by Mr Skrimshire ;
Table showing the Phosphorescent Effects of Electricity upon different Bodies, according to the Experiments q/’Results
Mr Skrimshire junior. by'Mr^
Skrim-
CALCAREOUS GENUS. shire.
Calcareous spar,
Common chalk,
Ketton stone,
Selenite,
Fresh nitrate of lime,
Muriate of lime,
Bark purple fluor spar,
Yellowish fluor spar,
Sulphuret of lime, or Canton’s phosphorus,
Phosphate of lime,
Calcined oyster shells.
Ditto calcined with sulphur,
Rendered very luminous by the shock.
Very luminous when the shock passed above it. When passed along its surface a zigzag
track of light continued several minutes.
Part of the stone shattered, and its luminous grains dispersed in all directions.
Shines for a few seconds with a vivid greenish light.
Gave small sparks, which were red flame-coloured upon its surface.
More phosphorescent than the nitrate of lime.
Gave no sparks, but the electric fluid passed in a purple stream with a whizzing noise.
Gave very good sparks, while dark purple fluor spar gave none.
The most luminous of any substance by the electric explosion.
A minute red spark. It is inflammable by a very small shock.
Are rendered beautifully luminous, and give the prismatic colours.
Give a durable and bright light, according to Mr Singer.
BARYTIC GENUS.
Carbonate of barytes,
Sulphate of barytes,
Sulphuret of barytes,
VOL. VIII.
No spark, but very luminous when the shock was passed above it.
1 Good sparks, but slightly luminous. According to Singer, it gives a bright green light,
\ mere bright than that of the carbonate.
Was slightly luminous by the electric explosion.
4) L
634
ELECTRICITY.
Phenome¬
na and
Paws.
Results
obtained
by Mr
Skrim-
shire.
Magnesia, pure and carbonated,
Sulphate of magnesia,
Sulphuret of magnesia,
Chlorite,
Steatites, talc, and fibrous amianthus,
Asbestus,
Mica,
Micaceous schistus,
Alum,
Pipe clay.
Slate clay,
Slates,
Hone stone.
Fullers’ earth,
Reddle,
Armenian bole.
Basalt,
Bricks and tiles.
Queen’s ware,
Ditto fractured,
MURIATIC GENUS.
Were both transiently luminous by the electric explosion.
Very luminous through its whole substance.
Not more luminous than the carbonate.
Sparks branching off in minute party-coloured points.
Gave sparks, and were slightly luminous by the explosion.
Ramifications on its surface more variegated than in chlorite.
Affords sparks, but is not luminous by the explosion.
Sparks ramified as in chlorite, scarcely phosphorescent.
ARGILLACEOUS GENUS.
Spark purple, rather ramified, luminous through its whole surface.
Sparks, and luminous, but not luminous when i ade into pipes.
Sparks, and luminous, but loses its absorbent power as it becomes bituminous.
Sparks, and absorbed electric light from the explosion.
Good spark, and phosphoric by the explosion.
Good bright sparks, but slightly luminous.
No spark, but a purple stream attended with a very sharp hissing noise.
Ramified spark. It is not luminous by the explosion.
Sparks radiated upon its surface, but not ramified.
Small purple sparks of a bright red colour, slightly luminous.
Good spark, flame coloured and radiated upon its surface, but not phosphoric.
The unglazed surface gives a purple spark, and is luminous by the explosion.
fhenomi
na and
Laws.
Kesults
obtained
by Mr
Skritn-
shire.
Rock crystals,
Quartz,
Flints,
Lapis lazuli,
Agates, felspars, jaspers, Scotch pebbles,
Porphyries and granites,
Pudding stones,
Mochoas,
Pumice stone,
Different kinds of glass,
SILICEOUS GENUS.
Light, first red, and then white (Singer); all phosphoric (Skrimshire).
Phosphoric, with a dull white light; a purple stream instead of a spark.
Small purple spark; not so luminous as quartz.
Affords very good sparks, and is luminous by the shock.
Luminous by the explosion, and gave hissing purple sparks.
Hissing purple sparks, and luminous by the shock.
Similar hissing sparks. Oval pebbles moreluminous than the sand.
Good sparks from the arborescent parts, but only a hissing stream from the stone itself.
which is slightly luminous by the shock.
Hissing streams in some, and good sparks in others, slightly luminous.
Neither give a spark, nor are luminous.
Native carbonate of strontites,
STRONTIAN GENUS.
Only a hissing purple stream, but very luminous by the explosion.
COMBUSTIBLES.
Roll brimstone,
Flowers of sulphur,
Phosphorus,
Charcoal,
Cannel coal and Sunderland coal,
Hard and dry peat,
Hard and brittle bitumen from Derbyshire,
Elastic bitumen from Derbyshire,
Jet and asphaltum.
Amber,
Plumbago,
Gives no spark, and is scarcely luminous by the shock.
Are not phosphoric.
Inflames both by the spark and shock.
Some kinds afford good sparks, and are phosphoric, and some not.
Give sparks beautifully variegated, in minute spangles, radiated upon their surface; but
they are not phosphoric.
Gives a very good spark, but is scarcely luminous.
Gives no sparks, but the fluid spreads uniformly and silently over its whole surface, like
the electric light in an exhausted receiver; it is luminous by the shock.
Is also luminous by the shock.
Give the same phenomena as bitumen, but- are not luminous by the explosion.
Gives no sparks, but is phosphorescent, particularly fat amber.
Gives good sparks, and is not phosphoric.
As many bodies possess the property of becoming phos- more luminous than when it is pounded in a damp state
phorescent by heat, the phosphorescence produced in the of the air. It loses this property entirely in wet linen;
preceding experiments may in general be ascribed to the but being as it were self-insulated, it is not deprived or its
heat which accompanies an electrical discharge. But al- phosphorescence, like antimony, by being pounded in a
though the heat thus produced may be either the sole or mortar, which is a conductor of electricity. In order to
an auxiliary cause of the phosphorescence which is ex- make adularia phosphoresce briskly, it must be pounded
cited in bodies which are known to be phosphorescent in an insulating or insulated mortar; and the handle or the
by common heat, yet it is obvious from other experiments, pestle should likewise be insulated. M. Dessaignes also
that electricity exercises a specific influence upon that found that if glass be calcined till its phosphorescence is i-
peculiar structure or condition of bodies which causes minished, it resumes that property by being exposed on an
them to give out light when heated. insulated support and subjected to a few electrical discharges.
Expen- M. Dessaignes seems to have been the first person who or to a current of electrical matter. Other substances whic
ments of established a relation between electricity and phosphores- have lost their phosphorescence by calcination resume i
Dessaignes. cence> He found that the metallic powders, such as those when electrified ; but our author remarked that electron y
of zinc and antimony, which are the most phosphorescent, does not restore the phosphorescence of those substances whic
lose their luminous qualities in a damp state of the atmo- have been deprived of it by the light of the sun.
sphere. Even in dry weather antimony loses its power In pursuing this branch of the subject M. Dessaignes
of phosphorescing if it be rubbed in a metallic mortar; found that those phosphorescent substances which are
whereas, in an insulated mortar the light is very much imperfect conductors of electricity, are susceptible of re¬
increased. Glass pounded in dry weather becomes much ceiving the luminous property from the action of the sun s
ELECTRICITY.
635
ienome- rays; that non-conductors will not thus phosphoresce at
mand all, or at least very imperfectly; and that most conduc-
Laws. tors give out no light whatever. Orpiment, and some of
the oxides of arsenic, tin, zinc, and lead, are exceptions
to this remark, and also the muriate of tin and the sul¬
phate and phosphate of lead. Non-conductors, and con¬
ductors which refuse to phosphoresce after feeble elec¬
trical discharges, become luminous after strong ones; while
imperfect conductors that phosphoresce after weak elec¬
trical discharges give no light whatever when the dis¬
charges are much increased. In support of the analogy
between electricity and phosphorescence, M. Dessaignes
remarks that phosphorescence is affected by the presence
of points. Fluor spar, which has the asperities produced
by fracture, phosphoresces readily, while the entire and
smooth crystal remains dark. The same is true of calca¬
reous spar, adularia, apatite, emerald, and common salt.
If both sides of the glass be rough, it phosphoresces
throughout; but if one side be rough and the other po¬
lished, it only shines when the rough surface receives the
heat. It is a fact still more curious, that when Iceland
crystal with smooth faces is exposed to the solar rays, it
acquires very little phosphorescence; whereas, if but one of
the faces is roughened and exposed to the sun, it readily
becomes luminous. In like manner, Arragonite becomes
luminous when a fractured face is exposed to the sun,
but acquires very little light when the smooth natural
surface is exposed to it. M. Dessaignes likewise maintains
that nearly all the bodies that are susceptible of phospho¬
rescence by friction become luminous by heat, by electri¬
city, and by exposure to light. The general view which
our author takes of these phenomena is, that phosphores¬
cence is produced by a particular fluid, which is set in
motion by light, by heat, by electricity, and by friction,
and that it is dissipated by overheating or too long expo¬
sure to light.
The influence of electricity upon phosphorescence and
li
the colours of certain bodies has been recently examined Phenome-
by Mr Pearsall of the Royal Institution, who has amply na and
confirmed the general result deduced experimentally by L Laws.
M. Dessaignes, that bodies which have lost their phos- A"*-0'"'/
phorescent property by calcination acquire it again when
an electrical discharge is passed through them. Having]yjr pear.
submitted a piece of chlorophane to a powerful heat, it sail,
gave out a strong phosphorescent light of a pale violet co¬
lour ; but the specimen decrepitated so much during its
calcination that a piece of sufficient size to be electrified
could not be preserved. He therefore placed the calcined
fragments in a glass tube, and sent through them three elec¬
trical discharges, the effect of which was the emission of a
deep violet light. He then heated the fragments upon pla¬
tinum, and they emitted a phosphoric light of different co¬
lours. Some of the fragments appeared green, others yel¬
low, and all of them finished by emitting a deep violet
light. These colours were evidently distinct from those
of the natural mineral, for a portion of the latter heated
at the same time produced only a feeble violet colour. Ano¬
ther portion of the same specimen, calcined but not elec¬
trified, emitted no light when heated.
A specimen of chlorophane, whose phosphorescence
had been destroyed by an intense heat, was exposed to
the solar rays for two days without any of its phospho¬
rescent quality being restored. A single electrical dis¬
charge, however, restored its phosphorescence, which in¬
creased in the ratio of the number and the intensity of
the shocks it received.- The green light emitted by the
action of heat was more deep and of longer continuance
after three, six, or even twelve discharges, than after one.
Mr Pearsall obtained the same results with apatite and
some diamonds; but electricity produced no effect in de¬
veloping phosphorescence by heat in amethyst, sapphire,
ruby, garnets, and other mineral substances which he
tried. The following table contains the principal results
obtained by our author.
Names of
Minerals.
Natural Colours.
Fluor spar.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Calcareous spar.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Dog-tooth
spar,
l- )
oth >
• )
Diamond.
Apatite.
White crystallized mass.
Ibid, another specimen.
Ibid.
White crystals.
Green crjrstals.
Ibid, another specimen.
Amber coloured crystals.
| Crystallizedvioletmass, I
i the least coloured k
( parts used. )
f The most coloured parts f
( of the same specimen. |
f Another specimen, deep )
( violet throughout. f
Crystals.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Fragment.
Effects of Heat.
No light.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Feeble violet light.
Pale violet light.
Violet light.
("Strong violet!
- y
and rose co.
( loured light.)
Ibid.
Ibid, stronger.
Ibid.
No light.
Ibid.
'Yellow light,'
steady and
continuing
_ long-
No light.
Luminous.
Kind of Calcination.
Mode of electrifying
them.
f Decrepitating |
\ strongly. j
Ibid.
Ibid.
Ibid.
f Small fragments)
( in a tube. j
Ibid.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Heated to redness,
Ibid.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Ibid.
A fragment.
Ibid.
( Six discharges
\ through a tube,
Ibid.
•}
Ibid.
Ibid.
Ibid.
fSolid piece, six)
discharges. f
Fragments in a|
f tube.
J Small solid piece, |
( six discharges.
j Solid crystal, six
( discharges.
Ibid.
Calcined.
( Single pieces, 12)
( discharges. J
Single piece.
Effects of Heat after being
electrified.
Feeble light.
f Momentary but distinct
t fight-
Feeble light.
J Feeble violet light, ending
( in deep purple,
f Yellowish green, ending in
( intense brilliant purple.
Green, violet, and then purple.
f Bright orange, but of short
\ duration.
j Yellow or jlame coloured
l light-
Yellowish green light.
Very fine bright ijellow light.
No light.
Feeble and reddish light.
Ibid.
Orange light, but only at
a high temperature.
Pale blue light.
Yellow light.
ELECTRICITY.
636
Phenome- In the course of these interesting experiments Mr Pear-
na and sall observed the curious fact, that the specimens of fluor
Laws. Spar> though colourless in their natural state, received a
bluish tint when electrified, and the acquired phosphores¬
cence was proportional to the depth of the tint. When a
number of fragments were used, the larger fragments were
of a blue colour, and emitted a blue light when heated,
whereas the smaller fragments emitted only a pale yellow
light. Mr Pearsall thinks it probable that the phosphores¬
cent property is communicated by electricity only to the
surface, which he considers as explaining the fact that
fragments of different dimensions emit differently coloured
lights.
In resuming the investigation of this subject, Mr Pearsall
found, that bodies not naturally phosphorescent, such as
statuary marble in its natural or calcined state, ivory
when its carbonaceous part was removed, calcined mother
of pearl, calcined oyster shells, calcined petuncles, egg
shells, and lime, were not only rendered phosphorescent
by heat after being strongly electrified, but acquired this
property with a beauty, a variety, and an intensity of colour
superior to those which occur in specimens that possess a
natural phosphorescence. We regret that our limits will
not permit us to give in detail a second series of experi¬
ments which Mr Pearsall performed with twelve different
varieties of fluor spar, all of which gave distinct phospho¬
rescence previous to their being electrified ; but the gene¬
ral result of them may be thus expressed. When the na¬
tural spars emit by heat a light of different colours, the
electric action produces only one of them; but when
the mineral yields only one natural colour by heat, this is
replaced, when electricity is applied, by a phosphorescence
of various colours, among which the primitive tint does not
appear. As the colours change with the number of elec¬
trical discharges, Mr Pearsall found the following to be the
order of progression. The specimen was a green fluor.
1 discharge, pale purple light when heated.
2   pale green, changing into purple.
3   the same colours, more intense and durable.
4   purple, with increased intensity.
6   green, brighter and deeper.
10   green bright ;fineand more durable purple.
20   deep and more durable colours.
40   very rich colours, the purple at last inclin¬
ing to red.
100   green colour, highly brilliant, and becom¬
ing yellowish. The purple had now a
superb tint.
160   an intense light nearly white, followed with
a brilliant green light, then with a dura¬
ble purple, and then with a yellow ac¬
companied with violet tints.
This specimen had been successively heated and elec¬
trified nearly fifteen times, and had suffered no deteriora¬
tion in its phosphorescent property.
Mr Pearsall next shows that the property communicated
by electricity was preserved even for three months, when
the specimen was kept in the dark. Out of twelve frag¬
ments, two had completely lost their acquired phosphores¬
cence by exposure to the sun for twenty-one days, five
had nearly lost it, and six had experienced a modification
in their colours by this exposure.
Mr Pearsall now examined the influence of electricity
on the natural phosphorescence of bodies, and he found
that an augmentation of intensity was produced, of which
it is difficult to give an idea. Specimens of fluor whose
pyro-phosphorescence was feeble or uncertain, were raised
to the rank of highly phosphorescent bodies, and some of
them even rivalled the Siberian fluor. At the end of fifty
days some of these specimens still preserved the excess
of phosphorescence which had been communicated to Phenonu
them, while others continued to exhibit the same order of na and
colours. Laws.
Mr Pearsall has brought forward several experiments to
prove that the phosphorescence of bodies, and the modi¬
fications it experiences, depend on their structure and
mechanical condition. Phosphate of lime, for example,
which in the form of apatite has an intense natural phos¬
phorescence, has none when aggregated from a precipita¬
tion of it in a solution of muriatic acid, nor when obtained
from powdered or calcined apatite. A calculus of phos¬
phate of lime, however, gave green, yellow, and orange
light when heated after having been calcined and expos¬
ed to twenty electrical discharges. Mr Pearsall also se¬
veral times observed that the power of phosphorescence
returned after it had disappeared.
With the view of showing that the phosphorescence was
not owing to any radiating matter which was carried along
with the sparks, Mr Pearsall inclosed coloured chlorophane
in glass tubes hermetically sealed, and found them phos¬
phorescent after 225 discharges. He found Voltaic elec¬
tricity capable of producing phosphorescence in some
cases and not in others; so that it differs greatly from
common electricity in this property.
In explaining the preceding phenomena, Mr Pearsall
considers the intense electricity of the Leyden jar as alter¬
ing the structure upon which phosphorescence depends,
by the vibratory motion which it communicates, and which
allows the particles to take a new arrangement. When the
body has had a new structure communicated to it by the
vibrations or shocks of each electrical discharge, the action
of heat is supposed by our author to permit the body to
return to its primitive structure; and he conceives that the
vibrations of the atoms during these changes of structure
may produce light.
Sect. IV.— On the Changes produced hy Electricity on
Odoriferous Bodies.
It has been recently discovered by M. Libri of Florence Influenc
that electricity exercises a curious influence over odorife-on odorj
rous bodies. Having caused a continued current of elec-“i™us
tricity to traverse a piece of camphor, the odour of this
substancebecame more and more feeble, and at last entirely
disappeared. When the camphor has suffered this change,
and is withdrawn from all electrical influence, and put in
communication with the ground, it will remain without
odour for some time, but it will afterwards resume its for¬
mer properties slowly and gradually. M. Libri seems to
have obtained a similar result with other odoriferous bodies;
but he has not, so far as we know, given any more parti¬
cular account of his researches.
Sect. V.— On the Magnetic Effects of Electricity.
During almost every period of the history of electricity, Magnet
philosophers have pointed out strong resemblances be-effec^
tween the phenomena which it exhibits and those of mag-e cc L
netism. Some of the most striking points of resemblance
were, that each consisted, as it were, of two powers or di¬
rections of powers, of an opposite nature, and subjected to
similar laws of attraction and repulsion ; that the action ot
magnetism has a great analogy with that of electricity;
that the distribution of the forces in an electrified body
differs very little from that of the forces in a magnet; and
that the pyro-electrical tourmaline has the strongest re¬
semblance to an artificial magnet.
These views were powerfully confirmed by the fact, often
ELECTRICITY. 637
■>nome- observed, that magnetism was communicated to bodies by the charge of a large jar or battery is transmitted through Phenome-
a and a stroke of lightning, and that the compass needles of ships a steel wire perpendicular to the horizon, it will be perma-
..aws. jjave ]ia(j their polarity changed by a similar cause. The nently magnetised, and the lower end, at the time of the
ghjp Dover was struck by lightning in the Atlantic on the discharge, will afterwards turn to the north when it is
9th January 1749 ; and in four compasses on board, one made to traverse in a horizontal plane. If we now replace
of which was in a brass box, and the other three in wooden the wire in its vertical position, the end which was formerly
boxes, all the needles had lost their virtue. At first their the lowest being now the highest, and again transmit the
polarity seemed to have been nearly reversed, but after a discharge, the polarity of the needle will either be com-
little while they moved about in every direction, and were pletely destroyed, or the poles will be reversed,
of no use. Mr Gowin Knight, having examined one of It has been found also that the polarity of a natural mag-
these compasses, observed that the outward case was join- net may be completely destroyed by transmitting through
ed together by pieces of iron wire, sixteen of which were it the charge of a battery.
found in the sides of the box and ten in the bottom. By In repeating the experiments of Franklin, Beccaria dis- Experi-
applying a small needle to each of these wires, Mr Knight covered that lightning always communicates the mag-mentsof
found that they were all strongly magnetical, particularly netic polarity to bodies containing iron, and he observedlieccana'
those which had joined the sides. this phenomenon even in common bricks that had been
Another very remarkable case occurred on board the struck by lightning. Guided by the observations which
New York Packet, in its voyage from America to Liver- he made on the polarity of such bodies, he was able to
pool in 1827 ; and as a very accurate description of it was trace the directions which the lightning had taken in pass-
communicated by the Rev. Mr Scoresby to the British As- ing through them.
sociation at York in 1831, we shall lay before our readers A series of elaborate experiments were made by Van Of Van
his own abstract of it. “ Soon after the commencement Marum, on the magnetic effects of electricity. He em- Marum.
of the voyage, this vessel encountered a severe thunder- ployed a battery of 135 jars, containing 130 square-feet of
storm, and received a stroke of lightning, which shattered coated surface, and he transmitted the powerful charges
the masts in several parts, and started some of the exte- which it yielded through watch-spring needles from three
rior planks of the bends. This was in the morning before to six inches long, and also through steel bars nine inches
day-light. The weather continuing unsettled, and the air long, between a quarter and half an inch broad, and nearly
in a highly electric state, with water-spouts in various a line thick.
directions around, the captain, fearing another explosion In this way he found that when the needle or bar was
from the highly charged atmosphere, put up a lightning placed horizontally in the plane of the magnetic meridian,
conductor which he had on board. In the afternoon of its north end acquired north polarity, and its south end
the same day the ship was a second time struck, but pre- south polarity, in whatever direction it received the dis¬
served by the conductor, though the iron of which it was charge. When the bars possessed some degree of polarity
composed was destroyed, and fell in melted globules upon before receiving the shock, it was either diminished or
the deck. No lives were lost, though some of the crew reversed after receiving it. When the needle or bar re¬
received heavy shocks; whilst one person, an invalid pas- ceived the shock in a vertical position, its lower end be-
sen^er, derived essential benefit from the electric discharge, came the north pole whether it had been previously mag-
Mr'Scoresby had an opportunity of examining the vessel netic or not. Generally speaking, the degree of magnet ism
immediately on her arrival in Liverpool, when, on inves- which was communicated was as strong in a horizontal as
tigating the condition of the iron on board, he found al- in a vertical position. When the needle was placed in the
most every article capable of permanent magnetism, with magnetic equator, and received the discharge longitudinally
sensible polarity. Table-knives and forks were capable of or along its axis, it received no magnetism whatever; but
lifting needles or small nails, and one knife sustained a tra- when the shock was passed through its width, or alright angles
veiling-trunk key. Most of the watches on board suffered to its axis, the needle received a considerable degree of
bv the magnetic influence, especially those which were magnetism, the end which pointed to the west becoming
under the pillows of their owners in bed. These were all the north pole, and that which pointed to the east the
stopped, and on examination were found so highly mag- south pole.
netic that portions of the steel-work were capable of sus- When the charge was so powerful as to render the
pension by each other, in a chain of three or four pieces, needle hot, no sensible polarity was communicated to it.
Of one of these pieces (the cap-spring) Mr Scoresby Such was the state of our knowledge respecting the con-Discovery
made a pocket compass, which was exhibited when his nection between electricity and magnetism, when Pr°fes-^ electro^
communication to the association was made, and was ob- sor Oersted of Copenhagen, led by theoretical views, estab-,
served to be in all respects a delicate and perfect instru- lisheda most interesting relation between these two poweis,gor Qer_
menty and laid the foundation of the new science of Electro-mag-
xperi- In enumerating the points of analogy between lightning netism, or Magneto-electricity. I he fundamental fact which
ents of ana electricity, Ur Franklin remarks that they have both Mr Oersted discovered may be thus expressed,
lauklin. the power, not merely of reversing the poles of magnets, but When a wire conducting electricity is placed parallel to
of completely destroying their magnetism. By discharging a magnetic needle properly suspended, the needle will de-
four large jars through a common sewing needle, he com- viate f rom its original or natural direction. I his deviation
municated to it such a degree of magnetism, that it placed follows a regular law.
itself on the plane of the magnetic meridian when it was 1. It the needle is above the conducting wire, and tie
made to float on water. If at the time of receiving the positive electricity goes from right to left, the north end
discharge the needle lav east and west, the end at which of the needle will be moved Jrom the observer.
the discharge entered pointed north ; but if the needle 2. If the needle is below the wiie, and the positive e ec-
lay north and south, the end which lay to the north conti- tricity passes as before, the north end of the needle will be
nued to point to the north, at whatever end the discharge moved towards the observer. >
entered. He found also that the magnetic intensity de- 3. If the needle is in the same horizontal plane with t ie
veloped in a needle was a maximum when the needle wire, and is between the observer and the wiie, the nort i
lay north and south, and a minimum when it lay east and end of it will be elevated. .
west, at the time of receiving the electrical discharge. If 4. If the needle is similarly placed on the opposite side,
638
ELECTRICITY.
Phenome¬
na and
Laws.
Plate
CCXIII.
Fig. 10.
Dr Colla-
don’s ex-
periments
with ordi-
nary elec¬
tricity.
Fig. 11.
Experi¬
ments of
Dr Fara¬
day.
the north end of it will be depressed. In these two experi¬
ments the needle must be very near the wire.
From these simple facts Mr Oersted concludes, that the
magnetical action of the electrical current has a circular mo¬
tion round the wire which conducts it. This law will be
understood by inspecting Plate CCXIII. fig. 10, where, if
AB is the conducting wire or the direction of the positive
electricity, the circle c d ef will be the plane in which
the magnetical circulation takes place. The small arrows
show the direction of the austral or polar magnetism, the
sharp ends or heads of the arrows indicating the direc¬
tion in which the austral magnetism, and consequently the
north end of the needle, is repelled, and the boreal or north-
polar magnetism is attracted; while the opposite ends of the
arrows indicate the direction in which the boreal magne¬
tism, and consequently the south end of the needle, is re¬
pelled, and the opposite magnetism attracted.
The preceding discovery was made with the electricity
of the galvanic battery, but it is equally true when a strong
current is obtained from the common electrical machine.
An electric spark sent along a conducting wire passes too
quickly to move the needle, and a current produced by
the electrical machine does not appear to contain a suf¬
ficient quantity of electricity to act upon the needle, or
rather to show its action. If the electrical elfect of the
current, however, is multiplied, its action upon the needle
becomes apparent. In order to do this we must use, as
Dr Colladon first did with success, Schweigger’s multi¬
plier, which is shown in fig. 11, where ABODE is the wire
which conducts the electrical current, bent several times,
and covered with three folds of silk for the purpose of in¬
sulation. The needle NS is then inclosed within the
coils of the wire, and the effect of the current upon it is
obviously quadrupled by the four coils of the wire which
surround it. The coils should be as near to each other as
possible; and as they can be repeated a great number of
times, the multiplication of the effect is almost unlimited.
The needle is suspended by a single fibre of silk, and the
sensibility of the instrument may be increased by using a
magnet for the purpose of diminishing the directive power
of the needle. When Dr Colladon- brought the two ends
of the wire of this apparatus to the two conductors of an
electrical battery of 4000 square inches, so as to make the
discharge go a little way through the air before it entered
the wire, a current of sufficient strength and of some du¬
ration was obtained, which produced a considerable devia¬
tion in the needle. Dr Colladon also obtained a deviation
of several degrees with this multiplier, by means of the
electrical current obtained from an electrical machine.
These interesting experiments of M. Colladon have
been amply confirmed and beautifully extended by Dr
Faraday. Although MM. Arago, Ampere, and Savary
had witnessed a successful repetition of M. Colladon’s
experiments, yet the conclusions to which they led were
doubted by some and denied by others. Dr Faraday was
therefore induced to repeat them with great care. He
employed for this purpose the electrical machine, battery,
and discharging train already described (see page 631).
The galvanometer which he used was sometimes a
single one, consisting of sixteen or eighteen convolutions
of copper wire covered with silk, and sometimes a double
one, consisting of two independent coils, each containing
sixteen feet of silked copper wire. The glass jar which
covered the galvanometer and supported the needle was
coated inside and outside with tinfoil, the upper part (left
uncoated for the purpose of examining the motions of the
needle) was covered with a frame of wire-work with nu¬
merous sharp projecting points. When this frame and
the two coatings were connected with the discharging
train, an insulated point or ball, connected with the ma¬
chine in its most active state, could be brought within Phenomc
an inch of any part of the galvanometer, without the in- na and
closed needle being affected by any ordinary electrical at- Laws-
traction or repulsion. W“Y'*
Dr Faraday expected, by means of the retarding power
of bad conductors, to obtain from ordinary electricity the
powers of Voltaic electricity. After the connections were
properly made, a battery charged positively by about forty
turns of the machine was discharged through the galva¬
nometer, when the needle immediately moved. By re¬
peating this experiment when the needle was vibrating,
its vibrations were extended to above forty degrees on
each side of the line of rest: on reversing the galvano¬
meter the needle was equally well deflected in the opposite
direction, the deflections being in the same direction as if
a Voltaic current had passed through the galvanometer,
the positive surface of the battery coinciding with the
positive end of the Voltaic apparatus. Similar effects were
obtained by taking the electrical current directly from the
prime conductor, and dispensing with the battery alto¬
gether. When the electricity, too, was passed through
an exhausted receiver to imitate the aurora borealis, and
then through the galvanometer to the earth, it was equally
efficacious in deflecting the needle.
From these and other experiments, Dr Faraday con¬
cludes that a current of common electricity, whether trans¬
mitted through rarefied air, water, brine, acids, and other
imperfect conductors, or through wire, or by means of
points in common air, is still able to deflect the needle
(the only thing necessary being to allow time for its action),
and is just as magnetic as a Voltaib current.
As it is by the galvanic battery, however, that this sub¬
ject has been studied, we cannot pursue it any farther at
present, and must refer our readers to the articles already
mentioned, in which a full view of this new science will
be given.
Sect. VI.— On the Effects of Electricity upon Animal
Bodies.
The influence of electricity on the human frame, whe-influenc
ther it is administered in small quantities so as to ex-ofelectri
cite and surprise us, or in the more powerful and awful city011 a
form of a stroke of lightning, must be well known to thema 011
least informed of our readers.
When any part of the body receives an electric shock,
a disagreeable sensation is felt in the place ; and, according
to Dr Robison, it is sharper when taken from a long wire
than from a large body. When the human frame forms
part of the electric circuit, or when the charge of a Ley¬
den phial is made to enter the body at one hand and pass
out of it at the other, a violent concussion or shock is felt
along the line of its passage across the breast and through
the arms. This electrical shock, and the involuntary mo¬
tion which accompanies it, arises no doubt from the ob¬
structions which an imperfect conductor like the human
body, composed of fluids and solids of different conduct¬
ing powers, presents to the free passage of the electric
fluid. If the charge is increased, the patient through
whom it passes falls down under its influence, and suffers
a temporary suspension of vital action ; and if it is increas¬
ed to a still greater degree, it will produce instantaneous
death. This case is frequently exemplified when persons
are killed by lightning; and a very remarkable instance
of the laceration of the human body lately occurred, which
could have arisen only from an obstruction to the free
passage of the fluid. The case to which we refer presents
us with a most singular variety of action exhibited by the
lightning in passing through animal bodies; and it is
enome-
m and
Laws.
igular
ects of
htning.
xperi-
ents of
an Ma-
nn on
;ls.
ELECTRICITY.
639
so interesting, and so well described by Mr B. Bodding-
ton, the father of the gentleman who was struck with the
lightning, that we shall present our readers with an ab¬
stract of it.
On the 13th of April 1832, Mr and Mrs T. F. Bodding-
ton left Tenbury, occupying the hind barouche seat of their
post-chariot, the servants being in the inside. About half
past three o’clock, with the sun shining, and a serene sky,
they observed a dark cloud to arise in the direction of
their route. Soon after a clap of distant thunder was
heard, but no lightning was seen. A few drops of rain
having begun to fall, Mr Boddington put up an umbrella,
and, after giving it to his wife, he put up another, and
when he was in the act of extending the latter, a flash of
lightning struck them both senseless, threw the horses on
the ground, and cast the post-boy to a distance. One of
the servants, after recovering from his alarm, looked out
of the window, and saw the head of Mr Boddington hang¬
ing over the seat, and apparently lifeless. Jumping from
the carriage, he raised his master’s head, and found his
clothes on fire, while Mrs Boddington was standing up
tearing off her bonnet and shawls. She had neither seen
the flash nor heard the thunder, but felt a sense of suffoca¬
tion, and was putting off her things to obtain air. She and
the servant then proceeded to extinguish the fire, which
was still consuming her husband’s dress, ihe lightning,
passing down through the umbrella, penetrated through
the bonnet into Mrs Boddington’s neck, and zigzagged
along the skin of her neck to the steel busk of her stays,
leaving a painful but not a deep wound, and affecting the
hearing of the left ear. From the lower end of the busk
the lightning pierced through all the garments down to
her thighs, where it made wounds on both; but the one
on the left was so deep and so near the femoral artery,
that the astonishment is she escaped with her life, the
haemorrhage being very great. None of her clothes were
burnt, notwithstanding their inflammable nature, nor did
any of her wounds present the appearance of burns. Mr
Boddington, after remaining insensible for ten minutes,
revived, and felt a pain all over him. ihe main force of
the shock passed down the handle of the umbrella to his
left arm, though a portion of it made a hole through the
brim of his hat, and burnt off all the hair that was below
it, along with his eye-brows and eye-lashes. The frag¬
ments of the burnt parts falling into the eyes, deprived
him nearly of sight for two or three days. The electric
stream shattered his left hand, melted his gold shirt-but¬
tons, and tore the clothes in a most extraordinary man¬
ner, forcing parts of them, with the buttons, to a distance,
and inflicting a deep wound under their position on the
wrist. The arm was laid bare to the elbow, a severe
wound was made in his body, and every article of his
dress torn away as if by gunpowder. It then passed to
the iron of the seat, wounding his back, the whole of
which was literally flayed. The horse rode b}7 the posti¬
lion was killed. A Very striking difference M as observed
in the wounds of Mr and Mrs Boddington. Hers were
fractures of the flesh. His, on the contrary, whether deep
or shallow, were all burns, and had a white and blistered
appearance. No wound was visible on the dead horse
excepting an indentation on the head where the fluid en¬
tered, discolouring the spine in its passage.
For the purpose of determining in what manner death
is produced by a powerful electric discharge, Van Marum
sent the electric shock through eels one and a half and
three and a half feet long. The smaller eels were instant¬
ly killed when the shock wras sent through their whole Phenome-
body ; but when the charge was only sent through indi- na atul
vidual parts, these parts only lost their irritability, while ^ Laws. ^
the rest retained it. When the shock w7ent through the
upper and fore part of the head of the large eels, the un¬
der jaw, as well as the muscles of the neck and belly, and
even the lower part of the body, preserved their irritabili¬
ty, while the parts which conveyed the charge had total¬
ly lost it. When smaller shocks were sent through warm¬
blooded animals, similar effects were observed ; and hence
it has been inferred that the circulation of the blood
cannot take place when such an effect has been produ¬
ced, and that the suspension or destruction of life must
arise from this cause. When the shock does not affect
the large arteries the animal may recover, provided that
the spinal marrow and the cerebellum are not injured.
Various experiments have been made by Mr Morgan Experi-
and others, with the view of ascertaining the influence ofments °f
electricity on the animal functions. Mr Morgan found that Morgan,
if the diaphragm forms part of the circuit between the
inside and outside coating of a jar containing two square
feet, the lungs will make a sudden effort, followed by a
loud shout. When a small charge is similarly applied, a
violent fit of laughter is always produced, even on the grav¬
est persons. A strong charge transmitted through the dia¬
phragm is frequently accompanied by tears and sighs, and
sometimes by fainting. When a strong charge is sent
through the spine of a person standing, he will frequently
either drop on his knees, or fall prostrate on the floor. A
strong charge having been transmitted accidentally through
Mr Singer’s head, he felt the sensation of a violent but uni¬
versal blow, which was followed by transient indistinct¬
ness of vision and loss of memory, but no permanent in¬
jury M7as received. When the charge of a battery is sent
through the head of a bird, its optic nerve is always in¬
jured or destroyed; and when a smarter shock is given
to a larger animal, a tremor and depression, with a general
prostration of strength, is produced.1
Mr Cavendish observed that the sensible shock de¬
pended more on the quantity than on the intensity of the
charge, a double degree of intensity with only half the
quantity invariably producing a less powerful shock. Ac¬
cording to Volta, only a little more electricity is necessary
to produce an equal shock from a larger surface. A sur¬
face, for example, sixteen times as large, required only an
elevation of the electrometer to one tenth of the number
of degrees. Dr Robison informs us that the shock obtain¬
ed from a small charge given to a large surface, yields a
less unpleasant shock than a large charge given to a small
surface. As these observations, however, depend upon
individual feeling, and as it is known that different per¬
sons are affected in very different ways with the same
degree of electricity, they may not be generally correct.
The influence of electricity on the pulse has been ex- Effects of
amined by different authors, though with some variety ofelectricity
result. M. Trembley found that the arterial pulse wason^he
quickened in persons electrified. M. Boze was of the^ut,e'
same opinion ; but the Abbe Nollet could not discover
any increase in the rapidity of the circulation of various
animals which he electrified. Cavallo, on the contrary,
informs us that an experienced medical electrician assured
him that, “ in a diseased state of the body, an obvious ac¬
celeration of the pulse wras observed to result from the ap¬
plication of electricity.”
In the experiments made by M. Nollet, his attention Experi-
was directed to other points beside the state of the pulse. ™ents ol
1 Dr Young observes, that a minute tremor communicated to the most elastic parts of the human body, particularly to the chest,
occasions a nervous agitation, not unlike the effect oi weak electricity.
ELECTRICITY.
640
Phenome- His experiments were made with birds, cats, and the hu-
na and raan subject; and having selected and carefully weighed
i ^WS' , pairs of the animals, he communicated to them a current of
electricity for some hours, when they were again weighed.
The loss sustained was ascribed to perspiration. The
general result was, that the animal which was electrified
was always found to be lighter than the one which was
not. The persons who submitted to these experiments
suffered no inconvenience from them. They experienced
a slight degree of exhaustion, and an increase of appetite,
but none of them found themselves sensibly warmer.
Experi- In order to settle these questions respecting the in-
ments of fluence of electricity on the pulse and on insensible per-
Van Ma- Spirationj yan Marum selected eleven persons, and repeated
the experiment four times upon each, with negative as
well as with positive electricity. They were placed in a
room so remote from the machine that they could not
hear the noise which was made in working it. They were
placed on insulating stools, and their pulse was felt and
carefully counted both when the machine was in motion
and at rest. The general result wras, no decided accele¬
ration was observed, a few additional beats having taken
place in some cases. In general, however, there was a
great irregularity in the •pulse.
The next experiment of Van Marum was a very inte¬
resting one. He placed a boy eight years old in one
scale of a delicate balance, which scale was insulated by
means of a silk cord. The boy being connected with the
conductor, the balance was brought to a state of exact
equilibrium. Having determined that the boy, previous
to being electrified, lost 280 grains in an hour, he elec¬
trified him, and found that the loss was 295. In another
experiment the boy lost 330 grains before, and 310 after
being electrified. A girl seven and a half years old lost
180 grains before, and 165 after being electrified. A boy
eight and a half years old lost 430 grains before, and 290
after being electrified. A boy nine years old lost 170 be¬
fore, and 240 after being electrified. As this boy had re¬
mained very quiet during the experiment, the increase
was ascribed to electricity, and the experiment was care¬
fully repeated. He now lost 550 grains before, and 390,
330, 270, 550, and 420 after being electrified. Hence it
appeared that the insensible perspiration had rather de¬
creased than augmented.
Medical The powerful influence of electricity on the human
electricity, frame led the more sober part of the medical profession to
view it as a valuable auxiliary in the healing art, while
those who were more sanguine regarded it as an universal
medicine, which might be resorted to in every form of
disease. Charlatans of every degree found the electrical
machine a lucrative article of trade ; and there were not
wanting well-meaning enthusiasts who contributed to pro¬
long the reign of medical electricity.
But though electricity has not yet taken up a position
in the healing art, there can be no doubt that in various
disorders its application has been found advantageous,
and that patients have, in a particular class of diseases,
experienced instantaneous relief.
The machine used for medical purposes should have
sufficient power to yield a continued current of strong
sparks. The diameter of the plate in a plate machine
should be about twenty inches, and that of a cylinder
about ten or twelve inches. The only apparatus neces¬
sary is a jar fitted up with Lane’s electrometer (see
Electrical Plate CCXVI. fig. 16), and a pair of directors, each consist-
machine ;ng 0f a glass handle surmounted by a brass cap, with a
for medical w|re a few. jnc]ies long, carrying a ball at its extremity.
Plate°SeS' ^ wooden point is sometimes substituted for this ball.
CCXVI. When it is required to pass a shock through any part of
Fig. 16. the body, the directors are applied at the opposite extre¬
mities of the part, one director being connected by a Phenom
wire with the inside coating, and the other with the out- na and
side coating of the jar, or, what is the same thing, ■with ^,aws-
the receiving ball of Lane’s electrometer, previously pla-
ced at such a distance from the ball of the jar as to yield
a charge of the proper magnitude. When sparks are to
be administered, it is done with the director and brass
ball; but when the organ is very delicate, such as the
eye, a stream of electricity is thrown upon it from the
wooden point, held at the distance of about half an inch.
An insulating stool, capable of holding a chair for the pa¬
tient, is also necessary. In certain cases a brass plate,
communicating with the inside of the jar, is placed in the
bottom of the chair, so as to apply itself to the lower
part of the body, when the electricity is required to pass
through the abdomen or adjacent parts.
In his Introduction to Electricity and Galvanism, Mr
Carpue has enumerated several diseases in which it seems
to be almost certain that electricity will be beneficial,
The following is an abridgment of his list:
1. Contractions.—In those which are of long duration
immediate relief has been obtained, provided they depend
on the affection of a nerve.
2. Rigidity.—Cases of this kind have been frequently
relieved after some perseverance.
3. Sprains, Relaxation.—Electricity applied after the
subsidence of the inflammation is generally advantageous.
4. Indolent Tumours.—Strong sparks and slight shocks
are frequently very effectual. Schirrous indurations of
the breast have been often successfully dispersed. Gang¬
lions have also been removed from the wrists or feet.
5. Chilblains.—Electricity is a good preventive, and in
two cases they were removed by electric sparks.
6. Deafness.—Sparks thrown upon the mastoid process,
and round the meatus auditorius externus, and drawn from
the same part on the opposite side, generally afford relief,
and about one in five have been permanently cured.
7. Opacity of the Cornea.—A current of electricity
thrown for about ten minutes a day on the eye from a
wooden point, sometimes cures this disorder. It is said
to yield most readily when originating from the small¬
pox. In one case the disorder always returned when the
electricity was discontinued.
8. Gutta Serena.—The method of electrifying the eye
for the opacity of the cornea has been occasionally suc¬
cessful in this disorder.
9. Knee Cases.—Pains and swellings in the knee have
been removed to the extent of one case in ten by sparks.
10. Chronic Rheumatism.—Sparks given for ten or fif¬
teen minutes every day have afforded numerous cures.
A few days is sometimes sufficient; but in cases of long
standing considerable perseverance is necessary.
11. Acute Rheumatism.—An electrified current of air
applied about a month, effected a cure in one case out of
six.
12. Palsy.—Moderate shocks, with sparks occasionally,
have been successful in about one case in every fourteen.
13. St Vitus’s Dance.—This has also been frequently
relieved by electricity.
A work in two volumes has been written by the Abbe
Bertholon, a very respectable and scientific individual, in
which electricity is regarded as a power which exercises
an extensive influence in the cure of disease; and there
is scarcely any class of disorders in which this credulous
author has not represented it as having been successful.
He considers the electricity of the atmosphere as a prin¬
cipal cause of the number of deaths, particularly sudden
deaths, and as having a marked influence on generation,
conception, and parturition.
Although several works of rather an empirical charac-
ELECTRICITY
641
ectrical ter have been more recently written on medical electri-
paratus. city, yet no philosopher of any eminence, with the excep-
'"Y"-’' tion of Professor Marianini, has devoted any attention to
the subject. This ingenious author has published more
than one memoir entitled “ On some Cases of Palsy treat-
edby means of Electricity produced by a Voltaic Apparatus.'’1
He has given a minute account of the cases in which
electricity proved efficacious, of those which were attend¬
ed with some amelioration, and of those in which it was
wholly unsuccessful. He gives excellent general direc¬
tions for the application of electricity, and mentions some
curious facts which have occurred in his practice. Our
author recommends electricity in the strongest manner as
a moral remedy in palsy, and advises philosophers to study,
more attentively than they have done, the influence of
this powerful agent upon the human frame. As M. Maria¬
nini did not use ordinary electricity, we cannot with pro¬
priety give any further account of his labours here. We
shall only remark, that it will be a most interesting study
to compare the effects produced with the intense electri¬
city of the machine, with those produced with the more
copious quantity yielded in the Voltaic apparatus.
Sect. VII.— On the Effects of Electricity upon Vegetable
. Bodies.
Teds of It has been distinctly shown by Priestley, Ingenhousz,
■dncity an(] Sennebier, but especially by Theodore de Saussure,
iesf6 ^iat ^ie var’ous parts of plants act upon atmospheric air ;
that they insensibly disengage a large quantity of carbonic
acid at the expense of the oxygen ; and that, owing to
some combination within the plant, they sometimes ex¬
hale pure oxygen. Now, as all carbonic acid has vitreous
electricity, this exhalation of the acid from plants ought
to furnish an abundant supply of it to the atmosphere.
M. Pouillet, of whose researches we have already given
an abstract, has placed this truth beyond a doubt.
brom this fact alone we might reasonably infer that
electricity performs an important function in the pheno¬
mena of vegetation; but so little attention has been paid to
this subject, that we have some hesitation in laying be¬
fore our readers the very imperfect and unsatisfactory ex¬
periments which have been recorded. The best experi¬
ments, indeed, have entirely a negative character; and
the general result of them is given when we say that elec¬
tricity appears to have no decided efficacy as a stimulus
to vegetable life.
Ihe recent discoveries, however, which have been
made on endosmose and exosmose by M. Dutrochet, ren¬
der it extremely probable that an electrical action is the
cause of the ascent of the sap in plants; but as M. Pois¬
son continues to ascribe these curious facts to capillary
action, and other philosophers to other causes, we must
wait for further experiments before we can treat this sub¬
ject as a branch of electricity.
PART II.
DESCRIPTION OF ELECTRICAL APPARATUS.
cctrical In the preceding part of this treatise we have already
t’aratus. ]ia(j occasion to refer to several pieces of electrical appa¬
ratus, and particularly to two or three varieties of the
best machines for generating electricity by friction. Not¬
withstanding this slight anticipation, however, we must
resume the subject at some length, on account of its Electrical
great importance in a popular and practical view of the Apparatus,
science.
Ihe various kinds of electrical apparatus maybe class¬
ed under the four following heads:—■
1. Instruments for generating and collecting electri¬
city.
2. Instruments for accumulating electricity.
3. Instruments for indicating the presence of electri¬
city, and measuring its quantity.
4. Instruments for miscellaneous purposes.
CHAP. I.—DESCRIPTION OF INSTRUMENTS FOR GENERAT¬
ING AND COLLECTING ELECTRICITY.
The instruments which belong to this chapter are, elec- Instru-
trical machines, atmospherical conductors, and electro-ments f°r
phori. generating
electricity.
Sect. I.—Description of Electrical Machines.
The simplest of all pieces of apparatus for generating
electricity is a tube or rod of glass, which, when rubbed
with a piece of woollen cloth, will yield as much electri¬
city as will charge a jar in a short time. In consequence,
however, of the labour which attends this operation, it
has been usual to turn a sphere or cylinder of glass round
an axis by a simple winch, or by a double wheel and
band, for the purpose of generating electricity rapidly,
and without fatigue to the operator.
We have already exhibited two of these machines in
Plate CCIX. fig. 3 and 6, and described their general con¬
struction. It is easy to modify this construction in various
ways;—and for particular purposes and particular classes
of experiments particular forms of the machine may be
most convenient: But as the philosopher is best capable
of introducing such modifications for his own use, we
shall not occupy our pages with the descriptions of elec¬
trical machines which have sprung more from the fancy
and caprice of individuals than from the wants of the
science.
There can be no doubt that the plate-glass machine is
the most commodious and the most powerful form of the
electrical machine.
We have already described, and given representations
of very excellent plate-glass machines in Plate CCIX.
fig. 1, 2, and 7, and in Plate CCX. fig. 1-5, of the last of
which we shall give a fuller description ; but we have re¬
served to the present chapter the description of the best
form of the electrical machine with which we are ac¬
quainted, and which we owe to the ingenuity of Mr Snow
Harris, F. li. S. Plymouth.
1. Description of Mr Snoio Harris's Electrical Machine.
This machine, which is shown in perspective in Plate Mr Snow
CCXIV. fig. 7, consists of a circular disc of plate glass Z Z, Harris’s
three feet in diameter, mounted on a horizontal axis, e^ec!'1?ca^
resting on two horizontal supporters of mahogany. These p^1116'
supporters are themselves sustained by four vertical ma- CCXIV.
hogany columns, fixed upon a firm frame as a base. To Fig. 7.
the lower side of this frame are fixed four legs M, N, O,
P, upon which the whole machine rests; and these legs
again rest upon another steady frame It, S, T, furnished
with rollers, so as to move it easily into any required po¬
sition, and likewise with three levelling screws It, S, T,
4 M
,vol. vm.
1 Ann. dell. Scitnz. del Regno Lombardo- Veneto, Marz. et Avr. 1833.
642
ELECTRICITY.
Electrical for placing it horizontally. By these means the machine
Apparatus. may be so adjusted and fixed that the axis of the plate of
glass, which has a free motion backwards and forwards in
the holes in which it turns, may not tend more to one
side than to the other, and occasion an equal action on
the rubbers. The rubbers, which are four in number,
are insulated on pillars of glass A, B, one placed at each
extremity of the horizontal diameter A, B of the plate.
The positive conductor C, B, D projects in a vertical
position in front of the plate Z Z, while the negative con¬
ductor passes in a curvilineal direction behind, and con¬
nects the rubbers of each side.
The plate of glass is turned by an insulated handle,
immediately in front of which is placed a short index,
which is fixed to the axis, and which moves over a gra¬
duated circle L, attached to the horizontal part of the
frame, and through the centre of which the axis passes. In
this manner the number of revolutions of the plate may
be accurately registered.
In order to strengthen the centre of the plate, two small¬
er plates are cemented to each side by varnish and a
small stop is inserted into the axis, to prevent the pres¬
sure from increasing beyond a certain point.
When the machine is used for ordinary purposes, the
conductors shown in fig. 7 are employed; but when it is
employed to accumulate electricity, the conductors should
have the smallest extent possible, and, excepting at the
receiving points, where they collect the electricity from
the edge of the silk flaps about H, H, they should be
covered with sealing-wax. In this case the positive con¬
ductor is formed of small straight tubes, as shown in fig.
Fig. 8. 8, and its extremities terminate in balls of varnished
wood, through the substance of which the metallic com¬
munications pass.
2. Description of Van Marum's Electrifying Machine.
Van Ma- This machine, to which we have made a brief reference
rum’s elec-in Sect. III. Chap. II. Part I., is represented in elevation
trical ma- and in section in fig. 1 and 2 of Plate CCX. The plate of
F^'cCX ^ass which is thirty-one inches in diameter, is sus-
j 5 ' tained byn single pillar E, at the upper extremity of which
’ are two similar brass collars I, I, one of which is shown sepa¬
rately in fig. 4. The horizontal axis MN rests upon these
collars, and this axis carries a counterweight L, in order to
balance the plate of glass and its appendages, and thus
equalize the friction on the collars. The rubbers, which
cannot be seen in the section, fig. 2, are shown at m, n, fig. 1.
The pair at m is attached to the ball O, and supported by
the glass pillar e; and in like manner the pair at n is at¬
tached to the ball P, and supported by the glass pillar^/! A
horizontal section of the rubbers and balls is shown sepa¬
rately in fig. 3. A semicircle of brass CD is attached to
an axis g that turns on the ball G, resting on the pillar
F, so as to give the conductor CGD a motion round that
axis. Collectors six inches long and two and a half in
diameter are placed at C and D, to collect the electricity
from the revolving plate AB. At the outer end of the
axis ^ is a copper tube H/<, terminating at its lower end
in a ball H, and its upper end in a smaller ball It, two
inches in diameter, which, screwing into G, will fix the
tube H/t in any position round g. An arch of brass wire
c\d, half an inch in diameter, is fixed to the end of the
bearing piece K, and moves round I into any given azi¬
muth, so as to be placed, as in fig. 1, opposite the rubbers
m, n, or at right angles to them. In like manner, the con¬
ductor CGD can be placed either horizontally, so that the
collectors C and D may be opposite the rubbers m and n,
or vertically, as shown in fig. 1. By this apparatus it is
easy to produce either positive or negative electricity. In
the position of the conductor shown in fig. 1, where CGD Electri
is at right angles to the rubbers, and where the rubbers Appara
are connected with the ground by the arch cld, and by
the wire KK, fig. 2, the conductor G will give positive
electricity; but when we wish negative electricity, the con¬
ductor CGD is placed horizontally, with its collectors C, D
opposite the rubbers, and the arch cld is placed vertically,
so as to insulate the rubbers.
A mahogany cap T covers the metallic caps of the sup¬
ports, in order to insulate them more perfectly. A hollow
ring of mahogany, VX, is, for the same reason, made to
cover the metallic socket into which the support is in¬
serted. In fig. 3, a, h, a, b, are four pieces of gum-lac. In
fig. I and 2, W is the jiandle by which the machine is
wrought.
3. Description of Hares Electrical Machine.
This machine, which we have previously noticed, differs Hare’s
from those generally made, in having its glass plate hori-electric
zontal; and it is considered by its inventor, Professor Hare
of Philadelphia, as giving negative electricity in a way
preferable to that in which it is obtained in Van Marum’s ‘‘
machine. The glass plate MN, thirty-four inches in dia¬
meter, is supported on an upright iron bar PR, about an
inch in diameter, and covered by a stout glass cylinder,
sixteen inches high and four and a half inches in diame¬
ter, open only at the base, through which the bar is in¬
troduced so as to form its axis. At the top of the bar
PR is a block of wood turned to fit the cavity at the apex
of the cylinder, and cemented therein. The external
apex of the cylinder is fixed by cement into the brass cap
which carries the plate. The glass cylinder, which is
liable to no strain, effectually insulates the plate from the
iron axis PR. The brass cap seen at P is surmounted by
a screw and flange, which, with the aid of a correspond¬
ing nut and discs of cork, keeps the plate firm. The wheel
W, driven by a handle, communicates by means of a band
with another wheel about twenty inches in diameter,
placed on the iron axis RS.
“ Nearly the same mode of insulation and support,”
saj's Dr Hare, “ which is used for the plate is used in
the case of the conductors. They consist severally of
arched tubes of brass (ABC, DEF), of about an inch and
a quarter in diameter, which pass over the plate from one
side of it to the other, so as to be at right angles to, and
at a due distance from, each other. They are terminated
by brass balls and caps, which last are cemented on glass
cylinders of the same dimensions nearly as that which
supports the plate. The glass cylinders are suspended
upon wooden axes, surmounted by plugs of cork turned
accurately to fit the space which they occupy. The cy¬
linders are kept steady below by bosses of wood which
surround them. In this way the conductors are effectual¬
ly insulated, while the principal strain is borne by the
wooden axes.”
The collectors are shown at MN in connection with the
positive conductor ABC, and the rubbers are shown be¬
tween P and the balls D and F in connection with the
negative conductor DEF. The advantage of this form of
the machine over that of Van Marum is, that the two con¬
ductors are permanently fixed in their places, and that
positive and negative electricity can be at any time ob¬
tained without any change in the machine. Dr Hare
considers the band as of advantage in preventing the
plate from being cracked by any hasty effort to put it in
motion when it adheres to the cushions, as it often does.
Dr Hare uses a winch on the other side of the wheel, so
that two persons, or one with both hands, may drive it.
The great expense of large cylinders and plates of
ELECTRICITY.
643
ectrical glass, and their liability to injury, have induced artists to
paratus. construct electrical machines of different substances. M.
Walckiere de St Amand of Brussels constructed a machine
ichines 0f extraordinary power, which consisted of a web of var-
^ nished silk twenty-five feet long and five feet wide, re-
s’ volving upon two wooden cylinders covered with woollen
serge. During the revolutions of the cylinders, the silk
moves between two cushions, each seven feet long and two
inches in diameter, covered by cat’s skin or hare’s skin, and
moveable so as to vary the friction. The machine was
driven by four men, and it had so great power that it
gave sparks fifteen inches long, and nobody durst take a
spark from it but with the shoulder and elbow,
varnish- Dr Ingenhousz constructed machines with discs of paste-
paste- board four feet in diameter, and soaked in copal or am-
ard; ber varnish dissolved in linseed oil. They were covered
with the same varnish, and were mounted upon an axis
or flat board, three inches broad, and covered with flan¬
nel or hare’s skin, being placed between each two discs, so
as to act as a rubber. Sparks one and even two feet
long were given out by the front disc when the knuckle
was presented to it.
wooden Wooden discs, and cylinder discs of gum-lac partly im-
iCS' mersed in mercury, which acted on the rubber, and
stretched varnished ribbons, have been all used in the con¬
struction of electrifying machines, but it would be an un¬
profitable task to describe them.
4. General Observations on the Construction and Use of
the Electrical Machine.
bsorva- Although in fine dry weather, and in a warm and dry
ms on place, a good electrical machine may be brought into an
celectri.excepent state of action, merely by wiping it with a warm
.ma’ linen cloth, and afterwards with a silk handkerchief, yet
111C’ in a different state of the atmosphere, and in humid apart¬
ments, every precaution is necessary to insure the vigo¬
rous and steady action of the machihe. By turning the
machine before a fire, or placing it in a current of heated
air, or, as Dr Faraday suggests, by placing it over a
sand-bath or a hot iron plate, whose temperature does not
exceed 212 degrees, the different parts of the machine
will be thoroughly dried and heated without affecting the
cements.
lethods W’e have already described (see page 576) the improve-
hming ment of Mr Ronalds, who heats the inside of the machine,
Iema' &c. by a spirit-lamp. Dr Faraday recommends the heat¬
ing of a cylinder-machine by placing a chemical Argand
lamp with a low flame beneath the cylinder, and to sup¬
port a plate of metal nearly six inches square, about an
inch above the chimney of the lamp. This plate, by
being heated, varies the air above it, and produces a large
moderately heated current, which encircles the cylinder,
and thoroughly warms it. Care must be taken not to
heat the cylinder in spots, but to bring it, and especially
the insulating parts, to an uniform temperature, which
shall never be sufficient to melt the cement which is used
in any part of it.
The state of the rubbers requires particular attention.
They must be carefully freed from dust, and supplied
with a soft and uniform coating of amalgam, which should
always be rubbed in a mortar with tallow previous to being
used. Large spots of amalgam should be removed from
the cylinder or plate, either by the nail or a piece of
wood. Dr Faraday remarks, that a few spots of amalgam
rather increase than diminish the activity of the machine,
and that the silk which proceeds from the rubber is better
when impregnated with amalgam than when free from it.
Dr Faraday adds, that it is often useful to hold a piece
of silk, with some amalgam adhering to it, against the re¬
volving plate or cylinder, and also to rub the surface of Electrical
amalgam on the rubber with the same amalgamated silk. Apparatus.
When the machine is thus put into good action, and the
prime conductor removed, it should discharge a continued
series of brushes from the edge of the silk, and abundance
of sparks flying round the glass.
Sect. II.—Description of the Electrophones.
This ingenious instrument, which was invented by the Electro-
celebrated Volta, is shown in Plate CCXIV. fig. 9. It con- phorus of
sists of a circular metallic disc A, or a plate of w0°d
covered with tinfoil, having an insulating handle of glass CCXIV.
screwed into a nut E, made of wood or brass. The plate A pig. 9.
is called the upper conductor, or cover. The next plate B,
called the resinous plate, consists of a plate half an inch
thick, composed of equal parts of shell-lac, common resin,
and Venice turpentine, poured when hot upon a marble or
stone table. The next plate is a metallic one C, called
the lower conductor, or sole, which may be either separate
or not from the resinous plate which rests upon it. The
edge of the first plate A must be pretty thick, and made
smooth and round. The following is the method of gene¬
rating electricity with this apparatus.
The cover A being held in the left hand, rub the upper
surface of the resinous plate B with a piece of dry fur, or
whip it with a fox’s tail or stripe of cat’s skin. It will
thus be excited negatively. Place the upper conductor
above the resinous plate, and while it is there touch it
with the finger, and then raise it by its glass handle. It
will exhibit signs of positive electricity, and will yield a
spark either to the knuckle or to the knob of a Leyden
phial. If the cover A is again placed upon B, and, after
being touched, again raised, it wall give another spark, and
twenty of these sparks will charge a Leyden jar of a mo¬
derate size. If the upper conductor A is not touched by
the finger when placed upon B, it will exhibit, when raised,
very faint, if any, traces of electricity. Now, as the resi¬
nous plate B continues, without any new excitation, to
charge the upper conductor A, it is manifest that its elec¬
tric condition is not destroyed by the contact and removal
of A ; and as it is necessary to connect the upper conduc¬
tor with the ground, by touching it previous to its being
raised, it is obvious that the electricity acquired by A is
derived from its contact with B.
In order to explain the theory of the electrophorus, let
us insulate the lower conductor C, by placing it on a glass
stand, as in fig. 10, and let this conductor communicate Fig. 10.
with the pith balls of an electroscope. As soon as the
upper surface of the cake B is excited, the pith balls will
diverge with negative electricity. The negative electrici¬
ty developed by the excitation of the upper surface has
decomposed the natural electricity of C, by attracting the
positive part and repelling the resinous part into the elec¬
troscope where it is indicated. If we now touch the con¬
ductor C, its negative electricity is carried off, and the
positive undergoes no diminution ; but, owing to the escape
of the negative portion, the balls will collapse. II wTe now
make the upper conductor A approach to 13, and rest upon
it, touching it at the same time with the finger, so as to con- •
nect it with the ground, the positive electricity of the cake
B will decompose the natural electricity ol A, repelling its
negative electricity to the earth through the finger, and at¬
tracting its positive portion to its lower surface. 1 his posi¬
tive electricity of A attracting the negative electricity ot
the surface of B, and repelling the vitreous electricity of C,
thus doubly tends to diminish the force by which this po¬
sitive electricity is rendered latent or detained. Some ot
it, therefore, will be set free, and the pith balls will di-
ELECTRICITY.
644
Electrical verge with positive electricity, the divergence increasing
Apparatus, as the conductor A comes nearer and nearer to the plate
B. But as the positive electricity of the lower conductor
has a tendency to repel the positive electricity with which
we wish to charge the upper conductor A, we must cause
the lower conductor C to communicate with the earth, as
in fig. 9. By this means the electricity of C is reduced
to its natural state, and the electricity of the upper sur¬
face of the cake B renders latent the maximum quantity
of positive electricity on the upper conductor B.
Although the air produces a gradual dissipation of the
electricities which are not rendered latent in an excited
electrophorus, yet a well-constructed electrophorus will re¬
main for months in full energy.
Lieliten- M. Biot has ingeniously applied the principle of the
berg’s electrophorus to explain what have been called the figures
figures?1 Lichtenberg. If, when the electrophorus is charged, we
raise the conductor A, and replace it on the cake B, by
making it rest obliquely and upon its edge, then its positive
electricity, accumulating itself wholly in the part which
touches B, will become much stronger. It will escape
from A, and will completely neutralize the negative elec¬
tricity of the places towards which it goes, and after some
contacts thus repeated upon different parts of the cake
B, it will be all discharged. Hence we may deduce the
following curious experiment: Instead of bringing back
upon the negative electricity the positive which it has de¬
veloped by its influence, carry it to another resinous cake
If, in its natural state. It will likewise attach itself to
the surface of this cake, which will become positively elec¬
trified, and be capable in its turn of developing by*its in¬
fluence negative electricity. When the second cake B' is
thus charged, place upon its surface a disc of metal. W'e
shall then have an electrophorus of an opposite kind to the
first; and if this last is used to charge a third cake B", the
latter will have negative electricity; and in this way we
may have any number of cakes, which will be electrified
positively and negatively alternately. By this process we
may electrify each surface only in certain parts, by attach¬
ing to the conductor A a rod and metallic button. If we
then touch the resinous cake with this button, the electrici¬
ty will be carried wholly to the point of contact. These
points may be so chosen as to form the outlines of any
regular or picturesque figures. In order to render these
forms or pictures visible, we have only to strew on the
surface of the resinous cake some light powder formed by
a non-conducting substance, such as pounded resin or
sulphur. The small particles of the resin, for example,
will attach themselves only to the electrified spots; so
that, by inverting the plate, all the rest will fall down by
their own weight. These small particles affect regular
and different arrangements, according to the nature of the
electricity which makes them adhere; so that, by form¬
ing figures with the two electricities in different parts of
the same plate, we obtain at the same time two sorts of
figures.
Lichtenberg’s method of making these figures visible is
exceedingly beautiful. Having triturated sulphur and
minium or red lead together in a mortar, so as to have
a mixture of a yellow and red powder, he traced his fi¬
gures on the resinous cake with the knob of a jar charged
with vitreous electricity, and repeated them with the knob
of a jar charged with resinous electricity. The compound
powder being now projected, either with a powder puff or
by means of a pair of bellows, upon the cake, the particles
of sulphur which are electrified positively by trituration
will attach themselves to the negatively electrified spots,
while the negatively electrified particles of red lead will
adhere to the positively electrified spots, so as to form a
series of red and yellow figures when the cake has been
inverted, and the rest of the powder has fallen from it. Electric:
Many beautiful variations of this experiment have beenApparati
devised; and Mr Bennet has shown how to make the''“’’Y'*
figures permanent, by transferring them to paper.
When this experiment was first made, some German
philosophers observed that the powder of rosin had some¬
times a progressive motion which was not regular, and a
new theory was the consequence of this. It was found,
however, that they were very small insects of the genus
acarus which happened to be in the powder, and which
walked over the surface of the plate.
When well made and properly used, the electrophorus is
a very powerful and useful instrument. Dr Klincock of
Prague has shown, that if we transfer alternately the upper
conductor from one resinous cake to another, and touch
it after it is placed on the cakes, both cakes continual¬
ly acquire more and more electricity, so that the upper
conductor returns from either plate quite overcharged;
and Leyden jars may be so strongly charged by them as
to burst by the charge. The conductor returns from one
plate charged with positive, and from the other charged
with negative electricity.
M. Cavallo informs us that an electrophorus made of
sealing-wax spread upon a thick plate of glass six inches
in diameter was capable, when once excited, of charging a
Leyden jar several times in succession, and so strongly as
to perforate a card with the discharge. The upper con¬
ductor, when separated from the plate, was sometimes so
strongly electrified that it darted strong flashes to the
table upon which the electric plate was laid, and even into
the air.
2. Mr J. Phillips s Modification of the Electrophonis.
As the contact of the operator’s finger is of no other Phillips
use than to connect the upper conductor with the earth,electro-
Mr John Phillips of York conceived the ingenious ideal''101-118,
of producing the same effect by a momentary contact be*^^,
tween the upper and under conductors. In effecting this^- ^
he adopted three methods. The first consisted in raising ‘
a brass wire and ball from the lower conductor above the
edge of the resinous cake, so that the edge of the upper
conductor, or a brass ball upon it, may be brought in con¬
tact with it. This method answered very wrell with small
instruments, in which the upper conductor can be easily
directed to any particular point of the sole. In the se¬
cond mode he fixed a narrow strip of tinfoil across the
whole diameter of the resinous surface, so as to join the
metallic sole or lower conductor. This construction an¬
swers perfectly, and is particularly suitable to large cir¬
cles, whose upper conductors will infallibly touch some
point of the metallic strip. The third method is to perfo¬
rate the resinous disc quite through at the centre, and at
any other point, and to insert in these perforations brass
wires with their smoothest tops level with the resinous
surface.
These three methods are represented in fig. 11, where
a represents the ball in the first method, b the slip of
tinfoil in the second, and c, c, c the conducting wires in the
third and best method.
“ On two of the largest electrophori,” says Mr Phillips,
which I have made, both the second and third methods
have been tried with equal success, but I much prefer the
latter construction. The largest instrument has a cast-
iron basis 20-5 inches diameter, resinous surface IQ'^o
inches, cover 16-25 inches. The resinous composition
was made according to the directions in Mr Faradays
work on Chemical Manipulation. The cover is made of
a plate of thin copper, strengthened at the edge by a thick
brass wire, from which three radial brass wires pass to
ELECTRICITY.
645
ectrical the upper part of a central brass tube. In consequence
paratus. 0f the angle they thus form with the plane of the plate,
they act as pretty strong braces to maintain its figure,
and the whole is very light. This central brass tube re¬
ceives a cylindrical piece of wood, into which the insulat¬
ing glass handle covered with sealing-wax is screwed by
its wooden foot.
“ With ordinary excitation this instrument will yield loud
flashing sparks two inches long or more, and speedily
charge considerable jars. The cover can be easily charg¬
ed and discharged fifty or a hundred times in a minute,
by merely setting it down and lifting it up as fast as the
operator chooses, or the hand can work. In charging a
jar or plate, I placed one knob of the connecting rod near
the insulated surface of the jar or plate, and the other
some inches above the cover ; then the cover being alter¬
nately lifted up and set down, the jar is very quickly
charged.
“ One instrument nine inches in diameter, which I have
made from the second plan above described, has very often
surprised me by its remarkable power of retaining electri¬
cal excitation.
“ The following example is worthy of notice. Early in
September 1832 this instrument was removed from a
house in York, where it had been for some time laid by,
and brought to my present residence, distant one third of
a mile. It was placed on a shelf on my book-cases, where
it remained untouched until the 23d March 1833, and
was then taken down covered with dust. It was found to
be in a state of feeble excitement, so as to give sparks,
visible in the day light, nearly one fourth of an inch long.”
3. Dr Faraday s Improvements on the Construction of the
Electrophorus.
uprove- As the electrophorus is an excellent substitute for an
lent on electrical machine in the laboratory of the chemist, from
jieelce- jtg being capable, when in good order, of inflaming the
Hl)lorus' greater number of explosive mixtures operated upon in
eudiometers, Dr Faraday has published his simple and in¬
genious methods of constructing this instrument.
He recommends the cover to be made of a piece of flat
deal board one third or one half of an inch thick. This
board is to be covered with pasted tinfoil laid on smooth¬
ly, particularly at the edges, and having all asperities rub¬
bed down. The smoothest and flattest side being reserv¬
ed for the lowest, a piece of glass tube seven or eight
inches long is to be fixed on the centre of the other side
for a handle ; and towards the edge, on the same side,
there should be fixed a piece of thick wire, about two
inches long, bent outwards, and carrying a smooth metal
ball at its upper end.
In order to make the resinous plate, a sheet of tinfoil
one or one and a half inch wider than the cover is laid
smoothly in the bottom of a flat dish, so that its edges
may rise up all round, or in the inside of a hoop. Shell-
lac, common resiq, and Venice turpentine, in equal pro¬
portions, are then to be melted together in a metallic
vessel, and kept in a state of fusion from 230 to 240 de¬
grees of Fahrenheit, till the vapour has ceased to evolve,
and the fluid is quiet. When it has thickened by cool¬
ing, it must then be poured quickly, to avoid the forma¬
tion of bubbles, upon the tinfoil, so as to form above it a
cake one third or one half of an inch thick. The tinfoil
should then be trimmed round its edge, and the cake
should rest upon or be attached, by its tinfoiled side,
to a board, to serve as a base and prevent it from in¬
jury. Dr Faraday observes that the cover, instead of a
board, may be a plate of tin turned up round a thick wire,
so that no sharp edge or angle may be presented out¬
wards ; and that for the resinous plate may be substituted Electrical
a sheet of thin crown glass, having for its metallic base a Apparatus,
sheet of tinfoil pasted to it. He adds also, that a large
plate of mica without fissures, and coated in the same
manner with tinfoil on one side, makes an excellent elec¬
trophorus. When glass, however, is employed, it must be
well warmed at first, and kept warm during the experi¬
ments. The glass should be excited by being rubbed with
a piece of silk with some amalgam spread upon it. It
should be passed briskly over its surface backward and
forward, and finally slid quickly off at its edge, so as not to
rest upon any one point of the glass, lest it should dis¬
charge that portion of its surface.
To return, however, to the use of the electrophorus
first described. The resiqous plate, when warm and dry,
should be placed horizontally on its board, with the tinfoil
below, and connected by a wire or chain with the ground,
or with a discharging train when it can be obtained. See
page 631. A piece of warm flannel, doubled up loosely
into a roll about ten inches long, is to be held in the hand
by one end; and the other end, being swung round in an
inclined direction with a quick motion of the wrist, should
strike the surface of the plate obliquely each time it pass¬
es, so as to produce an effect between that of a rub and
a blow. When the whole surface of the warm resinous
cake has been thus struck, it will be excited to a con¬
siderable degree. The cover of the electrophorus, being
previously warmed, must now be lifted by its glass handle
and placed on the middle of the resinous cake ; and if the
knob or metallic ball of the cover be now touched, a spark
will pass from it to the finger. The cover is next to be
lifted by its handle in a horizontal direction; and when
it is two or three inches above the plate, the knob upon
it is again to be touched by the finger or a ball, when a
spark stronger than the first will be obtained. The cover
being again put down on the plate, a third spark will pass
between the knob and the knuckle. The cover being
again lifted as formerly, a spark as strong as the second
may be taken from it. By repeating this process, similar
effects may be obtained for a long time. The sparks which
are taken by the knuckle after putting the cover down
are negative, and those which are taken after lifting it up
are positive. Hence we charge a jar either positively or
negatively, according as we take the spark when the cover
is up or down. In order to obtain strong positive sparks,
the cover, when on the resinous plate, must be touched
with the finger, which must be i*emoved before the cover
is lifted up; and to obtain the strongest negative sparks,
the cover when raised should have all its electricity
carried off by the hand or some other conducting body
before it is again placed on the plate. As the cover
ought to be in a state of good insulation, the handle
should be made of sealing-wax and gum-lac, or if made
of glass, it should be varnished with sealing-wax dissolved
in alcohol.
Sect. III.—Description of Conductors for hinging down
Electricity from the Atmosphere.
Various means have been adopted for collecting the free Comluc-
electricity of the atmosphere, either for the purposes of tors,
experimental investigation, or in order to defend buildings
and ships from lightning. The apparatus for the first
of these purposes is essentially different from that which
is used for the last.
1. Electrical Kites.
When the lower atmosphere is charged with electricity,
646
ELECTRICITY.
Electrical it is not difficult to collect it for the purposes of experi-
Apparatus. rnent; but in ordinary states of the air, or when the free
y-v-w' electricity exists at some height above the earth, it is ne-
Electrical eessary to bring it down by means of a kite. I1 or this
kites' purpose a schoolboy’s kite is sufficient. It is only neces¬
sary to twist a copper wire round the hempen string. Dr
Franklin covered the frame of his kite with a thin silk
handkerchief, in order that it might the better sustain
the violence of a thunder-storm. In order to compen¬
sate for this additional weight, he made the framework
of two strips of cedar wood in the form of a cross. The
string of the kite terminates towards the observer in a silk
string or cord, which insulates the kite and its conducting
string; and in order to protect the observer still farther,
a safety chain has been sometimes suspended from the
extremity of the conducting string, so as to reach the
ground and carry off the electricity in case of its becom¬
ing too powerful.
Mr Cuthbertson sometimes found it necessary to use
three kites all connected together. On one occasion when
he could collect no electricity from the atmosphere with a
kite having a string 500 feet long, he succeeded in ob¬
taining it by adding otber two kites, each of which had
strings of the same length. Mr Cuthbertson likewise
employed an apparatus for raising his kites, in which the
strings were lengthened or shortened by coiling them round
a drum.
2. Exploring Conductors.
proceeding a little farther, it suspends from its extremity Electrica
a pith-ball electrometer K, about twelve inches from the Apparatu;
wall. A bell N, carried by a strong wire, is placed two
inches from the brass ball L, three tenths of an inch in
diameter, suspended from the nail O. The bell N, which
has a metallic communication R w ith the moist ground, is
rung by the ball L. Jars and other pieces of apparatus
are placed when wanted upon the small shelf P; and all
this part of the apparatus is protected from the weather
by being inclosed in a wooden box.
M. Cavallo’s apparatus, called an atmospherical collector, Cavallo’s
merits a description here, on account of its simplicity and atni°spliel
ingenuity. A common jointed fishing rod AB, fig. 13, has™alcolle
its smallest joint replaced by a slender glass tube C, coat-Fij. j3
ed with sealing-wax. From a cork D at its outer end is n
suspended a -pith-ball electrometer. A piece of string
AHGI, is fixed to the end A of the rod, and supported at
the point G by a piece of twine FG. When a pin at the
end I of the cord is pushed into the cork D, the electro¬
meter is uninsulated; but it is insulated for the purposes
of observation in the following manner. The pin being
fixed in the cork D, and the rod held by the hand at A,
it is held out of one of the highest windows, at an angle of
about 50° or 60° to the horizon, and kept there for a few
seconds. The cord is then pulled at H, so as to disen¬
gage the pin from the cork D, and the string drops into
the dotted position KL, leaving the electrometer insulat¬
ed and electrified in a state opposite to that of the atmo¬
sphere.
Exploring One of the simplest instruments for collecting atmo-
conduc- spherical electricity is the hand-exploring rod used by Mr
tors. ^ Read. It was of the same material, length, and thick-
Itead s ness as a common fishing-rod, and had small wire twisted
pbrin^" round il' from one end t0 another- Standing on an insulat¬
ed. ° ing stool, he raised the rod in a vertical position, and after a
minute or two he touched with his other hand an electro¬
meter, which indicated the nature and intensity of the
electricity brought down. When the electricity thus ob¬
tained w^as very weak, he placed on the rod a lighted
torch, keeping it as far up the rod as the strength of his
arm wmuld permit; and he always found that the flame
attracted the electricity more powerfully than the end of
the rod.
Read’s fix- Mr Read, however, found it necessary to use a fixed
ed thunder conductor or thunder-rod ; and wre have shown in Plate
rod. CCXIV. fig. 12, the apparatus which he used in his experi-
ments on die electricity of the atmosphere, of which we
I io^l2 " liave already given some account. The principal part of it
^ is a wooden rod A A, twenty feet long, one inch in diameter
at the top, and two at the bottom. Into the lower end of
it is cemented a solid glass pillar B, coated with wax, and
twenty-two inches long. This pillar rests on a wooden
pedestal C, carried by a bracket D. At thirteen inches
above D, the rod passes through a glass tube F, coated
with wax, and supported by a strong arm of wood E. A
lining of cork lies between the rod A and the tube F, to
prevent the latter from being broken when the rod is bent
by the wind. Several sharp pointed wires G stand out
from the top of the tube. Two of them are of copper,
about one eighth of an inch thick, one of them being
twisted round the rod to the right, and the other to the
left, as shown in the figure, so as to reach the brass collar
at the top of the lower funnel H, to which they are sol¬
dered. The use of the two funnels HH is to defend the
glass rods B, F from the weather. Through a hole in the
wall at I passes a glass tube coated with sealing-wax,
through which a strong brass wire passes from the rod at
M into the room. At the end of the tube this wire passes
through a brass ball L, two inches in diameter ; and, after
3. On Lightning Conductors.
We have already seen that electricity is from various Lightniij
causes generated and set free in our atmosphere, and that“"duc-
individual clouds and masses of clouds are often highlyt0iS
charged with electricity, and insulated by the surround¬
ing air. The earth and the sea are good conductors of
electricity ; and, generally speaking, their natural electri¬
city is undisturbed. The attraction, therefore, of the
electricity of the clouds for the opposite electricity in the
earth or the sea, may become so powerful as to break
through the resisting medium which intervenes. If the
clouds are above a mountain or rising ground, this dis¬
charge of electric matter into the earth is attended with
no danger. The effects have sometimes been traced in
the fusion of portions of the rocks which crown these ex¬
posed summits. If a tree stands in the stratum of air
through which the cloud discharges itself, the lightning
passes through it, cleaving and bursting and damaging it
in its passage. If a house obstructs its path, the electri¬
city descends through its walls, seeking the quickest and
easiest passage to the earth. It will follow bell-wires, iron
rods, damp walls, and gilded pictures, and find out any
matter, whether organised or unorganised, living or dead,
which is placed near its path, and is capable of advancing
it on its rapid and breathless errand to the earth. It a
living animal grazing, or a human being walking, in an
open field, intervenes between the overcharged cloud and
the ground, the one or the other will become the chosen
path of this irresistible foe. If a ship floats under an
electrified canopy of vapour, it has less chance of escape
than the tree, the house, or the living being.
The only terms upon which we can meet this relent¬
less enemy, is a humble admission of its supreme and ir¬
resistible power, and a resolution to give it the freest and
the fullest passport through our territory. We must sup¬
ply it, in short, with a railway of metal, the only species
of road upon which it can travel with a suitable sP^et
and a harmless intention. The moment it ceases to hn<
a conducting body, it begins its devastation among imper-
ELECTRICITY. 647
>ctrical feet or non-conducting substances, till it again gets into a
, laratus. safe and easy path.
In order to protect bouses or buildings from injury by
3usecon.j;g|ltnjngj |ron or COpper cylindrical rods, about half an
1 tors' inch or three quarters in diameter, are generally fixed to
the highest or most exposed parts of them. They are
made sharp at the point, rise five or six feet above the
most elevated part, and pass down into the ground. The
iron staples which fasten them to the walls should be
considerably larger than the rod, and should be covered
with two or three folds of woollen cloth steeped in and
covered with melted pitch. Every piece of metal on the
roof should have a metallic connection with the conductor;
and continuous strips of lead should be built into every
wall, and connected to one another by horizontal strips
communicating with the conductor,
ip con- Although ships are especially exposed to danger, par-
itors. ticularly in tropical climates, yet no adequate means of
protection have yet been adopted, either in the royal or
merchant navy. The conductors hitherto used consist of
long flexible chains or links of metal about the size of a
goose quill. They are sometimes made of iron, but those
in the king’s service are of copper. They are generally
packed in a box, and when required, they are set up so
as to extend from the mast-head into the sea; but it is
well known that in many ships furnished with such con¬
ductors, they are kept packed up in the ship’s hold during
long and hazardous voyages. For this reason Mr Singer
recommended that fixed conductors should be employed;
that they should be attached to the mast; and that where
motion is required, there should be an interruption in the
inflexible conductor, and its parts should be connected
“ by a spiral wire, which would be at once perfectly con¬
tinuous, and sufficiently flexible to yield to every neces¬
sary movement.”
r Snow This important suggestion excited no attention, and it
arris’s was reserved for Mr Snow Harris, F. R. S. Plymouth,
ip con' to devise a new method of constructing ships’ conductors,
IL ulSl and to exhibit their utility and efficacy on board some of
his majesty’s frigates. In order to afford a ship effectual
protection from lightning, Mr Harris conceived it to be
essential that the conductor be as continuous and direct
as possible from the highest points to the sea; that they
be permanently fixed in the masts throughout their whole
extent, so as to allow one part of the mast to move upon
another ; and, if any part of the mast should be acciden¬
tally or wilfully removed along with the conductor at¬
tached to it, that the remaining portion of the conductor
should still be perfect, and capable of transmitting an
electrical discharge into the sea. To accomplish these
objects, a sort of double conductor should be formed, con¬
sisting of two laminm of sheet copper, placed one above
the other, so that the extremities of the laminae of one
layer should be opposite the middle of the laminae of the
other layer. These laminae are each about four feet long,
from six inches to one and a half broad, the thickness of
the under layer being one eighth, and of the upper layer
one sixteenth, of an inch. The copper bands thus formed
are fixed in a fine dove-tailed groove in the aft sides of
the different masts, and are secured in their place by
wrought copper nails, so as to form a smooth surface, the
nails being driven at each side, so as to be about four
inches apart. Before inserting the conductor, the groove
should be painted over with white lead, and must be deep
enough to allow the copper to lie a little beneath the Electrical
surface of the wood. “ The metallic line,” says Mr Har-Apparatus,
ris, “ thus constructed, will then pass downward from the
copper spindle at the mast-head, along the aft sides of
the royal-mast and top-gallant-mast, being connected in
its course with the copper about the sheeve holes. A
copper lining in the aft side of the cap through which
the top-mast slides now takes up the connection, and
continues it over the cap to the aft side of the top-mast,
and so on as before, to the step of the mast; here it meets
a thick wide copper lining, turned round the step, under
the heel of the mast, and resting on a similar layer of
copper fixed to the keelson; this last is connected with
some of the keelson bolts, and with three perpendicular
bolts of copper, of two inches diameter, which are driven
into the main keel upon three transverse or horizontal
bolts, brought into immediate contact with the copper ex¬
panded over the bottom. The laminse of copper are turn¬
ed over the respective mast-heads, and secured about an
inch or more down on the opposite side; the cap which
corresponds is prepared in a somewhat similar way, the
copper being continued from the lining in the aft part ot
the round hole over the cap, into the fore part of the
square one, when it is turned down and secured as bef ore,
so that when the cap is in its place the contact is complete.
In this way we have, under all circumstances, a continu¬
ous metallic line from the highest points to the sea, which
will transmit the electric matter directly through the
keel, being the line of least resistance.”1
This metallic line is shown in Plate CCXIV. fig. 14, 15, Plate
16, by the dotted line A, B, C, D ; and it will be seen thatCCXIV.
any elongation or contraction of the masts, as in fig. 14 and [3g'1(Y
15, or the removal of either of them, as in fig. 16, which ^
brings them into a new position, will in no way disturb
the continuity of the line A, B, C, D, which evidently re¬
mains the same, and is therefore, under these different cir¬
cumstances, the shortest and best conducting line between
the mast-head at D and the sea at S. When the sliding
masts are struck, a part of the conducting line necessarily
remains below the cap and top ; but as this is quite out
of the circuit, it will not at all influence the passage of the
electric fluid along the shorter line. Mr Harris has put
this beyond a doubt by direct experiment. _
Mr Harris has exhibited in the following table the Sizeof'con-
mean proportion of a conductor thus constructed on oneductors.
mast of a fifty-gun frigate, in comparison with the copper
links usually furnished to the British navy, together with
the equivalent of copper or of iron rod which will be ne¬
cessary in order to have a conductor of the same mass.
The numbers at the bottom of the table represent, with
the exception of the proposed conductors, the masses,
surfaces, and diameters of cylindrical metallic rods, sup¬
posed to extend the whole length of the mast. Thus, in
column 2 we have 1-2 inches as the diameter, and 8064
as the surface of the copper rod, containing 2423 cubic
inches of metal, and having the same quantity of matter
as the proposed conductors, and from which it is calcu¬
lated. The sums, therefore, are not the result of the ad¬
dition of the numbers for the successive masts. The same
observation is applicable to column 3, which gives the
equivalent in iron. In column 4 Mr Harris has given the
cubical contents and surface of a copper rod halt an inch
in diameter, which is supposed capable of conducting any
stroke of lightning that has yet been felt; and in column 5
1 “ Since the mizen-mast does not step on the keelson, it will be necessary to have a metallic communication at the step of t ic
mast, with the perpendicular stancheon immediately under, and so on to the keelson as before, or otherwise carry tne conductor ou
at the sides of the vessel.”
648 ELECTRICITY.
Electrical he has given the mass and surface of the conductors now Mr Harris, in reference to their cubical contents, as 94,4 Electrics
Apparatus. usecl in the British navy, which are to those proposed by to 2423, or as 1 to 257. Apparatu
Succession of Masts.
Royal Pole.
Conductor eighteen feet'
three inches long, two
inches wide; two la¬
in inse, each yjjth of
an inch thick.
Top-gallant-mast.
Conductor seventeen
feet long, two and a
half inches wide ; two
laminae, one gLh of an
inch thick, the other
Y^th.
Top-mast.
Conductor fifty feetlong;'
copper four inches |
wide; two laminae,each |
£th of an inch thick.
Lower-mast.
Conductor ninety-three']
feet long ; copper six |
inches wide; two la- ^
minae, each y^th of an
inch thick.
Proposed
Conductors.
Mass. Surface.
Cub. Inch.
54
Sq. Inches.
1752
95
GOO
1674
2423
2040
9600
26784
40176
Equivalent in a
Copper Hod.
Diameter. Surface
•56
•77
1-1
1-38
1-2
Equivalent in an Iron Rod,
taking Conducting Powers
only as four to one*
Mass. Surface. Diameter,
Sq.Inches. Cub. Inch.
385
493
2070
4837
8064
216
380
2400
6696
9692
Sq.Inches.
770
986
4140
9675
16128
1-12
1-54
2-2
2-76
2-4
Mass and Surface
in a Copper Rod
of half an inch
Diameter.
Mass. Surface.
Cub. Inch.
42
40
117
219
418
Sq-Inches.
343
320
942
1753
3358
Mass and Surface
in present
Conductors.
Mass. Surface.
10-5
Sq.Inches,
171
10
19-2
54-7
94-4
160
471
876
1678
As the new conductors proposed by Mr Harris are
composed of a series of short joints, which, whilst the
continuity is still perfect, allows the conductor to bend or
yield to any curvature which the mast can bear, a con¬
ductor thus applied gives great strength to a mast. In
Portsmouth dock-yard, for example, it was found that
the flying jib-boom of the Sapphire sloop of war would
require one fifth part more weight to curve it to the same
arc when the copper conductor was inserted in it. This
very flexible spar was made to rest on its extreme ends,
and when weights were hung to its middle point, it was
made to bend like a bow, without the conductor suffering
the least derangement.
It is a remarkable circumstance, that though Mr Har¬
ris has proved the excellence of his invention by its prac¬
tical application to some British frigates, yet the Admi¬
ralty have not felt it their duty to introduce it into the
navy. A line-of-battle ship is valued at about L.120,000,
and yet it is not thought advisable to expend L.100 in
defending from the most irresistible of all enemies this
vast and valuable machine, and in protecting the lives of
the thousand brave men that live within its walls.
CHAP. II.— DESCRIPTION OF INSTRUMENTS FOR ACCUMU¬
LATING, CONDENSING, AND MULTIPLYING ELECTRICITY.
The instruments which have been employed for thelnstru-^
purposes of accumulating, condensing, doubling, and
tiplying electricity, may be divided into four classes: eiect:
city.
1. Jars and batteries. 3. Doublers.
2. Condensers. 4. Multipliers.
Sect. I.— On the Construction and Action of Jars and
Batteries.
By means of the prime conductor of an excited electri-
cal machine, we can obtain electricity in sufficient quan¬
tity and intensity for many important researches; but
when we wish to accumulate it in great quantities, and
to obtain a powerful charge, it is necessary to employ
the Leyden phial or jar; and by increasing the number
of jars, and uniting them together, we can accumulate
electricity to an unlimited extent.
ELECTRICITY.
metrical An electrical jar, in its best form, is shown in Plate
paratus. CCXV. fig. 1, where AB is a glass jar, having its lower
end CDEB coated both on the outside and the inside with
ctrical jinf0i]) which is made to adhere to the glass by means of
CXV Sum water' Ule Jar S110U^ have no cover, as it gene-
rally has, but the charge is conveyed to the bottom of
the jar by a copper tube FGH, three eighths of an inch
in diameter. This tube terminates in a ball, F, of baked
wood, and is kept in its place by a convenient foot, firmly
cemented to the bottom of the jar, which is previously
covered with a circle of pasted paper, leaving a central
portion of the coating free for the perfect contact of the
charging rod FGH, which passes through the centre of
the foot, as shown by the dotted lines in the figure.1
When the jars are either employed singly, or united so
as to form a battery, they should be placed on a conduct¬
ing base, supported by short columns of glass, or some
other insulating substance, such as rosin or brimstone, so
that the whole can be insulated when necessary.
In order to allow the jars to be charged and discharged
with precision, Mr S. Flarris connects them with what he
2. calls two centres of action, A, B, shown in fig. 2. The
first of these, A, consists of a brass ball, which slides with
friction on a metallic rod AD, so as to admit of its being
placed at any required height. This ball has a number of
holes perforated in its circumference, to receive the points
of the rod or rods which connect it with the jar or jars.
The rod AB which supports this ball may be either in¬
sulated on a separate foot, and connected with the prime
conductor, or it may be inserted directly into it. The
second centre of action consists of a larger ball of metal, B,
attached to a firm foot, and placed on the same conducting
base with the jar, so as to be perfectly connected with it.
When the first centre of action, A, requires to have a se¬
parate insulation, the insulating glass rod is screwed im¬
mediately into the lower ball B, and sustains the metallic
rod above described, by the intervention of a ball of baked
wood, D, the opposite end of the rod terminating in a si¬
milar ball, C, through the substance of which the conduct¬
ing communication with the machine passes when it is
placed on a separate foot. All the metallic connection
should be covered with sealing wax, except at the points
of junction, and the wooden balls and different insulations
should be carefully varnished.
metrical A battery constructed in this manner, and containing
tC!> six jars, is shown in fig. 3, A and B being the two cen-
f’’3, tres of action, and C and D the two balls of baked wood,
as shown in fig. 2. The communication with the prime
conductor is made by a wire CE passing through the ball
C, and the jars communicate with the centre of action
A by means of wires entering the ball A, as shown in the
figure.
In order to charge the jar shown in fig. 1, it is only ne¬
cessary to make the copper tube FG communicate with
the prime conductor of the electrifying machine by means
of a wire passing through F. It was formerly the custom
to make the copper rod HG terminate above in a brass
ball at F; and when this was the case the jar could be
charged by bringing the ball F near the conductor, or by
holding the jar by the outside coating, and bringing the
brass knob close to the conductor.
When the jar is fully charged, it may be discharged by
holding the outside coating in one hand, and touching
with the other the copper tube FG, or the ball F if it is
a brass one; but in this case the person will receive a
shock, the electrical charge passing into his body. The
649
jar may be discharged without receiving a shock, by a very Electrical
simple instrument, called a discharging rod, shown in fig. Apparatus.
4. It consists of two bent wires BC, BD, having a brass
ball C and D at each end, and uniting at B, where they
are fastened at their common junction into a glass handle 4 ' ‘
AB. The operator takes hold of the glass handle, and B
placing the lower knob D on the outside coating of the
jar, and the upper knob C in contact with the copper wire
FG, or the brass ball at F, if there is one, the discharge
takes place with a loud snap the instant that the knob C
touches F.
A more convenient form of discharging rod is shown in
fig. 5, where the two balls C, D, and the branches CE, Fig. 5.
DE, correspond to the balls C, D of the branches CB, DB,
in fig. 4 ; but in place of attaching one insulating glass han¬
dle to the joint E, a separate glass handle, viz. A and B, is
attached to each branch. By this means, by taking the han¬
dle A in one hand, and B in the other, we can open the balls
C, D to the required distance without touching the metal¬
lic branches CE, DE, and also with greater facility and
certainty.
If the jar is connected with the piece of apparatus BC,
fig. 2, so that the centre of action A communicates with
the internal coating of the jar, and the centre of action
B with the external coating, then the jar will be discharg¬
ed by making the knob D of the discharging rod touch
B, while the knob C touches A. In like manner the
whole battery in fig. 3 may be discharged by making the
knob D of the discharging rod touch B, while the knob C
touches A.
A general instrument for discharging jars and batteries, Henley’s
invented by Mr Henley, has been much used, particular- universal
ly in the deflagration of metals by electricity. It is shown ^s^iarne-
in fig. 6, where A and B are insulating glass pillars, ce-j,.' g ’ *
mented into a wooden stand. A brass cap with a horizon-
tal and vertical motion is fixed on the top of each of these
pillars; and at the top of this joint is a spring tube, through
which the handles D or C can be slid backwards or for¬
wards. These handles are made of strong brass wire, ter¬
minating at one end in a ball, or point, or a pair of forceps,
and at the other in a solid glass rod for an insulating han¬
dle. A small wooden table F, about five inches in diame¬
ter, has a slip of ivory glued into its upper surface, and
may be raised or depressed in its socket by the screw-nut
G. Sometimes a small mahogany press accompanies the
instrument. It consists of two boards, which can be press¬
ed together by two nuts, and is put into the socket in
place of the table F, when it is necessary to fix or hold
steady the body through which the discharge is to be
passed. The body to receive the charge must either be
laid on the table or fixed in the press, or held between
the balls, points, or forceps. The two sides of the jar or
battery are then connected with the two brass caps at
the tops of the pillars A, B ; and, by means of the insulat¬
ing handles, the distance is regulated through which the
charge has to pass.
This instrument was originally constructed without any
insulating handles ; and the wires, and the handles C and
D, were thick brass wires, terminating on one side in a
ball or point, and on the other in a ring of brass, with
which the connection with the jar or battery was formed.
Although it has proved advantageous to use jars for re-Coated
ceiving and accumulating electricity, yet this form of thepjates °f
recipient is by no means essential. The very same effect
is obtained if a plate of glass is coated on both sides with¬
in an inch of its edges ; for a jar may be considered as a
1 The method of constructing the jars and batteries litre described is that used by Mr Snow Harris, and described in his valuable
paper on the Laws of Electrical Accumulations.
VOL. VIII. 4 N
ELECTRICITY.
650
Electrical plate of glass rolled up into a cylindrical form. Hence a
Apparatus, battery may be composed of a number of coated plates of
glass: and it was actually with one of this kind, consist¬
ing of eleven panes of window glass, that Dr Franklin
performed most of his experiments.
Theory of Dr Franklin was the first person who explained the
den phial. PrinciPle uPon wl)ich the action of the Leyden jar depends.
d' He began by examining the electricities of the inside and
outside coatings. A cork ball suspended by a silk thread
was attracted by the outside and repelled by the inside
coating. \\ hen the jar was charged with the opposite
electricity, the ball was repelled by the outside and at¬
tracted by the inside coating. Flence it follows that tiie
ou tside and inside coatings of a Leyden jar are charged with
opposite electricities.
\\ hen the inside coating was charged from the prime
conductor, its electricity was positive, while that of the
outside was negative; but when the outside of the jar
was charged from the same conductor, the outside was
positively electrified, and the inside negatively, and the
charge was as strong as before.
In order to show that the negative electricity of the
one coating was equal to the positive electricity of the
other, Dr Franklin hung a small linen thread near the
outside coating of a charged jar, and every time that he
touched the knob or wire of the jar the thread was at¬
tracted by the coating, the electricity taken from the in¬
side by the finger beibg equal to what was drawn in on
the outside by the thread. He then repeated this expe¬
riment when the jar was placed upon an insulating stand,
and he found that at every successive contact a portion of
the electricity of the outside became free, and the linen
thread sprang to the outside coating to receive and carry
off the superfluous electricity.
Experi- The equality of the two electricities is still more clearly
ment to evinced in the fine experimentof Professor Rich man, shown
"of- Having coated with tinfoil the opposite sides
the two a pHte of glass AB, to within two inches of its edges,
electrici- the glass was then placed vertically, and a linen thread m
ties. was suspended to the upper part of each of the two coat-
Fig- 7- ings. When the plate was not charged, the two threads
hung down parallel to each other, and touched the tin-
foil ; but when the plate of glass was charged, the threads
were repelled from the glass, and formed equal angles
with it on both sides. When any conducting body, such
as the finger, was brought near one coating, the thread
on that side sunk, and formed a less angle with the glass,
while the thread on the other side rose to a greater angle,
the augmentation of the angle on one side being exactly
equal to its diminution on the other. When the finger
touched one coating, the corresponding thread fell down
entirely, and the thread on the other side rose to a double
elevation, so that the angle formed by the two threads
was a constant quantity, depending on the intensity of
the charge communicated to the plate.
The next point of inquiry to which Dr Franklin applied
himself, was to ascertain where the two electricities re¬
sided, and what was the function performed by each
coating. Having charged a jar, and placed it on an in¬
sulating stand, he took out the ball F, and rod FH, fig.
1, and found that they did not contain any electricity.
He then touched the outside coating with one hand, arid
putting the finger of another hand into the mouth of the
bottle, he received a shock as powerful as if the ball and
rod FH had been in their place. He next put into the
phial some clean water, which, being a conductor, an¬
swers the same purpose as tinfoil, and having charged
the jar, and poured out the water into an insulated bottle,
he found that it would not give the shock. Upon fill-
ing the phial with fresh water, and without giving any
new charge to the jar, he received a shock as at first, Electric
which clearly proved to him that the electricity residedApparat
in the glass. This important truth may be clearly esta-
blished in the following manner:—Take a cylindrical jar,
and let the outside and inside coatings of tinfoil be nicely
fitted, and applied to the surface without any cement.
When this jar is charged in the usual manner, place it on
an insulating stand or a glass plate, and holding it by the
uncovered part, lift out the interior cylinder of tinfoil
without injuring its shape, and then lift the glass cylinder
out of its exterior coating. If we now touch the outside
of the glass cylinder with one hand, and at the same time
the inside with the other, we shall obtain no perceptible
shock. In like manner, no shock will be experienced by
touching the outside coating of tinfoil with one hand, and
the inside with the other, nor by touching either sepa¬
rately. But if the two coatings are again replaced on the
glass cylinder, the one on the outside and the other on
the inside, a shock will be obtained in the usual way.
Hence it follows, as Dr Franklin concluded from the same
experiment in another form, that the electricity is accu¬
mulated on the surface of the glass, and that the metallic
coatings, or other conducting substances, which are placed
in contact w ith both sides of the glass, perform only the
function of forming a perfect communication between
every point of the external with every point of the inter¬
nal surface of the glass at the instant of the discharge.
In order to explain the theory of the Leyden jar, letTheorv
us place ajar AB uncharged upon an insulating stand CD,the Ley]
and make its outside coating B communicate with a pair^en jan
of insulated pith balls m, n, as shown in fig. 12. From
the prime conductor convey a few sparks of positive elec¬
tricity to the jar by the knob F, the pith balls m, n will di¬
verge with positive electricity, owing to the decomposition
of the natural electricity of the external coating. If we
now touch the pith balls, the positive electricity which
made them diverge will escape, and they will fall into
their natural vertical position. But we have not thus re¬
moved all the positive electricity which was communi¬
cated to the interior coating. A portion of it has become
fixed or latent, which can only happen from the influence
of a portion of resinous electricity. If we now touch, in¬
deed, the brass ball F', the portion of positive electricity
which remains free in the inside coating will cause the
pith balls communicating with the outside coating to di¬
verge with negative electricity.
If, when the pith balls are divergent with positive elec¬
tricity supplied from the conductor, we touch them so as
to allow it to escape, the repulsive force which it exerted
on that in the interior coating will cease, and the ball F
and the interior coating will be capable of receiving an
additional quantity from the conductor. The pith balls
will again diverge with positive electricity; and if this be
again removed, the ball F will again be able to receive
a farther supply from the conductor, so as to make the
pith balls again diverge. The interior coating will be re¬
ceiving more and more positive electricity, till its repul¬
sive power becomes so great as to resist the introduction
of any more. The jar is now charged, and will give a
shock in the usual manner, or may be discharged by the
discharging rod. Hence we may conclude that the posi¬
tive electricity introduced into the inside coating of the
jar decomposes the natural electricities of the outside,
drives away from it the positive and fixes the negative
electricity, which, by its reciprocal attraction, fixes also a
part of it in its turn.
From the principles above established, it may be shown
that a given quantity of electricity from the prime con¬
ductor may be made to charge two or more jars almost as
powerfully as if the whole quantity was communicated to
/
ELECTRICITY.
ectrical one jar only. The jars being placed as in fig. 9, the elec-
paratus. tricity from the prime conductor is conveyed by a chain A
to the ball B of the first jar. The ball F of the second jar has
CCXV.a sjmjiar connection with the coating of the first, and by
’ a third chain the coating of the second jar is connected
with the earth. When the inner coating of the first jar
receives positive electricity, the outer coating has its na¬
tural electricity decomposed ; the negative portion is fixed
bv the influence of the positive electricity within, and the
positive portion is repelled to the interior of the second
jar, where it does the very same thing which was done
by the same electricity within the first jar. The positive
electricity set free at the exterior of the second jar is re¬
pelled to the earth, and any requisite portion of negative
electricity is conveyed to the outer coating of the same
jar, in order to fix by its influence the positive electricity
which arrives at the interior of the jar. If we now re¬
move all the connections, the two jars will have received
their full charge; and the same will take place w ith any
number of jars similarly arranged for the purpose.
As the accumulation of electricity in a jar depends upon
the mutual attraction of the two electricities, and as this
force varies inversely as the square of the distance of
the molecules, the intensity of charge which any jar can
receive should increase with the thinness of the glass
which separates the two fluids. Mr Cavendish inferred
from his researches, that the intensity of the charge was
inversely as the thickness of the glass; but we cannot
avail ourselves of this principle in practice, as a certain
thickness of glass is necessary to the due strength of the
jar; and it has been proved by experiment, that when
the glass is thin, the mutual attraction of the two electri¬
cities has been capable of forcing a passage through the
glass itself. The common glass jars, therefore, are as
thin as they can be made with perfect safety. Mr Brooke
always placed a layer of paper between the tinfoil and
the glass, for the purpose of enabling the jar to contain a
charge of greater intensity.
tvallo’s Before concluding this section, we shall describe a pretty
!f-charg- fittle instrument invented by M. Cavallo, called the self-
Jar' charging jar. Having procured a glass tube eighteen
inches long and one and a half inch in diameter, coat one
half of the inside of it with tinfoil, and close the aperture
of the coated end with a cork, through which there passes
a wire touching the inner coating, and terminating in a
brass ball fixed at the uncoated end of the tube. If we now
hold the uncoated part of the tube in one hand, and rub
the outside of the coated part with the other, and after
every three or four strokes touch with the rubbing hand
the brass knob or ball, the hand will communicate to it a
spark, and the inside coating will thus be gradually charg¬
ed. If we now grasp the outside of the coated end with
one hand, and with the other touch the brass ball, we shall
discharge the tube and receive a shock.
Sect. II.— On the Construction of Condensers of Elec¬
tricity.
tensers An apparatus for condensing electricity in a conduct-
dectri- ing body was the undoubted invention of M. Aipinus, who
C also gave the true theory of its action. Volta, however,
^ ' had the merit of first applying it to an electrometer for
indicating small quantities of electricity.
The condenser shown in fig. 10 consists of two separate
parts, the first of which is a metallic disc B, supported by
a metallic stand BD, and the second is a similar disc A,
having a glass handle C rising from its tube, and a small
metallic pin and knob P projecting from its circumference.
The upper surface of the plate B and the lower surface oi
651
A are covered with a thin film of a non-conducting sub- Electrical
stance, such as varnished silk, rosin, or glass. If it is now APParatU3,
wished to condense any feeble electricity from any body,
as, for example, from a feebly electrified conductor, bring
the metallic pin P into contact with the body or electri¬
fied conductor; and while it is in contact let the metallic
disc B be brought close under it, as in the figure, the var¬
nished surface of A resting on the varnished surface of
B. In this state withdraw the whole from the prime
conductor; and having removed the plate B, apply the
plate A to two suspended pith balls, which will separate
to a ver}^ considerable angle in consequence of the electri¬
city having been condensed by the contact of the disc B.
That this is the case may be readily proved by applying A
to the pith ball before the disc B was joined to A, when
their divergence will be greatly less than before. The
explanation of this is very simple. The positive electri¬
city, for example, conveyed by the prime conductor to
the plate A decomposes the natural electricity of B. The
positive portion of B is repelled to the earth by the simi¬
lar electricity in A, while the negative portion is attract¬
ed to the upper surface of B by the opposite electricity in
A. In this position it is capable of attracting to the in¬
ner surface of A an additional quantity of the free elec¬
tricity in the prime conductor ; and this additional quan¬
tity will in its new position produce a farther decomposi¬
tion of the natural electricity of C. All these effects will
take place simultaneously till an equilibrium is established
between the free positive electricity supplied to A by the
prime conductor, and the negative electricity which the
attractive force of this electricity can draw from the earth.
It is manifest, from these observations, that the principle
of the condenser is exactly the same as that of the Ley¬
den jar. The upper disc A which receives the electricity
corresponds with the inner coating of the jar, the under
disc C with the outer coating, and the film or films of rosin,
&e. with the glass of the jar.
The condensing electrometer of Volta is shown in fig. Volta’s
11, where CAB is the condenser above described. From C(,ndensir>g
the lower side of the plate B are suspended, by two metal- ty?ctlome-
lic wires, two perfectly even and straight straws m, n, and j,-,‘ jj
on the mouth of the bottle DEFG is fixed the disc B, so °
that the two straws hang freely in the axis of the neck of
the bottle. A graduated circle op is pasted on the out¬
side of the bottle, to estimate the angular separation of the
straws, which affords a mean of the electricity condensed
in the manner already described.
Mr Cuthbertson’s condenser, shown in fig. 12, consists Cutbbert-
of two flat circular plates of brass A, B, about six inches in son’s con-
diameter. The receiving plate A is supported by a glass
pillar, firmly fixed to a wooden stand, while the condens-1
ing plate B is sustained by a brass pillar, but so as to move
round a joint at its lower end, in order that it may be
thrown back into the dotted position shown in the figure.
When the plates stand parallel and vertical, the receiving
one A is connected by a wire with the body whose elec¬
tricity^ to be condensed. In this state it is allowed to
continue for a short time, when the wire is removed and
the plate B thrown back into the dotted position. The
electricity will then be found condensed in the plate A.
When this instrument is applied to an electrometer, as
in fig. 13, it forms an excellent condensing electrometer; Fig. 13.
and the effect may be greatly increased by uniting Cuth¬
bertson’s condenser with that shown in fig. 13. This may
be done by merely uniting the moveable plate of the former
to the fixed plate A of the latter by a small brass pin.
Nicholson’s spinning condenser, which is a very ingeni-Nicbol-
ous instrument, is shown in fig. 14, where A is a metallicsan 8 8P'n*
vase, which revolves about a steel axis EK, whose pivot
K runs in the adjustable socket C at the bottom of the rig 14>
652
ELECTRICITY.
Electrical stand H; a circular disc of glass D, one and a half inch
Apparatus, in diameter and two tenths thick, is fixed to the vase A,
v—and revolves along with it, while a similar plate E is fixed
on the top of the stand H. These two discs are shown
Fig. 15. separately in fig. 15. In the edge of the plate E are
drilled two holes to receive metallic hooks F, G, and
into the edge of the upper plate D are cemented two
small tails of the flattened wire used in making silver lace.
These tails are bent down so as to strike the hooks F, G
during their revolution, without touching the rest of the
apparatus. The two adjacent faces of the glass discs are
coated with segments of tinfoil, as shown in fig. 15; and
they may be set at any distance by means of the screw
C. Each tail communicates with the tinfoil coating of
D; the hook F communicates with that of E, but the
hook G is insulated so as to communicate only with the
electrified body. The coating of E communicates with
the earth by means of the stand H.
If the vase A, the plate D, and the axis EK, are now
set a spinning by the action of the finger and thumb
applied at T, one of the tails will strike the hook G, and
receive through it from the electrified body some of its
electricity, which it will convey to D, which will thus as¬
sume the electric state of the body. The tail which has
struck G proceeding onwards, will after half a revolution
touch F, and will convey the free electricity received at
G to the two coatings, which with the hook F constitute
one insulated mass. The tail advances, acquires more
electricity from G, deposits it at F, and thus condenses it,
on the principle of the common condenser, till it is capa¬
ble of affecting the pith balls at F. The instrument con¬
structed by Mr Nicholson was five inches high, and con¬
densed very small degrees of electricity.
Sect. III.— On the Construction of Electrical Doublers.
Electrical This class of instruments operate by continually doub-
doublers. ling small quantities of electricity till the common elec¬
trometer is capable of indicating its presence and qua¬
lities.
Bennet’s The doubler invented by Mr Bennet consists of three
doubler, plates, A, B, and C, fig. 16. The plate A, which is of brass,
Pl.CCXY. has an insulating handle rising from its centre; the plate B,
ijg. 16. which is also of brass, has a similar handle fixed in its cir¬
cumference. The third plate, C, also of brass, is placed on
Bennet’s gold-leaf electrometer. The under side of A,
the upper side of C, and both sides of B, are varnished.
The body whose electricity it is required to double is
brought into contact with the under side of C, which rests
on the cap of the electrometer, while B is touched with
the finger of the other hand. The communication with
the electrified body being broken off, B is lifted up by its
glass handle. If the electrometer leaves do not diverge,
A is placed by its handle upon B, thus lifted up; and" A
being now touched by stretching a finger over the junc¬
ture of its insulating handle and immediately withdraw¬
ing it, A is separated from B. In this situation two of
the plates have obviously nearly equal quantities of one
kind of electricity, while the third plate has the opposite
kind. The plate A is then made to touch the under sur¬
face of C, resting on the electrometer, and at the same
time C is covered with B. The plate B is now touched
by the finger as A was; and removing A, and withdraw¬
ing the finger from B, and lifting it up from C, the elec¬
tricity is doubled. By repeating this operation ten or
twenty times, which may be done in forty seconds, the
electricity will, by continual duplication, be augmented
500,000 times. When sparks are required, C must rest
on an insulating stand in place of the electrometer.
It was found by Mr Bennet, Cavallo, and others, that Electric;
the doubler became strongly electrified even wdien no elec-Apparati
tricity was communicated to it. To remove this evil, M.
Cavallo used three plates without varnish, and he placed
them on insulating stands, so as to have a vertical direction,
and to stand within one eighth of an inch of each other,
the plates of air being a substitute for the varnish. The
method of doubling is exactly the same as before. Dr
Robison adopted the same idea, but he kept his plates
horizontal, making them rest on each other by three small
spherules of glass or sealing-wax. Notwithstanding these
precautions, however, electricity w'as still produced.
In order to perform the operation of doubling with more
rapidity, Dr Darwin proposed the moveable doubler, or one
in which the plates could be moved by wheel-work into
their proper positions. Dr Nicholson improved upon this
idea by producing the whole effect with the simple revo¬
lution of a winch.
This revolving doubler, as it has been called, is repre- Nichol-
sented in fig. 17. It consists of two fixed plates of brass A,C, son’s re-
two inches in diameter, insulated separately, and placed involving
the same plane, so that a revolving plate B may pass near d°ubler-
them without touching. A brass ball D is fixed on the endFlg'l7'
of the axis which carries B, and is loaded within at one side
so as to counterpoise the plate B, and allow it to rest in any
position. The axis PN, and the axes that join the three
plates with the brass axis NO, which passes through the
brass piece M, by which the plates A and C are sup¬
ported, are made of varnished glass. One end of this axis
carries the ball D, and the other is connected with a rod
of glass NP, upon which the handle L is fixed, and also
the piece GH insulated separately. The pins E, F rise
from the back of the plates A, C, at equal distances from
the axis. The arm K is parallel to GH, and the ends of
both are armed with pieces of harpsichord wire, so as to
touch the pins E, F in certain points of their revolution.
A pin I is fixed on M to intercept a small wire proceed¬
ing from the revolving plate B. These wires are so bent
that, when B is opposite to D, GH connects the two fixed
plates A, C, while the wire and pin at I connect the ball
D and plate B. On the other hand, when B is opposite
C, D is connected with C by the contact of F with the
wire at K, the plates A, B being then entirely unconnect¬
ed with any other part of the instrument. In all other
positions the three plates and the ball D will have no con¬
nection with each other. The operation of this instru¬
ment is thus described by Mr Nicholson: “ When the
plates A and B are opposite to each other, the two fixed
plates A and C may be considered as one mass, and the
revolving plate B, together with the ball D, will constitute
another mass. All the experiments yet made concur to
prove that these two masses will not possess the same
electric state ; but that, with respect to each other, their
electricities will be plus and minus. These plates would
be simple, and without any compensation, if the masses
were remote from each other ; but as that is not the case,
a part of the redundant electricity , will take the form of a
charge in the opposed plates A and B. From other ex¬
periments, I find that the effect of the compensation on
plates opposed to each other at the distance of one for¬
tieth part of an inch is such that they require to produce
a given intensity, at least a hundred times the quantity of
electricity that would have produced it in either singly
and apart. The redundant electricities in the masses un¬
der consideration will therefore be unequally distributed;
the plate A will have about ninety-nine parts, and the
plate C one; and for the same reason the revolving plate
B will have ninety-nine parts of the opposite electricity,
and the ball D one. The rotation, by destroying the con¬
tacts, preserves this unequal distribution, and carries B
ELECTRICITY.
lectrical from A to C, at the same time that the tail K connects
pparatus. t]ie ball with the plate C. In this situation the electrici-
ty in B acts upon that in C, and produces the contrary
state by virtue of the communication between C and the
ball; which last must therefore acquire an electricity of
the same kind with that of the revolving plate. But the
rotation again destroys the contact, and restores B to its
first situation opposite A. Here, if we attend to the effect
of the whole revolution, we shall find that the electric
states of the respective masses have been greatly in¬
creased ; for the ninety-nine parts in A and in B remain,
and the one part of electricity in C has been increased so
as nearly to compensate ninety-nine parts of the opposite
electricity in the revolving plate B, while the communi¬
cation produced an equal mutation in the electricity of
the ball. A second rotation will of course produce a
proportional augmentation of these increased quantities,
and a continuance of turning will soon bring the intensi¬
ties to their maximum, which is limited by an explosion
between the plates.”
onalds’ An ingenious instrument, called ^.pendulum doubler, has
ndulum been recently constructed and described by Mr Ronalds.
i ppyv Hav^nS found it necessary to keep a telegraphic wire con-
j'; j8 ’stantly electrified with a very small source of electricity,
lfl ' he converted the bob of a pendulum into the centre plate
of a doubler, and he found the instrument thus modified
not only useful for that purpose, but also for that class of
experiments, such as those on vegetation and animal life,
which require a constant supply of small quantities of elec¬
tricity to supply the loss occasioned by unavoidable de¬
fective insulation, either in the glass wliich is used, or in
the surrounding atmosphere. This improvement on the
doubler is shown in fig. 18, where A and B are the two
fixed plates, about four inches in diameter, supported by
glass pillars; C is the bob carried by the pendulum rod
D, and insulated by the piece of glass e. The form of the
bob C is that of a plano-convex lens, with its interior filled
with lead ; e is a small cylinder connected to C with screws,
which also adjust the plane of C parallel to the plane of
vibration; g is another insulating glass rod, carrying the
bent wire /*, the left end of which lies nearly in the same
vertical plane as the end of the wire m, the right end be¬
ing nearly in the same plane as the end of the wire n. A
wire, i, rises perpendicularly from C ; and another, h, per¬
pendicular to the plane of vibration, is fixed into the brass
cup at the end of the pendulum rod. A wire, l, is screwed
into the edge of the plate B, and the long wire m is fixed
on the lower edge of B, so as to approach within a small
distance of A, where it is bent at right angles, and then
projects in a plane perpendicular to that of vibration.
Another wire, n, is fixed into the edge of A, so as to bend
and project similarly; but n projects farther than m, that
the right side of the bow k may pass the end of m with¬
out touching it. A wire, o, is fixed'at right angles into
the base of the instrument.
When the bob C is exactly opposite A, the insulated
wire h touches simultaneously the ends of the wires mand
n, and establishes a communication between A and B,
while at the same time the wire i, by touching o, forms
a communication between C and the ground. Now, if
a quantity of positive electricity, for example = 1, is
given to A or B when the centres of A and C are oppo¬
site to each other, that quantity will be nearly all con¬
densed on A, and C will acquire negative electricity near¬
ly = 1.
“ If C,” says Mr Ronalds, “ be now allowed to begin its
vibrations, the connection of A and Bwith each other will
be instantly broken, as also that of C with the earth, and
they will be all insulated, and all retaining the electric
states which they possessed before the connections were
653
broken (i. e. A will be positive nearly = 1, B negative Electrical
nearly = 1, and C positive almost 0). Apparatus.
“ When C has arrived opposite B, the uninsulated wire
k will touch the wire L, and thus place B in connection
with the earth ; therefore C, by virtue of its negative
charge, will induce a positive charge in it nearly — 1.
“ When C arrives a second time opposite to A, all the
former connections will be re-established, and the charge
of B will (bj' means of the wire m) be nearly all con¬
densed on and added to the original charge of A, making
a tension nearly = 2 of positive electricity, which tension
will induce a tension of nearly == 2 of negative electricity
on C.
“ And so the charges in A and C would go on, nearly
doubling at each vibration of the pendulum, until their
tensions would arrive at such a point as to cause a spark
to pass between them.
“ But P is a Leyden jar furnished with a Lane’s dis¬
charging electrometer g; a connection is established by
means of a small chain between it and A ; and the distance
between the tw^o balls r and s is considerably less than
that between A and C ; therefore the spark will be given
to the jar, and a spark will be continued to be given at the
completion of almost every second vibration, until it is
charged almost as highly as A is capable of being charged,
or the sparks will continually supply the loss of electricity
by any defect of insulation, either of the jar, or of any con¬
ducting body in connection with its interior coating with¬
in certain limits.
“ The contacts of the wires do not impede the velocity
of the vibrations, because they are made small enough to
act as springs of a required force ; but the electric attrac¬
tions of the plates and bob do tend to do so. The pen¬
dulum is suspended by two springs, placed one at each
extremity of a cross piece, to which the rod is attached,
for the purpose of preventing the bob from being drawn,
by their attractions, out of its assigned plane of vibration
as much as possible.”
Sect. III.—Description of Instruments for Multiplying
Electricity.
The electrical multiplier invented byM. Cavallo is shown Multipli-
in fig. 19, on a scale about one third of its real size, and ers °f elec-
is chiefly useful in ascertaining the presence of a consider- ,
able quantity of electricity occupying an extended space. j^qL'lier
Its principal parts are four plates of brass A, B, C, D.
The plates A, C are supported by two glass rods G, H,CCXV.
fixed in the wooden base R, S, Q. A similar plate B is Fig. 19.
supported by another glass rod I, cemented into the wood¬
en lever LK, moving round a pivot K. The fourth plate
D is supported by a metallic rod. By the lever KL the
plate B can be moved from its position on the figure into
the dotted position KX. The plate D is screwed at P
into a piece of brass FP, which slides in a groove, so that
D can be pulled out to any distance from C. At the cor¬
ner Q is fixed a brass rod N, and 0;m is a small bent wire
fixed to the brass socket O on the back of B. When B
is as near as possible to A, their distance being one twen¬
tieth of an inch, this wire m touches the rod N, and forms
a communication with the earth ; when FP is pushed in as
far as possible, the surfaces of C and D are one twentieth
of an inch distant. As the lever KL moves towards X,
the end m of the wire mO quits N and insulates the plate
B; and when the lever has the position KX, the wire m
will touch the plate C, so as to put the insulated plates B
into communication with each other.
If a body weakly electrified positively is now made to
touch A, when A and B are placed together as in the figure,
654
ELECTRICITY.
Schweig-
ger’s mul¬
tiplier.
Electrical A will acquire a greater quantity of positive electricity from
Apparatus, the presence of the uninsulated plate B, which will be
negatively electrified. When KL comes into the position
KX, so that B touches C by the wire ?nO, its negative
electricity will pass almost wholly to C, owing to its proxi¬
mity to D, which communicates with the ground. By a
number of successive oscillations of the lever between the
two positions KL and KX, this operation may be repeat¬
ed till an accumulated charge of negative electricity has
been fixed upon C. The plate D must now be drawn
away from C by means of the slider FP, and if pith balls
are presented to C they will diverge with negative elec-
  tricity.
In our chapter on the chemical agencies of electricity,
we have already described Schweiggers multiplier or gal¬
vanometer, which was used by M. Colladon in his experi¬
ments on the chemical action of ordinary electricity ; and
also the multiplier of Dr Faraday with a double helix,
which he employed in his researches on the identity of
the electricity of the machine with that of the pile. Va¬
rious improvements have been made on the multiplier by
M. Nobili, Professor Oersted, and others; but we must
reserve our account of them for the articles G alvanism
and Magneto-Electricity.
CHAP. III.—DESCRIPTION OF INSTRUMENTS FOR INDICAT¬
ING THE PRESENCE OF ELECTRICITY, AND MEASURING
ITS QUANTITY.
Indicators Instruments which are intended merely to indicate the
and mea- presence of electricity are called electroscopes, while those
surers ot whjch are intended for measuring the quantity of electri-
t ec nei y. are ca]|e(j electrometers. The earliest electrometer
which seems to have been employed was a pair of silk
threads, which indicated the presence of small quantities
of electricity by their divergence; and the Abbe Nollet
even attempted to measure the quantity communicated to
them, by determining the inclination of the two threads,
from their shadow on a board. Mr Waitz improved the
instrument by suspending small weights to the threads,
and Mr Canton perfected it by substituting the finest linen
threads for the silk ones, and by suspending from them a
pair of small balls turned out of the dry pith of the elder.
Description of Cavallo’s Electroscope.
Cavallo’s M. Cavallo made this little instrument portable by fit-
electro- ting it up as in fig. 1, where it is shown in a state of ac-
®c°Pe’ tion at B. When it is unloosed, the end B carrying the
CCXVI ka^s's screwecl and th6 balls are put into the glass
l ' tube at A, which serves for a handle. This glass case is
three inches long and three tenths of an inch wide, and
half of it is coated with sealing-wax. A cork tapering at
both ends is made to fit the mouth of the tube, and to one
end of the cork are fixed two linen threads carrying two
small cones of elder pith. The case of the electrometer at
C incloses at one end a piece of amber for giving negative
electricity, and at the other end a piece of ivory insulated
upon a piece of amber for giving positive electricity, to the
balls, when rubbed with a piece of woollen. All these in¬
struments may be greatly improved by substituting for the
pith of elder the pith of the sola, a tree which grows in
the East Indies.
Description of Bennet's Gold-Leaf Electrometer.
Bennet’s One of the most useful electrometers is that which was
gold-leaf invented by Mr Bennet, and called the gold-leaf electro-
electrome- meter. This instrument, which is shown in fig. 2, and a
section of it in fig. 3, consists of a cylinder, ABED, with
ter.
*lg‘ 2’ 3' a broad brass cap, AB. In a hole, a, in the centre of the
cap, is fixed a wedge of wood, on each side of which is Electrica
fastened by a little varnish a smooth-edged strip of goldApparatu
leaf, shown at m and n, about two inches long and a quar-
ter of an inch broad. Two pieces of tinfoil, b, c, are past¬
ed opposite each other, and within the cylinder, so as to
rise a little higher than the ends of the gold leaves, and
the lower ends of these pieces of foil are in contact with
the brass stand DEF which sustains the instrument. The
inside of the cap AB, and the upper part of the glass cylin¬
der, are sometimes coated with wax. A pointed wire, C, is
used to collect the electricity of the atmosphere. In using
this instrument, the cap AB is turned round till the surfaces
of the gold leaves are parallel to those of the pieces of tinfoil.
When no electricity is present the two gold leaves hang
in contact in the axis of the cylinder ; but if a fully elec¬
trified body is made to touch the cap AB, the gold leaves
m, n will diverge as in the figure, and their lower ends
will strike the pieces of tinfoil b, c, which will convey the
electricity to the ground.
Mr Nicholson has proposed to substitute two fiat radii
of brass in place of the tinfoil, and by moving them to and
from the gold leaves with a micrometer screw, to make
the instrument more sensible, and at the same time obtain
a kind of measure of its quantity.
Singer s Improved Electrometer.
Although insulation may be procured by coating glass Singer’s
insulators with wax, yet, as Mr Singer observes, this af-improved;
fords only a temporary defence, as moisture is eventually e!ectrome
precipitated upon them; and in removing this it is al-p^
most impossible to avoid exciting the surface of the waNucxVI.
and disturbing delicate experiments by the electricity pig, 4; jj
which is thus generated. To remove this evil Mr Singer
proposes to inclose the insulator in a narrow channel, as
the moist air in contact with it would be then limited in
quantity, and little disposed to motion. In applying this
principle to the improvement of Bennet’s electrometer,
the insulation is effected by a glass tube four inches long
and one fourth of an inch internal diameter, coated out
and in with sealing-wax, and having a brass wire five
inches long and one sixteenth or one twelfth of an inch
thick to pass through its axis, so as to be perfectly free
from contact with any part of the tube, in the middle of
which it is fixed with a plug of silk, which keeps it con¬
centric with the internal diameter of the tube. This ar¬
rangement is shown in fig. 4, 5, where A is a brass capFig. 4, a
screwed upon the upper part of the wire w, which pre¬
vents the atmosphere from having free contact with the
outside of the tube B, and defends at the same time its
inside from dust. To the lower end of the wire the gold
leaves are fastened, and the glass tube passes through
the centre of the usual cap of the electrometer, and is
cemented in it near the middle of its length, as may be
seen by the dotted lines which represent the cap. “ When
this construction.” says Mr Singer, “ is considered, it
will be evident that the insulation of the wire, and con¬
sequently of the gold leaves, will be preserved until the
inside as well as the outside of the glass tube is coated
with moisture; but so effectually does the arrangement
preclude this, that some of those electrometers that were
constructed in 1810, and have never yet (1814) been
warmed or wiped, have still apparently the same insulat¬
ing power as at first.” The electrometer constructed
upon the preceding principles is shown complete in fig. 5.1 ig.
Dr Faraday recommends strongly the use of this elec- Ur Fari
trometer; but having found from repeated experience day s^in|
that its indications are not in general well understood by ^uugin
those who have occasion to use it, he has given a very ejectroni
valuable description of the kind of charge which it receives lers
under different circumstances, and the precautions which
ELECTRICITY.
lectrical are necessary in interpreting its indications. As this
iparatus. description would lose its value by any abstract or altera-
tion, wre shall make no apology for giving it in his own
words, especially as it is applicable to many other analogous
instruments.
“ If an insulated portion of conducting matter, as a
brass ball at the end of a glass handle or silken thread,
be electrified, and then placed in contact with the cap of
the electrometer, the cap and leaves will immediately
partake of the electricity of the ball, and the leaves will
diverge. If the charge in the ball be of considerable in¬
tensity, the leaves will be torn to pieces by their mutual
repulsion, and the attraction of the sides of the glass jar;
but if the intensity be small, the leaves will diverge mo¬
derately, so as not to touch the glass, and the degree of
divergence will be in some proportion to the intensity
of the charge communicated. The appearances will be
the same whether the electricity communicated be posi¬
tive or negative.
“ The circumstances will be different if the body brought
in contact with the electrometer is an electrified portion
of what is usually called non-conducting matter; if, for
instance, it be a stick of sealing-wax rubbed w ith flannel,
instead of a metallic ball. If highly electrified, this will
cause the same disturbance and appearance in the leaves
during its approach as the ball; if moderately electrified,
it will, when in contact with the cap, cause the usual
appearance of divergence in the leaves, but upon remov¬
ing it, the leaves, instead of remaining diverged, will
either collapse, or remain very slightly, and frequently
uncertainly, electrified. This is a consequence of the
non-conducting power of the wax ; and the method of
transferring electricity to the electrometer in such a case
is, to draw the excited parts of the wax over the edge of
the cap ; small portions will be communicated, and the
electrometer will be left electrified similarly to the wax.
Such a process is, however, very uncertain; for if the
electricity of the wax be weak, the friction of the sub¬
stance against the electrometer cap wall sometimes gene¬
rate an electricity stronger than that previously existing
on the surface of the wax, and the electrometer will be¬
come charged, not by the previous electricity of the wax,
but by that produced during its friction against the cap.
“ This difficulty may, however, be avoided in most cir¬
cumstances, simply by bringing the electrified non-con¬
ductor into contact with the cap, and retaining it there
during the experiment; for the electricity which in this
way is made by induction to exist in the leaves, and causes
their divergence, is the same as that which wmuld exist
over the whole of the cap and leaves, if the electricity of
the wax could be transferred to them.
“ Such are the circumstances relating to the charge of
the electrometer, by bodies brought into contact with it,
and communicating to it part of the electricity they pre¬
viously possessed. As before mentioned, when highly
electrified, they cannot be so applied to the instrument
without tearing the leaves to pieces; but they may then,
when held at a distance, be made to diverge the leaves
by induction, and even to communicate a charge to the
instrument, and thus enable it to exhibit divergencies
when the inducing electrified body is removed. The ef¬
fects thus produced by induction are the same in kind,
and nearly in extent, whether the electrified body be a
mass of conducting or non-conducting matter, so that in
this respect the metallic ball and the stick of wax are
equal; the only difference being in the kind of electricity
produced, which, with bodies charged positively, is the
reverse of that occasioned by sucb as are charged nega¬
tively.
“ When an electrified substance is placed at such a dis-
655
tance from the cap of the electrometer as to occasion Electrical
considerable divergence, and is retained there for a few Apparatus,
minutes, the divergence of the leaves will generally di-
minish, and the more rapidly as the instrument becomes
cold or the glass damp, as the leaves are ragged, or any
part of the cap angular and pointed.
“ On removing gradually the electrified substance to
such a distance that it can no longer affect the instru¬
ment, it will be found that the leaves will collapse at
first, and afterwards expand again more or less, according
as they had lost more or less of their first divergence.
“ This ultimate divergence of the leaves will be due to a
charge of electricity in the instrument, of the opposite kind
to that of the inducing or approximated body.
_ “ If no effect of this kind takes place, and there be no
diminution of the first divergence, nor any ultimate change,
then the insulation and goodness of the electrometer
is proved by a powerful test. This being ascertained,
then, if whilst the electrified body is in the neighbour¬
hood, and the leaves diverged, the cap be touched by the
hand, or any other conducting substance communicating
with the earth, the divergence of the leaves will instantly
cease. In this state of the instrument, if the communica¬
tion be broken so as to leave the cap and leaves insulat¬
ed, they will still remain collapsed; but if the inducing
electrified body be now removed from the situation in
which it at first caused the divergence, the leaves will
immediately diverge, and the electrometer become charg¬
ed with electricity of the opposite kind to that of the in¬
ducing body. The degree of charge thus given to the
instrument will be in proportion to the degree of diver¬
gence induced in the leaves before they were made to col¬
lapse by the touch of the finger.
“ In the case in which a weakly electrified non-conduct¬
ing substance was directed to be laid on the cap of the
electrometer, to occasion a divergence by electricity like
its own, it may be observed that, if, during the experi¬
ment, the cap be touched by the fingers, and the electri¬
fied body afterwards removed, the leaves will first col¬
lapse, and then diverge with opposite electricity, although
at the commencement of the experiment they were di¬
verged with the same electricity as that of the body to
be examined. If, therefore, the electricity of an excited
body is to be examined, the leaves of the electrometer
are in the first place to be diverged. This may be done
with the sa;me electricity, by bringing the body, if weakly
electrified, into contact with the cap, leaving it there if
of non-conducting matter, or removing it after contact if
of conducting matter; or, if strongly electrified, by ap¬
proaching it so near as to cause a sufficient divergence of
the leaves, and retaining it there until the conclusion
of the experiment. On other occasions however with
strongly excited bodies, it may be convenient, either be¬
cause of their size or other circumstances, to communi¬
cate a charge of the opposite kind, in the manner de¬
scribed ; then upon determining what that kind is, in the
manner to be immediately described, the electricity of
the originally electrified body will of course be known to
be opposite to it.
“ The tests of the kind of electricity by which the leaves
are diverged are of the following nature. A stick of
sealing-wax rubbed with warm flannel becomes negatively
electrified ; a tube of warm glass rubbed with a dry silk
handkerchief, or, better still, with a piece of silk having
a little amalgam upon it, becomes positively electrified,
both these excitations being so strong as to make the
leaves of an uncharged electrometer diverge, whilst the
wax or glass is at a considerable distance. If one of these
excited substances be brought near the cap of an electro¬
meter already diverged, it will either cause the divergence
656
ELECTRICITY.
Electrical to increase or diminish. The divergence will increase if
Apparatus, due to electricity of the same kind as that of the body
approached, but will diminish if of the opposite kind; so
that the electricity of the body approached being known,
that of the electrometer will also be known, and conse¬
quently that of the excited body which had originally
caused its divergence. The sealing-wax for instance is
rendered negative by flannel; being approached to a di¬
verged electrometer it may cause the leaves to collapse ;
the conclusion to be drawn is, that the electrometer leaves
were in a. positive state : being approached to another di¬
verged electrometer it may increase the divergence, in
which case it will indicate that the leaves of the electro¬
meter were in a negative state. An excited rod of glass
brought to these electrometers would make the first di¬
verge still more, and would cause the second to collapse,
in both cases indicating the same states as the wax.
“ Some precaution is required with respect to the man¬
ner in which these excited rods are to be applied. The
electrometer being diverged, the wax or glass is to be
excited at such a distance as to have no influence over the
instrument; the most strongly excited part of the wax or
glass is then to be gradually approached to the cap, the
hand and all other unnecessary conducting bodies being
kept out of the way as much as possible, or at least not
moved in the neighbourhood of the electrometer during
the experiment. As soon as the rod begins to affect the
leaves (even though the distance be two or three feet),
the effect must be watched, and then their collapse or
further divergence will become evident immediately on
moving the rod a little way to or from the instrument.
“ It is this first effect that indicates the kind of electri¬
city in the electrometer, and not any stronger one; for
although, if the repulsion be increased from the first, no ap¬
proach will cause a collapse to take place except the ac¬
tual discharge of the leaves against the sides of the glass,
yet when collapse is the first effect, it may soon be com¬
pleted, and repulsion afterwards occasioned from a too
near approach of the strongly excited test-tube. It is,
therefore, the first visible effect that occurs, as the test-
rod is made to approach from a distance that indicates
the nature of the electricity; and when this effect is ob¬
served, the rod should not be brought nearer, so as perma¬
nently to disturb the state of the electrometer, but should
be removed to a distance, and again approached, for the
purpose of repeating and verifying the preceding obser-
vation.
“ It is to be understood, that the approach of the test-
rod, though it affects the divergence, causes no perma¬
nent change of the electricity in the instrument, unless
it be brought much too near, and cause considerable dis¬
turbance of the leaves. The electrometer will remain,
after a good experiment, in the same state as at first.
“ When the body to be examined is so strongly electri¬
fied that it may not be brought near to the electrometer,
but has been placed at such a distance as to affect it,
and left there to cause a proper divergence, then its
place should not be directly over but rather on one side
the cap, that the test-tube, when applied, may be brought
towards the instrument on the other side; the originally
electrified body, and the test-tube, being retained in di¬
rections as widely apart as they conveniently can be.”
Saussure's Electrometer.
Saussure’s The electrometer by which Saussure made the obser-
electrome- vations on the electricity of the atmosphere is shown in
fig. 6, 7. It consists of a glass vessel, ACB, of a bell
shape, and so wide that the balls g, g, when at their maxi¬
mum divergency, cannot reach the strips of tinfoil /«, /<,
/<, h pasted within the glass. The pith balls, which are
ter.
Elate
CCXVL
Eig. 6, 7-
spherical, should not be above half a line in diameter, and Electric;
should be suspended by the finest silver wires, movingApparah
freely in nicely-rounded holes. Four pieces of tinfoil are W’Y'*
used, each internal piece having a corresponding one on
the outside ; and the bottom of the instrument is made of
metal, and round it there is a graduated scale for mea¬
suring the divergency of the balls.
In order to collect much electricity from the atmosphere,
the instrument has a pointed wire one and a half or two
feet long, which unscrews in three or four pieces ; and in
order to preserve its insulation, a small umbrella is screwed
on the top of the instrument, see fig. 7. On other occa-Fig. 7.
sions he connected with a hook at H a fine metallic wire
fifty or sixty feet long, at the end of which was a three
or four ounce ball of lead, which he threw to the height
of forty or fifty feet, in order to bring down the electricity
of the atmosphere.
By dividing between two equal and similar bodies the
electricity contained in one, and carrying on the subdivi¬
sion progressively downwards, M. Saussure determined
the relation between the divergency of the balls <7, and
the force of the electricity which acted upon them. The
results which he thus obtained are given in the following
table.
Distance of
Balls in
fourths of a
line.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
Relative
Forces of
Electricity.
1
2
3
4
5
6
8
10
12
14
17
20
Distance of
Balls in
fourths of a
line.
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
Relative
Forces of
Electricity.
23
26
29
32
36
40
44
48
52
56
60
64
In order to use this instrument, place it in open ground, Method
free from trees and houses, and having screwed the con-usl^‘^
ductor on the top of the electrometer, lay hold of it by*“or®etel|
its base, and place it so that the base and conductor may
touch the ground at the same time; then raise it to the
height of the eye, and observe on the scale the number
of fourths of a line that the balls have diverged; then
lower it till the balls almost touch each other, and mea¬
sure the distance of the top of the conductor from the
ground; this distance is the height at which the elec¬
tricity of the air begins to become sensible. If the balls
still diverge, the other parts of the conductor should be
unscrewed, and it will then be seen at what height the
electricity becomes sensible.
Hares Single-Leaf Electrometer.
As the divergency of the gold leaves is increased by the Hare s:
proximity of the strips of tinfoil, Dr Flare, of the univer-SJ'^j
sity of Pennsylvania, conceives that the leaves are sepa-^
rated by attraction, and not by repulsion ; and he was thus^^y
led to construct an electrometer with a single leaf, as pig. g.
shown in fig. 8. A brass ball one fourth of an inch in
diameter is so situated that it may be made to touch the
leaf, or retire from it to the distance of an inch, by means
of a screw which supports it. It is obvious that this in¬
strument is not only more simple than the double-leaved
electrometer, but less liable to be destroyed by accident;
ELECTRICITY.
657
lectrical and Dr Hare informs us that it is exceedingly sensible,
yaratus-and that it has enabled him to detect the electricity pro-
''V'’-' duced by one contact between a copper and zinc disc,
each six inches in diameter.
Henley's Quadrant Electrometer.
mley’s This useful instrument is represented in fig. 9. It con-
adrant sists of a semicircle of ivory, C, fixed to the side of a stand,
(Ctrome- about seven inches high, rounded and smoothed in
1 ■ all its parts. The lower quadrant of the semicircle is
i'XVI divided into 90°, and a thin piece of cane, ab, is suspend-
,"y, ’ ed at the centre m of the semicircle, carrying a pith ball,
b. When the electricity to be measured is communi¬
cated to the instrument, the ball is repelled by the stem
AB, and the angular elevation of the cane ab is a mea¬
sure of the electrical force. This instrument may be
screwed from its base B, and fixed on the end of the
prime conductor, or on the summit of a Leyden phial.
Mr Achard states from experiment that the quadrant
should be divided according to a scale of arcs whose
tangents are in arithmetical progression. It is most fre¬
quently used as an appendage to the prime conductor,
for the purpose of measuring the state of action of the
electrical machine.
In employing this instrument to show the progress of
the charge of any jar or battery, Mr Faraday justly ob¬
serves that it should be so placed that the moving index
does not approach to any ball, wire, or surface charged
similarly to itself, but on the contrary should recede from
it. If it is therefore placed on the end of the conductor,
the index should move outwards and away from the con¬
ductor, and not in a direction over it towards its more
central parts ; for the latter would interfere with the free
indications of the electrometer, and in some cases would
make it quite useless.
Brooke's Steelyard Electrometer.
ooke’s This electrometer, which is represented in fig, 10, is
dyanl calculated to measure the number of grains which the
ltrome'repulsive force of the accumulated electricity is capable
1q of raising. Its base AB, about nine inches and a quarter
in diameter, adjusted horizontally by screws A, B, sus¬
tains an insulating pillar DD, upon which the electrometer
rests. To the brass rod H are attached two tubes of cop¬
per, G, g, which have a motion round the rod, so as to be
turned to a proper distance from the body whose electri¬
city is to be measured. The tube G is screwed into a
solid piece within the ball F, and moves in a vertical
plane about an axis close to F. The balls I, K are of
copper, and hollow. The arm E, which moves round an
axis in a vertical plane behind the dial-plate It, carries a
ball C, which touches the ball L fixed on the top of the
glass rod DD. If the arm E rises from a vertical to a ho¬
rizontal position, or through 90°, the index It on the dial
is made to move through a whole circle, or 360°. Ihe
apparatus NPH forms the communication between the
electrometer and the body whose electricity is to be mea¬
sured.
Let the body be electrified positively, then the electro¬
meter will be similarly electrified. The balls I, K will re¬
pel each other, G will rise in a vertical plane, L will re¬
pel C, and EC will also rise in a vertical plane.
The apparatus FG^IK is chiefly used for graduating the
inner circle of the dial-plate. For this purpose a weight
m moves along the rod G, till it forms an exact counter¬
poise to the weight of F. One end of the weight m will
consequently be the zero of the scale. Let m be now
shifted to near to the ball I, and determine by a pair of
good scales the weight of the ball I, or rather the weight
produced by shifting m to n. Divide the space mn into
VOL. vm.
as many divisions as the grains now found, and subdivide Electrical
it into halves and quarters. These divisions are now to ^PParatus-
be transferred to the inner circle of the dial-plate, by
observing the position of the upper or shorter half of the
index R when m stands at any number of grains in the
scale mn. When the inner scale on the dial-plate is thus
graduated, the arms G, g and balls I, K may be removed.
Cuihbertsons Balance Electrometer.
This electrometer, which is particularly useful for jars Cuthbert-
and batteries, is shown in fig. 11. It consists of a metallic son’s ba-
rod CD, about thirteen inches long, terminated by balls ^aTlce elec-
C, D, and balanced on a knife edge, the ball b being con-pj°™eeter*
structed in such a manner as to permit the rod CD to^xvi
move in a vertical plane. A bent tube of brass FG, sup-pig. n.
ports a similar ball G; and four inches below D is placed
another insulated ball E, which communicates with a
wire and chain with the outside of the jar or battery. If
the rod AB be now connected with the prime conductor,
or the inside of the jar, and this last be electrified, the
ball E will attract D, because they are oppositely electri¬
fied, from being connected with opposite surfaces of the
jar; and when this attractive force exceeds the weight at
a with which the opposite arm is loaded, the arm &D will
descend and give out its electricity to the ball E. In or¬
der to obtain a measure of the attractive force between D
and E, and consequently of the intensity of the charge,
the arm Cb is divided experimentally into sixty parts or
grains, which are indicated by one side of the moveable
index a. A Henley’s quadrant electrometer is placed at
A, to indicate the progress of the charge, which is not
shown by the balance electrometer.
Mr Snow Harris's Electroscope.
This very ingenious and beautiful instrument, invented Mr Snow
and used by Mr Snow Harris of Plymouth, to whom the Harris’s
science of electricity is under many obligations, is repre-electro'
sented in fig. 12. The following description of it weowe‘scope‘
to the kindness of the inventor:—
Fig. 12 represents an electroscope, which acts on the Fig. 12.
principle of electrical divergence. A small elliptical ring
of metal, a, is attached obliquely to a small brass rod, ab,
by the intervention of a short tube of brass at a; the rod
ab terminates in a brass ball, b, and is insulated through the
substance of the wooden ball m. Two arms of brass, rr,
are fixed vertically in opposite directions on the extre¬
mities of the long diameter of the ring, and terminate in
small balls; and in the direction of tbe shorter diameter
within the ring there is a delicate axis at a, set on ex¬
tremely fine points. This axis carries, by means of short
vertical arms, two light reeds of straw, an, an', terminat¬
ing in balls of pith, and constituting a long index, corre¬
sponding in length to the fixed arms above mentioned. The
index thus circumstanced is susceptible of an extremely
minute force. Its tendency to the vertical position is re¬
gulated by small sliders of straw, ss, moveable with suffi¬
cient friction on either side of the axis. To mark the an¬
gular position of the index in any given case, there is a
narrow graduated ring of card, board, or ivory, ef, placed
behind it, the divisions being distinctly legible through
sights cut in the reeds. This graduated circle is support¬
ed on a transverse rod of glass, cd, by the intervention of
wooden caps, and is sustained by means of the brass ball a,
in which the glass rod is fixed. The whole is supported
on a long insulator of glass, A, by means of wooden caps
terminating in spherical ends.
In the above arrangement, as is evident, the index will
diverge from the fixed arms whenever an electrical charge
is communicated to the ball b.
This instrument is occasionally placed out of the verti-
4 o
ELECTRICITY.
658
Electrical cal position, at any required angle, by means of a joint at
Apparatus, m ; and all the insulating portions are carefully varnished
v—'V'w/ with a solution of shell-lac in alcohol.
Mr Snow Harris's Electrometer.
Mr Snow The object of this electrometer, an account of which
Harris’s has been kindly communicated to us by its inventor, is to
electrome- measure directly the attractive force of an electrified bo-
Plate dy, in terms of a known standard of weight, estimated in
CCXYI. degrees on a graduated arch, xy, fig. 13. An insulated con-
Fig. 13. ductor,/, is fixed on a varnished rod of glass, fg^ resting by
the intervention of a wooden ball on the extremity of a
micrometer screw, s, by the aid of which the conductor
may be raised or depressed through given intervals to
within the hundredth of an inch of any required point. A
moveable and similar conductor, m, made of light wood,
hollowed and gilded, is suspended immediately over the
former from the periphery of a small brass wheel W, fig. 13
and 14, by means of a fine silver thread attached near its
vertical arm, and passing from thence over its grooved cir¬
cumference, as shown. This conductor, m, is counterpois¬
ed by a short cylinder of wood,/>», fig. 13, 14, suspended
in a similar manner from the opposite side of the wheel by
means of a silk thread, and resting partly in water con¬
tained in the glass vessel N, fig. 13.
The extremities of the axis of the wheel W, fig. 13, 14,
are turned to extremely fine pivots, and rest on two large
friction wheels, after the manner represented in the figures,1
by which great freedom of motion is obtained.
There is a fine index of light straw, Wc, attached to the
extremity of a small steel needle, inserted diametrically
through the circumference, which indicates on the gra¬
duated arc xy the force exerted between the conductors
m,f. The weight of this index is accurately poised by a
small globule of brass, n, fig. 14, moveable on a screw,
cut in the opposite arm of the steel needle carrying the
index.
The centre of the wheel W is accurately placed in the
centre of the arc xy, which, with its radii of support, is
made of varnished wood; the graduated scale being of card,
board, or ivory. This arc is the sixth part of a circle, di¬
vided into 120 equal parts, 60 in the direction cx, and 60
in the direction cy ; the centre c being marked zero.
Fig. 14. Fig. 14 represents the wheel W, with the suspended
conductor and counterpoise, the index and its balance-
weight, together with the lines of suspension, passing free¬
ly over the circumference, and fixed at the point ii.
The various wheels above mentioned, with the gradu¬
ated arc, are sustained on a projecting metallic rod, pass¬
ing through a glass column B. The column is secured by
means of the rod to a sort of double stand, M, fig. 14, sup¬
ported on three levelling screws. The interval between
the plates of this stand contains the glass vessel N and
the micrometer screw s. The upper plate has a circular
hole, p, through which the cylindrical counterpoise passes
into the water n. The levelling screws serve to regulate
the position of the counterpoise through the hole ; so that
when it hangs in it centrally, the whole is accurately ad¬
justed.
The gravity of the suspended conductor m being in the
above arrangement opposed by that of the counterpoise,
it may be so far considered as existing in free space de¬
void of weight, and will therefore become very readily Electrica
moved by any new force applied to it. It may conse-Apparatus
quently be caused to approach to or recede from the fixed
conductor f, by the operation of forces acting in either of
these directions; the motion will, however, be speedily
arrested by the cylindrical counterpoise n, which becom¬
ing either further immersed in, or otherwise raised in the
water, furnishes, in the greater or less quantity of water
displaced, a measure of the force. In this way the force
may be estimated either in degrees or grains of actual
weight; since the number of grains requisite to add to
either side, in order to advance the index in either direc¬
tion a given number of divisions, may be immediately
found by experiment; and which, as the sections of the
cylinder are all similar, will be found to increase or de¬
crease with the degrees of the arc. Thus, if one grain ad¬
vances the index in either direction five degrees, then two
grains will advance it ten degrees, and so on.2
In the application of this instrument to electrical in¬
quiries, the force to be measured is first communicated to
the fixed conductor f, a free communication being estab¬
lished between the suspended conductor m and the ground,
or otherwise with the negative side of the jar or battery,
should the attractive force be derived from this species of
accumulation; this is readily effected through the brass
work of the apparatus, in connection with the rod passing
through the interior of the glass column B.
For the repulsive force we connect the conductor f as
before, and suspend m by a silk thread; in which case it
will, after being electrified similarly to f, recede from it;
but this method of experiment is evidently more compli¬
cated than the former, and liable to fallacy. The dis¬
tance between the conductors m, f corresponding to a
given force, is easily ascertained by means of the degrees
indicated on the arc x y. In the instrument above de¬
scribed, each degree corresponds to a variation of distance
between the conductors equal to the ’Ol of an inch. If,
therefore, at the commencement of any given experiment,
we first bring the nearest points of the conductors m,f in
contact, the index being in zero, and then depress the in¬
ferior conductory a given distance, known by means of the
micrometer screw s, then all subsequent distances may
be readily determined between these points.
It is now only requisite to observe, that the interior of
the cylindrical counterpoise is hollow, in order to weigh
it accurately, and cause it to hang vertically in the water;
and there is a small hemispherical cup, p, fixed on its stem
for the reception of small adjusting weights, by which the
position of the index at 0 of the scale is regulated with
great nicety. With respect to the form of the conductors
m,f, they are generally plain circular areas, backed by
small cones, and are of about two inches diameter. Con¬
ductors of other forms, however, such as spheres and cy.-
linders, may be occasionally used when the object is to
experiment more particularly on bodies of peculiar forms.
Experiments with this instrument are remarkably clear,
considering the subtile character of the principle we have
to investigate. Thus, when the insulations are perfect,
and the atmosphere dry, the index immediately exhibits
the amount of the attractive force, and remains stationary
for a much longer time than is required to note the
result.
1 Mr S. Harris resorted to this method of employing friction rollers, as being more efficient than that in which the axis is allowed
to rest in the angle formed between the peripheries of four smaller wheels. In this case it rolls fairly on a large circumference, and is
prevented from passing off it on either side by the check-wheels, either of which, when acted on, opposes little or no resistance to
motion.
2 The counterpoise should be free from grease or varnish of every sort, and should, previously to being used, be keptdmmersed in
water: the insulation of the conductor^ also should be made extremely dry, and occasionally warmed by a stick of burning charcoal.
ELECTRICITY. 659
Ilectrical By varying the superficial dimensions of insulated con-
pparatus. ductors, and the quantity of electricity accumulated on
them, we may, by the help of the above instrument, de¬
duce many curious and important laws of electrical action.
It is, however, first requisite to explain a method of charg¬
ing simple conductors with comparative quantities of elec¬
tricity; for without an accurate measure of quantity, little
can be effected in almost any department of this branch
of science.
late Simple conductors may have comparative quantities of
CXVI. electricity disposed on them, by abstracting small sparks
ig. 15. from an insulated charged jar, fig. 15, either immediately
on the given substance, or otherwise, on an insulated
ig. A. transfer plate, p, fig. A. An insulated jar charged with a
given accumulation, as estimated by the unit of measure,
which will be presently described, is of singular import¬
ance in researches with simple conductors; for series of
sparks may be obtained from it of such slow convergence,
that many successive terms may be considered as equal.
Thus, an insulated metallic disc, d, being placed in con¬
nection with the electrometer, fig. 13, or with the elec¬
troscope, fig. 14, was electrified many times in succes¬
sion to precisely the same amount, by sparks drawn on
an insulated plate from the positive coating, the negative
side of the jar after each contact being restored to a neu¬
tral state. When a portion of the charge was abstracted
so as to sensibly decrease the quantity in the jar, then a
new point is arrived at, from which another series of
sparks can be obtained, differing extremely little in quan¬
tity; and this process may be continued to a low point of
accumulation on the jar.
The quantity given off by the positive coating is de¬
pendent on the dimensions of the abstracting conductor,
and on the free state of the negative side of the jar. If
it be free for each experiment, or be otherwise connected
with a conductor of sufficiently large dimensions, it may
be observed that a conductor of a double capacity re¬
ceives a double quantity, a conductor of a treble capacity
a treble quantity, and so on. The extent to which this
process may be carried with a jar exposing about two
square feet of coating is somewhat considerable. We
only require in these experiments an extremely perfect
insulation.
In disposing given quantities of electricity on simple
conductors in this way, and investigating the attractive
force by means of the electrometer, Mr Harris arrived at
the laws formerly explained. (See page 587.)
hands Discharging Electrometer.
-.ane’s dis- This admirable instrument is shown in fig. 16. io the
llarf?ing stem AB of a Leyden jar, MN, is fixed a bent piece of
ectrome- glasS) for the purpose of supporting and insulating
ig the brass rod DE, which has two equal brass balls at its
B extremities. This rod moves through a spring tube at C,
so that the brass ball D can be placed at different dis¬
tances from the equal ball A, by which the jar is charged.
The insulated ball D is connected through the metallic
wire DE with the outside coating of the jar, by a wire, Eh.
If we bring the ball D near to A, a small electrical charge
conveyed to the jar MN will discharge itselt from A to D,
and pass off to the ground by the wire EE. 11 the distance
AD is increased, the jar must be more highly charged be¬
fore it discharges itself; so that the distance AD of the
balls is a measure of the intensity of the charge at the
time of its discharge. As long therefore as the jar has
not discharged itself, we are sure that its charge is less
than that which corresponds to the distance AD. Ihe
chief defect of this instrument arises from the occasional
interposition of particles of dust or other light conducting
materials between the balls, which occasions the discharge
to take place sooner than it otherwise would do. The arm Electrical
of glass is sometimes fixed on the top of the charging rod, Apparatus,
where a ball of wood is placed, and is bent downwards, so
as to carry the balls D, E. In this case the jar is charged
by another ball projecting from the charging rod towards
D- This electrometer is sometimes fixed to the prime
conductor, with and without ajar accompanying it.
Mr Snow Harris's Measuring Electrometer.
This elegant instrument, which we have had the advan- Mr Snow
tage of seeing in operation, is an invaluable addition to Harris’s
our electrical apparatus. According to the law of electri-measuring
cal accumulation on coated jars, the quantity added to one electrome-
side is always proportional to the quantity given off byter'
the other, and reciprocally. Elence the amount of the
accumulation may be always estimated by insulating the
jar to be charged, and observing, by means of a discharging
electrometer, the explosions of a small jar connected with
the negative coating. This process is, however, compli¬
cated in its general application; but Mr Harris has mo¬
dified it in the following manner:—Let a small jar, N, be
furnished with a discharging electrometer, w, and inverted CCXYI.
as in fig. 17, being supported by a brass rod, jpg', inserted Fig. 17.
into the ball D of the prime conductor ABC. Then, as
the electricity passes up the rod and accumulates on the
inner coating, a similar quantity is given off' from the
outer coating, which may be made to pass from a ball at
p. Now when the small jar N has been charged to a given
degree, an explosion or discharge takes place from m to
and restores the equilibrium ; and hence one measure of
electricity is marked by the first explosion. When this
has taken place, the jar is in the same state as at first;
and hence by a repetition of the process we obtain the
exact number of measures (or explosions) which pass
from the unit jar N, and are finally accumulated on the
jar J, or battery, into which the electricity passes from the
ball p. This process of charging a battery from the outer
coating of an exploding jar, instead of from the prime con¬
ductor, supersedes all electrometers, and is the best way
of measuring quantity.
Volta's Flame Electrometer.
It was observed by Mr Bennet, that a lighted candle Volta’s
placed above the cap of his electrometer, and communi-flame elec-
cating with it, greatly increased the sensibility of the in-trometer.
strument; and it appears from various experiments that
flame possesses the property of carrying off from bodies
the electricity with which they are charged. M. Volta
ingeniously availed himself of this principle in order to
bring down to his electrometer the electricity of the at¬
mosphere, the nature and intensity of which he was de¬
sirous of examining. This effect is produced by elevating
above the atmospherical conductor a lighted match or
torch.
Matteuccis Phosphorus Electrometer.
As the preceding instrument cannot be employed when Matteuc-
there is the least wind or rain, and still less during aci’sphos-
storm of hail or wind, M. Matteucci conceived the ideaph°rus
of constructing an electrometer depending on the strong romc
conducting power of the vapour of phosphorus. He pre¬
pared rods of this substance between the twenty-fifth and
the fiftieth of an inch in diameter, by melting the phos¬
phorus under water, and by blowing it while in a state of
fusion through a tube of the requisite diameter. He af¬
terwards made the rod of phosphorus project from the
fiftieth to the seventy-fifth of an inch beyond the end of
the tube. He then fixed the glass tube on a wooden pole,
and he insulated the pole by fixing to its extremity a
glass handle. The phosphorus communicated by its base
ELECTRICITY.
660
Electrical with a metallic wire which descended along the pole, and
Apparatus, which could be kept at a distance from the pole by some
'   ’ tubes of glass placed at regular distances. M. Matteucci
kept the rod of phosphorus perfectly insulated in the time
of rain, by means of a glass hood varnished on both its
surfaces, and having its convexity turned upwards. The
pole was composed of three or four rods, which were ad¬
justed into one another; and the instrument thus con¬
structed was found extremely useful in examining the
electricity of the atmosphere.
Mr Ronalds Improvements on Electrometers.
lionalds’ As threads, pith or cork balls, and even straws when
improve- very dry, lose some of their conducting power, Mr Ron-
electr m a^S Pre^ers ^ne s*lver wire, and hard charcoal balls from
ters 10mC" boxwood, for electrometric purposes. The following is
Plate the method which he employs in making electrometers of
CCXVI. this kind. The instrument which he uses is represented
Fig. 18. in fig. 18, where ABCD is a bow of steel wire with a hook
at each end. When the charcoal ball has been threaded
on the silver wire, and rings formed at each end, it is very
gently stretched in this bow, by passing the hooks through
the rings, and shoving it forward with the thumb placed
against the end of the tongue near the handle, which
tongue is thus made to open wider by pressing the screw
E on each side. The screw E is then turned a little far¬
ther into the piece F, in order to fix it firmly. The fine
wire is nmv placed cautiously upon a piece of iron, a little
below a red heat, which will make it perfectly straight,
when it may be taken from the bow, and suspended on
Fig. 19, 20. one of the rings of the piece of brass, fig. 19. In fig. 20
is shown Mr Ronalds’ method of making gold-leaf elec¬
trometers.
The electroscopes of the Abbe Haiiy, and the torsion
electrometer of Coulomb, have been described in a preced¬
ing part of this treatise.
CHAP. IV. ON MISCELLANEOUS ELECTRICAL INSTRU¬
MENTS.
1. Mr Snow Harris's Electrical Balance.
Mr Snow In investigating the law of the attractive forces of elec-
Harris’s tricity accumulated in jars and batteries, Mr Harris made
electrical use 0Cthe electrical* balance shown in fig. 1. The beam
Plate00' fl*6 balance, constructed in the usual manner, is sus-
CCXVII. pended from a projecting arm of brass, ea, supported by a
Fig. 1. vertical stand, abc, consisting of a brass slider and socket,
ah, by which the balance can be moved up or down, and
of a glass tube, be, with a ball of varnished wood, b. A
wire, pointed out by the line ef, passes through the tube
abc, and connects the beam with the negative coating
of the jar. A hollow gilt conductor of wood, f, is sus-
pended by a metallic thread from one of the arms m, and
from the opposite arm n is hung by silk lines a light brass
scale, d. In this scale there is placed as much additional
weight as will balance the conductor f, and put the whole
in a state of equilibrium. By means of an insulated con¬
ductor/', of the same dimensions as/ and fixed directly
under it, the attractive force of the electricity in the jar
is made to act directly on the suspended conductor /
The conductor /', which is connected with the positive
coating, is so placed that it can be depressed from contact
with the conductor/ through given distances, by means
of a cylindrical slide, r, attached to it, which moves in
the socket s, and indicates its depression on an engraven
scale, divided into twentieths of an inch. The socket s
is supported on a glass pillar by means of a varnished ball
of baked wood, on which the socket is fixed, and through
which the conductor /' is connected with the positive Electrical
coating. The whole balance can be raised or depressed-Apparatus
through a small distance by the micrometer screw at e.
From this description it is obvious that the attractive
force acts directly between the conductors / qnd /', and
can therefore be measured by weights placed in the scale
d. The scale rests on a small circular stand g, which can
be raised or depressed by the sliding brass rod and tube
vt, to accommodate itself to the horizontal position of the
beam, and to check any oscillation. The balance is fixed
on an elliptical base, having three levelling screws.
The following experiment, made by Mr Harris, will best
explain the use and value of this balance.
Having connected the inside coating of a single jar
containing five square feet with the conductor/ and the
outside coating with the wire ac, the conductor/' was de¬
pressed through half an inch, and a weight of sixteen
grains was placed in the scale; then, when five turns of
the plate were completed (or, if the measuring electrome¬
ter is used, when n explosions were conveyed to the jar),
the attractive force between /and/' was sufficient to tip
the beam. The accumulated electricity being discharged,
the conductor/' was depressed through a second interval
of half an inch, making the whole distance one inch ; and
four grains or one fourth of the former weight being placed
in the balance, the beam was again depressed with five
turns of the plate, or n explosions of the measuring elec¬
trometer. The accumulation being again discharged, and
the conductor/ depressed through a third interval of half
an inch, and one ninth part of the first weight placed in
the scale, the beam was again depressed with five turns
of the plate, or n explosions. Flence, as the distances in
the first experiment were as two to one and the weights
four to one, and as in the second experiment the distances
were three to one and the weights nine to one, we may
infer that the attractive force between the conductors varied
in the inverse ratio of the square of their distance.
2. Dr Ure's Detonating Eudiometer.
The electrical eudiometer is a simple instrument, for Dr lire’s
detonating or exploding gases by means of an electrical detonating
spark or shock. The common eudiometer is merely
short tube of glass closed at the upper end, and having ^cxvil.
two pieces of platina wire passing through the glass nearpjg 2.
its upper end, so as nearly to meet at the axis of the tube.
These wires communicate, the one with the inner and
the other with the outer coating of a charged jar, so that
when the discharge passes between the platina points, it
inflames the gas in the tube. As the gas subjected to the
action of the spark is transferred to the tube over water
or mercury, the lower or open extremity of the eudiome¬
ter must be kept in the water or mercury, in order to
confine the gas. With the common eudiometer two per¬
sons are required, the one to manage the instrument and
the other to manage the electrical machine ; but Dr Ure
has given it such a form that a single individual can per¬
form all the operations with the greatest facility.
Dr lire’s instrument, shown in fig. 2, consists of a glass Fig. 2.
syphon, ABC, with a bore of from two tenths to four
tenths of an inch. Its legs AB, CB are from six to nine
inches long, and from one fourth to half an inch apart.
The open end A is slightly funnel-shaped, and the other,
C, which is hermetically sealed, has two platina wires, a, b,
inserted near it by the blowpipe. The outer end of the
one wire is bent vertically upwards, and then horizon¬
tally so as nearly to touch the edge of the aperture A.
The end of the other wire is formed into a little hook, to
allow a small spherical button, d, to be attached to it when
the electrical spark is to be transmitted. The sealed leg
CB is graduated by introducing in succession equal
ELECTRICITY.
Electrical weights of mercury from a measure glass tube. Seven
\pparatus. ounces Troy and sixty-six grains occupy the space of a
cubic inch, and thirty-four and a half grains represent a
hundredth part of that volume.
’late The method of using this apparatus is shown in fig. 3.
X'XVII. The whole syphon being filled with mercury or water, a
convenient quantity of the gas to be examined, not ex¬
ceeding one sixth of the capacity of the tube, must then
be introduced in the ordinary manner. The tube is then
held upright by the hand, and the gas being transferred
into tbe sealed leg CB, the mercury is brought to a level
in both legs, either by the addition of a few drops, or by
displacing a portion by pushing down a glass or wooden
rod. The tube being grasped as in the figure, the thumb
must be placed tightly over the aperture, so as to close it,
and at the same time touch the wire next it. A spark
from the conductor of the electrical machine is then made
to enter the button d, and after inflaming the gas, is con¬
ducted away by the thumb and Jiand of tbe operator, the
tip of the finger feeling only a slight push or pressure.
When two or more inches of air are left beneath the thumb,
it acts as a recoil spring to restrain the violence of the
explosion. When condensation of volume takes place,
the finger feels pressed down to the orifice. On sliding
it gradually to one side and admitting the air, the mercu¬
rial column in CB will rise above that in AB. More mer¬
cury must then be poured in till the equilibrium is restor¬
ed, when without any reduction we may read off tbe re¬
sulting volume of gas. If the charge of a jar is to be trans¬
mitted through the wires, the thumb must not touch the
wire when it closes the aperture. In this case the wire
from the outside coating must be hooked on the eudio¬
meter wire nearest the thumb, and then the knob or ball
on the charging rod of the jar must be brought in contact
with the button on the other wire, when the gas will be
exploded.
3. Volta s Electrical Lamp.
As hydrogen gas is readily inflamed by a very small
electrical spark, Volta conceived the idea of constructing
a lamp for temporary purposes, such as that of obtaining
a light at night, or in summer for the purpose of sealing
letters, by employing the electrophorus to light the hy¬
drogen. With this view a quantity of gas is put into a
reservoir, and when subjected to the pressure of a column
of water, it escapes from a small aperture by turning a
stop-cock. Beneath this reservoir is placed an electro¬
phorus in a box, and from the upper part of the box a
wire passes through a glass tube to the small aperture.
When the handle of the stop-cock is opened to let out
the gas, the cover of the electrophorus is raised by means
ot a silk cord connected with the handle of the stop-cock,
and the spark from this cover is conveyed by this insu¬
lated wire to the stream of gas, which is instantly kindled,
so as to allow a candle to be immediately lighted. From
the smallness of the quantity of gas consumed, a light
may be procured an hundred times from the same reser¬
voir of gas. When the hydrogen gas is expended, it is
troublesome to persons unaccustomed to chemical mani¬
pulations to replenish the reservoir with fresh gas. M.
Clay Lussac removed this defect by suspending a bar of
zinc on the apparatus, so as to reproduce, by the action
of diluted sulphuric acid1 upon it, as much gas as was ex¬
hausted.
Although a good eleetrophorus, when well excited, will
retain its charge for many months, yet in general its ope¬
ration has been so uncertain, especially in damp weather,
661
nlta’s
ectrical
Imp.
r Cut-
sh’s im¬
minent
>n it.
that many persons have been obliged to lay aside the in- Electrical
strument. Mr Cutbush of Philadelphia found that he Apparatus,
could produce a spark in the dampest weather when he v—
warmed the electrophorus before exciting it with a fox’s
tail, and kept the electrophorus box as tight as possible.
As the cock is apt to become loose and allow the gas to
escape, Mr Cutbush applied a mixture of tallow and finely
pulverized plumbago to the cock; and, what is very curious,
le found that the hydrogen gas prepared from zinc escapes
much more readily than that procured from iron filings.
He found that the former sometimes disappeared in twen¬
ty-four hours, while the latter often remained more than
a week. The gas from iron filings is more impure than
the other, from containing more or less carbon. With
these precautions Mr Cutbush found that the lamp of
Volta seldom disappointed him in producing flame. He
ascertained that one cubic inch of gas will light the taper
at least ten times if the cock is quickly turned.
A hydrogen lamp acting by Voltaic electricity in place Green’s
of that of the electrophorus has been invented by Pro-hydrogen
fessor Jacob Green of Nassau Hall, and is quite indepen-lamP-n
dent of the state of the atmosphere. Its description,
however, belongs to the subject of another article.
4. Ronalds Electrograph.
M. Magellan had proposed to delineate the changes Ronalds’
which take place in the electricity of the atmosphere, byelectro-
a cylindrical and a plain electrograph. As our limits, how-graPh*
ever, will not permit us to describe these instruments, we£^yir
shall content ourselves with giving a drawing and descrip- 4> ‘
tion of the more recent and useful electrograph invented by
Mr Ronalds. This instrument is shown in fig. 4, where AA
is a box with a strong time-piece placed horizontally, and
moved by the weight B, and CC a disc of baked mahogany
eight inches in diameter, with an aperture of 21 inches at
D. The circumference of this disc, and also that of the
perforation, are provided with edges or rims, and the outer
broad rim is divided off and marked with hours and mi¬
nutes like a common clock. The space between the two
edges is almost filled with cement, composed of rosin, bees’
wax, and lamp-black, and this part of the apparatus may
be taken from tbe box at pleasure. A glass tube EF, with
brass caps, and covered inside and out with hard cement,
screws by its lower end into the disc CC, while the upper
end carries a small sheave, g. Within this tube EF a stem
of glass is fixed by its lower end on the minute arbor of
the time-piece, and a pivot attached to its upper extremity
passes through F and the sheave g. This pivot carries
the iron ball and cap h, into which is screwed the hori¬
zontal steel wire i, carrying the slider k, which moves with
little friction along the wire. The piece k carries the ver¬
tical wire l, terminating below in a hook, upon which hook
is hung a ring at one end of a short wire m, whose other
end carries a small gold bead. A fine thread, n, is attached
to k by one end, and by the other to the sheave g.
When the clock is going, its minute arbor carries round
the arm k, and the effect of this is to coil the thread n
round the fixed sheave g, and to make the piece k advance
towards the ball h, so that the gold bead will trail upon
the resinous disc CC, and describe a spiral upon it. If
we now cause the little iron cap above h to communicate
with a wire connected With any atmospherical conductor,
the gold bead will electrify the resinous surface, so that
when the plate is removed from the clock and powdered
with pounded resin, or even dry hair powder, the spiral
line will exhibit configurations varying in shape and in
breadth according to the intensity and nature of the electri-
1 The acid should be diluted in the proportion of one part of acid to seven of water.
662
ELECTRICITY.
Electrical city which the resinous surface has received from the trail-
Apparatus. ing bead. The times at which these phenomena took place
will be shown by the dial-plate.
If this instrument is used for recording the phenomena
of serene weather, dew, &c. the hour arbor should be used
in place of the minute one; but if for those of a thunder
storm, hard shower of rain, or hail or snow, the minute
arbor should be used. Mr Ronalds adds, that he has
sometimes found a more rapid motion necessary, which
can be obtained by the addition of a third arbor; the glass
tube EF, with its appendages, being transferred to the most
suitable arbor, and the disc adjusted to a new centre.
Sheaves larger and smaller than g will be requisite for dif¬
ferent applications of this electrograph.
5. The Electrical Air Thermometer.
This instrument, invented by Mr Kinnersley, is shown in
fig. 5, where AB is a glass tube about ten inches long
and two inches wide, having its ends closed by two air¬
tight brass caps, A and B. Through these caps slide two
hooked wires, FG, El, so that the small brass balls G, I,
can be set at any distance, and an electrical spark pass¬
ing between them may be made stronger or weaker as the
occasion requires. Another small tube, HA, open at both
ends, passes through a tube in the copper caps, and through
this tube a sufficient quantity of mercury or water is in¬
troduced to fill the lower ends both of the wide tube AB
and the narrow one HA. If an electrical charge is sent
through the balls G, I when they are placed in contact,
by connecting the hooks E, F with the outside and inside
coating of a Leyden jar, no effect will be produced; but
if the balls G, I are separated so that the charge passes
in the form of a spark through the interposed air, the ra¬
refied and displaced air will press on the surface of the
mercury or water at the bottom of the tube AB, and raise
it nearty to the top of the small tube HA. It will then
sink after the explosion, and resume its former position.
6. Volta s Electrical Pistol.
Kinners-
ley’s elec¬
trical air
thermome¬
ter.
Plate
CCXVII.
Fig. 5.
Volta’s A brass vessel of a pear shape, or of an ellipsoidal form,
electrical being perforated at its two ends, a glass tube of the same
pistd. diameter as the perforation is inserted in one of them, so
as to extend to the centre of the ellipsoid, and to project
about four inches beyond the vertex. Through this tube
there passes a metallic stem, which is furnished with a
brass ball at its outer end, while its other extremity reaches
beyond the inner end of the glass tube. A mixture of
equal parts of hydrogen gas and atmospheric air having
been introduced at the second aperture, this aperture is
closed tightly with a cork. The operator now grasps the
ellipsoid by its equator, and when a spark is taken by its
brass ball from the prime conductor, the gaseous mixture
will instantly be exploded, and drive out the cork with a
smart explosion. In place of a mere perforation at the
extremity of the ellipsoid, a barrel may be inserted, and
by using a cylinder of cork as a wadding, a ball may be
discharged from the pistol.
Another form of the electrical pistol is shown in fig. 9,
at BCF, forming a part of Mr Ronalds’ electrical telegraph.
The pistol has the form of a pear, and the brass rod and*
ball, in place of being a continuation of its axis, is inserted
on one side, as shown at D. We have given a separate sec-
Fig. 6. tion of this pistol in fig. 6, where AB is the body of the
pistol, which contains the inflammable gas, C the cork
which is to be discharged, D the glass tube, G the brass
ball with a brass rod going down through the glass tube
and extended a little beyond it, and E another little ball
and rod fixed in the lower end of the pistol. When the
spark is communicated at G, the gas will explode and dis¬
charge the cork.
7. Ronalds' Electric Telegraph. Electrical
■Apparatus
M. Cavallo suggested the idea of conveying intelligence
by passing given numbers of sparks through an insulated RonaWs’
wire in given spaces of time; and some German and,eleclrif te
American authors have proposed to construct galvanic Sraph'
telegraphs by the decomposition of water. Mr Ronalds,
who has devoted much time to the consideration of this
form of the telegraph, proposes to employ common elec¬
tricity to convey intelligence along insulated and buried
wires; and he proved the practicability of such a scheme
by insulating eight miles of wire on his lawn at Hammer¬
smith. In this case the wire was insulated in the air by silk
strings; but he also made the trial with 525 feet of buried
wire. With this view he dug a trench four feet deep, in
which he laid a trough of wood two inches square, well
lined both within and without with pitch, and within this
trough were placed thick glass tubes, through which the
wire ran. The junction of the glass tubes was surrounded
with short and wider tubes of glass, the ends of which
were sealed up with soft wax.
Mr Ronalds now fixed a circular brass plate, fig. 7, upon Plate
the seconds arbor of a clock which beat dead seconds. This CCXVII.
plate was divided into twenty equal parts, each division Fig- 7-
being worked by a figure, a letter, and a preparatory sign.
The figures were divided into two series of the units, and
the letters were arranged alphabetically, omitting J, Q, U,
AV, X, and Z. In front of this was fixed another brass
plate, as shown in fig. 8, which could be occasionally turned Fig. g.
round by the hand, and which had an aperture like that
shown in the figure, which would just exhibit one of the
figures, letters, and preparatory signs, for example 9, V,
and Ready. In front of this plate was suspended a pith
ball electrometer, B (see fig. 9) from a wire, C, which was Fig. 9.
insulated, and which communicated on one side with a
glass cylinder machine, D, and on the other side with the
buried wire. At the further end of the buried wire was an
apparatus exactly the same as the one now described, and
the clocks were adjusted to as perfect synchronism as
possible.
Hence it is manifest, that when the wire was charged
by the machine at either end, the electrometers at both
ends diverged, and when it was discharged they collapsed,
at the same instant. Consequently, if it was discharged
at the moment when a given letter, figure, and sign, on the
lower plate, fig. 7, appeared through the aperture, fig. 8,
the same figure, letter, and sign would appear also at the
other clock ; so that by means of such discharges at one
station, and by marking down the letters, figures, and signs
seen at the other, any required words could be spelt.
Ihis is not the place to describe the method of using
the telegraphic dictionary, but we may state, that the elec¬
trical pistol F, which passed through the side of the clock-
case GG, had an apparatus H, by which a spark might
pass through it when the sign prepare was made, in order
that the explosion might excite the attention of the super¬
intendent, and obviate the necessity of close watching.
8. Ronalds' Atmospherical Conductor, founded on a New
Mode of Insulation.
This conductor is shown in fig. 10. A glass pillar, A, Ronalds’
passes through a circular piece of hard boxwood, B, andatmosphe-
also through the piece C, the sides of the perforations in r'ca* c01]‘
these pieces being lined with thick leather. Nut bolts, D, D,1^0^
pass through B and C, to secure the glass pillar in its place. !°
The dotted part of the support is hollow. The glass is
about one fourth of an inch thick at the opening, and the
upper part of it is coated with sealing-wax. A small spi¬
rit-lamp, E, with a single thread of cotton wick, and hav¬
ing a glass chimney, is placed beneath the open mouth of
E L E
llectrides the glass pillar. The pillar terminates above with a strong
tl brass socket carrying the ball F, which is perforated to
a(]mit the lowest joint of a long bamboo fishing-rod G, gilt
and inclined at an angle of about 45°. The strong bent
wire H carries the upper part of a Volta’s straw electro¬
meter I, which rests upon the table M. The piece which
supports the straws is entirely detached from the glass
bottle I, being fixed to the arm H when the instrument is
in use. The same piece carries a cone or funnel K. From
the bent wire N, similar to H, a pair of wood charcoal balls
are suspended, or instead of them the quadrant electro-
ELECTRIDES, anciently islands in the Adriatic Sea,
which received their name from the quantity of amber
(electrum) which they produced. They were at the mouth
of the Po, according to Apollonius of Rhodes; but some
historians doubt their existence.
ELECTRO-MAGNETISM. See Galvanism, Mag¬
neto-Electricity, and Thermo-Electricity.
ELECTROMETER. See Electricity.
ELECTUARY, in Pharmacy^ a form of medicine com¬
posed of powders and other ingredients, incorporated with
some conserve, honey, or syrup, and divided into doses,
like boluses.
Vossius observes, that all the remedies prescribed for
the sick, as well as the confections taken by way of regale,
were called by the Greeks sHkuyiiurai, from the verb Xsi^u,
I lick ; whence, he thinks, was formed the Latin electari-
um, and afterwards electuarium. This conjecture he sup¬
ports from the laws of Sicily, where it is ordained that
elechiaries, syrups, and other remedies, shall be prepared
after the legal manner. The Bollandists, who relate this
etymology, seem to confirm it.
ELEEMOSYNA Carucarum, or pro Aratris, in our
ancient customs, a penny which King Ethelred ordered
to be paid for every plough in England, towards the sup¬
port of the poor. Sometimes it is also called eleemosyna
regis, because first appointed by the king
ELEEMOSYNARIUS, in our old writers, means the
almoner or peculiar officer who received the eleemosynary
rents and gifts, and distributed them for pious and chari¬
table purposes. There was an officer of this description
in all religious houses. Formerly the bishops also had
their almoners, as the king has at present.
ELEGANCE (from eligo, I choose), denotes a man¬
ner of doing or saying any thing politely, agreeably, and
choicely; politely, so as to please people of delicate taste ;
agreeably, so as to diffuse a relish which gratifies every
body; and choicely, so as to rise above the common way
or mode.
ELEGIT, in Lena, a writ of execution, which lies for a
person who has recovered debt or damages; or upon a
recognizance in any court against a defendant who is not
able to satisfy the same in his goods.
ELEGY, a plaintive poem, written in a kind of stanza
or verse the cadence of which is suited to the expression
of mournful feelings and sentiments.
ELEMENT, in a figurative sense, is used for the prin¬
ciples and foundations of any art or science ; as Euclid’s
Elements.
Elements, in Physics, the first principles of which all
bodies are composed. These, it has been supposed, are
few in number, unchangeable in their nature, and, by their
multiform combinations, produce that endless variety of
objects which we observe in the works of creation.
Elements, in Astronomy, are those principles deduced
from astronomical observations and calculations, and those
fundamental numbers which are employed in the construe-
E L E 663
meter O, which serves to mark the higher electrical in- Elenchus
tensities, such as those of rain, hail, snow, and heavy clouds, II
which are too strong to be measured by more delicate in- Elephar>t
struments. Isle.
M hen this instrument is screwed upon a table in an up-
per room, and the fishing-rod thrust out of the window, it
will be found highly useful for examining the usual atmo¬
spherical electricity of serene weather. If it is to be used
in the open air the ball F is unnecessary, and the rod can be
placed vertically in the brass socket. Two insulators of this
kind may be used to sustain a wire if required, (n. n. n.)
tion of tables of the planetary motions. Thus, the ele¬
ments of the theory of the sun, or rather of the earth, are
his mean motion and eccentricity, and the motion of the
aphelia. The elements of the theory of the moon are its
mean motion, that of its node and apogee, its eccentricity,
the inclination of its orbit to the plane of the ecliptic,
and so on.
ELENCHUS, in Antiquity, a kind of ear-ring set with
large pearls.
Elenchus, in Logic, by the Latins called argumentum
and inquisitio, is a vicious or fallacious argument, which
deceives under the appearance of a truth, and is the same
with what is otherwise called sophism.
ELEPHANT. See Mammalia.
Knights of the Elephant, an order of knighthood in
Denmark, conferred upon none but persons of the first
rank and merit. It is also called the order of St Mary.
Its institution is said to have arisen from a gentleman be¬
longing to the Danish crusaders having killed an elephant
in an expedition against the Saracens in 1184 ; in memory
of which achievement King Canute instituted the order.
The badge is a towered elephant, with an image of the
holy virgin encircled with rays and suspended by a water¬
ed sky-coloured ribbon, like the George in England.
ELEPHANT ISLE, called by the natives Gharipoor,
a small island situated between Bombay and the main
land, about five miles and a half from Bombay. It is
nearly five miles in circumference, and contains about a
hundred inhabitants, who are employed in the cultivation
of rice, and in rearing sheep and poultry for the Bombay
market. The island is nearly overgrown with wood of
a luxuriant growth, and contains several springs of good
water. But it owes its chief celebrity to the mythological
excavations and sculptures of Hindu superstition which
are contained in it. Opposite to the landing place is a co¬
lossal statue of an elephant, cracked and mutilated, from
which the Portuguese gave the island the name which it
still bears. At a short distance from this is a cave, the
entrance to which is nearly sixty feet wide and eighteen
feet high, supported by pillars cut out of the rock; the
sides are sculptured into numerous compartments contain¬
ing various representations of the Hindu deities, but the
figures have many of them been defaced by the blind zeal
of the Mahommedans and Portuguese. In the centre of
the excavations there is a remarkable bust of the Hindu
Triad, or three-formed god, namely, Brahma the Creator,
Vishnu the Preserver, and Seva or Mahadeva the De¬
stroyer. The heads are six feet in length, well cut, and
the countenances, with the exception of the under lip, are
handsome. The head-dresses are curiously ornamented ;
and one of the figures, that of the destroyer, holds in its
hand a cobra capella snake, whilst on the cap are, amongst
other symbols, a human skull and a young infant. On
each side of the Trimurti is a pilaster, the front of which
is filled up by a human figure leaning on a dwarf, both
much defaced. There is a huge compartment to the
664 E L E
Elephanti-right, hollowed a little, and covered with a great variety
asia. 0f figUreSj the largest of which is sixteen feet high, re-
Elephan- Presenting double figure of Seva and Parvati, named
tine. * Vi raj, half male and half female. On the right is Brahma,
four-faced, on a lotus; and on the left is Vishnu. On
the other side of the Trimurti is another compartment
with various figures of Seva and Parvati, the most remark¬
able of which is Seva in his vindictive character, eight¬
handed, with a chaplet of skulls round his neck. On
the right of the entrance of the cave is a square apart¬
ment, supported by eight colossal figures, containing a gi¬
gantic symbol of Mahadeva or Seva cut out of the rock.
There is a similar chamber in a smaller cavern, having
the walls covered with sculptures, which however can
hardly be seen, owing to the rubbish with which the place
is filled. This singular seat of Hindu superstition is said
to have been dedicated to Seva, but it contains numerous
representations of all the Hindu deities. It has, however,
from time immemorial been forsaken by its priests or
Brahmins; and it is not even the resort of pilgrims; its
only devotees being married women, who olfer up their
prayers here for an increase of their family. This place
is a most wonderful monument of antiquity and super¬
stition. The work must have been one of incredible la¬
bour; and there is not the least trace or tradition to point
out the time when this temple flourished, much less the
period of its formation. Yet it clearly shows that the
Brahminical religion must have flourished in India at a
very remote period of antiquity. Long. 73. E. Lat. 18.
57. N.
ELEPHANTIASIS, called also the leprosy of the Ara¬
bians, in Medicine, a chronical disease, one of the two spe¬
cies of leprosy which affects the whole body, where even
the bones as well as the skin are covered with spots and
tumours, which are at first red, but ultimately become
black.
ELEPHANTINE, a small island of the river Nile, now
Geziret-el-Zakir, or the Flowery Island, distant half a sta¬
dium from Syene in Upper Egypt. The beauty of na¬
ture in this confined spot formed a strange contrast to the
arid appearance of the country along the banks of the
Nile. The inhabitants protected it against the inunda¬
tions of the river by powerful dykes; and when the heats
of summer had parched up every other part of the land,
here nature appeared in all the verdure of spring, by
means of artificial irrigation. This island being only one
hour distant from the Cataract, became naturally the em¬
porium of all the trade which was carried on with the in¬
habitants of the more southern portions of Africa. There
was a city in it, of the same name, which contained a
temple of Knuphis, and a nilometer, which is thus de¬
scribed by Strabo (xvii. 817): “ The nilometer is a well
or cistern on the banks of the Nile, built of well cement¬
ed stone (otwo/iw A/fy). It serves to mark the height of
the inundation, as the water in this well rises and falls
with that of the river: there are marks on the wall which
show the height of the increase, and the result of this
observation is regularly published for the use of the culti¬
vators of the ground. By this means they are able to
judge to what height the inundation will rise, and thereby
the labourers are enabled to regulate the proper distribu¬
tion of the water. The governors of the province also re¬
gulate by this the tax imposed upon the land, for they in¬
crease it in proportion as there is an appearanceof the water
rising to a great height.” It is curious that neither this
intelligent geographer nor any of the ancient writers have
thought proper to inform us how high the Nile rose when
confined within precipitous banks, as it was in this southern
portion of the country. It is from Aristides, who lived in
the second century, that we first learn that it rose twenty-
E L E
eight cubits above the lowest water mark; yet this was not Eleusinia
sufficient to cover the valley with water, and it is now an
arid desert, incapable of cultivation. See article Egypt.
Elephantine, in Roman antiquity, an appellation given
to the books in which were registered the transactions of
the senate and magistrates of Rome, the emperors, or the
generals of armies, and even of the provincial magistrates,
the births and classes of the people, and other things re¬
lating to the census. They are supposed to have been so
called, from having been made of leaves of ivory or ele¬
phants’ tusks.
ELEUSINTA, in Grecian antiquity, a festival observed
in honour of Ceres, by some states every fourth, but by
others every fifth year. The Athenians celebrated it at
Eleusis, a town of Attica; and hence arose the name.
Ceres, says Isocrates, wandering in quest of her'daughter
Proserpine, arrived in Attica, where some good offices were
rendered her, which it is unlawful for those who are not
initiated to hear. In return she conferred two unparal¬
leled benefits, namely, the knowledge of agriculture, by
which the human race is raised above the brute creation;
and the mysteries, from which the partakers derive sweeter
hopes than other men enjoy, both as to the present life
and a future state of existence. It was the popular opi¬
nion that the Eleusinian goddesses suggested prudent
counsel to their votaries, and influenced their conduct;
and that the latter were respected in the infernal re¬
gions, and had precedence in the assemblies of the bless¬
ed, whilst the unhallowed were left in utter darkness,
wallowing in mire, or labouring to fill a leaky vessel. The
Athenians were solicitous to secure these advantages to
their children, by having them initiated as soon as possi¬
ble in the Eleusinian mysteries.
Ceres was supposed to be particularly partial to Eleusis
and its vicinity. Hierewere the memorials of her presence
and of her bounty; the well named Callichorus, by which
she had rested, in the reign of Erectheus; the stone on
which she sat, named the sorroiuful; the Rharian plain,
where barley was first sown; and the thrashing floor and
altar ol friptolemus, a herdsman whom she instructed in
the culture of that grain, the use of which succeeded to
acorns. Her mysteries continued to possess a pre-emi¬
nence in holiness, and to be accounted as much superior
to all other religious festivals as the gods were to the dei¬
fied heroes. Even the garments worn at the solemnity
were supposed to partake Of the efficacy of the mysteries,
and to be possessed of signal virtues. It was customary
to retain them until they began to decay, and then to de¬
dicate them in the temple, or to use them as swaddling
clothes.
The mystic temple, as it was called, provided by Pe¬
ricles for the solemnity, created by its sanctity an awre
only equalled by the astonishment which its beauty and
magnitude excited in every beholder. The profane or
uninitiated were forbidden to enter it upon any pretence.
Two young Acarnanians happening inadvertently to mix
with the crowd at the season of the mysteries, and to go
in, were discovered and put to death. The chief priest,
hierophant, or mystagogue, was taken from the Eumol-
pidae, a holy family which flourished at Athens, and de¬
rived its descent from Eumolpus, a shepherd and favou¬
rite of Ceres. He was enjoined to observe celibacy, and
he wore a stole or long garment, and in his hair a wreath
of myrtle. The grand requisites in his character were
strength and melody of voice, solemnity of deportment,
magnificence, and strict decorum. Under him, besides
many of inferior station, was the daduchus or torch-bearer,
who likewise wore his hair with a fillet; the priest, who
officiated at the altar; and the hiero-ceryx, or sacred he¬
rald ; all very important personages. The latter was of a
E L E
lleusinia. family which claimed the god Mercury, and Aglauros the
daughter of Cecrops, for its ancestors.
Ihe secrecy in which the mysteries were enveloped
served to enhance the idea of their consequence, and to
increase the desire of participation. It was so strict that
no person was allowed even to name the hierophant by
whom he had been initiated ; whilst public abhorrence
and detestation awaited the babbler, and the law decreed
that he should die the death.
The Athenians suffered none to be initiated into these
mysteries excepting such as were members of their city.
I his regulation, which compelled Hercules, Castor, and
Pollux, to become citizens of Athens, was strictly observ¬
ed in the first ages of the institution ; but after a time all
persons, barbarians excepted, were freely admitted.
The festivals were divided into greater and lesser mys¬
teries. The institution of the latter arose out of the fol¬
lowing circumstance. Hercules having passed near Eleu-
sis while the Athenians were celebrating the mysteries,
desired to be initiated. As this request could not be
complied with, he being a stranger, and as Eumolpus was
unwilling to displease him on account of his great power,
and the services which he had rendered to the Atheni¬
ans, another festival was instituted without violating the
laws ; it was denominated /i/zoa, and Hercules was sofemn-
ly admitted to the celebration, and initiated. These lesser
mysteries were observed at Agra?, near the Ilissus. The
greater were celebrated at Eleusis, from which place Ceres
has been called Eleusinia. In later times the lesser festi¬
vals were preparatory to the greater, and no person could
be initiated at EJeusis without a previous purification at
Agra?. Ibis purification they performed by keeping them¬
selves puie, chaste, and unpolluted during nine days ; after
which they came and offered sacrifices and prayers, wear-
ing garlands of flowers called /(u,sga, and having under
their feet A/og xwci/ov, Jupiter's skin, which was the skin of
a victim offered to that god. The person who assisted
was called vdgccvos, from vdag, water, which was used at the
purification ; and those purified were called [Avcsrai, the ini¬
tiated. A year after the initiation into the lesser mys¬
teries they sacrificed a sow to Ceres, and wrere admitted
into the greater, and the secrets of the festivals were so¬
lemnly revealed to them.
1 his festival was observed in the month Boedromion or
September, and continued nine days, from the 15th till
the 23d. During that time it was unlawful to arrest any
man, or present any petition, on pain of forfeiting a thou¬
sand drachmas, or, according to others, on pain of death.
It was also unlawful for those who were initiated to sit
upon the cover of a well, and to eat beans, mullets, or
weazels. If any woman rode to Eleusis in a chariot she
was obliged by an edict of Lycurgus to pay six thousand
drachmas. Ihe design of this law was to destroy all dis¬
tinction between the richer and poorer citizens. When
the season approached, the mystae, or persons who had
been initiated only in the lesser mysteries, repaired to
Eleusis to be instructed in the ceremonial. The service
oi the opening of the temple, with morning sacrifice, was
performed, and the ritual was then produced from the
sanctuary. It was enveloped in symbolical figures of
animals, which suggested words compendiously, in letters
with ligatures, the tops being huddled together, or dis¬
posed circularly like a wheel, and the whole utterly inex-
p icable to the profane. The case, which was called pe-
troma, consisted of two stones exactly fitted ; and the mys-
terious record, after being read, was closed up and re-
p aced until a future festival. The principal rite was noc-
turnal, and confined to the temple and its environs. The
m^stie waited without with impatience and apprehension.
•Lamentations and strange sounds were heard. Thunder
vox., vin.
E L E
665
pealed above these noises, and flashes of light and fire Eleusinia.
nradiated the gloom, rendering the darkness which fol¬
lowed more awful and sublime. The candidates for initia¬
tion were beaten by some invisible hand, whilst frightful
apparitions, and monsters of a canine form, were present¬
ed to them, which filled them with apprehension and ter¬
ror, and paralysed their energies. The scene then sud¬
denly changed to one of a brilliant and agreeable character.
I he propylasa or vestibules of the temple were opened the
curtains withdrawn, and the hidden things displayed They
were introduced by the hierophant and daduchus, the for¬
mer of whom revealed to them the mysteries. The splen
dour of illumination, the glory of the temple and of the
images, and the singing and dancing which accompanied
the exhibition, all contributed to soothe the mind after its
recent agitation, and to render the wondering devotee
tranquil and satisfied. After this inspection, or, as it was
called, the autopsia, they retired, and others advanced
The succeeding days were employed in purification, in sa¬
crifice, in pompous processions, and in spectacles, at which
they assisted, wearing myrtle crowns. The second day
was called aXah pvtirui, to the sea, ye initiated; because
they were commanded to purify themselves by ablution in
the sea. On the third.day sacrifices were offered, as also
a mullet, and barley from a field of Eleusis. These obla¬
tions were called Sua, and were held so sacred that the
priests themselves dared not, as in other sacrifices, par¬
take of them. On the fourth day they made a solemn
procession, in which the KaXubm, or holy basket of Ceres,
was paraded in a consecrated cart, while on every «ide
the people shouted yjuoj Ayyrirtg, Hail, Ceres. After
these followed women, called xiarotpogoi, who carried baskets,
in which was sesamin, carded wool, grains of salt, a ser¬
pent, pomegranates, reeds, ivy boughs, and so on. The
fifth was called r, ruv Xa/iwaScov q/Moa, the torch day, because
on the following night the people ran about with torches
in their hands. It was usual to dedicate torches to Ceres,
and contend who should offer the largest, in commemora¬
tion of the travels of the goddess, and of her lighting a
torch in the flames of Mount ./Etna. The sixth day was
called laxyog, from lacchus, the son of Jupiter and Ceres,
who accompanied his mother in her search after Proser¬
pine, with a torch in his hand. From this circumstance
the hand of his statue was furnished with a torch, and car¬
ried in solemn procession from the Ceramicus to Eleusis.
The statue, with those who accompanied it, called laxya-
ywyov, was crowned with myrtle. In the way nothing was
heard but singing and the noise of brazen kettles as the
votaries danced along. The way through which they is¬
sued from the city was called fisa goo;, or the sacred way,
the testing place /sgoc ovjcjj, from a Jig-tree which grew in
the neighbourhood. They also stopped on a bridge over
the Cephisus, where they derided those who passed by.
After they had crossed this bridge, they entered Eleusis
by a place called /xocrr/zjj s/<roOog, or the mystical entrance.
The seventh day was devoted to sports, in which the vic¬
tors were rewarded with a measure of barley, that grain
having been first sown in Eleusis. The eighth day was
called jj/xsga, because iEsculapius on his return
from Epidaurus to Athens was initiated by the repetition
of the lesser mysteries. It became customary therefore
to celebrate them a second time upon this occasion, in
order that those who had not hitherto obtained the pri¬
vilege^ might be lawfully initiated. The ninth and last
day of the festival was called rihYyxoyoui, or earthen vessels,
because it was customary to fill two such vessels with
wine, one placed towards the east, and the other towards
the west; which, after the repetition of some mystical
words, were both thrown down, and the wine spilt on the
ground was offered as a libation.
4 p
6(36 E L E E L E
Eleusis. The story of Ceres and Proserpine, the foundation of
the Eleusinian mysteries, was both verbally narrated and
represented in allegorical show. Proserpine was gathering
flowers when she was stolen by Pluto ; and hence the pro¬
cession of the holy basket, which was placed on a car
dragged along by oxen and followed by a train of females,
some carrying the mystic chests, shouting Hail, Ceres. At
night a procession was made with lighted torches, in order
to commemorate the goddess searching for her daughter.
A measure of barley, the grain which, it was believed, she
had bestowed, was the reward of the victors in the gym-
nic exercises; and the proceedings at the temple had a
reference to the legend. A knowledge of these things,
from which the profane were excluded, formed the amount
of what was communicated to the initiated; and the mode
in which it was performed was skilfully adapted to the
reigning superstitions. The operation was forcible, and
the effect in proportion. The priesthood flourished as
piety increased; and although the dispensation was cor¬
rupt, its tendency was not malignant. It produced sanc¬
tity of manners, an attention to the social duties, and a
desire to be distinguished for what was then deemed vir¬
tue. (See Divine Legation of Moses demonstrated; Gib¬
bon, in his Miscellaneous Works, on Virgil’s account of
^Eneas’s Descent into the Shades; and Heyne’s Excur¬
sus, in reference to the same subject.)
ELEUSIS, a city of Attica, four leagues from Athens,
and close to the shore opposite the island of Salamis.
Like most of the other cities of Greece, its origin is as¬
cribed to various fabulous characters, and, among these,
to Ogyges ; a circumstance which at least proves it to be
of the highest antiquity. In the earlier period of its his¬
tory it seems to have been an independent state, and was
even so powerful as to contest with Athens itself the palm
of superiority. A considerable portion of its small terri-
tory was occupied by the plains of Thria, remarkable for
their fertility, though the hopes of the husbandmen were
not unfrequently disappointed, from the blight of the south
wind. To the west was the Campus Rharius, where
Ceres is said to have sown the first seeds of corn ; and on
its confines was the field called Orgas, planted with trees
consecrated to Ceres and Proserpine. The temple of
Eleusis, sacred to Ceres and her daughter, was considered
as one of the most beautiful productions of the genius of
Greece; it is said to have been founded by Pandion II.,
and Clemens Alexandrinus places it even 120 years ear¬
lier, in the reign of Lynceus. Its position and riches na¬
turally exposed it to the attacks of the enemies of Attica,
and though defended by a strong fortress, it was seldom
able to make any lengthened resistance. Cleomenes,
king of Sparta, dared to violate its sacred precincts ; but
if we may believe the statements of the Athenians, he
was soon overtaken by the just vengeance of the gods,
and seized with a sudden fit of madness. The Persians
burnt it to the ground after the battle of Plataea; but
scarcely had they evacuated the confines of Greece, when
the Athenians determined to rebuild it with even more
than its original magnificence. Ictinus, the architect of
the Parthenon, was ordered to draw up the plan of the
new edifice. He adopted the Doric order of architecture,
without the erection of pillars in front of the building. We
know not whether he lived long enough to carry his plan
into execution ; but it was during the splendid adminis¬
tration of Pericles, and under the cultivated taste of Phi¬
dias, that the temple of Eleusis was completed in all its
magnificence. The mystic cell was begun by Corcebus,
but he lived only to finish the lower row of columns, with
their architraves. Metagenes, of the district of Xypete,
added the rest of the entablature and the upper row of
columns. Xenocles of Cholargus built the dome on the
top. A portico was long afterwards added by Demetrius Eleuther
Phalereus, who employed for that purpose the architect , II
Philo. This magnificent structure continued to exist for -^kvatot
many centuries, till the destructive hordes of Alaric com-
pleted its overthrow in the year 396. The city imme¬
diately disappeared on the destruction of the temple,
which had been its ornament and principal support; and
upon the site nothing is now found but a miserable vil¬
lage called Lessina, amidst the ruins of the sacred edifice.
But the coins of Eleusis are still common, and represent
Ceres drawn by dragons or serpents. The inscription is
EAET2I, or EAET, within a wreath of ears of corn.
ELEUTHERIA, a festival celebrated at Platsea, in
honour of Jupiter Eleutherius, or “ the assertor of liber¬
ty,” by delegates from almost all the cities of Greece.
Its institution originated thus ; After the victory which
the Grecians under Pausanias obtained over Mardonius
the Persian general, in the country of Plataea, an altar
and statue were erected to Jupiter Eleutherius, who had
freed the Greeks from the tyranny of the barbarians. It
was further agreed upon, ih a general assembly, by the
advice of Aristides the Athenian, that deputies should
be sent every fifth year from the different cities of Greece,
to celebrate Eleutheria, or festivals of liberty. The Pla-
tmans celebrated also an annual festival in memory of
those who had lost their lives in that famous battle. It
was celebrated thus : At break of day a procession moved
forward, headed by a trumpeter, who sounded a signal for
battle ; and after him followed chariots loaded with myrrh,
garlands, a black bull, and certain free young men, no
signs of servility being permitted to appear during the
solemnity, because they in whose honour the festival was
instituted had died in the defence of their country. They
carried libations of wine and milk in large-eared vessels,
with jars of oil and precious ointments ; and the rear was
brought up by the chief magistrate, who, although not
permitted at other times to touch iron, or wear garments
of any colour but white, yet on this occasion appear¬
ed clad in purple, and taking a water-pot out of the city
chamber, proceeded through the middle of the town to¬
wards the sepulchres, with a sword in his hand. There
he drew water from a neighbouring spring, and wrashed
and anointed the monuments; after which he sacrificed a
bull upon a pile of wood, invoking Jupiter and Mercury,
and inviting to the entertainment the souls of those happy
heroes who had perished on the plains of Plataea. Alter
this he filled a bowl with wine, saying, I drink to those
who lost their lives in the defence of the liberties of Greece.
There was also a festival of the same name observed by
the Samians in honour of the god of love. Slaves, also,
when they obtained their liberty, kept a holiday, which
they called Eleutheria.
ELEUTHEROLACONES, or Independent Laco¬
nians, a name given to the twenty-four confederate towns
of Laconia, the independence of which was confirmed by
a decree of Augustus. At a much earlier date, when the
power of Sparta had been broken and her freedom anni¬
hilated by the tyrant Nabis, Titus Quintius had detached
the hamlets from all connection with Sparta, and placed
them under the protection of the Achaean league. Au¬
gustus allowed these towns to be governed by their own
laws, and to form a small distinct confederation. Of these
twenty-four towns only eighteen are mentioned by Pau¬
sanias (iii. p. 21), probably because the others had gra¬
dually become depopulated.
ELEVATION, the same with altitude or height.
Elevation of the Host, in the church of Rome, that
part of the mass where the priest raises the host above his
head for the people to worship it.
ELEVATOR, in Anatomy, the name of several muscles,
E L G
Elevator/ so called from their serving to raise the parts of the body
II to which they belong.
E‘£in’ y ELEVATORY, in Surgery, an instrument for raising
depressed or fractured parts of the skull, to be applied
after the integuments and periosteum have been removed.
ELEVE, a term purely French, though used also in
our language. It signifies literally a disciple or scholar
bred up under any master, being formed from an Italian
word signifying an apprentice or novice. It was first used
by the French writers in speaking of painters; such a
painter was said to be an tdeve of Da Vinci, of Raffaelle,
and so on. From painting it came to be applied to such
as studied or learned any other art under a master. In
the Royal Academy of Sciences there were twenty eleves;
and in that of Inscriptions, ten eleves.
ELF, a term now almost obsolete, formerly used to de¬
note a fairy or hobgoblin ; an imaginary being, the crea¬
ture of ignorance and superstition.
Ei.r-Arrows, in Natural History, a name given to the
flints anciently fashioned into arrow-heads, and still found
in Scotland, America, and several other parts of the world.
It was believed by the vulgar that they were shot by
fairies, and that cattle were sometimes killed by them.
ELFSBORG, a province in the southern part of Swe¬
den. It is bounded on the north by Carlstadt, on the
north-east by Wenar, on the east by Skaraborg, on the
south-east by Jonkoping, on the south-west by Helm-
stadt, and on the west by Gotteborg. It extends over
3106 square miles, is divided into six bailiwicks, compre¬
hends five cities, one market-town, and 4266 rural esta¬
blishments, and contains 156,271 inhabitants. The land
is generally mountainous and stony, or marshy and sand}',
and yet produces corn nearly sufficient for the demand;
but that demand is considerably lessened by the supply
of potatoes, ruta baga, and other vegetables. It also pro¬
duces some hemp and flax. The woods are the chief
sources of the means of subsistence, by the employment
they give to the labourers in cutting down, sawing, and
conveying timber to the sea. The chief place is Wer-
nersburg.
ELGANDEL, a town of Hindustan, in the Nizam's
dominions, in the province of Hyderabad, ninety-five miles
north-east from Hyderabad. Long. 79. 20. E. Lat. 18.
29. N.
ELGIN is the capital of Moray or Elginshire. It is a
royal burgh, and returns a member to parliament along
with Banff, Cullen, Peterhead, Inverury, and Kintore,
Elgin being the returning burgh. It is a very thriving and
improving town, containing about 5600 inhabitants. In
approaching from Fochabers on the east, the traveller,
viewing it from the bridge of Llanbryde, is struck with its
beautiful appearance and fine situation. The town lies at
the foot of the Lady Hill, and is overlooked by an ele¬
gant modern building, Gray’s Hospital, with the Quarry-
wood Hill beyond, clothed with wood to the summit, the
lower parts being covered with fine copses. The town
chiefly consists of one principal street, named the High
Street, with a few smaller ones intersecting it at various
distances. The High Street is upwards of a mile in length
from the New Institution to Gray’s Hospital, which form
beautiful terminations to it on the epst and west. It is
handsome and well paved, possessing many good houses
and some rather elegant shops. Its width in the middle
is so considerable, that a fine new church, lately built,
stands in the middle of it, on the site of the old church of
St Giles, and close to the Jail and Court-House, which
are now about to be removed. Besides the new church,
Elgin possesses various handsome public buildings, name¬
ly, the Academy, Gray’s Hospital, Anderson’s Institution,
Trinity Lodge Rooms, Gas Works, &c. The Academy
E L G 667
stands on the south side of the town, in a well-aired and Elgin,
central situation, and has become justly celebrated as one
of the best in the north of Scotland. This academy is in
a highly flourishing state in every respect, and is attend¬
ed by nearly three hundred scholars of both sexes. A
rector presides over the classical department; another
master over that of mathematics and arithmetic, geogra¬
phy, &c.; and the third teaches English and elocution ;
whilst Mr Forbes, the Roman Catholic clergyman, un¬
connected with the Academy, gives private lessons in
French and Italian. Gray’s Hospital is a spacious and
handsome edifice, surmounted with a dome, which, how¬
ever, appears rather heavy and cumbersome. It stands
on a gentle eminence at the west end of the High Street;
it was built in 1816, and cost upwards of L.6000; and it
contains from ten to thirty patients. Adjoining to this
hospital a small Lunatic Asylum is now constructing, at
the expense of the county; it is to be supported by an¬
nual contributions and voluntary donations, and attended
by the hospital physicians. Anderson’s Institution, for the
education of youth and the support of old age, stands at
the east end of the town. Its founder, the late General’
Anderson of the East India Company’s service, was a na¬
tive of Elgin, and at his death, a few years ago, bequeath¬
ed the bulk of his fortune, L.70,000, for the erection and
support of this magnificent and truly benevolent institu¬
tion, which was opened in 1833. This is a chaste and
elegant pile of building, having a very handsome front,
with pillars, and being surmounted by a dome, with an en¬
tablature, and piece of sculpture representing the bene¬
volent founder in an attitude corresponding to his charac¬
ter. It contains ample accommodation for all connected
with the establishment, and is capable of receiving many
more, both old and young, than it now contains, when its
revenue shall admit of an increase of numbers. In the
construction of this building, as well as the new church,
the beautiful free-stone of which they are built, and for
which Morayshire is so famed, is shown to the greatest
advantage. An infant school has also been lately opened,
and is well attended. Trinity Lodge Rooms is a very
handsome building in the North Street, and affords excel¬
lent accommodation for public meetings. The old Jail and
Court-House, standing in the middle of the High Street,
only deserves notice as being perhaps one of the worst
in the kingdom ; but there is at length a prospect of its
being speedily removed, and better and more suitable ac¬
commodation provided both for the prisoners and courts
of justice; notice having been already given that the
town and county mean to apply for leave to obtain an act
of parliament for the erection of a new one, in a better si¬
tuation than the present.
The ruins of the cathedral, which was founded in 1224,
once the most magnificent, and still one of the finest in
the kingdom, is situated at the eastern extremity of the
town. This noble cathedral was first destroyed by the
Earl of Buchan. It was again rebuilt by the bishops of
Moray ; but in 1568 it was unroofed by order of the Re¬
gent Morton, for the sake of the lead. The ruins of this
beautiful edifice have been lately put into excellent keep¬
ing, by order of the barons of exchequer. Around the
cathedral stands the bishop’s town house, now the pro¬
perty of the Duke of Gordon, whose family burial-place
is in the cathedral; and also those of the dean and canons.
The ruins of the Grey-Friars are on the south side of the
town, and adjoining to the field where those of the old
Maison Dmi were to be seen until very lately. At the
west end of the town, the pretty green mount called
Lady Hill affords an extensive and delightful view over
the town and country, almost to Fochabers and the Spey.
This hill bears distinct traces of having been an ancient
668 E L G
Elgin fortification. It is said to have been used as a hunting
^Marbles. seatby one of the Malcolms. The ruins show that it was
built of stone and run lime, as used in early ages, and that
the walls must have been of considerable thickness.
The trade of this town is at present not very consider¬
able. A flourishing woollen manufactory has been carried on
for many years, and employs fifty hands, chiefly in making
blankets, plaiding, shawls, and drugget. There are like¬
wise tan-works; and the glovers and sutors of Elgin were
in former times famous for their extensive dealings at
markets. Shoemakers are still a numerous body, and ma¬
nufacture largely for the markets, which are held weekly
on Fridays, and monthly on Tuesdays, the latter being
for cattle and horses. The want of a good harbour at
Lossiemouth, which is five miles distant, has long been a
drawback to the increase of trade ; but measures are now
in progress to construct a new harbour, which, if success¬
ful, will give a great facility to the merchants in getting
their goods directly from London, and to the farmers and
corn-merchants in shipping grain, from twenty to thirty
thousand bolls of which are exported from Morayshire
annually. There is a literary association, combining the
formation of a library with a public news-room, to which
there are numerous subscribers ; and a circulating library,
established forty years ago by Mr Forsyth, and still suc¬
cessfully carried on by Forsyth and Young. There is also
a mechanics’ library, and one belonging to the academy, all
highly useful establishments ; and there is a weekly news¬
paper, the Elgin Courier, which has been published for
five or six years.
Of benevolent institutions, several highly useful ones
may be enumerated. A savings bank was instituted some
years ago, and has been found to answer admirably. An
excellent institution for female industry was lately formed,
and has been found of great utility. Besides the Esta¬
blished Church, there is a Scotch Episcopal, an Anti¬
burgher, and two Relief Chapels, with a few Roman Ca¬
tholics. The improvements recently carried on in this
town are numerous and considerable. A joint-stock com¬
pany for lighting the streets and houses of the town with
gas was formed about three years ago. Of late years se¬
veral handsome new streets have been built, and on the
south and west sides of the town many handsome villas
and cottages have also been erected.
The town of Elgin is undoubtedly very ancient. By
some historians its name is said to have been derived
from Helgy, a Norwegian chief, who in the ninth century
overran Morayshire. Other accounts derive it from the
Saxon Hely, or Holy, and Dun, a hill. At the present
time, perhaps, there are few towns in Scotland which
possess equal attractions as a place of residence.
ELGINSHIRE, or Morayshire. See Morayshire.
ELGIN MARBLES is the name applied to that noble
collection of sculptured figures which was acquired by
the British Museum from Lord Elgin. They are mostly
basso relievos and fragments of statuary which had adorn¬
ed the Parthenon at Athens. The history of this collec¬
tion may be thus shortly stated. It was in 1799 that the
idea of such a collection first occurred to Lord Elgin,
when he was appointed ambassador at Constantinople.
Mr Harrison, an architect, suggested to him, in course
. of conversation, that though the public possessed every
thing requisite to give them a general knowledge of the
remains of Athens, yet to artists nothing but the actual
representation by cast could be of essential service. Lord
Elgin, struck with the truth of this observation, entered
into communication with government on the subject; but
the important transactions in which the nation was then
engaged prevented ministers from undertaking an expense
of so indefinite a nature. When Lord Elgin met Sir Wil-
E L G
liam Hamilton in Sicily, he entered with him into a more Eljjin
minute examination of the feasibility of the scheme, and Marblei
they considered the best plan to be pursued in order to en-
sure success. It appeared to them most advisable that his
lordship should be accompanied by artists from Italy. He
accordingly obtained permission from the king of the Two
Sicilies to take with him Signor Lusieri, a painter of great
reputation, who was then in the service of that monarch;
whilst he dispatched Mr Hamilton to Rome, in order to
engage two architects, two modellers, and a figure painter.
In the summer of 1800 these persons reached Athens in
safety. At this period the French were in possession of
Egypt, and the Turks felt little inclined to afford any fa¬
cilities towards furthering the object which Lord Elgin
had in view. They in fact did every thing to thwart him,
and his artists could only obtain admission to the Acropo¬
lis, for the purpose of taking drawings, on the payment of
a large daily fee. No sooner, however, did our arms prove
victorious in Egypt, than a sudden and favourable change
took place, dhe Sublime Porte showed an inclination to
grant whatever our nation might think proper to ask; and
Lord Elgin, availing himself of this opportunity, obtained,
in the summer of 1801, firmans or warrants to the chief
authorities of Athens, in which it was stated “ that he
might view, draw, and model the ancient temples of the
idols, and the sculptures upon them, and make excava¬
tions, and take away any stones that might appear interest¬
ing to him.” There was little difficulty after this per¬
mission had been granted; and as the Turks showed a
perfect apathy in respect to the preservation of these
remains, and indeed often wantonly destroyed them,
Lord Elgin determined to remove as many as his means
and the opportunity would allow. In this way did these
noble remains of antiquity come into the possession of a
British subject.
In 1811 an offer was made by Mr Percival to purchase
the whole collection for the public, and the sum of
L.30,000 was named as the price which the government
was willing to give; but Lord Elgin thought this an in¬
adequate compensation for the outlay occasioned in pro¬
curing the collection, and refused to listen to the propo¬
sal. In 1812 eighty more cases of architecture and sculp¬
ture were added, and also a collection of medals.
In 1815, however, Lord Elgin presented a petition to
the House of Commons, in which he offered to make
over the collection to the nation, on such conditions as it
might seem just and reasonable to that assembly to re¬
commend. Accordingly a select committee was appoint¬
ed to examine into the affair, and after due consideration,
and the examination of many witnesses, the committee
came to the resolution of recommending the house to offer
L.35,000 as a reasonable and sufficient price for this col¬
lection.
There can be no doubt that the House of Commons
acted wisely in acceding to this preposition, and securing
for the nation these noblest models which the genius of
man has ever produced, knowing, as we do, how highly
the cultivation of the fine arts has contributed to the
reputation, character, and dignity of every government
by which they have been encouraged, and how intimately
they are connected with the advancement of every thing
valuable in science, literature, and philosophy. No coun¬
try is certainly better adapted than our own to afford an
honourable asylum to these monuments of the school of
Phidias, and of the wise administration of Pericles.
For further information, consult the Report from the
Select Committee on Lord Elgin's Collection of Sculptured
Marble, Sj-c.; also the Memorandum of the Earl of Elgin s
Pursuits in Greece, 4to, 1810. For an account of these
marbles, see Parthenon.
ELI ELI
Eli ELI, a high priest of the Israelites, and judge over of the almighty power of the God of Israel, and the total
Flilh •he"1 l°r f°ryrytari’ WaS defcended from Ithamar, a insignificance of the Sidonian divinities. For a detailed
junior branch of the house of Aaron, and seems to have account of this memorable experiment, we must refer our
blended the priestly with the judicial character. He flou- readers to the book of Kings, as an abridgment of such a
rished in the year 1156 before the commencement of the beautiful narration would do it manifest injury. It pro-
Christian era. It appears that the Jews were in a state duced the fullest conviction in the minds of the Israelites
of subjection or vassalage to the Philistines during the that Jehovah alone was entitled to adoration; and the
greater part of Lh s administration, and, what may at first priests of Baal were instantaneously put to death, as the
appear singular, he contributed to the degeneracy of his most abominable perverters of the divine law.
countrymen, although his own piety and goodness were This was followed by abundance of rain, in answer to
unimpeachable. He did not exert his magisterial autho- the devout prayers of the prophet; but his glorious tri-
rity in the exemplary punishment of vice, and even per- umph over idolatry so exasperated Jezebel, that she re¬
mitted his own sons to perpetrate with impunity the most solved to murder the prophet, who, in order to avoid her
atrocious acts of impiety and debauchery. rage, fled into the wilderness, till the deity again employed
Ihe deity was so justly offended with this deportment him in the honourable but often hazardous duties of a pro¬
of Eli, that a sacred seer was commissioned to upbraid phet. He afterwards foretold that Hazael should be kino-
him for his ingratitude and want of resolution. The young of Syria, and Jehu king over Israel; and he appointed
Samuel was likewise favoured with a vision of the ap- Elisha the son of Shaphat to be his own successor. He
preaching ruin of Eli’s family, which he related to the denounced dreadfuljudgments against Ahab and his wick-
venerable high priest, on being solemnly adjured not to ed queen Jezebel; but those which respected the kin<T were
conceal a single circumstance. When Eli heard the de- not executed during his life, on account of the genuine
claration of the young prophet, being fully convinced that repentance which he discovered. The successor of Ahab
his conduct had been highly reprehensible, he exclaimed, having been confined to bed in consequence of an acci-
“ ^ Lord; let him do what seemeth him good.” dent, the god of Ekron was consulted relative to his reco-
Soon after this the Israelites sustained a considerable loss very, a circumstance which induced the prophet to declare
in attempting to procure their emancipation, carrying the that he should assuredly die. The king being informed
ark of God into their camp in order to animate the people that it was Elijah who dared to send such a message, dis¬
and intimidate their enemies; but the ark was captured patched a captain and fifty men to bring him by force into
by the Philistines, and Hophni and Phineas were slain, the royal presence ; but they were destroyed by fire from
When intelligence was brought to Eli that the ark of God heaven, and a second company shared the same fate. A
was taken, he instantly fell backwards from his seat, broke third company confessed the visible interference of heaven
his neck, and died, in the ninety-eighth year of his age. in the prophet’s behalf, the captain throwing himself on
ELIJAH, who is sometimes denominated Elias, was the mercy of Elijah, who went with him to the king,
one of the most distinguished of the Jewish prophets, and In the royal presence he undauntedly repeated the same
surnamed the Tishbite, probably from the district in which denunciation against the idolatrous monarch, which was
he was born. He entered upon his prophetic office about very soon accomplished ; and not long after this the holy
920 years before Christ, in the reign of wicked Ahab, by prophet, having, by the divine command, divided asunder
whom the Sidonian idolatry was introduced amongst the the waves of Jordan, dropped his prophetic mantle to the
Israelites. The prophet was commissioned to appear astonished Elisha, took the flaming chariot commissioned
before this impious prince, and to threaten the country for his reception, and ascended in majesty to heaven,
with a long drought as a punishment for his crimes. The ELIS, or Elea, a province in the north-west of the Pe-
indignation of Ahab was so great against the prophet for loponnesus, which was comprehended in its greatest ex-
this prediction, that he resolved to punish him in a signal tent between the promontory Araxus, where it touched
manner; but Elijah eluded his vengeance by withdrawing on Achaia, and the river Neda, which separated it from
at the divine command, to a secret place, where he was Messenia. In the interior it was separated from Arcadia
supplied with provisions by a raven commissioned by hea- by the ridges of Mount Pholoe, and farther south by a con-
ven. He was afterwards ordered to go to Sarepta, in the tinuation of the mountains from Arcadia,
territory of Sidon, where, in the house of an indigent wi- In earlier times this tract of country was divided into
dow, whose son he restored to life, the prophet was again three distinct principalities independent of each other,
supported in a miraculous manner. The most northern was surrounded by the lofty moun-
W hen the three years of famine, occasioned by the tain Pholoe, which, sending out two ridges towards the
continued drought, had expired, Elijah was commanded coast, the one towards the promontory Araxus, the other
to appear before the king, and exhort him to that genuine towards the promontory Chelnatas, inclosed a large extent
repentance which an interposition of the deity so very re- of champaign country, called from this circumstance the
maikable unquestionably called for. He had an interview Hollow Elis xo/Xjj HX/g). The second principality was
with Obadiah, the governor of the king’s house, who was named Pisatis, and through its territories flowed the river
a religious man, and had frequently, at the hazard of his Alpheus; whilst the district to the south was called Tri¬
own life, screened many from the vengeance of Jezebel phylia.
the queen. Inspired with dauntless fortitude, the pro- Elis was by far the most fertile and populous district of
phet said to Obadiah, “ Go, tell thy lord, behold Elijah the Peloponnesus, chiefly because its extensive plains en-
is here.” The good man’s regard for the prophet was so joyed an almost uninterrupted state of peace. Towards
great that he was afraid to deliver this message, alleging the coast the soil becomes sandy ; a broad belt of sand
that Ahab had used every effort to discover the prophet’s stretches along the sea nearly as far as the Triphylian Py-
retreat. ihe king was however informed of his coming; los, so often called by Homer “ the sandy.” This tract of
and the first interview was distinguished by invectives on country is but little raised above the level of the sea, and
the part ol the intrepid prophet and the proud sovereign, from that reason a number of small lakes or lagoons have
the former giving a promise of rain on the following terms: been formed, which extend along the greater part of the
Ihe priests of the Sidonian gods, and an assembly of the coast. It was the only district in Greece which produced
people of Israel, were to meet on Mount Carmel, where flax; but this, though equal in fineness, w-as far inferior in
the prophet Elijah intended to give an incontestible proof colour, to that of Palestine. Another extraordinary cir-
669
Elis.
670 ELI
Elis. cumstance was, that no mules could be here engendered,
though they abounded in the adjacent district.
At a very early period we find it under the government
of Endymion, and called the kingdom of the Epei. Ho¬
mer was acquainted with the divine Elis, where the Epei
ruled. His son iEtolus having accidentally committed a
murder, was obliged to fly, and proceeded to found a king¬
dom on the opposite coast, called from him iEtolia. He
was succeeded by Eleus, the grandson of Endymion, who
gave name to the country, and after him came Augeas,
who was put to death by Hercules because he refused him
the reward he had promised for clearing out his stables.
We now lose sight of Elis till the irruption of the Hera-
clidae into Greece, eighty years after the destruction of
Troy, when Oxylus, a descendant of iEtolus, offered to
become their guide, on condition of receiving the province
of Elis, which he considered as the inheritance of his fa¬
mily. A numerous body of Aitolians attended him, and
uniting cordially with the native inhabitants of Elis, they
conquered a great part of Pisatis, and took possession of
Olympia about 1190 before Christ. Then it was that the
Olympic games were first established on the banks of the
river Alpheus, though they were not regularly celebrated
till the year 776 before Christ, when Corcebus obtained
the prize of victory. In the wars between Messenia and
Sparta, they were faithful allies of the latter; and with
their assistance they took possession of the whole country
belonging to the Caucones and Minyae, to which the name
of Triphylia was then given. During the Peloponnesian
war, we still find them staunch supporters of Spartan po¬
litics ; and they continued so till the conclusion of the
treaty after the battle of Amphipolis, when the counte¬
nance afforded by the Spartans to the independent move¬
ments of the people of Lepreum produced a rupture be¬
tween the two nations. Elis endeavoured to take ven¬
geance on the Spartans, by excluding them from all par¬
ticipation in the Olympic games; but the marauding in¬
vasions of the Spartans were soon so severely felt, that
the inhabitants of Elis were glad to sue for peace, and
to renew their ancient alliance with Sparta. In the year
365 before Christ, a few years after the battle of Leuctra,
they were engaged in war with the Arcadians, and were
so unsuccessful that they were compelled to cede the
greater portion of their southern possessions. During
the Social War, the Eleans were staunch allies of the
iEtolians, and no reverses could detach them from the
cause which they had joined, or induce them to unite with
the Achaean League. These seem to have been the last
events in which the Eleans took part as an independent
people; and we find them finally included in the general
decree which annexed the whole of Greece to the Roman
empire.
Elis, the chief city of the district of Elis, in the Pelo¬
ponnesus, situated on the banks of the river Peneus, 120
stadia from the sea, and first formed into a district corpo¬
ration by the union of several detached villages after the
Persian war, about 490 years before Christ. The people
of this portion of Greece had for ages been devoted to
the pleasures of a country life, and they had been able to
indulge this natural desire by the sacred character which
had been long attached to their territory. At the time
when Oxylus got possession of this fertile province, and
became master of the temple of Olympia, he had such
influence with the Heraclidse as to obtain from them the
sanction of an oath that this district should be considered
as under the immediate protection of the god whose festi¬
val was there solemnized. This seems to have been so
strictly attended to that those who founded the city did
not think it necessary to surround it with walls, or to take
any steps to ward olf the attack of an enemy. In the un-
E L I
settled times which followed the death of Alexander, Elis Elisha
was occupied, and probably fortified, by Telesphorus, who II
commanded the fleet of Antigonus. (Diodor. xix. 87 ;^abeth.
Strab. viii. 357; Xen. Hall. iii. 2, 20.) It appears, in the
time of Pausanias, to have still retained much of its for¬
mer beauty and magnificence, if we may be allowed to
judge from the account he has left us of the public build¬
ings. “ Its ruins,” says he, “ are found now at a spot
called Paleopoli, consisting of several masses of Roman
tile and mortar, with many wrought blocks of stone and
fragments of sculpture scattered over a space of two or
three miles in circumference. The most remarkable of
the ruins is that of a square building of about twenty feet
on the outside, which is in the form of an octagon with
niches. Like most of the other remains, it is built of al¬
ternate strata of Roman tile and stone rubble.” (Leake’s
Morea, vol. i. p. 6.)
ELISHA the prophet, famous for the miracles which
he performed, died about 830 years before Christ.
ELISION, in Grammar, the cutting off or suppressing
a vowel at the end of a word, for the sake of sound or
measure, the next word beginning with a vowel. Elisions
are pretty frequently met with in English poetry, but
oftener in the Latin, French, Italian, and other lan¬
guages. They consist chiefly in the suppression of the
a, e, and i, though an elision suppresses any of the other
vowels.
ELIXATION, in Pharmacy, the extracting of the vir¬
tues of ingredients by boiling or stewing.
ELIXIR, in Medicine, a compound tincture extracted
from many efficacious ingredients. Hence the difference
between a tincture and an elixir seems to be this, that
a tincture is drawn from one ingredient, sometimes with
an addition of another to open it and to dispose it to yield
to the menstruum ; whereas an elixir is a tincture extract¬
ed from several ingredients at the same time.
ELIZABETH, queen of England, daughter of Henry
VIII. and Anne Boleyn, was born at Greenwich, on the
7th of September 1533. According to the custom of the
times, she was early instructed in the learned languages,
first by Grindal, who died when she was about seventeen,
and afterwards by the celebrated Roger Ascham. She
likewise acquired considerable knowledge of the Italian,
Spanish, and French languages. Dr Grindal was also her
preceptor in divinity, which she is said to have studied
with uncommon application and industry, lhat Eliza¬
beth became a Protestant and her sister Mary a Catholic,
was the effect of that cause which determines the religion
of the greater part of mankind, namely, the opinion of
those by whom they were educated; and this difference
of opinion in their tutors is not at all surprising, when we
recollect that their father Harry was of both religions, or
of neither.
But the studies of Elizabeth were not confined merely
to languages and theology ; she was also instructed in the
political history of the ancients ; and was so well skilled
in music as to sing and play “ artfully and sweetly.
After the short reign of her brother Edward, her sister
Mary succeeding to the crown, Elizabeth experienced a
considerable degree of persecution, so as to be not a little
apprehensive of a violent death. She was accused, im¬
prisoned, and, we are told, inhumanly treated. At last,
by the intercession of King Philip of Spain, she was set at
liberty; which she continued to enjoy, till, on the death
of her sister, she, on the 17th of November 1558, ascend¬
ed the throne of England. Her history as a queen is de¬
tailed in the article England. The cares of government
did not wholly suspend her pursuit of learning. Ascham,
in his Schoolmaster, tell us that about the year 1563, five
years after her accession, she read more Greek in one
ELL
Elizondo day than some prebendaries of that church did read Latin
ll in a whole week. That the Latin language was familiar
toher, is evident from her speech to the university of Ox-
ford, when she was nearly sixty, and also from her spirited
answer to the Popish ambassador in the year 1598. And
that she was also skilled in the art of poetry, appears not
only from the several scraps which have been preserved,
but likewise from the testimony of a contemporary writer,
Puttenham, in his Art of English Poetry. These are his
words: “ But last in recital and first in degree is the
queen, whose learned, delicate, noble muse, easily sur-
mounteth all the rest, for sense, sweetness, or subtility, be
it in ode, elegy, epigram, or any other kind of poem.” In
this author are to be found only a specimen of sixteen
verses of her English poetry. “ But,” says Mr Walpole,
“ a greater instance of her genius, and that too in Latin,
was her extempore reply to an insolent prohibition deli¬
vered to her from Philip II. by his ambassador, in this te-
trastic.
Te veto ne pergas hello defendere Belgas :
Quae Dracus eripuit, nunc restituantu'r oportet:
Q,uas pater evertit, jubeo te condere cellas:
Keligio papze fac restituatur ad unguem.
She instantly answered him, with as much spirit as she
used to return his invasions,
Ad Graecas, bone rex, fient mandata kalendas.”
She died in her palace at Richmond, the 24th of March
1603, aged seventy, having reigned forty-four years ; and
was interred in the chapel of Henry VII. in Westminster
Abbey. She was the author of the following works : 1.
The Mirror, or Glass of the Sinful Soul, which she trans¬
lated from French verse into English prose when she was
eleven years old. The translation was dedicated to Queen
Catharine Parr. Probably it was never printed ; but the
dedication and preface are preserved in the Sylloge Epis-
tolarum, in Hearne’s edition of Livii Foro-Juliensis, p. 161.
2. Prayers and Meditations, dedicated to her father, and
dated at Hatfield, 1545. Manuscript in the Royal Li¬
brary. 3. A Dialogue from Xenophon, between Hiero a
king yet some time a private person, and Simonides a poet,
touching the life of the prince and the private man. This
was first printed from a manuscript in her majesty’s own
handwriting, in the Gentleman’s Magazine for 1743. 4.
Two Orations of Isocrates, translated into Latin. 5. Latin
Oration at Cambridge, preserved in the king’s library;
also in Hollinshed’s Chronicle, and in Fuller’s History of
Cambridge. 6. Latin Oration at Oxford. 7. Comment on
Plato. 8. Boethius De Consolatione Philosophic, trans¬
lated into English anno 1593. 9. Sallust T)e Bello Jugur-
thino, translated into English anno 1590. 10. A Play of
Euripides, translated into Latin. 11. A Prayer for the use
of her fleet in the great expedition in 1596. 12. Part of
Horace’s Art of Poetry, translated into English anno 1598.
13. Plutarch Zle Curiositate, translated into English. 14.
Letters on various occasions to different persons. 15. Seve¬
ral Speeches to her Parliament; and a number of other
pieces. (See Wood’s History and Antiquities of Oxford;
and Walpole’s Catalogue of Royal and Noble Authors.')
ELIZONDO, a town of Spain, in the province of Na¬
varre. It is the capital of the district of the Valley of
Bastan, near Roncesvalles, which enjoys some peculiar
privileges; and is situated in a cold country, near the Py¬
renees, which produces wheat, maize, hemp, and flax.
Many turnips are grown in this district; and it has excel¬
lent cider, but no wine. Lat. 43. 9. 43. N.
ELK, in Zoology. See Mammalia.
ELL (ulna), a measure which obtains, under different
denominations, in most countries, and by which cloths,
stuffs, linens, silks, and the like, are usually measured, an-
E L L qji
severing nearly to the yard of England, the canna of Italy, Ellboo-en
the vara of Spain, and the palm of Sicily. See Weights 11 ”
and Measures. Elliot.
ELLBOGEN, a circle in the Austrian kingdom of Bo-
hernia, extending over 1343 square miles, and comprehend-
ing forty-three cities and towns and 609 villages, with
32,829 houses and 193,537 inhabitants. The chief town,
of the same name, stands on a steep rock, at the foot
of which runs the river Eger, which makes a bend that
neaily surrounds it. It contains 457 houses, with 1508
inhabitants, who subsist by handicraft employments, and
by the preparation of alum and of sulphur.
ELLESMERE, a market-town of Shropshire, in the
hundred of Pimhill, 242 miles from London. The name is
derived from a beautiful lake or meer, near to which it is
situated. From Ellesmere castle there is a fine prospect
extending over the surrounding counties, none of which,
it is said, can be seen from it. A navigable canal con¬
nects the town with the Mersey. The market is held
on luesday. The population amounted in 1801 to 5553,
in 1811 to 5639, in 1821 to 6056, and in 1831 to 6540.
ELLIGHPOOR, a town of Hindustan, in the province
of Berar. It was first acquired by the Mahommedans in
1294, and is the proper capital of Berar, Nagpoor being
of recent date. The travelling distance from Nagpoor is
122 miles, from Delhi 604, from Madras 671, and from Cal¬
cutta 844 miles.
ELLIOT, the Right Honourable George Augus¬
tus, Lord Fleathfield, was the youngest son of Sir Gilbert
Elliot, Baronet, of Stobbs, in Roxburghshire, and was bom
about the year 1718. He received the rudiments of his
education under a private tutor, and at an early period of
life was sent to the university of Leyden, where he made
considerable progress in classical learning, and spoke with
fluency and elegance the German and French languages.
Being designed for a military life, he was sent from thence
to the celebrated Ecole- Royale du Genie Militaire, con¬
ducted by Vauban, at La Fere in Picardy, where he laid
the foundation of that science which he so conspicuously
exhibited at the defence of Gibraltar He completed his
military course on the Continent by a tour, undertaken
for the purpose of seeing in practice what he had studied
in theory. Prussia was the model for discipline, and he
continued some time as a volunteer in the service of that
state.
Mr Elliot returned, in the seventeenth year of his age,
to his native country, Scotland; and was the same year,
1735, introduced by his father Sir Gilbert, to Lieutenant-
Colonel Peers of the twenty-third regiment of foot, then
stationed at Edinburgh, as a youth anxious to bear arms
for his king and country. He was accordingly entered
as a volunteer in that regiment, where he continued for
upwards of a year. From the twenty-third regiment he
went into the engineer corps at Woolwich, and made great
progress in study, until his uncle Colonel Elliot appoint¬
ed him adjutant of the second troop of horse grenadiers.
W ith these troops he went upon service to Germany, and
was present with them in a variety of actions. At the
battle of Dettingen he was wounded. In this regiment
he obtained the rank of captain and major, and afterwards
purchased the lieutenant-colonelcy. On arriving at this
grade he resigned his commission as engineer, which he
had enjoyed along with his regimental rank, and quitted
a branch of the service in which he had been actively em¬
ployed very much to the advantage of his country. He
received the instructions of the famous engineer Bellidor,
and made himself completely master of the science of
gunnery ; and had he not so disinterestedly resigned his
rank in the engineer department, he would long before
his death have, by regular progression, reached the head
672
ELL
ELL
Elliot.
of that corps. Soon after this he was appointed aid-de-
camp to George II. and was distinguished for his military
skill and discipline. In the year 1759 he quitted the se¬
cond troop of horse grenadier guards, being selected to
raise, form, and discipline, the first regiment of light horse,
which was called after him Elliot's. As soon as they were
raised and formed he was appointed to the command of
the cavalry in the expedition on the coasts of France, with
the rank of brigadier-general. After this he passed into
Germany, where he was employed on the staff, and greatly
distinguished himself.
During the peace he was not idle. His great talents
in the various branches of the military art procured him
ample employment. In the year 1775 he was appointed
to succeed General A’Court as commander-in-chief of the
forces in Ireland; but he did not continue long on this
station, not even long enough to unpack all his trunks;
for finding that interferences were made by petty autho¬
rity derogatory of his own, he resisted the practice with
becoming spirit; and not choosing to disturb the govern¬
ment of the sister kingdom on a matter personal to him¬
self, he solicited to be recalled. The government acced¬
ed to his request, and, in a fortunate hour for the safety
of Gibraltar, he was appointed to the command of that
important fortress. The system of his life, as well as his
education, peculiarly qualified him for this trust. He vyas
perhaps the most abstemious man of the age, indulging
himself neither in animal food nor in wine. He never
slept more than four hours at a time, so that he was up
later and earlier than most other men. He so inured him¬
self to habits of hardiness, that the things which prove
difficult and painful to other men were to him his daily
practice, and rendered pleasant by use. It could not be
easy to starve such a man into a surrender, nor possi¬
ble to surprise him. The example of the commander-in¬
chief in a besieged garrison has the most persuasive effi¬
cacy in forming the manners of a soldiery. Like him,
his brave followers came to x-egulate their lives by the
most strict rules of discipline before there arose a neces¬
sity for so doing; and severe exercise, with short diet,
became habitual to them from their own choice. The
military system of discipline which he introduced, and the
preparations which he made for his defence, were con¬
trived with so much judgment, and executed with so much
address, that he was able with a handful of men to^ preserve
his post against an attack, the constancy of which, even
apart from the vigour with which it was made, would
have been sufficient to exhaust any common set of men.
Collected within himself, he in no instance attempted by
premature attacks to destroy the labours which it would
cost the enemy time, patience, and expense to complete;
he deliberately observed their approaches, and, with the
justest discernment, seized on the proper moment at which
to make his attack with success. He never spent his am¬
munition in useless parade or in unimportant efforts. He
never relaxed his discipline from the appearance of se¬
curity, nor hazarded the lives of his garrison by wild expe¬
riments. By a cool and temperate demeanour, he main¬
tained his station for three years of constant investment,
in which the whole powers of Spain were employed against
him. All the eyes of Europe were on this garrison ; and his
conduct has justly exalted him to the most elevated rank
in the military annals of his time. On his return to Eng¬
land, the gratitude of the British senate was as forward
as the public voice in awarding him that distinguished ho¬
nour which his merit deserved. Both houses of parliament
voted an unanimous address of thanks to the general ;
the king conferred on him the honour of knight of the
bath, with a pension during his own and a second life of
his own appointment; and on the 14th June 1787, his
Elliptic
Turning.
majesty advanced him to the peerage by the title of Lord Ellips
Heathfield, Baron Gibraltar, permitting him to take, in "
addition to his family arms, the arms of the fortress which
he had so bravely defended.
His lordship died on the 9th of July 1790 at Aix-la-
Chapelle, of a second stroke of the palsy, after having for
some weeks preceding enjoyed tolerable good health and
an unusual flow of spirits. His death happened two days
before he was to have set out for Leghorn on his way to
Gibraltar, of which place he was once more appointed go¬
vernor, in the view of an approaching war. He married
Anne, daughter of Sir Francis Drake of Devonshire, and
had by her Francis Augustus, by whom he was succeed¬
ed in his title.
ELLIPSIS, in Grammar, a figure of syntax, in which
one or more words are not expressed; and from this defi¬
ciency it has got the name of ellipsis.
ELLIPTIC, or Elliptical, something belonging to an
ellipsis.
Elliptic Turning. Wood and other substances are
turned into an elliptic form by means of a chuck, which
is applied on the common turning lathe. This chuck
is on the principle of the trammel, Plate CCXVIII. fig. 1.
The grooves in the chuck are much wider than in the
trammel, and the points of the chuck that correspond to
C, D of the trammel, fig. 1, remain fixed, and in one ho¬
rizontal line ; whereas in the trammel these are the points
which are put in motion.
If two straight lines, crossing each other, be drawn Illustra-
on a piece of transparent paper or mica; if this transpa-tion of the
rent paper be laid upon a sheet of white paper, with twoPdncipk.
points marked on it; if the transparent paper be moved
round, so that the cross lines shall travel over the two
points, in like manner as the two points C, D in the tram¬
mel, fig. 1, travel over the cross grooves of the trammel;
and if the point of a pencil be held fixed, and touching
the transparent paper, so as to leave a trace on the trans¬
parent paper when the paper is moved; then after the
transparent paper has made a revolution, the trace left on
it by the point of the pencil will be an ellipse. I his method
of describing an ellipse represents the action which takes
place in the chuck for turning ellipses; the point ol the
pencil which remains unmoved is in the same situation as
the turner’s gouge ; the transparent paper which receives
the trace of the ellipse from the fixed pencil is analogous
to the wood, which is to be turned into the form of an el¬
lipse by the fixed cutting gouge.
In fig. 2, the chuck is represented as fitted on a com-Descrip-
mon turning lathe, of which A is the pulley of the maun-tion of the
drel, B and C are the sides of the frame supporting the cbuck-
pulley, P the rest, D the frame in which the rest slides,
E, F the feet of that frame, I the nut and screw which
serve to fix the rest, G, H are the continuation of the
sides B, C. K is the elliptic chuck, with two grooves,
through which the knobs of the slider pass. These knobs
are connected by a strong bar of iron screwed into their
ends; and on this bar of iron is seen the screw for fasten¬
ing the board, to which is fixed the wood or other sub¬
stance which is to be turned elliptically.
Fig. 3 shows the other side of the chuck, which in fig.
2 is turned towards the side of the frame C. N, in fig. 3,
is the board with the grooves which contain the slider O.
In the middle ofN is seen the end of the screwr, which is
fixed to the mayndrel. The board N has a circular mo¬
tion, being fixed on the axis of the maundrel, whilst the
slider O, at the same time that it is carried round by the
circular motion of N, is constrained to perform other mo¬
tions by the grooves in N and by the groove in O, fig. 3,
which slides on the ring M, fig. 4.
In fig. 4, L is a part of the side C of the maundrel frame,
ELL ELL 6/3
Ellipto- with the ring M fastened to it. On this ring the broad By means of the elliptograph any ellipse can be describ- Ellmore
graph, groove in the slider O, fig. 3, moves when the lathe is set ed, of which the long and short axes are given, provided I!
agoing; and this groove is at right angles to the grooves it does not exceed the size of the instrument. When an , Ellys.
in N, fig. 3, in which the knobs of O move. In fig. 4 it is ellipse is to be described, draw on the paper the ^onger
seen that the centre of the ring M may be made to coin- and shorter axes, bisecting each other; place the instru-usimr tjie
cide with the centre of the spindle of the maundrel, in ment on the paper, so that the centre of the four rulersinstiu-
which case a circle is described. If the ring is fixed, so appears to coincide with the centre or the intersection of ment.
that the centre of the ring does not coincide with the cen- the two axes of the ellipse; and fix the instrument in this
tre of the maundrel, an ellipse is described by the wood situation by the points that go into the paper. By the
screwed upon the bar of O in fig. 2; and the most eccen- pinion L move the pen to one extremity of the short axis
trie ellipse that the machine describes is obtained when of the ellipse ; turn the circles half round, to see if the pen
the maundrel is at the circumference of the ring. The comes to the other end of the short axis ; if it does not,
centre of the spindle of the maundrel, and the centre of adjust the error one half, by moving the pen by the pinion
the ring M, are always in one immoveable horizontal line, L, the other half by moving the frame on the paper; con-
and are analogous to the points C, D of the trammel, fig. tinue this adjustment till the pen, setting out from the
1. In fig. 3 it is seen that the sides of the grooves may be one end of the short axis, arrives in a half revolution at
brought nearer together by means of screws; so that the the other end. Next, by means of the pinion K, bring
sliders and the cylindric ring may fit exactly to the grooves, the pen to one end of the long axis of the ellipse; turn
The best elliptic chucks are made of brass. See Mechani- the circles half round, and if the pen reaches the other
cal Exercises, by Peter Nicholson, London, 1812. (b. b.) extremity of the long axis of the ellipse, the instrument is
ELLIPTOGRAPH, an instrument for drawing ellipses, rectified; if not, one half of the error is to be corrected
The trammel is an instrument which has long been known by moving the circles by means of the pinion K, and
and used for describing ellipses. On the principle of the the other half by moving the instrument to a side on the
trammel Mr Farey constructed his elliptograph in a form paper, by means of the nuts N, O. The instrument is now
much more commodious for drawing. Mr Farcy’s ellip- adjusted, and the pen resting on the paper traces the el-
tograph is represented at Plate CCXVIII. fig. 5. The lipse required when the circles are turned round by the
circle A slides between the two parallel rulers D, E. The handles.
circle B slides between two parallel rulers F, G, at right An instrument similar to the elliptograph has been em-Ellipto-
angles to the former. In this way, if a line joining the ployed for engraving ellipses on copper plates, and for di-graph for
centres of the circles is made to revolve, M, the extremity viding these ellipses accurately, so as to give the perspec- engraving.
of that line, will describe an ellipse in the same manner tive representation of a circle divided into equal parts,
as the extremity E of the line CDE, fig. 1, does in the both in the case where the distance of the eye is limited,
trammel. The elliptograph may be considered as a tram- and in the orthographic projection. The Society for En-
mel, in which the pins C and D, fig. 1, are enlarged into couraging Arts rewarded Mr Farey with their gold medal
the circles A and B, fig. 5. The pinion at K, fixed to for his invention, and a description of the elliptograph is
one of the arms of the lower circle, acting on a rack contained in the thirty-first volume of the Transactions of
screwed to the upper circle, serves to alter the distance that society. (b. b.)
of the centres of the circles A and B; and, by so doing, ELLMORE, a town of Hindustan, in the northern
this pinion serves to vary the eccentricity of the ellipses circars, and district of Cicacole, twenty miles N.N.E. from
which the instrument describes. When the centres of the the town of Cicacole. Long. 84. 10. E. Lat. 18. 24. N.
circles A, B coincide, the describing pen M draws a circle. ELLORE, a town of Hindustan, capital of the northern
When the centres are removed from each other, and on circar of the same name. Long. 81. 10. E. Lat. 16. 4.5. N.
the circles being turned round, an ellipse is described by The circar is situated principally between the sixteenth
the pen ; and when the distance of the centres in increas- and seventeenth degrees of north latitude.. The principal
ed, the eccentricity of the ellipse is increased. When the towns are Ellore, Colaircotta, and Gundgoli.
pen is at the centre it describes a straight line, continual- ELLRICH, a city of Prussia, in the government of Er-
ly moving to and fro on that line when the circles are furt and circle of Hohenstein. It stands on the river
turned round. The two circles are fixed together by Zorge, and contains 470 houses, with 2820 inhabitants,
» 1 screws, and can only be made to slide the upper circle who find employment in woollen manufactories, tanneries,
over the lower by the action of the pinion K. The and paper and oil mills. About two miles from it is the ce-
pinion at L moves a rack, by which the describing pen lebrated cavern called Hartzhole. It is 290 feet long, 260
M, which draws the ellipse, is brought nearer to the centre broad, and 156 high. The entrance to it is 150 feet high,
for the purpose of drawing a small ellipse, and removed and it is filled with water to the depth *>4*50 feet,
farther from the centre of the ellipse when a large one is ELLW ANGEN, a bailiwick of the circle of the Jaxt,
to be drawn. The size of the ellipse may be increased as in the kingdom of Wirtemberg, comprehending two cities,
far as the size of the instrument will admit. The pair of one town, and two hundred and thirty-four villages, with
rulers D, E are placed below the pair F, G, as is seen in fig. 25,337 inhabitants. It is better adapted for pasture than
6. The instrument, when used, is held upon the paper for corn. The capital is a city of the same name, situated
with the thumb and a finger of the left hand at the nuts on the Jaxt, in which is a gymnasium and high school.
N, O; and the circles are moved by applying the right It contains eleven churches, 408 houses, and 2590 inha-
hand to the \nnsf; the pen M, pressing by its weight on bitants. Long. 9. 57. E. Lat. 48. 58. N.
the paper, then describes the ellipse. ELLYS, Dr Anthony, who was born in 1693, and
Fig. 7 shows H, the socket for the compasses, with the educated at Clarehall, Cambridge, after rising through
centre pin on which the socket moves ; and the pinion L many inferior degrees of dignity in the church of Eng-
and rack h, for moving along the frame ff between the land, was in 1752 promoted to the see of St David’s. He
bars; and the other pinion K, for separating the circles. died at Gloucester in 1761, and is mentioned here only
The ruler P has two points, to fix the instrument to the on account of his works, which are but little known. They
paper. The ruler is united to the frame by screws, which are as follow : 1. A Plea for the Sacramental Test as a
serve to adjust the position of the instrument after the just security to the Church established, and very condu-
ruler has been fixed to the paper. cive to the welfare of the State; 2. Remarks on Hume’s
vol. vin. ^ Q
074 E L O
Elmacinus Essay on Miracles; 3. Tracts on the Liberty spiritual and
II temporal of Protestants in England, addressed to J. N.,
Eloined. at Aix-la-Chapelle, the first part of which was print-
ed in 1763, and the second in 1765; besides occasional
sermons. In these tracts, as the editors of them truly ob¬
serve, he “ discovers not only fine parts, extensive know¬
ledge, and sound judgment, but a heart overflowing with
benevolence and candour, and a most Christian temper;
for he always thought a person, though on the right side
of the question, with principles of persecution, to be a
worse man than he that was on the wrong.” This ami¬
able and respectable writer afforded in his own conduct a
proof that a man may be steadily attached to a party
without wishing to encroach upon the rights of others.
ELMACINUS, Elmacin, or Elmakyn, George, au¬
thor of a History of the Saracens, and known in the East
by the name of Ibn-Amid, was a Christian of Egypt, where
he was born in the year of the hegira 620, and of our era
1225. He occupied the place of ketib or secretary at the
court of the sultans of Egypt; an office which was usual¬
ly filled by Christians. His history comes down from the
time of Mahommed till the year of the hegira 512, an¬
swering to the year of our Lord 1117; in which he sets
down year by year, in a very concise manner, whatever
regards the Saracen empire, intermixed with some pas¬
sages relating to the eastern Christians. His abilities must
have been considerable, since, as we have just seen, he
held an office of trust near the persons of the Mahommedan
princes. He was son to Yaser A1 Amid, secretary to the
council of war under the sultans of Egypt for forty-five
years; and in 1238, when his father died, succeeded him
in his place. He died at Damascus in the year of the
hegira 675, and of our era 1273. His history of the Sa¬
racens was translated from Arabic into Latin by Erpinius,
and printed in both languages at Leyden, 1625, in folio.
Erpinius died before the publication was completed; but
Golius superintended it, and added a preface. It wras
dedicated by Erpinius’s widow to Dr Andrews, bishop of
Winchester. The title of the work is, Historia Sarace-
nica, qua res gestce Muslimorum, inde a Muhammede primo
imperii et religionis Muslimicce auctore, usque ad initium
imperii Atabeccei, per XLIX. imperatorum successionem
fidelissime explicantur, insertis etiam passim Christianorum
rebus in Orientis potissimum ecclesiis eodem tempore gestis.
Arabice olim exarata a G. Elmacino et Latine reddita.
Leyden, 1625, 8vo. The Latin text was printed sepa¬
rately the same year, in quarto ; and there also exists an
edition which only contains the Arabic text, and appears
to have been designed for the Christians of the Levant.
The work has been translated in whole or in part into se¬
veral modern languages.
ELOGY, a praise or panegyric bestowed on any person
or thing, in consideration of its merit. The beauty of elo-
gy consists in an expressive brevity. Eulogiums should
not have so much as one epithet, properly so called, nor
two words synonymous; they should strictly adhere to
truth, as extravagant and improbable elogies rather tend
to lessen than exalt the character of the person or thing
they would extol. »
ELOHI, Eloi, or Elohim, in Scripture, one of the names
of God. But it is to be observed that angels, princes, great
men, judges, and even false gods, are sometimes called by
this name. The sequel of the discourse is what assists
us in judging rightly concerning the true meaning of this
word. It is the same as Eloha, only the one is the singu¬
lar and the other the plural. Nevertheless Elohim is often
construed in the singular number, particularly when the
true God is spoken of; but when false gods are spoken of,
it is construed rather in the plural.
ELOINED, in Law, signifies restrained or hindered
E L P
from doing something. Thus it is said, that if those with-Elongatio
in age be eloined, so that they cannot sue personally, their II
next friend shall sue for them. Elphin.
ELONGATION, in Astronomy, the digression or recess v_^°nc~
of a planet from the sun, with respect to an eye placed on
our earth. The term is chiefly used in speaking of Venus
or Mercury, the arch of a great circle intercepted between
either of these planets and the sun being called the elon¬
gation of that planet from the sun.
ELORA, a town of Hindustan, in the province of Au-
rungabad, near the city of Dowletabad. In a mountain
near this town there are some remarkable excavations,
containing mythological symbols of the Hindu worship,
and temples ornamented with representations and statues
of many of the deities worshipped by the Hindus. The
principal figures are those of Indra, the god of the firma¬
ment, and his consort Indranee. Besides these, there are
some figures of the deities adored by the sectaries of
Boodh and Parisinath ; but all of them have been forsa¬
ken by the priests. The temples here are said to have
been built by the rajah Edoo of Ellichpoor, who was cured
of some cutaneous disorders by a spring near the place,
and who in gratitude gave orders for the construction of the
temple, which measures 138 feet in front, and in the in¬
terior extends 247 feet in length by 150 feet in breadth,
and is in some places 100 feet high. The sixth volume of
the Asiatic Researches contains a minute account of these
curious antiquities. Long. 76. E. Lat. 19. 56. N.
ELPHINSTONE, William, a Scotish prelate and
statesman of considerable eminence, was born at Glasgow
in the year 1431. At the university of this city he received
his education, and in the learning which distinguished the
period he made extraordinary proficiency. Pie afterwards
went to France, to make himself master of the civil and
canon law in the university of Paris, where in due time
he became a professor, and for the space of six years
acquired reputation in the discharge of his duty. On
his return to Scotland he entered into holy orders, was
soon appointed official of Glasgow, and afterwards of St
Andrews. He was admitted a member of the king’s coun¬
cil ; and on a misunderstanding taking place between
James III. of Scotland and Louis XL of France, his power¬
ful mediation at the latter court, in conjunction with the
Bishop of Dunkeld and the Plarl of Buchan, effected an
amicable reconciliation. As Elphinstone on this occasion
displayed much prudence and eloquence, the king was
so grateful for his meritorious services that he rewarded
him with the see of Ross, from which he was translated to
that of Aberdeen about the year 1484. He was also ap¬
pointed to the high office of chancellor of the kingdom,
which he managed with so much moderation and equity
that all parties esteemed and admired him. When the
civil wars broke out between James and the discor tented
nobility, Bishop Elphinstone appears to have declined all
interference with public affairs of a political nature, and
to have confined himself to the discharge of his episcopal
duties. But when James IV. ascended the throne, his
abilities as a statesman were again called forth, and he
was chosen ambassador to the Emperor Maximilian, in
order to negociate a marriage between his royal master
and the emperor’s daughter; but she had been previously
promised to another. Yet the bishop’s mission wras not
without its salutary effects, as he was the mean of terminat¬
ing an enmity which had long existed between the Dutch
and Scots. This he conducted in such a masterly manner,
that James never undertook any thing of importance with¬
out first procuring the sanction of his approbation. He
was equally the zealous patron of learning; and it is ge¬
nerally believed that the establishment of a university
at Aberdeen was entirely owing to his influence with the
ELY
E M A 675
Elpisan
pope, from whom he obtained a bull for that purpose ; and
by his exertions was King’s College undertaken and com¬
pleted. Having bequeathed a large sum of money for
its support, he terminated his mortal career in 1514. Al¬
though he had attained the age of about eighty-three,
his constitutional vigour was very little impaired, and all
the faculties of his mind were in full force; but the ca¬
lamity which the nation sustained at Floddon-field had
broken his heart. He wrote a history of his native coun-
try, which is among the manuscripts of Sir Thomas Fair¬
fax, in the Bodleian Library at Oxford.
ELPISAN, a town of Asiatic Turkey, in the province
of Diarbekir, situated on the river Euphrates, two miles
north-west of Kerkisieh.
ELSFLETH, a town in the duchy of Oldenburg, in Ger¬
many, at the conflux of the Hunte and the Weser. It con¬
tains 192 houses, and 1562 inhabitants. The vessels which
frequent this port anchor lower in the river, near Brake.
Long. 8. 21. 5. E. Lat. 53. 14. 50. N. It is the capital of a
bailiwick, with six parishes, 1135 houses, and 7510 inha¬
bitants.
ELSINEUR, a city of Denmark, in the island Zealand.
It was formerly a Hanse town, and is now the second city
in Denmark proper. It is strongly fortified, and has a
castle, Cronburg, designed to command the entrance of
the Baltic Sea by the Sound; but in the English attacks
on Copenhagen it was found of no avail. The passage of
ships, who pay a toll, makes the town active and prosper¬
ous. It contains 552 houses and 5000 inhabitants, besides
the garrison. The environs are pleasant and fruitful, and
the castle, with Hamlet’s' Garden, as it is called, is visit¬
ed by most English travellers who arrive at Elsineur. It
is in long. 12. 35. 19. E. and lat. 56. 1. 40. N.
ELSNAPPEN, a small seaport of Sweden, in West-
manland. It is on the side of the Baltic, and is capable
of admitting ships of wrar. Thirty-twm miles east-north¬
east of Nykioping.
ELTHAM, a market-town of the county of Kent, in
the hundred of Blackheath, eight miles from London.
The market is held on Monday. It is remarkable for the
manor-house called King John’s Palace, formerly a royal
residence; and for a modern building on Shooter’s Hill,
erected by Commodore James, to celebrate his capture of
a similar fortress called Savendroog, belonging to Angria,
a pirate on the coast of Bombay, in India. The population
amounted in 1801 to 1627, in 1811 to 1813, in 1821 to
1883, and in 1831 to 2129.
ELTMANN, a bailiwick of the circle of the Low'er
Maine, in the kingdom of Bavaria, extending over forty-
four square miles. It contains, besides the capital, thir¬
teen villages and 3039 inhabitants. The capital, of the
same name, is situated on the river Zeil, and contains 1010
inhabitants.
ELYAS, a town of Portugal, in the province of Alem-
tejo. It is well fortified, and may be considered as one
of the keys of the kingdom to the south, on the side of
Spain; and it is one of the fortresses opposed to the city
of Badajos.
ELY, a city of Cambridgeshire, the chief place of a di¬
vision of that county distinguished as the Isle of Ely, hav¬
ing a distinct jurisdiction, the chief justice and other ma¬
gistrates of which are nominated by the bishop. The city,
though elevated somewdiat above the surrounding country,
is considered as unhealthy, from the marshy soil which
surrounds it. It is not a well-built place, and consists
chiefly of one street. The cathedral is an object of attrac¬
tion as the work of several ages, displaying a mixture of
the Anglo-Norman and English styles of architecture. It
is upwards of 400 feet in length, and has a tower at the
west end 270 feet in height. There are, besides, two pa¬
rish churches. The bishopric is one of the most valuable Elysium
in England, both on account of its income and its patron- H .
age. It is the only city which sends no members to the
House of Commons. The land around it is highly fertile ;
much of it is appropriated by market-gardeners, and sup¬
plies the neighbourhood as far as Cambridge with culinary
vegetables. The market is held on Saturday. It is sixty-
six miles from London, and fourteen from Cambridge.
The population amounted in 1801 to 3713, in 1811 to
4249, in 1821 to 5079, and in 1831 to 6189.
ELYSIUM, the place which, according to the ancient
poets, the souls of the blessed inhabited. By Homer it
was placed in the vicinity of Oceanus, and on the extreme
confines of the earth. Here Nature produced her most
delicious fruits without assistance from the hand of man.
No winter storm ever obscured the brilliancy of the atmo¬
sphere ; but cooling zephyrs refreshed the air, and wafted
on their wings the most delightful perfumes. Such was
the abode destined by Jupiter for his son-in-law Menelaus.
It is curious to observe the various changes of position in
respect to these Elysian Fields, as a more intimate ac¬
quaintance with the geography of different countries suc¬
cessively dispelled the erroneous impressions made by the
foolish statements of travellers. The Greeks in the earlier
ages placed them in the district of Thesprotia, where they
also found the Acheron, Cocytus, and Avernus; and it was
to this elysium that Homer tells us Mercury conducted
the souls of the suitors of Penelope, after they had been
killed by Ulysses. But they afterwards transported the
Elysian Fields and Avernus to the vicinity of Baia in
Campania.
Largior hie campos aether et lumine vestit
Purpureo; solemque suum, sua sidera norunt.
And it was not till later times that they thought of fixing
these imaginary abodes at the extremity of Iberia, where
they found the Lethe, “ that slow and silent stream, the
river of oblivion,” which is now called Guadalete, as well
as another of the same name in Lusitania.
ELZEVIRS, celebrated printers at Amsterdam and
Leyden, who greatly adorned the republic of letters with
many beautiful editions of the best authors of antiquity.
They were five in number, namely, Louis, Bonaventure,
Abraham, Lewis, and Daniel. Louis began to be famous
at Leyden in 1595, and was remarkable for being the first
who observed the distinction between the v consonant
and u vowel, which had been recommended by Ramus
and other writers long before, but never regarded. Da¬
niel died in 1680 or 1681 ; and though he left children
who carried on the business, he nevertheless passes for
the last of his family who excelled in printing.
EMANATION, the act of flowing or proceeding from
some source or origin. Such is the emanation of light
from the sun ; that of effluvia from odorous or fragrant bo¬
dies ; of wisdom from God, and so on. The word is form¬
ed of the Latin e, out of, and manare, to flow or stream.
Emanation is also used to signify that which proceeds, as
well as the act of proceeding. The power given to a judge
is an emanation from the royal authority; the reasonable
soul is an emanation from the divinity.
EMANCIPATION, in the Roman law, the setting free
of a son from the subjection of a father; so that whatever
moveables he acquires belong in property to him, and not
to his father, as before emancipation.
By emancipation the son was put in a capacity of ma¬
naging his own affairs, and of marrying without his father's
consent, although a minor. Emancipation differed from
manumission, as the latter was the act of a master in fa¬
vour of a slave, whereas the former was that of a father in
favour of his son.
676 E M B
Emathia There were two kinds of emancipation ; the one tacit,
II which was by the son’s being promoted to some dignity,
Embalm, j^g coming 0f agej 0r by his marrying, in all which
. cases he became his own master of course ; the other ex¬
press, where the father declared before a judge that he
emancipated his son. In performing this act, the father
executed an imaginary sale of his son to another person,
who was called pater fiduciarius, or father in trust; from
whom the son was immediately purchased by the natural
father, who thereafter manumitted him before the judge
by a verbal declaration.
EMATHIA, the ancient name of Macedonia, which
was afterwards restricted to the country in the immediate
vicinity of Edessa. This district was originally a part of
Pseonia, and contained the extensive and fertile plains on
the banks of the rivers Axius and Erigonus. (Polyb. Frag.
xxiv. 8; Liv. x. 4, 11.) In the time of the Romans Ema¬
thia must have extended much farther to the south, as
Ptolemy includes in this district the cities of Berrhoea and
Pella.
EMBALMING is the opening of a dead body, taking
out the intestines, and filling the space with odoriferous
and desiccative drugs and spices, in order to prevent pu¬
trefaction and decomposition. The Egj'ptians excelled
all other nations in the art of preserving bodies from cor¬
ruption ; for some that were embalmed several thousand
years ago remain whole to this day, and are often brought
as curiosities into other countries. Their manner of em¬
balming was this: They scooped the brain with an iron
scoop out at the nostrils, and threw in medicaments to fill
up the vacuum ; they also took out the entrails, and having
filled the body with myrrh, cassia, and other spices (ex¬
cept frankincense), proper to dry up the humours, they
pickled it in nitre, where it lay soaking for seventy days.
The body was then wrapped up in bandages of fine linen
and gums, to make it stick like glue ; and so was delivered
to the kindred of the deceased, entire in all its features,
the very hairs of the eyelids being preserved. They used
to keep the bodies of their ancestors, thus embalmed, in
apartments magnificently adorned, and took great pleasure
in beholding them, alive as it were, without any change in
their size, features, or complexion. The Egyptians also
embalmed birds and other animals. The prices for em¬
balming were different; the highest was a talent, the next
twenty minae, and so on, decreasing to a very small matter.
But they who had not wherewithal to answer this ex¬
pense contented themselves with infusing, by means of a
syringe, through the fundament, a certain liquor extract¬
ed from the cedar; and, leaving it there, wrapped up the
body in salt of nitre. The oil thus infused preyed upon the
intestines, so that when they took it out, the intestines
came away with it, dried, and not in the least putrefied ;
and the body being inclosed in nitre, grew dry, nothing
remaining besides the skin glued upon the bones. The
process of embalming is described both by Herodotus and
Diodorus. The former, who is unquestionably the better
authority, says (book ii. sect. 85), “ This service is per¬
formed by persons appointed to exercise the art as their
business. When a dead body is brought to them, they show
their patterns of mummies in wood, imitated by sculp¬
ture; and the most elaborate of these they say belongs to
the character of one (Osiris), whose name I do not think
it pious to mention on such an occasion ; the second that
they show is less costly; the third, the cheapest of all:
and having shown these, they inquire in which way the
service shall be performed; upon which the parties make
their agreement, and the body is left for preparation.
The interior soft parts being removed both from the head
and from the trunk, the cavities are washed with palm
wine and fragrant gums, and partly filled up with myrrh
E M B
and cassia, and other spices; the whole is then steeped Embank
in a solution of soda for seventy days, which is the longest ment.
time permitted ; and then, having been washed, the body
is rolled up with bandages of cotton cloth, being first
smeared with gum instead of glue. The relations then,
receiving the body, procure a wooden case for it in a hu¬
man shape, and inclose the dead body in it; and when
thus inclosed, they treasure it up in an appropriate build¬
ing or apartment, placing it upright against the wall. And
this is the most expensive mode of preparation. For those
who prefer the middle class, in order to avoid expense,
the process is simplified by omitting the actual removal of
the interior parts, and introducing a corrosive liquid to
melt them down; the soda consumes the flesh, so that
skin and bone only are left when the body is returned to
the friends. The third and simplest process is merely to
cleanse the body well, within and without, by means of
some vegetable decoctions, and to keep it in the alkaline
solution for the seventy days, without farther precautions.”
Embalming appears also to have been performed by filling
the cavities of the thorax and abdomen, after the intes¬
tines were removed, with a species of pitch which was
poured into the trunk of the body in a liquid state, through
an aperture made on purpose in the right side, whilst the
head was treated in a similar manner. See the article
Mummy.
EMBANKMENT a mound or wall of earth, or other
materials, used as a defence against the inundations of
rivers, or the extraordinary flux of the sea.
The great value of alluvial soil to the agriculturist no
doubt gave rise to the invention of banks or other bar¬
riers, to protect such soils from the overflowing of their
accompanying rivers. The civilized nations of the high¬
est antiquity were chiefly inhabitants of valleys and allu¬
vial plains, the soil, moisture, and warmth of which, by
enlarging the parts, and ameliorating the fruits of the ve¬
getable kingdom, afforded to man better nourishment at
less labour than could be obtained in hilly districts. The
country of Paradise and around Babylon was flat, and the
soil a saponaceous clay, occasionally overflown by the Eu¬
phrates. The inhabited part of Egypt was also entirely
of this description. Historians inform us that embank¬
ments were first used by the Babylonians and Egyptians,
very little by the Greeks, and a good deal by the Romans,
who embanked the Tiber near Rome, and the Po for many
stadia from its embouchure. The latter is perhaps one of
the most singular cases of embankment in the world.
The oldest embankment in England is that of Romney
Marsh, as to the origin of which Dugdale remarks, “ that
there is no testimony left to us from any record or histo¬
rian.” (History of Embanking a7id Draining.) It is con¬
jectured to have been the work of the Romans, as well as
the banks on each side of the Thames for several miles
above London, which protect from floods and spring tides
several thousand acres of the richest garden ground in
the neighbourhood of the metropolis.
The commencement of modern embankments in Eng¬
land took place about the middle of the seventeenth cen¬
tury, under Cromwell. In the space of a few years previous¬
ly to 1651, about 425,000 acres of fens, morasses, or over¬
flown muddy lands, were recovered in Lincolnshire, Cam¬
bridgeshire, Hampshire, and Kent, and let at from 2s. 6d.
to 30s. an acre. (Plarte’s Essays, p. 54, 2d edit.) Ver-
muyden, a Fleming by birth, and a colonel of horse under
Cromwell, who had served in Germany during the thirty
years’ war, was the principal undertaker of these works.
The works of this sort constructed in our own times will
be found described in the Agricultural Reports of the
maritime counties, especially of Lincolnshire, by Arthur
Young.
E M B A N
Embank- Previously to entering on the detail of the different de¬
ment. scriptions of banks for the purpose of embanking, vve shall
here observe, that the pressure of still water against the
sides of the vessel containing it being as its depth, it fol¬
lows that a bank of any material whatever, impervious to
water, whose section is a right-angled triangle, and the
height of whose perpendicular side is equal to that of the
water it is to dam in, will balance or resist this water,
whatever may be the breadth of the surface of the latter;
and therefore, that as far as width or extent is concerned,
it is just as easy to exclude the Atlantic Ocean as a lake
or a river of a few yards in width.
Theearth- 1. The Earthen Wall (Plate CCXVIII. fig. 1,) is
en wall. the simplest description of embankment, and is frequently
erected by temporary occupiers of lands, on the general
principle of inclosing and subdividing, which is sometimes
made a condition of tenure between the landlord and te¬
nant. This wall applies to lands occasionally but rarely
overflown or inundated, and is set out in a direction ge¬
nerally parallel to the river or shore. Its base is com¬
menced on the surface from two to five feet wide, regu¬
larly built of turf on the outsides, with the grassy sides
underneath. The middle of the wall is filled up with
loose earth. The wall is carried up with the sides bevel¬
led towards the centre, so as to finish in a width of one
foot or eighteen inches at five or six feet in height. In
the inside of such walls, and at the distance of three or
four feet, a small open drain is formed, as well to collect the
surface-water of the grounds within, as that which in time
of floods will necessarily oose through a wall of this con¬
struction. The water so collected is let through the wall
by tubes, or tunnels of boards, with a valve opening out¬
wards on their exterior extremity. Such a tube and valve
is represented by fig. 2. When the flow of water from
without approaches, it shuts the valve, which remains in
this state till the flood subsides, when, the height of the
water within being greater than that without, it presses
open the valve and escapes. Walls and valves of this
kind were erected about the year 1800, on the estate of
the Earl of Galloway near Wigton, by Mr Hannah, tenant
for life of Cue farm, and by Mr Hutchinson, tenant for
thirty years of Mersehead farm, on the Solway Frith.
{Farmer s Magazine.) They are common enough in the
drier parts of the fenny districts of Lincolnshire and Cam¬
bridgeshire ; and in Caernarvonshire 1800 acres were in
1804 completely protected in this way on the estate of
Tre Madoc, by the proprietor, who has since made greater
efforts in embanking, to be afterwards described.
Theearth- 2. The Earthen Mound (fig. 3) is the most general
en moun(h description of embankment, and, as it is executed at con¬
siderable expense, is only undertaken by such as have a
permanent interest in the soil. This barrier applies to
sea lands overflown by every spring tide, and to alluvial
plains inundated by every flood. It is set out in a direc¬
tion parallel to the shore and to the general turns of the
river, but not to its minute windings; and it is placed far¬
ther from or nearer to the latter, according to the quan¬
tity of water in time of floods, the rapidity of the current
from the declivity of the bed, the straight course of the
stream, and the intended height of the bank. The two
sides of such a mound are generally formed in different
slopes. That towards the land is always the most abrupt,
but can never be secure if more so than 45° ; that towards
the water varies from 45° to 15°; the power of the bank
to resist the weight of the water, as well as to break its
force when in motion, being inversely as its steepness.
The power of water to lessen the gravity of bodies, or, in
other words, to loosen the surfaces over which they flow
or stand, is also lessened in a ratio somewhat similar.
The formation of such a mound consists merely in taking
K M E N T. 677
earth from the general surface of the ground to be pro- Embank-
tected, or from a collateral excavation, distant at least the ment.
width of the mound from its base line, and heaping it up '"T'"-'
in the desired form. The surface is then in general cases
covered with turf, well rolled in order to bind it to the
loose earth. The earth of such mounds is generally
wheeled by barrows ; but sometimes it is led by carts
placed on a wooden roller instead of wheels, which, with
the treading of the horses, serves in some degree to con¬
solidate the bank.
The excavation within serves the same purpose as the
open drain in the earthen wall, and similarly constructed
sluices or valves are introduced on a larger scale. Some¬
times also the interior water is drawn off by windmills,
and thrown over the mound into the river. This is very
common in Huntingdonshire, and might be greatly im¬
proved on by employing steam-engines for entire districts,
one of which, of a ten-horse power, would do the work of
twenty mills, and this in calm weather, when the latter
cannot move.
Embankments of this description are the most univer¬
sal of any, and their sections vary from a scalene triangle
of ten feet in base and three feet in height, as on the
Forth near Stirling, and the Thames>at Fulham, to a base
of 100 feet and a height of ten feet, as on the great bank
of the Ouse, near Wisbeach. The great rivers of Ger¬
many and Holland are embanked in this way when so far
from the sea as to be out of the reach of the tide; as the
Vistula at Marienwerder, the banks of which, near Dant-
zic, are above fifteen feet in height; the Oder, the Elbe,
&c. All these banks are closely covered in every part
with a grassy surface, and sometimes ornamented with
rows of trees.
But near the sea, where such banks are washed by every
tide when the course of the wind is towards the shore,
and by all land floods and spring tides, grass is only to be
found on and near their summits. The rest of the bank is
bare, and to preserve it from the action of waves, currents,
and the stones, pieces of wood, and other foreign matters
which they carry with them, the surface is covered with
gravel, reeds, or straw, kept down by pieces of wood, fag¬
gots, wicker hurdles, nets of straw-ropes, or any other
contrivance, according to the situation, to prevent the
washing away of the bank. It is common to attribute to
these coverings the power of breaking the force of the
waves; but this power depends, as we have already stated,
on the slope of the bank and its smoothness; and the use
of the surface covering, and of the constant attention re¬
quired to remove all obstacles which may be left on it by
floods and tides, is to prevent the loosening power of the
water from wearing it into holes. For this purpose, a
sheet of canvass or straw-netting is as good whilst it lasts
as a covering of plate-iron or stone pavement.
AH banks whatever require to be constantly watched in
time of floods or spring-tides, in order to remove every
object, excepting sand or mud, which may be left by the
water. Such objects, put in motion by the water, in a
short time wear out large holes. These holes, presenting
abrupt points to the stream, act as obstructions, soon be¬
come much larger, and, if not immediately filled up, turf¬
ed over, and the turfs pinned down, or the new turfs ren¬
dered by some other means not easily softened and raised
up by the water, will end in a breach of the bank. A si¬
milar effect is produced by a surface formed of unequal
degrees of hardness and durability. The banks of this de¬
scription in Holland, at Cuxhaven, and along the coast
of Lincolnshire, are regularly watched throughout the
year ; the surface protection is renewed whenever it goes
out of repair, as is the body of the bank in the summer
season.
EMBANKMENT.
Varieties
of the
mound.
Mound with puddle-wall.—It generally happens that
the earth of such banks is alluvial, and their foundation of
the same description ; but there are some cases where the
basis is sand, silt, or gravel, or a mud or black earth, as in
some parts of Cambridgeshire and Lincolnshire, which does
not easily become so compact. Here it is common, be¬
fore beginning the bank, to bring up what is called a pud¬
dle-ditch, or section of clay, in the centre of the highest
part of the mound in the direction of its length, and of
three or five feet wide, according to the depth of the silt
and the intended height of the bank. When the clay of
this puddle-ditch is well worked, either by men’s feet or
clay rammers, the bank will be perfectly impervious to
water, and, if against a mild stream or shore, need not con¬
tain such an accumulation of earth as where the imper¬
viousness of the bank to water depends chiefly on the
mass of materials. An important point to attend to in
this variety of mound is, to- found the section or wall of
day so deep as to be in contact with a stratum, either by
induration or its argillaceous nature impervious to water.
Mounds with reversed slopes (fig. 4).—In some cases of
embanking rivers, as where they pass through parks, it is
desirable to conceal as much as possible the appearance
of a bank from the protected grounds, less able to break
the force of waves. Here the mound is simply reversed,
the steepest side being placed next the water. It is pro¬
per to observe, that such banks are not so strong by the
difference of the weight of the triangle of water which
would rest on the prolonged slope were it placed next
the river, and are more liable to be deranged in surface in
proportion to the difference of the slopes.
Mound faced with stones.—This is the same species of
mound, with a slope next the water of forty-five or fifty
degrees, paved or causewayed with stones or timber. In
Holland this pavement or causeway is often formed of
planking or bricks ; but in England generally with stones,
and the mortar used is either some cement which will set
under water, or, what is better, plants of moss firmly ram¬
med between them. The objections to such banks are
their expense, and their liability to be undermined invisibly
by the admission of the water through crevices. They are,
therefore, chiefly used where there is little room, or where
it is desirable to narrow and deepen the course of a river.
Mound protected by a wicker hedge.—This is a Dutch
practice, and, where appearance is no object, has the ad¬
vantage of not requiring watching. Wicker-work, how¬
ever, subjected to the strain of waves, will be obviously
less durable than where it lies flat on the ground, and can
only decay chemically. This wicker hedge is sometimes a
series of hurdles supported by posts and struts ; but ge¬
nerally in Britain it is a dead hedge or row of stalks wat¬
tled or wrought with bushes presenting their spray to the
sea or river. Besides placing such a hedge before a bank,
others are sometimes placed in parallel rows on its sur¬
face ; the object of which is to entrap sand, shells, and
sea-weeds, to increase the mass of mound, or to collect
shells for the purpose of carrying away as manure.
The sea wall (fig. 5) is an embankment formed to pro¬
tect abrupt and earthy shores or banks of rivers, and con¬
sists of a wall, varying in thickness, and in the inclination
of its surface, according to the required height and other
circumstances. Belidor, in his Trade de Hydraulique, has
given the exact curve which the section of such a wall
ought to have in order to resist loose earth, and which is
somewhat greater than what we have given in the figure
referred to, where the earth behind the wall is supposed
to be chiefly firm. Some fine examples of such walls, for
other purposes, occur in the Caledonian Canal ; and
perhaps the finest in the world are the granite walls which
embank the Neva at Petersburg, the construction of which
may serve as an example of a river case with a founda- Embank,
tion of soft bog earth. A space of the river, say 100 feet ment.
long, and twenty wide along shore, being inclosed by a 'W,-Y'w
double row of piles, and filled in with loam in the usual
way, the water is pumped out, and the ground excavated
about ten feet deeper than the margin of the bed of the
river. Poles are then inserted nearly as close as they can
be put in, and driven to their full length. When finished,
this foundation occupies a breadth of from twelve to eigh¬
teen feet, generally fifteen. The tops of the piles are now
cut level, and covered with planks, and on this is raised a
mass of brick-work for five or six feet, sloping on both
sides as it ascends towards the centre line of the wall. In
the course of rising six or seven feet, it is narrowed to five
feet, and is within five feet of the bed of the margin of
the river. Here the granite facing begins in immense
blocks, and is continued at a slope of fifteen degrees from
the perpendicular, till it readies the surface of the intend¬
ed pathway. Here the wall from three feet is narrowed
to an upright parapet eighteen inches wide ; and at four
feet of height it is finished in a projecting coping of Fin¬
nish granite. The voids on each side of the wall are now-
filled with earth, the pavement on the land side (generally
narrow) completed, and the piles removed, and another
length taken in to repeat the operation.
There is another mode, adopted in Petersburg, of build¬
ing under water by driving the piles and cutting them over
level with a machine, and then sinking caissons of brick¬
work. This mode, however, is unsuitable for sea walls in
general, which ought to be founded as deep as possible, and
at all events under the bed of the water. The motion of
the Neva is so slow as hardly to render this worth attend¬
ing to.
In Britain, such walls are fortunately rare ; for in pro¬
portion as it is agreeable and flattering to self-love to pro¬
tect or gain lands never before cultivated, it must be mor¬
tifying to be obliged to protect such as have long been
subjected to agriculture, and where success can only be
said to have a negative advantage.
Embankments for fixing drifting-sands, shells, or mud.—
In several tracts of coast, the sea at ordinary tides barely
covers a surface of sand, and these sands in dry weather,
during high winds, are drifted and blown about in all di¬
rections. Great part of the north shores of the Solway
Frith, of Lancaster Bay, and of the coast of Norfolk, is of
this description. Mr Young, in his Farmer s Letters, in¬
forms us, that a considerable part of the county of Norfolk
was drift-sand, even as far inland as Brandon in Suffolk,
before the introduction of the turnip culture; and Harte
(Essay I.) states, that some of what is now the richest
land in Holland was, about the middle of the sixteenth
century, of this description. The suggestion of any mode,
therefore, by which, at a moderate expense, such tracts
could be fixed and covered with vegetation, must be
deemed worthy of a place in this article.
The mode which nature herself employs is as follows:
After the tides and wind have raised a marginal strip of
sand as high as high-water mark, it becomes by degrees co¬
vered with vegetation, and chiefly by the elymus arenarius,
triticum junceum, various species of Juncus, and some¬
times by the galium verum. With the exception of the
first of "these plants (the leaves and stalks of which are
manufactured into mats and ropes in Anglesea, and the
grain of which is ground and used as meal in Ireland),
they are of no other use than fixing the sands, which,
being composed in great part of the debris of shells, ex¬
pand as they decay, and contribute to raise the surface
still higher, when the fibrous roots of good grasses soon
destroy the others.
To assist nature in fixing drift-sands, it is only neces-
EMBANKMENT. 679
Embank- sary to transplant the elymus, which is to be had in
ment. abundance in almost every sandy coast in Britain ; and
as it would be liable to be blown away with the sands if
merely inserted in the common way, it seems advisable to
tie the plants to the upper ends of willow or elder rods, of
two or three feet in length, and to insert these in the sand,
by which means there is the double chance of the grass
growing, and the truncheon taking root. The elder will
grow exposed to the sea breeze, and no plartt throws out so
many and such vigorous roots in proportion to its shoots.
The mode by which sands were fixed in Holland was
by the formation of wicker work embankments, and by
sticking in the sands branches of trees, bushes, furze, &c.
in all directions. These obstructed the motion of the
sands, and collected masses of sand, shells or mud, and
sea-weeds around them, which were immediately planted
with some description of creeping grass; or, what was
more frequent, covered with a thin coating of clay, or
alluvial earth, and sown with clover.
Though the most certain and least expensive mode of
gaining such lands be undoubtedly that of seconding the
efforts of nature, by inserting bushes, and planting the
elymus in this way, yet it may sometimes be desirable to
make a grand effort to protect an extensive surface, by
forming a bank of branches, which might in a single or in
several tides be filled with sand and shells. It is evident
that such a bank might be constructed in various ways;
but that which would be most certain of remaining firm,
and effecting the purpose, would be one regularly con¬
structed of framed timber, the section of which would re¬
semble a trussed roof; each truss being joined in the di¬
rection of the bank by rafters, and the whole inside and
surface stuck full of branches. To retain it firm, piles
wmuld require to be driven into the sand, to the upper
parts of which would be attached the trusses. The height
of such a barrier wmuld require to be several feet above
that of the highest spring-tides ; and the more its width
at base exceeded the proportion of that of an equilateral
triangle the better.
A more economical mode, and one, therefore, suited to
a less extensive scale of operation, is to intersect a sandy
shore in all directions with common dead or wicker- work
hedges, formed by first driving a row of stakes six or eight
feet into the ground, leaving their tops tnree or four feet
above it, and then weaving among these stakes branches
of trees or the tops of hedges. The Dutch are said to
weave straw ropes, and thereby to collect mud in the man¬
ner of warping. This mode being little expensive, seems
to deserve a trial in favourable situations ; and, in so
doing, it must not be forgotten that much depends on the
immediate management of the surface after it is in some
degree fixed. In an extensive trial of this sort made on
the west coast of Scotland, under an English gentleman,
seeds and roots were baked in a mixture of loam and
dung in the gravel, and then formed into masses, and
scattered over a sandy surface. These, from their weight,
will not, it is thought, be moved by the water or the
wind; but becoming more or less covered with sand,
the mass will be kept moist, and the seeds and roots
will grow, and, fixing themselves in the soil, will in time
cover the surface with verdure.
Embankments for straightening the course of rivers.—
Where a river in a fertile valley is very circuitous in its
course, land may be gained, and a more rapid efflux of
the water produced, by straightening its course. rIhe
best plan in general for effecting this is, to find an en¬
tirely new bed or course for the river; otherwise, when it
passes alternately through new soil and through a part of
its old bed, its action on surfaces which are so different
in regard to induration ends, if great care be not taken, in
holes and gulleys in the new bank, which require to be con- Embank-
stantly filled up with loose stones thrown in, and left to be ment.
fixed by the pressure and motion of the water.
The embankment used in straightening the course of
rivers is almost always the mound with a clay wall in the
centre, varying in width according to the depth of the dif¬
ferent parts of the old bed of the river which it has to
intersect. The materials for these banks are obtained
from excavations for the new bed.
The pier called the protecting pier is to be considered
as a species of embankment the object of which is to pre¬
vent the increase of partial breaches made in the banks of
rivers, by accidental obstructions during floods. A tree
or branch carried down by a stream, and deposited or ac¬
cidentally fixed or retained in its banks, will repel that
part of the stream which strikes against it, and the im¬
pulse, counteracted more or less by the general current,
will direct a substream against the opposite bank. The
effect of this continual action against one point of the op¬
posite bank is to wear out a hole or breach, and the pro¬
tecting pier is placed so as to receive the impulse of the
substream, and reverberate it to the middle of the gene¬
ral stream. If this pier be not placed very obliquely to
the substream, as well as to the general stream, it will
prove injurious to the opposite bank, by directing a sub¬
current there as great as the first; and, indeed, it is next
to impossible to avoid this; so much so, that Mr Smea-
ton, in every instance in which he was consulted in cases
of this sort, recommended removing the obstacle where
that could be done, and then throwing loose stones into
the breach. A perfect bed of a river would be a perfect
half cylinder, and therefore we are decidedly of opinion
that Mr Smeaton’s mode is the best, as tending to main¬
tain as much as possible this form. Mr Marshal {Trea¬
tise on Landed Property) has treated on piers of this de¬
scription at considerable length ; but a very little reflec¬
tion will show that they are more likely to increase than
to remedy the evil they are intended to cure. We have
seen the injurious effects of such piers on the Tay and
the Dee; and on a part of the Jed near Crailing they are
so numerous that the stream is, to use a familiar phrase,
bandied about like a football from one shore to the other;
behind every pier an eddy is formed, and, if the stream
does not strike it exactly, a breach in the bank. Many
of these piers have in consequence been taken down.
The use of such piers can only be justified where the
obstruction, from ill neighbourhood or some such cause,
cannot be removed from the opposite bank; or where, as
is sometimes the case, it arises from an island of sand or
gravel thrown out by the river near its middle, and which,
however absurd it may appear, the interested parties can¬
not agree as to who may remove it. The case of build¬
ings also being in danger may justify such a pier for im¬
mediate protection ; but if such breaches are taken in
time, a few loads of loose stones will effect a remedy with¬
out the risk of incurring or occasioning a greater evil.
Such piers are frequently constructed of wicker work ;
either a mere wicker hedge projecting into the water, as
is common where the rivers are of slow motion, as in
England, and particularly on the Thames, Tame, and
Severn; or a case of wicker work filled with stones, as is
common where the motion is rapid, as in Scotland, and
particularly on the Esk, Tweed, Tay, and Clyde.
Embankments to serve as roads are generally mounds
without clay walls, carried through countries liable to be
overflown, without reference to protecting any part from
water, through lakes or marshes, or across straits of the
sea. The earth in such mounds is generally allowed
to take its own slope on both sides, which is commonly
from forty to forty-five degrees, and the width at top is
680 E M B
Embank- regulated by that of the intended road. The materials,
ment- when the mound is formed in a country merely liable to
be overflown, as in many parts of Lincolnshire and Hun¬
tingdonshire, are excavated from ditches, or taken from
the surface on each side of the mound. In Holland the
roads formed on such mounds are bounded by rows of
trees ; a practice which it is to be regretted has not
been more attended to in England, where accidents not
unfrequently happen in the night, and particularly on the
Boston and Wisebeach roads, both of which are formed
in great part on such mounds, unprotected by hedges,
rails, or trees. In passing through part of a lake, or strait,
or marsh, the earth must of course be taken from the firm
ground on the shores ; and here the ground being gene¬
rally soft below, the first operation is to lay a foundation
three or four feet thick, of branches or faggots of copse-
wood, in order that the mound may sink in a body. I he
next thing, the direction of the mound being marked out
by a line of poles placed along its centre, is to begin at
one end, and wheel or cart on earth, throwing it down in
the direction of the bank, raising it to its proper height and
width, leaving the slopes at the sides to adjust themselves,
either by the gravity of the material alone, or jointly
with the loosening and spreading operation of the water.
The noblest attempt of this sort ever made in Britain
was that of W. A. Madocks, Esq. in order to unite the
counties of Merioneth and Cardigan by a mound across
an estuary and embouchure of the Glasslyn, two miles
wide. Mr Madocks had, in 1802, succeeded in protect¬
ing fiom spring tides, by a wall or bank of the first spe¬
cies, 1800 acres of good alluvial soil, which he let at from
30s. to 50s. per acre; and his enterprising spirit induced
him to contemplate the idea of gaining the whole bay or
mouth of the stream, extending to nearly 4000 acres of
alluvial and sandy earth, overflowed in great part by every
tide. Besides the mere gaining of the land, this patriotic
improver had another object in view ; that of uniting two
maritime points in two counties which at that time were
separated by a day’s journey; and, by effecting this, he
would at the same time have rendered practicable a new
‘ line of road from Worcester along the top of this embank¬
ment, through a creation of his own, called the town of
Tre Madoc, to the newly formed harbour of Porthdyn-
lleyn, by which forty miles would have been saved to the
public between Dublin and London, and fifty between
Dublin and Bath.
After consulting various engineers, the first operation
was begun in 1807, and consisted in forming an immense
bridge of flood-gates in the solid rock of the shore, as
such a bridge and gates could not be formed in any part
of the mound. The use of this was to admit the exit of
the river. This done, the mound was commenced from
both shores, and rocky, sandy, and clayey materials thrown
down in the direction of the mound, and left to take their
own slope. The greater part of these materials consisted
of argillaceous rock broken into small pieces, which being
mixed with clay, the mound would have been of the
strongest texture. As the work proceeded, an iron rail¬
road was laid along the top of it, and extended to the
quarries and excavations, by which means much labour
was saved. In the course of three years the work was
brought within fifty yards of meeting in the middle, but it
was found extremely difficult to close it, from the rapidity
of the influx and reflux of the tide. This difficulty, how¬
ever, would have been overcome, and the proposed im¬
provement effected at little more than the estimated cost,
L.20,000, had not the various and extensive projects in
which the proprietor was at that time engaged led him
into pecuniary difficulties, which put an end to the under¬
taking, and, as is usual in such cases, called forth popu-
E M B
lar clamour against the plan. It is but justice, however, Embarca-
to those concerned to state, that the very plan now put dero
in execution was contemplated above a century ago by Emj!.
Sir Hugh Middleton, who then wrote to a friend, that if
he were not so deeply engaged in the scheme of bringing
water to*London, he should certainly engage in it.
Very little has been written on the subject of embank¬
ments, as a separate branch of art, by British authors.
Dugdale’s work is entirely historical and topographical;
but the writings of Smeaton, Young, Gregory, and others,
contain the general principles on which is founded the
art of embanking, and every other operation connected
with water.
EMBARCADERO, in Commerce, a Spanish term, much
used along the coasts of America. It signifies a place
which serves some other considerable city farther inland
for a port or place of shipping, that is, of embarking and
disembarking commodities.
EMBARGO, in Commerce, an arrest on ships or mer¬
chandise by public authority, or a prohibition of state,
commonly on foreign ships, in time of war, to prevent their
going out of port, or coming in, and sometimes both, for
a limited time.
EMBER Weeks are those in which the ember or embring
days fall.
In the laws of King Alfred and those of Canute, these
days are called ymbren, that is, circular days, from which
the word was probably corrupted into ember days. By the
canonists they are called quatuor anni tempora, the four
cardinal seasons on which the circle of the year turns;
and hence Henshaw takes the word to have been formed
by corruption from tempora. The ember days are the
Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday, after Quadragesima
Sunday, after Whitsunday, after Holy-rood day in Sep¬
tember, and after St Lucia’s day in December; which
four times answer well enough to the four quarters of the
year, spring, summer, autumn, and winter. Mr Somner
thinks they were originally fasts, instituted in order to
crave God’s blessing on the fruits of the earth; agreeably
to which, Skinner supposes the word ember taken from the
ashes, embers, then strewed on the head. These ember
weeks are now chiefly taken notice of on account of the
ordination of priests and deacons; because the canon ap¬
points the Sundays next succeeding the ember weeks for
the solemn times of ordination; though the bishops, if
they please, may ordain on any Sunday or holiday.
EMBLEM, a kind of painted enigma, which represents
some obvious history, with reflections underneath, and in¬
structs us in some moral truth or other matter of know¬
ledge. Such is that very significant image of Scmvola
holding his hand in the fire ; with the words, Agere et pati
fortiter Romanum est, to do and to suffer courageously is
Roman. The word is pure Greek, formed of the verb
to cast in or insert. Suetonius relates that l ibe-
rius caused the word to be erased from the deciee of the
Roman senate, because borrowed from another language.
The emblem is somewhat plainer and more obvious than
the enigma. Gale defines emblem an ingenious picture,
representing one thing to the eye, and another to the un¬
derstanding.
The Greeks also gave the name emblems, t/t/S^/xara, to
inlaid or mosaic works, and even to all kinds of orna¬
ments of vases, moveables, garments, and the like. . dhe
Latins also used emblema in the same sense. Accordingly,
Cicero, reproaching Verres with the statues and finely
wrought works he had plundered from the Sicilians, calls
the ornaments fixed thereto, and which on occasion might
be separated from them, emblemata ; and, further, the La¬
tin authors frequently compare the figures and ornaments
of discourse to these emblemata. Ihus, an ancient Latin
E M B
Embolis- poet praising an orator, says, that all his words were rang-
mus ed like the pieces in mosaic:
Embrun. Quam lepide xilm compostse, ut tesserulae omnes,
Arte pavimento, atque emblemate vermiculato.
With us emblem ordinarily signifies no more than a
painting, bas-relief, or other representation, intended to
convey some moral or political instruction.
What distinguishes an emblem from a device is, that
the words of an emblem have a full and complete sense of
themselves; whereas those of a device are significative
only with reference to some particular person or thing.
A device, in short, is a symbol appropriated to some per¬
son, or that expresses something which concerns him par¬
ticularly ; whereas an emblem is a symbol that regards all
the world alike. These differences will be more apparent
from comparing the emblem above quoted, with the device
of a candle lighted, and the words Juvando consumor, I
am wasted in doing good.
EMBOLISMUS, E/x/SoX/tf/xos, in Chronology, signifies in¬
tercalation. The word is formed from igfiaXkttv, to insert.
As the Greeks made use of the lunar year, which is only
354 days, in order to bring it to the solar, which is 365 days,
they had every two or three years an embolism, that is, they
added a thirteenth lunar month every two or three years,
which additional month they called embolinueus, iyfio-
"KifjjCLioi, because inserted or intercalated.
EMBOSSING, or Imbossing, in Architecture and Sculp¬
ture, the forming or fashioning of works in relief, whether
cut with a chisel or otherwise. Embossing is a kind of
sculpture in which the figure stands out from the plane
on which it is cut; and according as the figures are more
or less prominent, they are said to be in alto, mezzo, or
basso-relievo; or high, intermediate, or low relief.
EMBRASURE, in Architecture, an enlargement made
of the aperture of a door or window on the inside of the
wall, the use of which is to give greater play for the open¬
ing of the door or casement, or to admit more light.
EMBROIDERY, a work in gold, or silver, or silk
thread, wrought by the needle upon cloth, stuffs, or mus¬
lin, into various figures. In embroidering stufts, the work
is performed in a kind of loom, because the more the piece
is stretched the easier it is worked. As to muslin, it is
spread upon a pattern ready designed, and sometimes,
before it is stretched upon the pattern, it is starched, to
make it more easy to be handled. Embroidery on the
loom is less tedious than the other, in which, whilst the
flowers are worked, all the threads of the muslin, both
lengthwise and breadthwise, must be continually counted ;
but, on the other hand, this last is much richer in points,
and susceptible of greater variety. Cloths too much milled
are scarcely susceptible of this ornament, and in effect we
seldom see them embroidered.
There are several kinds of embroidery, viz. 1. Embroi¬
dery on the stamp, where the figures are raised and round¬
ed, having cotton or parchment put under them to sup¬
port them. 2. Low embroidery, where the gold and sil¬
ver lie low upon the sketch, and are stitched with silk of
the same colour. 3. Guimped embroidery. This is per¬
formed either in gold or silver. A sketch is first made
upon the cloth, then put on cut vellum, and afterwards
sewed on the gold and silver with silk thread ; and on this
kind of embroidery are often put gold and silver cord,
tinsel, and spangles. 4. Embroidery on both sides, that
which appears on both sides of the stuff. 5. Plain em¬
broidery, or where the figures are flat and even, without
cords, spangles, or other ornaments.
EMBRUN, an arrondissement of the department of the
Upper Alps, in France, extending over 583 square miles.
It is divided into five cantons and thirty-six communes,
VOL. vm.
E M E 681
and contains 28,628 inhabitants. The capital, of the same Embryo
name, is situated on the top of a steep rock, at the foot of II
which flows the river Durance. It has a cathedral, an epis-
copal palace, and a large prison ; and contains 700 houses
and 3133 inhabitants. Long. 6. 20. E. Lat. 44. 34. N.
EMBRYO, in Physiology, the rudiments of an animal
in the uterus, before the several members are distinctly
formed, after which period it is denominated afcetus.
EMDEN, a bailiwick of the province of West Friesland,
in the kingdom of Hanover, extending over eighty-one
square miles, and containing a city, a market-town, and
thirty parishes, with 18,925 inhabitants. It is mostly
marsh land, and is only preserved from inundation by
powerful dikes or embankments, which are maintained at
a vast expense; but the land is highly fertile, and more
than adequate to defray these charges. It is especially
productive in oats, and in butter and cheese. The capi¬
tal, from which it takes its name, is situated on the river
Ems, but a mile and a half distant, and is surrounded
with walls, which, however, are indefensible. It contains
four reformed, one Lutheran, and one Catholic church, a
Menonite chapel, and a Jews’ synagogue, with 1808 houses,
and 12,100 inhabitants. It is a place of great trade, as
well for the export of oats, butter, cheese, and bacon, as
for the herring fishery; and there are many breweries
and distilleries, some ship-building, and other occupations
of industry. It is, besides, the seat of government for
East Friesland. Long. 7. 5. 35. E. Lat. 53. 22. 8. N.
EMERALD, Smaragdus, Schmaragd, Emeraude verte.
In mineralogy this includes two subspecies ; the emerald
properly so called, or the precious emerald, comprehending
the transparent and beautiful green-coloured varieties, and
the beryl, which has already been described under its ap¬
propriate head.
The emerald always occurs crystallized, its most com¬
mon form being that of a regular six-sided prism, occa¬
sionally modified by truncations on the terminal edges.
It is in general well characterized by that pure and lively
green colour which has hence received the name of eme¬
rald green ; its hue, however, varies somewhat, inclining
at times to verdigris or grass green, and frequently be¬
coming rather pale. This fine colour is occasioned by the
presence of a minute portion of the oxide of chrome, to
which, indeed, may be attributed the principal distinction
between emerald and the beryl; the mountain-green and
yellow colours of the latter being produced by an admix¬
ture of iron in different states of oxidation. The most
magnificent crystals of emerald occur in veins of magne¬
sian carbonate of lime, which traverse a hornblende rock
in the mine of Muso, near Santa Fe de Bogota, in Peru.
A hexagonal prism from this locality, upwards of two
inches in length, and measuring across its three diameters
2^, 2i, and inches, is now in the possession of the
Duke of Devonshire: it weighs eight ounces and eigh¬
teen dwts. and, though imperfect for the lapidary’s pur¬
poses, from the numerous flaws it contains, is unquestion¬
ably the finest crystallized emerald at present in Great
Britain. Less distinct varieties, generally of muddy eme¬
rald-green colours, occur imbedded in mica slate in the
Pinzgau valley, Saltzburg; also in mica-schiste at Mount
Zabara in Upper Egypt, a locality whence the ancients
are believed to have obtained their emeralds.
The Peruvian emerald, according to the analyses of Klap¬
roth and Vauquelin, contains,
Silica 68-50 64-50
Alumina 15-75 16-00
Glucina 12-50 13*00
Oxide of iron  1-00  0*00
Oxide of chrome.. 0*30  3-25
Lime  0-25  1-60
4 R
682 E M E
Emersion Its specific gravity ranges between 2-6 and 2'8, and its
I! hardness between 7‘5 and 8‘0 of the scale of Mohs; that
Emerson, scratches quartz, and is very little inferior to topaz
in hardness. It possesses a vitreous lustre, more or less
shining, and a conchoidal, uneven fracture. By friction
it becomes electric, and before the blowpipe with borax
fuses into a transparent colourless glass. But it is as a
gem inferior only to the diamond and the ruby that this
mineral is so highly prized and esteemed. Its colour,
which is perfectly distinct from that of any other gem,
is the richest, and presents by daylight the most pleasing
hue imaginable. An emerald, therefore, possessing con¬
siderable surface, and free from flaws and impurities, has
always been very highly prized, and, according to Pliny
(lib. xxxvii.), even in his time commanded immense sums.
Hauy describes one in the tiara of the sovereign pontiff
when in Paris in 1804, consisting of a cylinder about two
inches long by two and a quarter broad, which is sup¬
posed to have been brought from Africa, as it bears the
name of Julius II. who flourished anterior even to the con¬
quest of Peru. The most magnificent cut emerald in this
country is that in the possession of Mr Hope of London:
it weighs six ounces, is perfect in colour and transparency,
and cost L.500. It is believed to be from Coimbetoor.
Emeralds are cut and polished with facility. The usual
form given them is that of a square table with the edges
replaced, the lower surface being cut into facets parallel
to their sides. When fine they are always set without a
foil, and, in consequence of their brilliancy being some¬
what impaired by candle light, are generally surrounded
with small diamonds or pearls, which on such occasions
add considerably to their lustre and effect. This gem has
been imitated by the manufacturers of paste stones in
France with very considerable success, the colouring mat¬
ter which they use being the oxide of chrome.
EMERSION, in Physics, the rising of any solid above
the surface of a fluid specifically heavier than itself, into
which it had been violently immerged or thrust down.
It is one of the known laws of hydrostatics, that a light¬
er solid being forced down into a heavier fluid, immediate¬
ly endeavours to emerge, and that with a force or mo¬
mentum equal to the excess of weight of a quantity of the
fluid above that of an equal bulk of the solid. Thus, if a
solid be immerged in a fluid of double its specific gravity,
it will emerge again till half its bulk or body be above the
surface of the fluid.
Emersion, in Astronomy, is when the sun, moon, or
other planet, begins to re-appear after having been eclips¬
ed, or hid by the interposition of the moon, earth, or
other body.
The difference of longitude is sometimes found by ob¬
serving the immersions and emersions of the first of Jupi¬
ter’s satellites. The immersions are observed from the
time of Jupiter’s being in conjunction with the sun to his
opposition, and the emersions from the opposition to the
conjunction; two intervals which are usually six months
each, and divide the year between them. But when
Jupiter is in conjunction with the sun, and fifteen days
before and afterwards, there is nothing to be observed,
the planet, with his satellites, being then lost in the light
of the sun.
Emersion is also used when a star, before hid by the
sun, as being too near him, begins to re-appear and to get
out of his rays.
EMERSON, William, an eminent mathematician,
was born on the 14th May 1701, at Hurworth, a village
about three miles south of Darlington ; at least it is certain
that he resided here from his childhood. His father Dud¬
ley Emerson taught a school, and was a tolerable proficient
in mathematics ; and without his books and instructions,
E M E
perhaps his son’s genius, though eminently fitted for ma- Emerv.
thematical disquisitions, would have never been unfolded. '^-ySw
The latter was instructed in the learned languages by a
young clergyman, then curate of Hurworth, who was
boarded at his father’s house. In the earlier part of his
life he attempted to teach a few scholars’; but, whether
from his concise method of explaining his ideas, in which
he was not happy, or from the warmth of his natural tem¬
per, he made no progress in his school; he therefore soon
left it off, and, satisfied with a moderate competence left
him by his parents, he devoted himself to a studious re¬
tirement. Towards the close of the year 1781, being sen¬
sible of his approaching dissolution, he disposed of the
whole of his mathematical library to a bookseller at York ;
and on the 20th of May 1782 he died of a lingering and
painful disorder, at his native village, in the eighty-first
year of his age.
Mr Emerson in his person was rather short, but strong
and well made, with an open countenance and ruddy com¬
plexion. He was exceedingly singular in his dress and
manners, and his appearance, which was rather clownish,
if not boorish, did not bespeak the man of science; but
his eccentricities were more than atoned for by the un¬
compromising independence of his character, and by the
possession of strong natural parts, of which he has left
ample evidence in his writings. He always walked up to
London when he had any thing to publish, and revised it
sheet by sheet himself. It was a favourite maxim with
him to trust no eyes but his own. He never advanced any
mathematical proposition which he had not first tried in
practice, constantly making all the different parts himself
on a small scale, so that his house was filled with all kinds
of mechanical instruments together or disjointed. Fishing
was a diversion which he was remarkably fond of, and while
engaged in it he would frequently stand up to his middle
in water. He used to study incessantly for some time,
and then seek relaxation by taking a ramble to any pot-
ale-house where he could get any body to drink with and
talk to. The Duke of Manchester was highly pleased
with his company, and used often to come to him in the
fields and accompany him home, but could never persuade
him to get into a carriage. He was a married man, and
his wife used to spin on an old-fashioned wheel, of which
a very accurate drawing is given in his Mechanics. He
was deeply skilled in the science of music, the theory of
sounds, and the various scales both ancient and modern,
but as a performer he had nothing to boast of.
The following is a list of Mr Emerson’s works : 1. The
Doctrine of Fluxions, 1748, 8vo; 2. The Projection of the
Sphere, orthographic, sterographic, and gnomical, 1749,
8vo; The Elements of Trigonometry, 1749, 8vo; 4. The
Principles of Mechanics, 1754, 8vo ; 5. A Treatise of Na¬
vigation, 1755, 12mo; 6. A Treatise of Algebra, in two
books, 1765, 8vo ; 7. The Arithmetic of Infinites, and the
Differential Method, illustrated by Examples, 1767, 8vo;
8. Mechanics, or the Doctrine of Motion, 1769, 8vo; 9.
The Elements of Optics, in four books, 1768, 8vo; 10. A
System of Astronomy, 1769, 8vo; 11. The Laws of Cen¬
tripetal and Centrifugal Force, 1769, 8vo; 12. The Mathe¬
matical Principles of Geography, 1770, 8vo ; 13. Tracts,
1770, 8vo; 14. Cyclomathesis, or an easy Introduction
to the several branches of the Mathematics, 1770, in 10
vols. 8vo; 15. A short Comment on Sir Isaac Newton’s
Principia; to which is added, A Defence of Sir Isaac
against the objections that have been made to several parts
of his works, 1770, 8vo; 16. A Miscellaneous Treatise,
containing several Mathematical Subjects, 1776, 8vo.
EMERY, a rich iron ore, found in large masses of no
determinate shape or size, but extremely hard and very
heavy. It is usually of a dusky-brownish red on the sur-
EMI
EMI
683
Emigra- face; but when broken it is of a fine bright iron grey,
tion. though not without some tinge of redness, and is spangled
all over with shining specks, which are small flakes of a
foliaceous talc, highly impregnated with iron. It is found Emigra-
in some of the Greek islands, in Tuscany, and in some tion.
parts of Germany.
EMIGRATION.
General
view of
the sub¬
ject.
The natural propensity of mankind is to settlement and
rest, and this principle is still further strengthened by the
influence of local associations over the mind. Every one
is strongly attached to the place of his birth, or to the
place where he has passed his earlier years ; and it may be
generally remarked, that, in whatever spot man fixes his
abode, there he takes root. Habits and sympathies are
created, strong attachments are formed, and the longer
he remains in any particular place, his aversion to change
grows upon him. The power of early associations over
the mind is exemplified by constant experience. How
many of those adventurers who, at an early age, had quit¬
ted their home and their country in pursuit of fame or
fortune, do we see daily returning to revive those local
affections which, being deeply impressed on the heart
while it was yet wai'm and susceptible, neither time nor
distance has been able to efface. And to the powerful in¬
fluence of the same tender recollections are we to ascribe
that painful longing and deep despondency to which the
Swiss and other nations are liable when they have been
long absent from their country and their home. Such
being the general disposition of mankind to rest where
their lot is cast, such the various and powerful ties by
which they are attached to particular spots, and so gene¬
ral their aversion to Change, we may fairly conclude, when
we see the inhabitants of any country eagerly engaging
in projects of emigration, in opposition to their natural
attachment to their native land, and in defiance of all the
uncertainty and peril of a new settlement on a distant and
unknown shore, that their conduct is not the result of
choice, but of necessity; and that, in thus leaving their
kindred and their country, they are flying from the pres¬
sure of some great and general misery.
The great and radical evil which afflicts society is the
want of food, which necessarily arises from the tendency
of mankind to increase faster than the means of subsist¬
ence can be provided. The importance of this great law
of nature, under which the want of food is everywhere
found to be the grand obstacle to the multiplication of the
species, was first duly appreciated by Mr Malthus, who,
in his profound and invaluable work On Population, has
explained and enforced the principle with such elemen¬
tary clearness and force, and with such various and strik¬
ing illustrations, that it is now universally adopted as an
indisputable maxim of political science.
According to the simple view of this interesting subject,
contained in the work of Mr Malthus, it has been ascer¬
tained, from the history of the American and other newly
settled colonies, that where there is abundance of food, the
population has been doubled in some cases in twenty-five,
in others in fifteen years; and it is obvious that if 10,000,
or any other number of inhabitants, can be doubled within
fifteen or twenty-five years, 20,000 or 100,000, or any
greater number, may be doubled in the same period with
equal facility. The increase of population takes place,
therefore, according to a geometrical ratio ; every succes¬
sive addition affording the means of a still greater increase,
until the earth being at length replenished with inhabit¬
ants, room and food are alike wanting for any farther ad¬
dition to the human species.
It is not easy to determine the rate according to which
the productions of the earth may be supposed to increase.
This will in a great measure depend on accidental circum¬
stances. Where there are extensive tracts of fertile and
unoccupied land, food will be produced in great abundance;
but after these are all cultivated, and the less fertile parts
of the country begin to be settled by its increasing inha¬
bitants, subsistence will be produced at a slower rate, and
with greater toil. In this manner, we find, the population
continues to advance according to an accelerated process,
the increase of one period only affording the means of a
still greater increase during the next, and this without
any limit; whilst the subsistence for this rapidly increas¬
ing population, instead of being produced with the same
facility, instead of increasing in proportion to the grow¬
ing wants of the community, is necessarily produced at a
slower rate, and with greater toil, at the period when it
is most wanted. Whilst the principle of population is yet
in full vigour, and is every day acquiring new powers of
increase, the produce of the earth is daily procured with
greater difficulty. The same causes, therefore, which oc¬
casion a continual multiplication of inhabitants, prevent
any progressive increase in the supply of provisions. By
a long process of skilful cultivation, the earth may at last
reach the utmost limits of its productive powers. This
state of things, it is supposed, has already taken place in
China. No efforts of human industry, however judicious¬
ly directed, could ever probably double the produce of
this highly cultivated country. But the population could
still be doubled in fifteen or twenty years with the same
facility as before. All countries which have been long
settled and cultivated, are in some measure in a similar
condition. No efforts of human skill could possibly draw
from Great Britain double its present produce within the
period during which its population could be doubled ; and
in all such countries, therefore, the further increase of in¬
habitants is checked by the want of food. It is manifest,
indeed, that the number of people in any country, or in
the world at large, must be limited by the quantity of sub¬
sistence provided for their support.
But though it is certain that the population of every
country must be kept within the limits of its food, this
object may be accomplished by the operation of two dif¬
ferent causes. ls£, General habits of refinement, or pru¬
dential motives, such as the fear of bringing children into
existence without the means of supporting them, may so
far operate on the minds of the labouring classes as to
discourage marriage ; in which case no superfluous inha¬
bitants will be produced, and the supply of food, though
it will admit of no increase, will still be sufficient for
the maintenance of the population already in existence.
Where the want of food operates in this manner to check
the progress of population, Mr Malthus distinguishes it by
the appellation of the preventive check, ‘idly. So strong,
however, is the impulse by which man is prompted to
multiply his species, that this preventive check seldom
operates with sufficient force to restrain the undue in¬
crease of population. In all countries mankind have a
perpetual tendency to increase faster than food can be
provided; and even when the preventive check operates
with most effect, the population frequently presses on the
very verge of its subsistence, and is thus exposed, by an
accidental failure in the ordinary supply of food, to all the
miseries of want. As the number of inhabitants is neccs-
684
EMIGRATION.
Emigra- sarily restricted by the supply of subsistence, it is certain
tion. that, if the population increases beyond this limit, it will
v'—'‘Y"'*-'1 speedily be brought down to the level of its food by the
operation of famine and disease, which Mr Malthus terms
the positive, in opposition to the preventive checks to popu¬
lation.
From this view, then, of the natural and immutable con¬
dition of human society, the want of subsistence seems to
be a necessary and an inherent evil, under every form of
it; to avoid which, mankind, as they begin to increase,
are forced to separate in quest of new settlements, in
which, the inhabitants being fewer, food is more easily
procured. The want of subsistence is therefore the uni¬
versal and constant cause of emigration, which forces
mankind to disperse themselves, and to explore the world
for a more desirable abode. It is no love of change or of
adventure which prompts them to wander into unfrequent¬
ed parts. It is the urgent pressure arising from an over¬
crowded population which impels them from their homes,
which breaks the ties of kindred, and forces them to en¬
counter all the hardships and dangers of new and untried
scenes. Where a community is happy and prosperous,
mankind will follow their natural propensity to settlement
and rest; and it is only when this principle is disturbed
by an opposite and equally powerful principle, namely,
the fear or the actual experience of want, that emigration
• will be resorted to, as the least of two evils, not from
choice, but from necessity. It is under the influence of
this great law of nature, namely, the tendency of mankind
to increase faster than food can be provided for them,
that the earth has been overspread with inhabitants.
From the original seats of population and improvement,
the human race would naturally overflow into other parts.
The regions which were most desirable from their hap¬
pier soil and climate would be first occupied ; these being
replenished with people, the overflowing stream would na¬
turally reach the less habitable parts, until at length the
frozen regions of the north and the burning climes of the
south would be fully peopled, in proportion to the scanty
subsistence to be drawn from them by an unskilful and
barbarous race.
The earth being in this manner filled with people, and
no more vacant space remaining for new emigrations, the
great check to population, from the want of subsistence,
must now be felt in all its force ; and it is evident that no
further increase of inhabitants can take place, unless new
modes of subsistence be contrived, by which a greater
supply of food may be derived from the same extent of
territory. The most primitive and barbarous mode of
life ever found to prevail among mankind, is when they
depend for subsistence on hunting and fishing, or on a
casual supply of such produce as the earth spontaneously
yields. From the humble and degraded condition of
hunters, they gradually emerge into thatof shepherds ; and
while their flocks and herds afford them a more certain
provision, the care of these necessarily calls forth a great¬
er degree of foresight than belongs to the hunting tribes;
and the community being also in possession of a stock for
their immediate subsistence, are in every respect in a su¬
perior condition to mere savages. It is in the agricultu¬
ral state, in which a community, adopting all the most in¬
genious and successful modes of cultivation, and improv¬
ing at the same time in all the arts of commerce and in¬
dustry, gradually accumulates capital and acquires habits
of luxury and refinement, that the earth supports the
greatest number of inhabitants; and to this state therefore
mankind, impelled to improvement by the stimulus of ne¬
cessity, continually tend. But as the course of improve¬
ment is retarded by a variety of causes, it has always hap¬
pened that, in the general population of the world, three
classes have been comprised, who, though variously mo- Emigra.
dified, may be distinguished into those of hunters, shep- tion.
herds, and agriculturists. When the earth is wholly oc-
copied with these different communities, in each of which
the population, according to the great law by which it in¬
creases, will soon reach the utmost limit of its food, it is
manifest that the great standing cause of emigration will
be in constant operation ; and in this case there is little
doubt that numbers will incur the risks of a removal for
the sake of improving their condition.
The inhabitants of a country may emigrate individual¬
ly, in which case they will be incorporated with the new
community into which they enter, and their settlement
will be made without violence; or a whole nation may
emigrate, with a view of making their way to new settle¬
ments by the sword, and of driving out by force the inha¬
bitants of the territory into which their irruption is maole.
Among civilized nations it is scarcely possible that this
mode of emigration can take place. No government
would countenance its subjects in any predatory irrup¬
tion on the territory of another state; neither would the
wealth acquired by civilized communities, nor the habits
of order, industry, and peace, which wealth necessarily su¬
perinduces, at all consist with any such hostile enterprises
against the repose of other nations. In an advanced state
of society, therefore, the license of emigration is in some
degree restrained ; mankind emigrate individually, but not
in large bodies, and in this manner they are quietly ab¬
sorbed in the new communities into which they enter, and
to the laws and manners of which they necessarily con¬
form. But though the civilized communities of the world
never violently emigrate into each other?s territories, they
frequently invade the domain of the savage, by obtruding
new settlers on his uncultivated territories. These emi¬
grating in considerable bodies, and being provided with
every necessary implement either of cultivation or of
war, take possession of the soil, which they cultivate for
their support, and, gradually increasing in proportion as
their improved modes of cultivation draw an increased
produce from the soil, all the efforts of the original pro¬
prietors to dislodge them are found unavailing. From
such small beginnings it is that, in modern times, all the
flourishing communities of the new world have had their
origin.
Amongst the barbarous nations of hunters and shepherds,
emigration necessarily assumes the character of violence.
The earth being already occupied with inhabitants, it is
manifest that no large body of emigrants can effect a set¬
tlement in any territory without displacing an equal pro¬
portion of the original inhabitants. These, however, will
not yield without a struggle; wars naturally commence,
which are carried on with an inveteracy suited to the im¬
portant object at stake; and while the conqueror occu¬
pies the vacant ground, the world is thinned of its super¬
fluous inhabitants in these contests for room and food.
The want of subsistence, which thus excites in mankind
a restlessness and an impatience of their condition, and
finally impels them to emigration, appears, from the expe¬
rience of all history, to be a most fruitful cause of war;
and, in these struggles, the mere savage has little chance
against the more formidable violence either of the pasto¬
ral tribes or of civilized communities. By the first he is
driven from his ground whenever it can be occupied with
advantage for the purposes of pasture; while the civilized
inhabitants of the globe occupy his territories with new
settlers, who, spreading cultivation over the desert, and
establishing towns with all their refinements of arts and
manufactures where there was formerly a wilderness, de¬
stroy the hunting grounds of the savage, and expel him,
with the wild beasts, his natural prey, from these seats of
EMIGRATION.
685
Emigra¬
tion.
Emigra-
] tions by
which the
Roman
empire
was over¬
thrown.
industry. Thus driven farther into the woods, he is re¬
duced to fight for his subsistence with other tribes in the
same condition as himself, and with whom he has more
chance of waging an equal war. Room and subsistence
being indispensable to the further multiplication of the
species, every combined movement among mankind in
quest of these objects is the signal of discord ; the savage
tribes, confined to tbe more remote and unfrequented
parts of the earth, mutually exterminate each other by
their constant and ferocious hostility; and the pastoral
nations carry on equally destructive contests with each
other, or with more civilized communities. Barbarism
and civilization are in this manner the natural enemies of
each other; and a most inveterate war is the inevitable
consequence of this hostility. On the issue of the con¬
test the very existence of both parties is staked. 1 o the
vanquished nothing remains but to perish by famine or
the destroying sword. If the barbarous invaders prevail,
all traces of civilization are swept away—the form of so¬
ciety is changed—its institutions destroyed, and the na¬
tion itself reduced under the most degrading bondage.
If, on the other hand, the barbarians are repelled, they
have no refuge from destruction. There is no alternative
between victory and death ; and thus both parties mutual¬
ly fight with tbe fury of desperation. But, where the re¬
sources of a civilized state are vigorously called forth for
the common safety, those formidable inroads will be gene¬
rally repelled, and the country saved from the ignominy
of a barbarian yoke.
To this principle, namely, the disproportion between
the increase of subsistence and of population, vye may
trace that spirit of emigration and of conquest which pre¬
vailed universally amongst all the pastoral nations of the
ancient world. The character and manners ot those rude
tribes have been powerfully delineated by the eloquent
historian of the Roman empire; and Mr Malthus has
added a fine historical sketch of the rise and progress of
those emigrations which, after a long train of political con¬
vulsions, terminated at length in the subversion of the
Roman power. It appears that all that vast portion of the
earth, from the Danube and the shores of the Baltic to
the confines of China, was formerly occupied by a popula¬
tion of shepherds. These, though distinguished into se¬
parate nations, possessing a strong principle of unity in
the common tie of their congenial manners, easily coa¬
lesced under an enterprising leader for any scheme of emi¬
gration or conquest. Deriving their subsistence from
pasture and the chase, their ordinary life was one of con¬
stant migration, in which they were inured to fatigue, and
instructed in the use of all warlike weapons; they were
skilful horsemen, expert in archery and in throwing the
lance, and extremely active in all their movements. In
this wide ocean of barbarism, the stream of emigration
was either impelled eastward, as accidental circumstances
directed, against the flourishing empires of Asia, or west¬
ward against the Roman empire, within whose precincts
the whole civilization of the western world was comprised ;
and alternately, as it reached either of these empires, their
whole collected strength was found necessary to withstand
the shock. Of the great empires of Asia, some were
subverted by the formidable inroads of those wandering
tribes; and in Europe the doubtful balance of the world’s
destiny frequently trembled between barbarism and civi¬
lization. At an early period Rome was assailed by the
inroads of the barbarians, and an irruption of the Gauls
had well nigh crushed her rising power. In after times
the Cimbri, emigrating in quest of new settlements, were,
after they had destroyed five consular armies, arrested
in their victorious career by Marius, when the whole na¬
tion almost was exterminated. The subsequent contests
of Julius Csesar, of Drusus, Tiberius, and Germanicus, Emigra-
with the Gauls and Germans, still attested the superiori-
ty of the Roman arms, and impressed upon the barbarians
a salutary terror of the Roman name. Repelled from the
Roman frontier, their superfluous resources would natu¬
rally be consumed in intestine wars with each other for
room and subsistence, until the power of population re¬
newing the strength of those warlike communities, pre¬
pared them for fresh conflicts with the civilized world.
Accordingly we find them, in the decline of the empire,
renewing their irruptions on the Roman territory. During
the successive administration of a series of feeble princes,
the empire was assailed by new swarms, and the dege¬
nerate Romans had recourse to the dangerous policy of
bribing the enemy whom they could no longer conquer.
This fatal disclosure of wealth and weakness soon excited
the cupidity of new enemies, who broke through the ill-
guarded frontier, and spread terror to the gates of Rome.
The country became one universal scene of rapine and
oppression, and it was only by the vigour and activity of
Aurelian, Probus, and Diocletian, that the tottering em¬
pire wras saved from its final overthrow. During this in¬
terval the barbarians wasted their population in bloody
hostilities with each other, until nature, more powerful to
renovate than war to destroy, recruiting their numbers,
enabled them to set out on new emigrations with undimi¬
nished strength. During the reign ot Constantine, the
whole power of the empire was again called forth to re¬
pel a new invasion of those destroying hordes. They
were vanquished on every side, and driven into the moun¬
tains, where it is calculated that about 100,000 of them
perished from cold and famine. Other invaders now
arose, wdio were routed and dispersed with great slaughter
by the warlike Julian, and pursued into the gloomy re¬
cesses of the German forests; but those signal successes
obtained for the declining empire no relief from incessant
attacks, and the reign of Valentinian was one continued
contest with the invading hosts. The fate of Rome,”
Mr Malthus observes, “ was at length determined by an
irresistible emigration of the Huns from the east and
north, which precipitated on the empire the whole body
of the Goths;” and the nations of Germany, goaded on
by this powerful impulse, were driven en masse on the Ro¬
man provinces. “ An emigration,” Mr Malthus continues,
“ of 400,000 persons issued from the same coast of the
Baltic which had poured forth the myriads of Cimbri and
Teutones during the vigour of the republic. When this
host was destroyed by war and famine, other adventurers
succeeded. The Suevi, the Vandals, the Alani, the Bur¬
gundians, passed the Rhine never more to retreat. The
conquerors who first settled were expelled or extermi¬
nated by new invaders. Clouds of barbarians seemed to
collect from all parts of the northern hemisphere. Ga¬
thering fresh darkness and terror as they rolled on, the
congregated bodies at length obscured the sun of Italy,
and sunk the western world in night.”
So long as such an extensive space of Europe and Asia
was occupied by these pastoral tribes, the repose of the
civilized world was constantly assailed by their barbarous
invasions ; and, in the course of their various expeditions,
the finest countries of Europe were taken possession oi
and plundered. The same principle of increase which was
the original cause of all these movements, still continued
to operate with undiminished force; but while the central
countries of Europe remained in possession of their recent
conquerors, there was little chance of easily wresting from
them what they had so hardly won ; and the spirit of
emigration being therefore checked and confined for a
time within narrower limits by land, the barbkrous nations
of the north found vent for their overflowing numbers by
686
EMIGRATION.
Emigra¬
tion.
Character
of the
more mo¬
dern emi¬
grations.
sea. During the distractions which ensued in Europe
subsequently to the reign of Charlemagne, their maritime
enterprises were prosecuted with great vigour, and they
spread their devastations over Lower Saxony, Friesland,
Holland, Flanders, and other countries. They ravaged the
coasts of France, pillaging and burning her finest towns,
and at length obtained possession of some of her finest pro¬
vinces. The British isles were for two hundred years ex¬
posed to their ravages; and, during the eighth, ninth, and
tenth centuries, their plundering expeditions were direct¬
ed against all the most powerful nations in Europe, until at
length the improving powers of these countries, develop¬
ed by civilization, and directed by policy, were found suf¬
ficient to repel all such irregular inroads. It was in this
manner that the growing strength of the European states
laid the foundation for that important change of manners
among the northern nations, under the influence of which
habits of emigration and plunder have been superseded
by the peaceful pursuits of agriculture. From this period
the repose of the civilized world has never been seriously
endangered by the migrations of any barbarous nation ;
and it is not likely that such contests will ever be renew¬
ed. The pastoral tribes were formidable from the vast
space over which they were allowed to range. They are
now reduced within much narrower limits. Most of
them have been reclaimed frorq their rude habits and
trained to industiy. What has been thus lost to savage
life has been gained by civilization. The resources of the
one have been increased as those of the other have dimi¬
nished. It does not appear, therefore, from the present
aspect of the world, that civilized man has any farther in¬
justice to dread from his savage brethren. . These views
are eloquently enforced by Gibbon, in the philosophical
and striking view of the leading causes which conduced
to the fall of the Avestern empire, with which he closes
his history. “ Such formidable emigrations,” he observes,
“ can no longer issue from the north; and the long re¬
pose which has been imputed to the decrease of popula¬
tion, is the happy consequence of the progress of arts and
agriculture. Instead of some rude villages, thinly scatter¬
ed among its woods and morasses, Germany now produces
a list of two thousand three hundred walled towns; the
Christian kingdoms of Denmark, Sweden, and Poland,
have been successively established ; and the Hanse mer¬
chants, with the Teutonic knights, have extended their
colonies along the coast of the Baltic as far as the Gulf of
Finland. From the Gulf of Finland to the Eastern Ocean
Pussia now assumes the form of a powerful and civilized
empire. The plough, the loom, and the forge, are intro¬
duced on the banks of the Volga, the Oby, and the Lena;
and the fiercest of the Tartar hordes have been taught
to tremble and obey. The 1'eign of independent barba¬
rism is now contracted to a narrow span ; and the rem¬
nant of Calmucks or Uzbecks, whose forces may be al¬
most numbered, cannot seriously excite the apprehensions
of the great republic of Europe.”
In modern times, since the progress of improvement
has restrained the license of those rude tribes, the spirit
of emigration and conquest has chiefly appeared among
the civilized inhabitants of the world, by w’hose encroach¬
ments the barbarous nations have been oppressed. The
discovery of the immense continent of America, which
was chiefly overspread with savage tribes, or with nations
in the infancy of improvement, presented a vast outlet to
the overflowing population of civilized Europe; and the
reputed wealth of those newly discovered countries,
which were found to contain abundance of the precious
metals, soon attracted crowds of adventurers from every
quarter. The first expeditions of the Spaniards to the
New World were for the undisguised purposes of rapine
and conquest. They were purely military, not so much Emigra-
with a view to settlement, as to plunder; and it was only tion.
after the first race of adventurers had perished, that the
emigrants began to establish themselves permanently in
the country. With this view they resorted to such mea¬
sures of violence and cruelty, that in most cases they ei¬
ther extirpated the original inhabitants, or brought them
under the most galling bondage ; and in those parts of the
country where they fled into the deserts beyond the reach
of their oppressors, and where they subsist in savage in¬
dependence, the cruel injuries which they originally suf¬
fered is still attested in their inveterate hostility to the
Spanish settlers. The settlements of the European states
in North America were not planned upon exactly the
same principles of open violence. The savage tribes by
which this portion of the continent was inhabited pre¬
sented no such temptations to the avarice of civilized na¬
tions, and the first emigrants who were sent out had no¬
thing else in view but to cultivate the country for their
subsistence. Agriculture, and not conquest, was their ori¬
ginal object. They offered no violence to the native tribes.
All they required was a space of unoccupied territory on
which to settle, which was generally procured without
any difficulty. But as the colony grew and flourished,
and began to require an extension of territory, the rude
inhabitants of the country quickly perceived that they
would soon be dispossessed of their hunting-grounds by
the gradual increase of the new settlers. They had com¬
mitted the capital error of allowing the colonists to take
root in the country, and they now endeavoured to correct
this error when it was too late. They accordingly enter¬
ed into combinations for the purpose of exterminating the
invaders of their country; and those infant establishments
were alternately assailed by secret treachery or open vio¬
lence. An equally inveterate warfare was in this manner
begun with those who settled for the purposes of agricul¬
ture, as with those who had commenced their career with
open violence; and the object of contest was the posses¬
sion of the country. From the rapid multiplication of
the new settlers, it was obvious that the land would be
speedily overspread with their increasing numbers; and
the whole being converted to the purposes of agriculture,
there would be no room for the hunting tribes. This
was the plain and obvious principle of the war which was
now commenced. But the issue of a contest between the
civilized inhabitants of the globe, assisted by the modern
improvement of fire-arms, and the mere hunter of the de¬
sert, could not be for a moment doubtful. The arts and
policy of Europe accordingly proved too powerful for the
Indian savage. He has been gradually pushed back, by
the progress of the European colonies, into his native de¬
serts; and though he has occasionally disturbed their pro¬
gress by his predatory inroads, yet the inveterate warfare
in most cases subsisting between the aborigines and the
new settlers, by saving all perplexing or fruitless negocia-
tions respecting the cession of territory, and by reducing
the matter to the plain issue of force, has, upon the whole,
favoured the progress of the civilized encroacher on the
territory of the savage. The war of extermination which
was commenced between the two classes, was sure to end
in the destruction of the native inhabitants. A quicker
process, indeed, could scarcely have been devised for
clearing the country of its barbarous incumbrances; and,
however cruel and unjust this may appear, such are un¬
questionably the harsh means by which the improvement
of the North American continent has been brought about.
The poor savage has been driven from his territory and
his home, to make way for the industrious tiller of the
ground. The boundaries of the wilderness have been gra¬
dually narrowed by the progress of cultivation ; the coun-
E M I G R
Kmiara- try has been cleared of its forests and of its inhabitants
tion. by the same merciless process of destruction; and upon
the ruins of this state of society the system of social im¬
provement has been reared. To the doubtful frontier of
the American territory, where civilized gives place to sa¬
vage life, it is well known that crowds of adventurous emi¬
grants resort, dispensing with the advantages and exempt¬
ed from all the restraints of social life. Here they act in
the double capacity of cultivators and huntsmen, partly
civilized and partly savage, until, by the advance of new
emigrants, they are gradually surrounded with improve¬
ment on every side, and are at length brought within the
pale of order and law. Tired of this control, and anxious
to resume their free and licentious habits, they dispose of
their lands to emigrants of a more settled character, and
again take their station on the verge of the desert, there
to bear the brunt of savage hostility, to hunt and to cul¬
tivate, and by their resolute and ferocious habits to repress
the inroads of the exasperated Indians, and to act the part
of successful pioneers, in clearing the way for the great
mass of the American population. It is in this manner
that the country gradually assumes the aspect of civiliza¬
tion, that the fields are cultivated, and that the dwellings
of men are seen to take place of the haunts of wild beasts.
It is certain, indeed, that the policy of the American go¬
vernment, in regard to the native tribes, has uniformly
been humane and enlightened; their original right of oc¬
cupancy has always been respected, and the cession of.
their territory has generally been procured in lieu of
some satisfactory equivalent offered and received, 01 a
certain portion of it has been reserved out of the lands
granted to new settlers for their subsistence. But the
licentiousness and cruelties under which the Indians have
been oppressed were committed by individuals beyond
the precincts of law or government—they were, besides,
glossed over under the specious disguise of legitimate hos¬
tility; and there was no one to plead the cause of the
oppressed Indians. In these circumstances the power of
government could be exerted with little effect in fayoui of
the native tribes; and accordingly it is matter of history,
that many of the finest parts of the American territory
were with difficulty wrested from their original possessors,
after a most severe and sanguinary struggle.
Notwithstanding the tendency of mankind to increase
faster than food can be provided for them, and the rapid
progress of cultivation among civilized nations, a great
proportion of the earth is still occupied by savages, who
subsist by hunting, and who allow the land to lie waste ;
or by pastoral tribes, who require a much larger space for
their support than agricultural nations; and hence the
tide of emigration naturally flows from the cultivated parts
of the earth to desert or less cultivated tracts. The con¬
tinent of America contains at present the largest space of
unoccupied land that is to be found in any part of the
earth; and it presents, accordingly, a vast outlet to tne
surplus population of the old and settled communities of
Europe. So great also is the extent of this continent,
ranging as it does over more than a hundred and twenty
degrees of latitude, that the emigrant may choose the
climate and the country most congenial to his previous
habits. In South America, Chili, with a mild climate
and a fertile soil, presents vast tracts of desert territory^,
well suited to the inhabitants of southern Europe; and
on the boundless plains of Buenos Ayres a vast addi¬
tional population might subsist. Ihe mountainous tracts
of Brazil, and the luxuriant valleys that intervene; are
still mostly in a state of nature; and to the overflowing
population of Spain and Portugal they present a sure
asylum for ages to come. The tropical countries in
America that approach nearer to the equinoctial line are
A T I O N. G87
not so well adapted to European emigrants, their health Emigra-
generally suffering under the enervating influence of the , tyon-
climate; and it is not likely therefore that the arts, the
intelligence, and industry of the old world will ever
flourish to a great extent in these uncongenial regions.
But in North America, in the territory of the United
States, or in the British colonies of the Canadas, Nova
Scotia, New Brunswick, and their dependencies, every
thing concurs to favour the views of the European emi¬
grant. The territory of the United States, stretching
from the Gulf of Mexico to the river St Lawrence, com¬
prises great variety of climate, and tracts of singular fer¬
tility, on which may be produced all that is necessary for
the comfort and enjoyment of man. The numerous streams
which everywhere intersect the country, facilitate in a
remarkable degree its internal intercourse, while it is fur¬
ther recommended to new settlers by the advantage of
its free government, which dispenses equal protection
to all. To the north the British settlements present a
great outlet to the overflowing population of Europe, and
especially of Great Britain. I he Canadas, and particu¬
larly the upper country, abound in the most fertile tracts,
skirted by the great northern lakes which flow into the
ocean through the St Lawrence, or intersected by their
numerous tributary streams. The winter is tedious and
severe, with a dry "atmosphere and a clear sky; and the
climate, except in particular situations, is not unfavourable
to European constitutions. In Nova Scotia and New
Brunswick, the winters are still more severe than in the
Canadas; and fogs and mists also prevail. But the coun¬
try is healthy, and the soil yields abundantly European
grain, vegetables, and fruit. In all those countries culti¬
vation has made comparatively little progress, and there
are in the interior vast tracts of unoccupied territory,
which would yield subsistence to additional millions.
In its present condition, therefore, America presents a America
grand outlet to the surplus population of Europe. It is the great
the natural asylum of all those who are flying in quest ofout.let t0
subsistence from the over-crowded communities of the®™^ra'
old world. The inhabitants of America have before them
an untouched and fertile country, about 2000 miles in ex¬
tent (counting from their most remote settlements to the
Pacific Ocean), in which for centuries to come their po¬
pulation will have full scope to expand. Here there is an
ample supply of fertile and unoccupied land, which yields
abundance of food, while its cultivation gives rise to a
constant demand for new labourers. Wages are conse¬
quently high, the labourer lives in comfort; and if he is
industrious, he becomes in his turn a purchaser of land,
from the savings which he accumulates. If from the
rapid increase of population, the demand for labour should
be satisfied, and wages should fall, this is the signal for
new emigrations, and tor the occupation ot an additional
portion of the uncultivated territory; and thus the abun¬
dance of land and the constant demand for labour in the
western districts, maintains it at a high price in every
part of the United States, as well as throughout the Bri¬
tish colonies of North America.
Asia contains vast tracts of territory, either wholly un¬
cultivated or occupied by pastoral tribes, which might be
colonized with great advantage by a more civilized popu¬
lation. But those regions, from various causes, from their
distance inland, from the disorderly state of society which
prevails in most parts of Asia, and from dissimilarity ot
language and manners, are mostly inaccessible to Euro¬
pean colonists. In the Asiatic dominions of Russia, po¬
pulation has been making in some parts a rapid progress;
and settlers are gradually, though slowly, spreading over
those wastes which were formerly occupied by Tartar
hordes. In the vast steppes and meadows watered by the
688 E M I G R
Emigra- Irkutsk, the Obi, and the Lena, range many vagrant tribes,
ti°n. that live by pasture or hunting ; and here millions of ad-
ditional inhabitants might easily subsist. But it is only
from Russia that new settlers can be received; and cen¬
turies may elapse before the slowly increasing population
of that empire overflow into such remote regions.
Great Britain has acquired on the continent of Asia the
extensive empire of Hindustan and the large island of
New Holland; and to both of these countries numerous
emigrants resort. But Hindustan is exclusively the re¬
sort of the richer classes; the civil and military service
of the East India Company affords employment to young
men of talent and education; and now that India has been
freely laid open, by the late act for regulating the com¬
pany’s affairs, to the capital and intelligence of Europe,
numerous settlers from among the enterprising youth of
Britain will no doubt be attracted to that land of promise.
But to settlers of another description, to mechanics, la¬
bourers, or farmers, India holds out no encouragement
whatever. On the other hand, it is entirely to this class
of emigrants that the British colonies of New South Wales
and Van Diemen’s Land are so well suited. This great
island of New Holland is begirt around four-fifths of its
coasts by a circleof barren waste. But within this girdle the
country improves, and presents abundance of fertile land,
which might be occupied with great advantage by new
settlers. Van Diemen’s Land is still better adapted to
colonists from Britain. It is situated between 40. 42. and
43. 43. south latitude, has a European climate, and a fer¬
tile soil. In this newly settled country, as in the United
States and British America, provisions are abundant, la¬
bour is in great demand, and wages are high.
In Europe the state of things is altogether different;
there the population has long pressed against the limits of
subsistence; wages in many parts are consequently low,
and the condition of the people wretched in the extreme.
In Great Britain the misery of poverty has been of late
years so deeply felt, that many have recommended that
schemes of colonization should be undertaken at the pub¬
lic expense. A committee of inquiry was appointed by
the House of Commons, who, after a laborious examina¬
tion of evidence, published a report on the subject in 1827.
This report contains an instructive detail of the present
condition of the labouring classes in England, Scotland,
and Ireland ; from which it appears that in all these coun¬
tries, especially the latter, population has greatly increas¬
ed ; there are more people than can be employed; the
rate of wages is low; and the condition of the labourer is
depressed. From the concurring evidence of all the wit¬
nesses who have appeared before the different committees
of the House of Commons, the condition of the Irish la¬
bourers appears to be wretched in the extreme. Popula¬
tion is in Ireland pushed to the very verge of subsistence ;
the labourer, who has scarcely a bare support from the
cheapest food, exists in hopeless degradation and misery;
and the least failure of the supply involves thousands in
actual starvation. Ireland is so oppressed by superfluous
inhabitants, that they overflow into the adjacent coun¬
tries ; and neither England nor Scotland can shut out this
contagion of misery. They are inundated by Irish la¬
bourers, who bring down the wages of labour, and thus
the effect of Irish poverty is to deteriorate the condition
of the working classes, not merely in their own, but in
other countries.
Such being the condition of the labourer in Ireland, and
in some degree also in Great Britain, it is manifest that
if he can transport his labour from these overstocked
markets to the understocked markets of the United States,
or the British colonies in North America or New Hol¬
land, he will dispose of it to better advantage. He will
A T I O N.
unquestionably improve his own condition, while it is ob- Emigra
vious, if there is too little either of subsistence or of em- tion.
ployment in any country, the emigration of those who re- v>—
quire to be employed and to be fed will leave a greater
supply for those who remain behind; and hence it is ex¬
traordinary that an outcry should have been raised against
the emigrants, by those who were enabled by their hap¬
pier destiny to remain at home. To such length has this
spirit been carried, that laws have been passed, obstruct¬
ing emigration, as if it were an evil; and, with a view of
still further discouraging all such schemes, the most ex¬
aggerated accounts have been studiously circulated of
the distresses and difficulties in which the poor emigrant
involves himself by rashly removing to a foreign land.
In the Highlands of Scotland, emigration has always
been viewed by the landed proprietors with the most
extreme jealousy and aversion, although it plainly has
its origin in the measures adopted by themselves for the
improvement of their own estates. The first step to an
improved mode of cultivation is to clear the land of all
its useless inhabitants; and the discarded tenants are com¬
pelled to seek in a distant land that subsistence which
they can no longer find at home. Emigration is the sad
alternative which they embrace from necessity ; they quit
the cherished spot on which their family has been settled
for ages, because they can no longer remain, and to re¬
fuse them this resource appears both cruel and unreason¬
able. Under the influence of those prejudices, a law was
passed in 1803, for the ostensible purpose of securing to
the emigrant good treatment during his voyage, but real¬
ly with a view, it should seem, of obstructing it altogether.
By this law, the most extravagant allowances are pre¬
scribed to him, both as to room and food, and these he is
not at liberty to dispense with. Its effect is consequently
to enhance the expense of the voyage, and to obstruct
emigration, or, when this consequence does not follow, to
waste the stock of the emigrant, by involving him in use¬
less expenses, and to land him on a foreign shore with di¬
minished resources. It tends, in this manner, like all the
other laws which, in the management of private concerns,
officiously substitute loose and inapplicable rules for the
prompt sagacit}' of individual prudence, to injure those
whom it is intended to serve. By other laws, emigration,
to certain classes, is actually prohibited under severe pe¬
nalties. An artificer who attempts to emigrate “ with the
intention of devoting his knowledge for the benefit of fo¬
reign countries,” is liable to punishment, as well as any
agent by whom he is encouraged to such an attempt; and,
upon this very absui'd law, two convictions actually took
place at the Old Bailey in 1809 ; the one of a master, who
had offered an artificer advantageous terms to emigrate
to the United States, and the other of the artificer, who,
having no work at home, had accepted of these terms. It
deserves to be remarked, that the judge who tried the
case, forsaking his own proper province of merely admi¬
nistering the law, commended highly its policy, and dwelt
at great length on the mischievous crime with which the
prisoners stood charged, as deservedly and severely pu¬
nishable by law. It is justly observed by Dr Smith, that
the industiy of an artificer is his only inheritance, and
that to prevent him from disposing of it to the best ad¬
vantage is an unwarrantable act of power. The object of
such regulations is to depress the art and industry of other
nations, in order to monopolize for our own industry the
market of the world. But this project, which originates
in mercantile rivalry of the most pitiful description, is as
unjust as it is impolitic. We may indeed prevent, by par¬
ticular laws, the exportation and importation of certain
sorts of produce. But no laws can bind up the inventive
powers of man, nor can any partial enactments of particu-
E M I G R
Emigra- lar countries retard the improvement of the world. If the
tion. general increase of wealth requires a supply of the finer ma-
nufactures, and the proper reward is offered, the art and
industry necessary to produce them will be called forth,
in spite of the regulations which any one state may pass
to the contrary. The law, besides, admits of the follow¬
ing simple evasion : the artificer who intends to emigrate
takes his passage as a labourer, and, in this character, he
is suffered to depart without further question.
It is clear, that in all cases where there is a greater
number of labourers than can be employed, where wages
are consequently low, and general distress prevails, emi¬
gration is precisely the most effectual remedy for the evil;
and that, in proportion as superfluous labourers are with¬
drawn from the over-crowded communities of Europe,
those who are left behind will enter into more full em¬
ployment and better pay, and will live comfortably in
place of starving as before. Whatever may become of the
poor emigrants themselves, the country from which they
emigrate must be benefited by the quantity of labour
thus withdrawn from the market. In place of seeking to
arrest the progress of emigration, it would be wiser to en¬
courage it, and rather to give facilities to those who wish
to convey their labour from Europe, where the market is
overstocked, to those countries where there is a greater
demand for it. In later times, accordingly, sounder no¬
tions have begun to prevail on the subject of emigration ;
and it has even been proposed to encourage it on a great
scale, by advances of money from the public treasury, or
by allowing the parishes to pledge the poor rates in order
to furnish the necessary funds. In 1819 the sum of
L.50,000 was granted by parliament to aid in settling a
small body of emigrants at the Cape of Good Hope. But
the climate is unfavourable to European habits, while
various other discouraging circumstances obstructed the
prosperity of the settlers; so that this experiment of co¬
lonization was far from being successful. In 1823 and in
1825, two bodies of emigrants were settled in Canada at
the public expense. They received lands and were located
* on them; and, according to the accounts of those who have
since visited them, they have attained to great prosperity
and comfort. The last colony consisted of 2024 persons ;
the expense of settling them was L.43,145, rather more
than L.20 for each person ; and the superintendent of the
undertaking valued the produce of their first year’s labour
at L.l 1,272. The emigration in 1823 consisted of 568
Irish emigrants, and cost about L.22 for each emigrant;
and it is certain that even this expense, under the care¬
ful management of individuals, might be reduced, and
would probably not exceed L.l3. It was stated by seve¬
ral of the witnesses before the select committee of the
House of Commons, that, at an expense of L.60, a family
of five persons might be established in such a state of
comfort as to insure their happiness. Colonel Talbot, who
settled between thirty and forty years ago in Canada,
while it was yet a wilderness, and is now surrounded by
20,000 inhabitants, gives the same evidence ; and he is
farther of opinion that the settlers, if they were indus¬
trious, might repay the advances made to them, nay even
the expense of their voyage to New South Wales.
A T I O N. 689
The good effects of emigration, not only to the emi- Emigra-
grant, but to those who are left behind, being in this man- Bon.
ner apparent, it has been proposed that government should
aid with the necessary funds, and that the experiment of
emigration should be tried on a great scale. The emigra¬
tion of those who are able to pay their own expenses,
though it has been carried to a great extent, is said, and
with truth only, to comprise the industrious well-doing
class of labourers, who have realized some property, and
who contribute to the prosperity of the community in
which they live, and are therefore no burden; while it is
the poor and starving labourer, who subsists at the ex¬
pense of others, that it would be of the greatest ad¬
vantage to send abroad; and it is on this account that
many advocate the policy of a public advance of money
for this purpose. The facts brought forward certainly
afford all the encouragement that can be desired for some
experiment of the nature proposed; which, if gone about
with caution and vigilance, would establish the poor emi¬
grants in ease and comfort, while it would tend generally
to improve the condition of the labouring classes both in
Great Britain and Ireland. For such objects it would no
doubt be worth while to incur the hazard even of pecu¬
niary loss. But though several successful experiments of
emigration have been tried on a small scale, it is somewhat
doubtful if they would succeed to a greater extent. A
body of two thousand emigrants might be easily settled
in the unoccupied lands of the Canadas, and other British
colonies. They would be at once incorporated with the
increasing population of these rising communities. But
it might not be possible to make the same ready provi¬
sion for 100,000 or 200,000 emigrants; and in this case
we incur the danger of squandering the public money in
a rash undertaking, and involving in misery those whom
it was our intention to serve. Hitherto no great scheme
of emigration has been set on foot at the public expense.
Encouragements have, however, been offered of advances
of money to individuals, to unmarried females, and also to
families, desirous of emigrating to New South Wales and
Van Diemen’s Land. According to a return laid before
the House of Commons, it appears that, up to the present
time (June 1833), the emigrants to Australia who accepted
of these terms consisted of 1200 unmarried females, and
that they had received L.16,926; and of 819 families,
consisting of 3109 persons, to whom was paid L.16,237.
Several parishes have, however’, contributed to send abroad
labourers out of employment, who are supported from the
poor-rates, and at a comparatively moderate expense
have relieved themselves of the permanent burden of
their maintenance; and such local schemes of emigration,
conducted at the expense and under the superintendence
of individuals, managed with economy and care, would
probably be more successful than any great adventure of
this nature, undertaken at the public charge. But the
great majority of emigrants have hitherto gone abroad at
their own expense.
The following is an account of the number of emigrants
who have left this country from the year 1825 to the
31st of December 1832, as laid before the House of Com¬
mons.
To the British Colonies.
Cape of Good Hope  
Australian Colonies 
United States 
Total
1825.
8,741
114
485
5,551
14,891
1820.
12,818
116
903
7,063
1827.
12,648
114
715
14,526
20,900 28,003
1828.
12,084
135
1,056
12,817
26,092
1829.
1830.
13,307
197
2,016
15,078
30,598
30,574
204
1,242
24,887
56,907
1831.
58,067
114
1,561
23,418
83,160
1832.
66,339
196
3,733
32,872
103,140
VOL. VIII.
4 s
I
C>90 EMIGRATION.
Emigra- It has been already stated that the great cause of emi-
tion. gration is the want of subsistence, and that where a com-
munity is prosperous and happy, mankind will follow their
tions’from Inatura^ Propensity to settlement and rest. But this ge-
the High- neral cause is frequently aided by other causes, originat-
lands of hig in those changes of manners to which the progress of
Scotland, society is constantly giving rise. In consequence of that
great revolution which took place in modern manners
when the feudal system was superseded in Europe by the
progress of commerce and industry, the numerous retain¬
ers of the great landed proprietors were thrown loose
upon society, and reduced to quit their former abodes in
quest of a new settlement. Prior to the improvement of
industry, there was no way in which the proprietors of
the soil could consume their surplus produce, but in main¬
taining a retinue of idle dependents, who repaid, by their
fidelity in war, the bounty on which they subsisted du¬
ring peace. No equivalent existed for which they would
exchange their revenues, which were accordingly wasted
in the most profuse hospitality; and in these times a train
of idle retainers was the never-failing appendage of wealth
and greatness. But when commerce and industry began
to supply the landed proprietors with a new equivalent in
which their surplus produce could be expended, their idle
retainers were gradually dismissed, and the surplus pro¬
duce of the soil, by which they were supported, was now
laid out by the landlord in expensive luxuries and refine¬
ments. In the more improved parts of the country, all
those changes have already taken place. The land is inva¬
riably let for the highest rent that can be procured, and the
superfluous population from which it has been freed is ab¬
sorbed in the general mass of society. But in the Highlands
of Scotland these changes are not yet fully accomplished.
Traces are still to be discerned of that ancient state of
manners which was formerly prevalent all over the coun¬
try, but which is now fast disappearing before the pro¬
gress of improved cultivation. Until about the year 1745,
the landed estates in the Highlands of Scotland wrere oc¬
cupied by tenants, who paid for the possession of the land
rather in military services than in money; and though
after this period these services were of little use to the
proprietors, yet from habit, and the influence of old at¬
tachments, the tenantry were still continued on their
lands. The obvious interest of the proprietor in letting
his lands to the best advantage has gradually broken the
force of these old feudal connections, and the hereditary
occupants of the Highland estates are now ejected by the
landlord, to make way for a more improved mode of culti¬
vation, and for more profitable tenants. Under the old
system, as many inhabitants were settled on the land as
it could maintain; under the new system no more hands
are maintained on it than can be profitably einployed;
and the superfluous labourers or tenants, who are thus
removed from the spot which their families have possessed
for centuries, naturally turn their views to America, where
there are boundless tracts of unoccupied land ready to
receive them. Their early habits and mode of life en¬
tirely disqualify them for mercantile business. Ejected
from their hereditary possessions, they are in a manner
outcasts in their native land, and, in search of some new
place of rest, they voluntarily quit their kindred and their
home.
The emigrations from the Highlands of Scotland have
always kept pace with the progress of improvement, and
from about the year 1773 they have been continued with
little intermission. Of all those who were thus compelled
to quit their native land, America became the natural
asylum ; and to different points of this extensive continent
they were attracted by circumstances in a great measure
accidental. The first emigrations were undertaken under
all the disadvantages and anxiety of imperfect information ; Emigra
but these having succeeded, a more secure foundation don.
was laid for future enterprises of the same nature, and
the Highlanders who were disposed to emigrate naturally
chose the spot where their friends were already settled.
In this way they are scattered throughout different parts
of the American continent. Some have formed settlements
in the state of New York, on the Delaware, the Mohawk,
and the Connecticut; while others have gone to Georgia
and to North Carolina, or to the more northerly climate
of Canada and Nova Scotia. Their choice of a settle¬
ment appears to have been dictated by the natural wish
of being near their friends, by whose experience and ad¬
vice they would be assisted through all the difficulties of
a first establishment. A mode of conduct more rational,
more calculated for social comfort and for ultimate suc¬
cess, can scarcely be imagined; and if the interest of the
emigrant had been alone considered, no other plan would
ever have been adopted.
The late Lord Selkirk appears to have viewed the de-Obsem.
cay of ancient manners in the Highlands, and the ejec-tionson
tion of the unfortunate peasantry from their lands, with af;or^
deep and compassionate interest; and he assisted ands
advised them in their plans of emigration, and himself
conducted and settled two bodies of emigrants in North
America. But it is deeply to be regretted, that in the
emigrations planned by Lord Selkirk, other views were
mingled with the original and simple purpose of these ex¬
peditions. Instead of assisting the Highlanders in their
own natural and rational plan of joining their friends al¬
ready settled on the other side of the Atlantic, his pur¬
pose, as he himself states, was to detach them from those
natural ties; to counteract the motives which induced
them to follow their friends and relations, and to collect
them into a new settlement, under the dominion of the
mother country. After pointing out the strong induce¬
ments which the emigrants have to collect in particular
spots, to which the presence of their friends and connec¬
tions impart the attraction almost of another home, he
observes, that, to overcome these motives, it is indispen¬
sable that “ some strong inducement should be held out
to the first party who will settle in the situation offered
to them. To detached individuals,” he continues, “ it
would be difficult to offer advantages sufficient to counter¬
balance the pleasure of being settled among friends, as
well as the assistance they might expect from relations.
But a considerable body of people connected by the ties
of blood and friendship may have less'aversion to try a
new situation.” Lord Selkirk objects to emigration where
the adventurers are allowed to follow their own notions,
and settle in detached bodies in different parts of the
American territory, because it scatters the national re¬
sources, which he proposes to keep together, by inducing
the emigrants to settle in the British colonies, “ where,”
he observes, “ they would be of national utility,” and
where all the peculiarities of their language and manners
might be preserved. He seems also to imagine, that if
the Highlanders were settled on the Canadian frontier,
they would form an admirable outpost to guard the co¬
lony from the intrusion of American settlers, and from
the worse plague of the American principles, of which he
entertains a great dread, and against which he considers
the inveterate loyalty of the Highlanders as an admirable
barrier. In pursuance of those views, a colony of High¬
landers was induced by Lord Selkirk to settle in Prince
Edward’s Island, in the Gulf of St Lawrence, where an
establishment was formed, and where, in the course of
about two years, a supply of subsistence was produced
equal to the wants of the settlers. Another colony was
afterwards conducted to the western parts of JJpper Ca-
EMM
Eminence nada,’and settled on Red River, where it encountered
II the most violent opposition from the deep-rooted jealousy
ftmnian- 0pt|ie North-West Canadian Fur Company; to counter-
act whose schemes Lord Selkirk parchased shares in
Hudson’s Bay Company; and in the course of the
rivalry which now took place, various acts of hostility
and sanguinary outrage were committed. In one serious
conflict which occurred, about twenty or thirty of Lord
Selkirk’s people lost their lives, and the settlement was
nearly destroyed. From this calamity it slowly revived,
and, by the accession of new settlers, its inhabitants are
said to amount to about 500. In 1821, the Hudson’s Bay
Company and the North-West Company formed a coali¬
tion, which terminated their mutual hostilities.
To the plans of emigration set on foot by Lord Selkirk
there is this strong and general objection, that they pro¬
pose to accomplish objects in which the emigrant has not
the most remote interest, and for which all the comfort,
as well as the solid advantages, which he would derive
from the intercourse of his relations and friends, are use¬
lessly sacrificed. The sole purpose for which he quits his
country is to procure a settlement in another on the most
easy and advantageous terms; this is his only motive for
embarking in so hazardous an enterprise ; and whatever
is unconnected with his ultimate prosperity and happi¬
ness is entirely foreign to the main object of his voyage.
To settle among friends and relations, whose comfort and
assistance is material to the emigrant, or in a country
which has the benefit of a free and enlightened govern¬
ment, where he is sure of protection, and where, as much
as possible, he may have all the helps of civilization to
facilitate his progress, is wise and rational; and there is
something unnatural, as well as revolting, in the notion
of extinguishing all those social feelings which bind the
emigrant to his friends and relations, and which revive,
even on a foreign shore, the image of his native land.
According to Lord Selkirk’s plan, the emigrant is de-
EMINENCE, in Geography, a little hillock or ascent
above the level of the adjoining champaign country.
Eminence is also a title of honour given to cardinals.
The decree of the pope, by which it was appointed that
the cardinals should be addressed under the quality of
eminence, bears date the 10th of January 1630. They then
laid aside the titles of illustrissimi and reverendissimi, which
they had before borne. The grand master of Malta was
likewise addressed under the quality of eminence. rlhe
popes John VIII. and Gregory VII. gave the same title to
the kings of France. The emperors have likewise borne it.
EMIR, a title of dignity amongst the Turks, signifying
a prince. This title was first given to the caliphs ; but
when they assumed the title of sultans, that of emir re¬
mained to their children, as that of Caesar among the Ro¬
mans. At length the title came to be attributed to all
who were judged to be descended from Mahommed by
his daughter Fatima, and who consequently wear the green
turban instead of the white. The Turks make an obser¬
vation, that the emirs, before their fortieth year, are men
of the greatest gravity, learning, and wisdom ; but after
this, if they are not great fools, they discover some signs
of levity and stupidity. This is interpreted by the Turks
as a sort of divine impulse in token of their birth and
sanctity. The Turks also call the vizirs, pashas, or go¬
vernors of provinces, by this name.
EMISSARY, in a political sense, a person employed
by another to sound the opinions of people, spread certain
reports, or act as a spy over other people’s actions.
EMMANUEL, or Immanuel, a Hebrew word, which
EMM 691
prived of all those consolations; and he is tempted to try Emmerich
a new situation, for the vague and chimerical purpose of II.
concentrating, for the benefit of the mother country, re-
sources which would be otherwise scattered; or for the
still more chimerical purpose of guarding the Canadian
frontier from the inroad of American principles. These
are political objects in which the emigrant has not the
most remote interest. Formerly, the emigrants from the
Highlands had almost the whole continent of North Ame¬
rica open to their choice. They could settle among their
countrymen and relations, amid the blessings of civiliza¬
tion and of regular government. According to Lord Sel¬
kirk’s plan, they are thrown upon precisely the very worst
portion of the American continent, withdrawn from the
more genial climes of the South, exposed to the long ri¬
gours of a Canadian winter, and separated from their
friends. The first body of emigrants who accompanied
Lord Selkirk were settled on an island in the Gulf of St
Lawrence, in a desolate spot, thirty miles from any habi¬
tation, in “ circumstances scarcely more favourable,” as
he himself observes, “ than if the island had been com¬
pletely desert.” His second colony was established on
the continent, far to the westward of any settlement, and
wholly without the precincts of civilization or regular go¬
vernment ; and the fatal catastrophe by which it was over¬
whelmed is a suitable commentary on the original impo¬
licy of choosing the desert for a settlement, and of relin¬
quishing the protection of government, with all the other
advantages of a more improved state of society. The
happiness and comfort of the colonists, which is the fun¬
damental principle of all colonization, was made subservi¬
ent in those plans to other objects, in the highest degree
absurd and chimerical; other interests were allowed to
mingle with that great and radical interest; and useless
hazards were incurred, hazards which were avoided so long
as the emigrants were allowed to follow the sure and un¬
erring instincts of their own individual prudence, (e.)
signifies “ God with us.” Isaiah (vii. 14), in that cele¬
brated prophecy in which he declares to Ahaz the birth
of the Messiah, who was to be born of a virgin, says, this
child shall be called, and really be, Emmanuel, that is, God
with us. The same prophet (viii. 8) repeats the same
thing, whilst speaking of the enemy’s army, which, like a
torrent, was to overspread Judea. “ The stretching out
of his wings shall fill the breadth of thy land, O Emma¬
nuel.” The evangelist Matthew (i. 23) informs us, that
this prophecy was accomplished in the birth of Christ,
born of the virgin Mary ; in whom the two natures, divine
and human, were united, and so in this sense he was really
Emmanuel, or God with us.
EMMERICH, a city of the Prussian Rhenish province
of Julieh-Cleeves, in the circle of Rees. It stands on the
river Rhine, and contains two Catholic, a Lutheran, a
Calvinist, and a Mennonite church, with 980 houses and
4450 inhabitants. It has linen and woollen manufactories,
and enjoys considerable trade by the Rhine, and especial¬
ly in leather. Long. 6. 7. 37. E. Lat. 51. 50. 17. N.
EMMIUS, Ubbo, born at Gretha in East Friesland in
1547, was a very learned professor, and chosen rector ol
the college of Norden in 1579. This seminary flourished
exceedingly under his care; but it declined as visibly
after he was ejected, in 1587, for refusing to subscribe the
confession of Augsburg. The year afterwards he was made
rector of the college of Leer; and when the city of Gro¬
ningen confederated with the United Provinces, the ma¬
gistrates appointed him rector of that college ; which em¬
ployment he filled with high reputation for nearly twen-
692
E M P
E M P
Emmena-
gogues
II
Empale-
ment.
ty years, until the college was erected into an university,
when he became the first rector, and one of its chief orna¬
ments by his lectures, till his infirmities prevented his
public appearance. His wisdom was equal to his learn¬
ing, so that the governor of Friesland and Groningen of¬
ten consulted him, and seldom failed to follow his advice.
He wrote, 1. Opus Chronologicum, Groningen, 1619, fob;
2. Veins Grcecia illustrata, Leyden, 1626, 8vo; 3. Rerum
Frisicarum Historia, Leyden, 1616, fol.; 4. Historia Tem-
poris nostri, Groningen, 1732, 4to ; and other works. He
died in 1625.
EMMENAGOGUES, JLgiir^aywya, in Medicine, such
remedies as promote the menstrual discharge. They are
thus called from tv, in, /iTjv, month, ay«, duco, I lead, be¬
cause the natural period of flowing is once a month.
EMOLLIENTS, in Medicine and Pharmacy, are such
remedies as soften the asperity of the humours, and at the
same time relax the rigidity of the solids.
EMOLUMENT is properly applied to the profits aris¬
ing daily from an office or employment. The word is
formed from the Latin emolumentum, which, according to
some, primarily signifies the profits redounding to the
miller from his mill. The patent, or other instrument, by
which a person is preferred to an office, gives him a right
to enjoy all the duties, honours, profits, and emoluments
belonging thereto. Emolument is also used, with some¬
what greater latitude, to signify profit or advantage in ge¬
neral.
EMOTION and Passion are thus distinguished by
Lord Kames, in his Elements of Criticism. “ An internal
motion or agitation of the mind, when it passeth away
without desire, is denominated an emotion ; when desire
follows, the motion or agitation is denominated a passion.
A fine face, for example, raiseth in me a pleasant feeling ;
if that feeling vanish without producing any effect, it is in
proper language an emotion; but if the feeling, by reite¬
rated views of the object, become sufficiently strong to
occasion desire, it loses its name of emotion, and acquires
that of passion. The same holds in all the other passions.
The painful feeling raised in a spectator by a slight in¬
jury done to a stranger, being accompanied with no de¬
sire of revenge, is termed an emotion ; but that injury
raiseth in the stranger a stronger emotion, which being
accompanied with desire of revenge, is a passion. Ex¬
ternal expressions of distress produce in the spectator a
painful feeling, which being sometimes so slight as to pass
away without any effect, is an emotion ; but if the feeling
be so strong as to prompt desire of affording relief, it is a
passion, and is termed a pity. Envy is emulation in ex¬
cess ; if the exaltation of a competitor be barely disagree¬
able, the painful feeling is an emotion ; if it produce de¬
sire to depress him, it is a passion.”
EMOUY, Amoy, or Hiamen, an island of China, near
the south-east coast, belonging to the province of Fokien.
It was formerly resorted to by Europeans before their
commerce was restricted to Canton. It is about fifteen
miles in circuit, and has a fort constructed between the
island and the main. Here are several temples, one of
them dedicated to the god Fo, with his statue of colossal
size; and here also are the images of numerous other
divinities, besides strange allegorical paintings. Long.
118. 22. E. Lat. 24. 30. N.
EMPALEMENT, an ancient punishment, which con¬
sisted in thrusting a stake through the fundament. The
word comes from the French empaler, or the Italian im-
palare; or rather, both are derived from the Latin palus,
a stake, and the preposition in, in or into. We find men¬
tion made of empaling in Juvenal. It was frequently
practised in the time of Nero, and continues to be so in
Turkey.
EMPEDOCLES, a celebrated philosopher and poet, Empedo i
was born at Agrigentum, a city in Sicily. He followed cles ’
the Pythagorean philosophy, and admitted the doctrine II. ■
of the metempsychosis. He constantly appeared with a
crown of gold on his head, in order to maintain, by this
outward pomp, the reputation which he had acquired of
being a very extraordinary person. Yet Aristotle says
that he was a great lover of liberty, extremely averse to
state and command, and that he even refused a kingdom
which was offered him. His principal work was a treatise
in verse on the Nature and Principles of Things. Aris¬
totle, Lucretius, and all the ancients, pronounce the most
magnificent eulogiums on his poetry and eloquence. Em¬
pedocles taught rhetoric, and often alleviated the anxi¬
eties of his mind, as well as the pains of his body, with
music. It is reported that his curiosity to visit the flames
of the crater of iEtna proved fatal to him. Some main¬
tain that he wished it to be believed that he was a god,
and, in order that his death might be unknown, threw
himself into the crater, and perished in the flames. If
such were his expectations, however, they were frustrat¬
ed ; for the volcano, by throwing up one of his sandals,
discovered to the world that Empedocles had perished by
fire. Others report that he lived to an extreme old age,
and was drowned in the sea about 440 years before the
Christian era.
EMPEROR (imperator), among the ancient Romans,
signified a general of an army, who, for some extraordi¬
nary success, had been complimented with this appella¬
tion. Thus Augustus, having obtained no less than
twenty famous victories, was as often saluted with the
title emperor ; and Titus was denominated emperor by his
army after the reduction of Jerusalem. Subsequently it
came to denominate an absolute monarch or supreme
commander of an empire. In this sense Julius Caesar was
called emperor; the same title descended with the dig¬
nity to Octavianus Augustus, Tiberius, and Caligula ; and
afterwards it became elective. In strictness the title
emperor does not, and cannot, add any thing to the rights
of sovereignty; its effect is only to give precedence and
pre-eminence above other sovereigns; and as such, it
raises those invested with it to the summit of all human
greatness. In the east, the title and quality of emperor
are more frequent than in Europe; thus, the sovereign
princes of China, Japan, Mogul, &c. are all emperors. In
Europe, the first who bore the title was Charlemagne,
upon whom it was conferred by Pope Leo III. though he
had all the power before.
EMPHASIS, in Rhetoric, a particular stress of the
voice and action, laid on such parts or words of the ora¬
tion as the orator wants to enforce upon his audience.
EMPHYSEMA, in Surgery, a windy tumour, generally
occasioned by a fracture of the ribs, and formed by the
air insinuating itself, by a small wound, between the skin
and muscles, into the substance of the cellular or adipose
membrane, and then spreading itself up to the neck, head,
belly, and other parts, much in the same manner as butch¬
ers blow up their veal.
EMPIRE (imperium), in political geography, a large
extent of land, under the jurisdiction or government of an
emperor. In ancient history we read of four great mo¬
narchies or empires, namely, that of the Babylonians,
Chaldeans, and Assyrians; that of the Medes and Per¬
sians ; that of the Greeks; and that of the Romans. The
first subsisted from the time of Nimrod, who founded it in
the year of thq world 1800, according to the computation
of Usher, till that of Sardanapalus their last king in 3257,
and consequently lasted above 1450 years. The empire
of the Medes commenced under Arbaces, in the year of
the world 3257, was united to that of the Babylonians
Empire and Persians under Cyrus, in 3468, and closed with the
II death of Darius Codomannus in 3674. The Grecian em-
;mulation.pjre lasted only during the reign of Alexander the Great,
beginning in the year of the world 3674, and terminating
with the death of this conqueror in 3681, his conquests
having been divided amongst his captains. The Roman
empire commenced with Julius Caesar, when he was made
perpetual dictator, in the year of the city 708, and of the
world 3956, forty-eight years before Christ. The seat of
the empire was removed to Byzantium by Constantine, in
the year of our Lord 334; and the East and West were
then united under the title of the Roman empire, till the
Romans proclaimed Charlemagne emperor, in the year
800. From this epoch the East and West formed two
separate empires. That of the East, governed by Greek
emperors, commenced in the year 302; and being gra¬
dually weakened, terminated under Constantine Palaeolo-
gus in 1453. The western empire was afterwards known
by the appellation of the empire, or German empire. An¬
tiquaries distinguish between the medals of the Upper
and Lower Empire. The curious only value those of the
Upper Empire, which commenced with Caesar or Augus¬
tus, and ended in the year of Christ 260. The Lower
Empire comprehended near 1200 years, reckoning down¬
wards till the destruction of Constantinople in 1453. Two
ages, or periods, of the Lower Empire are usually distin¬
guished ; the first beginning where the Upper ends, name¬
ly, with Aurelian, and terminating with Anastasius, includ¬
ing 200 years ; and the second beginning with Anasta¬
sius, and ending with the Palaeologi, which includes 1000
years.
Empire, or The Empire, used absolutely and without
any addition, signifies the empire of Germany, which is
also called in juridical acts and laws the holy Roman em¬
pire. It had its beginning at the commencement of the
ninth century, when Charlemagne was created first em¬
peror by Pope Leo III. who put the crown on his head in
St Peter’s church on Christmas day in the year 800.
EMPIRIC, an appellation given to those physicians
who conduct themselves wholly by their own experience,
or by arbitrary modes, without studying physic in a re¬
gular way. Some even use the term in a still worse sense,
for a quack who prescribes at random, without being at
all acquainted with the principles of the healing art.
EMPRESS, the spouse of an emperor, or a woman who
governs an empire.
EMPROSTHOTONOS, a species of convulsion, in
which the head bends forward.
EMPYREUM, a term used by divines for the highest
heaven, where the blessed enjoy the beatific vision. The
word is formed of tv, in, and Hug, fire, because of its splen¬
dour.
EMPYREUMA, in Chemistry, signifies a very dis¬
agreeable smell produced from burnt oils. It is often per¬
ceived in the distillation of animal as well as vegetable
substances, when these are exposed to a quick fire.
EMS, a market-town of the duchy of Nassau, in Ger¬
many. It stands on the river Lahn, which runs to the
Rhine. It is a celebrated place, on account of the warm
springs, which are much frequented at the proper season,
as well for cure as for relaxation and pleasure. There
are no fewer than thirty-three warm baths. The water
is of the heat of 37° of Reaumur. The country around
is wild and romantic. The regular residents are only
about 350.
EMULATION, a generous ardour kindled by the
praiseworthy example of others, which impels us to imi¬
tate, to rival, and, if possible, to excel them. This passion
involves in it esteem of the person whose attainments or
conduct we emulate, and of the qualities or actions in
Enamel-
Hng.
which we emulate him, and a desire of resemblance, to-Emulgent
getlier with a joy springing from the hope of success.
The wrord comes originally from the Greek a/x/XXa, a dis¬
pute or contest; whence the Latin cemulus, and thence ^
our emulation.
EMULGENT or Renal Arteries, those which sup¬
ply the kidneys with blood; being sometimes single,
sometimes double, on each side.
EMUNCTORY, in Anatomy, a general term for all
those parts which serve to carry off the excrementitious
parts of the blood and other humours of the body. Such
are the kidneys, bladder, and most of the glands.
ENALLAGE, in Grammar, is when one word is sub¬
stituted for another of the same part of speech: a sub¬
stantive for an adjective ; as exercitus victor, for victorio-
sus ; scelus, for scelestus: a primitive for a derivative ; as
Dardana arma, for Dardania: an active for a passive ;
as nox humida ccelo precipitat, for prcecipitatur; and so on.
ENAMEL, in general, is a vitrified matter, betwixt the
parts of which is dispersed some unvitrified matter; and
hence enamel ought to have all the properties of glass
except transparency.
Enamels have for their basis a pure crystal glass or frit,
ground up with a fine calx of lead and tin prepared for
the purpose, with the addition usually of white salt of
tartar. These ingredients baked together are the matter
of all enamels, which are made by adding colours to this
matter, and melting or incorporating them together in a
furnace.
For white enamel, Neri (Ee Arte Vitriard) directs only
manganese to be added to the matter which constitutes
the basis; for azure, zaffer mixed with calx of brass; for
green, calx of brass with scales of iron, or with crocus
martis; for black, zaffer with manganese or with crocus
martis, or manganese with tartar; for red, manganese, or
calx of copper and red tartar; for purple, manganese with
calx of brass ; for yellow, tartar and manganese ; and for
violet-coloured enamel, manganese with thrice-calcined
brass.
In making these enamels, the following general cautions
are necessary to be observed: 1. That the pots must be
glazed with white glass, and must be such as will bear the
fire. 2. The matter of enamels must be very nicely mix¬
ed with the colours. 3. When the enamel is good, and
the colour well incorporated, it must be taken from the
fire with a pair of tongs. 4. The general way of making
the coloured enamel is this: Powder, sift, and grind all
the colours very nicely, and first mix them with one ano¬
ther, and then with the common matter of enamels ; next
set them in pots in a furnace, and when they are well
mixed and incorporated, cast them into water; when dry,
set them in a furnace again to melt; and when melted,
take a proof of the enamel. If too deep coloured, add
more of the common matter of enamels ; and if too pale,
add more of the colours.
Enamels are used either in counterfeiting or imitating
precious stones, and in painting in enamel; or by enamel-
lers, jewellers, and goldsmiths, in gold, silver, and other
metals. The first two kinds are usually prepared by the
workmen themselves who are employed in these arts;
that used by jewellers and others is brought chiefly from
Venice or Holland, in little cakes of different sizes, com¬
monly about four inches diameter, having the mark of the
maker struck upon it with a puncheon.
ENAMELLING, the art of laying enamel upon metals,
as gold, silver, or copper, and of melting it on the fire, or
of making divers curious works in it by means of a lamp.
It signifies also to paint in enamel.
The method of painting in Enamel. This is performed
on plates of gold or silver, and most commonly of copper,
694 ENA
Enamel- enamelled with the white enamel, on which painting is
hHff* executed with colours which are melted in the fire, where
v—they take a brightness and lustre like that of glass. This
painting is the most prized of all for its peculiar bright¬
ness and vivacity, which is permanent, the force of its co¬
lours not being liable to be effaced or sullied with time,
as in other painting, and continuing always as fresh as
when it came out of the workmen’s hands. This method
of painting is usual in miniature; but it is the more dif¬
ficult the larger it is, by reason of certain accidents to
which it is liable in the operation. Enamelling should
only be practised on plates of gold, the other metals being
less pure; copper, for instance, scales with the applica¬
tion, and yields fumes, and silver turns the yellow white.
Nor must the plate be made flat; for in such case the
enamel cracks ; to avoid which accident the plates are
usually forged a little round or oval, and not too thick.
The plate being well and evenly forged, the operation is
usually commenced by laying on a couch of white ena¬
mel (as we observed above) on both sides, which prevents
the metal from swelling and blistering; and this first layer
serves for the ground of all the other colours. The plate
being thus prepared, the next step is to draw out exactly
the subject to be painted with red vitriol, mixed with oil
of spike, marking all parts of the design very lightly with
a small pencil. After this, the colours (which must be
previously ground with water in a mortar of agate ex¬
tremely fine, and mixed with oil of spike somewhat thick)
are to be laid on, observing the mixtures and colours
which agree to the different parts of the subject; for
which purpose it is necessary to understand painting in
miniature. But here the workmen must be very cauti¬
ous as to the quality of the oil of spike he employs to
mix his colours with, for it is very subject to adulteration.
Great care must likewise be taken that the least dust
imaginable mix not with the colours while the artist is
either painting or grinding them ; for the smallest speck
wmrked up with the colour, when the work comes to be
put into the reverberatory to be made red hot, will leave
a hole, and so deface the performance.
When the colours are all laid, the painting must be
gently dried over a slow fire to evaporate the oil, and the
colours afterwards melted to incorporate them with the
enamel, making the plate red hot in a fire like that which
the enamellers use. Afterwards that part of the paint¬
ing must be gone over again which the fire has in any
degree effaced, strenghening the shade and colours, and
committing it a second time to the fire, observing the
same method as before, which is to be repeated till the
work be finished.
Method of Enamelling by the lamp. Most enamelled
works are wrought at the fire of a lamp, in which, instead
of oil, is put melted horse-grease, which they called ca¬
balline oil. The lamp, which is of copper, or white iron,
consists of two pieces; in one of which is a kind of oval
plate, six inches long and two inches high, in which are
put the oil and the cotton; whilst the other part, called
the box, in which the lamp is inclosed, serves only to re¬
ceive the oil which boils over by the force of the fire.
This lamp, or, where several artists work together, two
or more lamps, are placed on a table of proper height,
under which, about the middle of its height, is a double
pair of organ-bellows, which one of the workmen moves
up and down with his foot to quicken the flame of the
lamps, which by this means is excited to an incredible de¬
gree of vehemence. Grooves made with a gauge in the
upper part of the table, and covered with parchment, con¬
vey the wind of the bellows to a pipe of glass before each
lamp ; and in Order that the enamellers may not be incom¬
moded with the heat of the lamp, every pipe is covered at
E N C
six inches distance with a little tin plate, fixed into the Encsenia
table by a wooden .handle. When the works do not re- II
quire a long blast, the workmen only use a glass pipe, ^"caustiJ
into which they blow with their mouth. Paiittipg
It is incredible to what a degree of fineness and delicacy I
the threads of enamel may be drawn at the lamp. Those
which are used in making false tufts of feathers are so
fine that they may be wound on a reel like silk or thread.
The fictitious jets of all colours used in embroideries are
also made of enamel, and that with so much art, that
every small piece has its hole to pass the thread through
with which it is sewed. These holes are made by blow¬
ing them into long pieces, which are afterwards cut with
a proper tool.
It is seldom that the Venetian or Dutch enamels are
used alone; they are commonly melted in an iron ladle,
with an equal part of glass or crystal ; and when the two
matters are in perfect fusion, the mass is drawn out into
threads of different sizes, according to the nature of the
work. The workmen take it out of the ladle while liquid
with two pieces of broken tobacco-pipes, which they ex¬
tend from each other at arm’s length. If the thread is
required still longer, then another workman holds one
end, and continues to draw it out, while the first holds the
enamel to the flame. Those threads, when cold, are cut
into whatever lengths the workman thinks fit, but com¬
monly from ten to twelve inches; and as they are all
round, if they are required to be flat, they must, while
hot, be drawn through a pair of pincers. They have also
another iron instrument in the form of pincers for draw¬
ing out the enamel by the lamp when it is to be worked
and disposed in figures. Lastly, they have glass tubes of
various sizes, which serve to blow the enamel into various
figures, and preserve the necessary vacancies therein, as
also to spare the stuff, and form the contours. When the
enameller is at work, he sits before the lamp with his foot
on the step which moves the bellows ; and holding in his
left hand the work to be enamelled, or the brass or iron
wires on which the figures are to be formed, he directs
with his right the enamel thread, which he holds to the
flame with a management and patience equally surpris¬
ing. There are few things which cannot be made or re¬
presented with enamel; and some figures are as well
finished as if done by the most skilful carvers.
ENCiENIA, the name of three several festivals cele¬
brated by the Jews in memory of the dedication, or rather
purification, of the temple of Judas Maccabaius, Solomon,
and Zorobbabel. This term is likewise used in church
history for the dedication of Christian churches.
ENCAUSTIC and Encaustum, the same with ena¬
melling and enamel.
Encaustic Painting, a method of painting made use
of by the ancients, in which wax was employed to give a
gloss to their colours, and to preserve them from injury
by air or moisture.
This ancient art, after having been long lost, was re¬
stored by Count Caylus, a member of the Academy of In¬
scriptions in France ; and the method of painting in wax [
was announced to the Academy of Painting and Belles-
Lettres in the year 1753; but M. Bachelier, the author
of a treatise De l'Histoire et du Secret de la Peinture en
Cire, had actually painted a picture in wax in 1749; and
he was the first who communicated to the public the me¬
thod of performing the operation of inustion, which is the
principal characteristic of the encaustic painting. The
count kept his method a secret for some time, content¬
ing himself with exhibiting a picture at the Louvre in
1754, representing the head of Minerva, painted in the
manner of the ancients, which excited the curiosity of the
public, and was very much admired. In the interval ot
ENCAUSTIC PAINTING.
Incaustic suspense, several attempts were made to recover the an-
I’ainting. cient method of painting. The first scheme adopted was
that of melting wax and oil of turpentine together, and
using this composition as a vehicle for mixing and laying
on the colours. But this method did not explain Pliny’s
meaning, as in this way of managing it the wax is not
burnt. In another attempt, which was much more agree¬
able to the historian's description of encaustic painting, the
wax was melted with strong lixivium of salt of tartar, and
with this the colours were ground. When the picture was
finished, it was gradually presented to the fire, so as to
melt the wax, which was thus diffused through all the
particles of the colours, so that they were fixed to the
ground, and secured from the access of air or moisture.
But the method of Count Caylus is much more simple.
The cloth or wood which he designed as the basis of his
picture is waxed over by only rubbing it simply with a
piece of bees-wax ; the wood or cloth, stretched on a
frame, being held horizontally over, or perpendicularly
before a fire, at such a distance that the wax might gra¬
dually melt whilst it is rubbed on, diffuse itself, penetrate
the body, and fill the interstices of the texture of the
cloth, which when cool is fit to be painted upon; but as
water colours, or those which are mixed up with common
water, will not adhere to the wax, the whole picture is to
be first rubbed over with Spanish chalk or white, and then
applied to it. When the picture is dry, it is put near the
fire, by means of which the wax melts, and absorbs all the
colours.
Mr J. H. Muntz, in a treatise on this subject, has pro¬
posed several improvements in the art of encaustic painting.
When the painting is on cloth, he directs it to be prepar¬
ed by stretching it on a frame, and rubbing one side seve¬
ral times over with a piece of bees-wax, or virgin wax, till
it be covered with a coat of wax of considerable thickness.
In fine linen this is the only operation necessary previous
to painting; but coarse cloth must be rubbed gently on
the unwaxed side with a pumice-stone, to take off’ all
those knots which would prevent the free and accurate
working of the pencil. Then the subject is to be painted
on the unwaxed side with colours prepared and tempered
with water; and when the picture is finished, it must be
brought near the fire, that the wax may melt and fix the
colours. This method, however, can only be applied to
cloth or paper, through the substance of which the wax
may pass; but in wood, stone, metals, or plaster, the for¬
mer method of Count Caylus must be observed.
Mr Muntz has also discovered a method of forming
grounds for painting with crayons, and fixing these, as
well as water-colours employed with the pencil. On the
unwaxed side of a linen cloth, stretched and waxed as be¬
fore, lay an even and thick coat of the colour proper for
the ground; having prepared this colour by mixing some
proper pigment with an equal quantity of chalk, and tem¬
pering them with water. When the colour is dry, bring
the picture to the fire, in order that the wax may melt,
pass through the cloth, and fix the ground. An additional
quantity of wax may be applied to the back of the pic¬
ture, if that which was first rubbed on should not be suffi¬
cient for the body of colour; but as this must be laid on
without heat, the wax should be dissolved in oil of turpen¬
tine, and applied with a brush, and the canvass should be
again exposed to the fire, that the fresh supply of wax
may pass through the cloth, and be absorbed by the co¬
lour; and thus a firm and good body will be formed for
working on with the crayons. If cloth and paper are
joined together, the cloth must be first fixed to the strain¬
ing frame, and then the paper must be pasted to it with
a composition of paste made with wheaten flour, or starch
and water, and about a twelfth part of its weight of corn-
695
mon turpentine. The turpentine must be added to the Encaustic
paste when it is almost sufficiently boiled, and the com- Painting,
position well stirred, and left to simmer over the fire for ''-''V''"''1
five or six minutes. Let wax be dissolved in oil of tur¬
pentine to the consistence of a thin paste; and when the
cloth and paper are dry, let them be held near a fire, and
with a brush lay a coat of the wax and turpentine on both
sides of the joined cloth and paper, in such a degree of
thickness that both surfaces may shine throughout with¬
out any appearance of dull spots. Then expose the cloth
to the fire, or to the sun, by which means the oil will eva¬
porate, and the wax become solid, and be fit to receive
any composition of colour for a ground, which is to be laid
on as above directed in the case of cloth without paper.
Almost all the colours which are used in oil painting
may also be applied in the encaustic method. Mr Muntz
objects, indeed, to brown, light pink, and unburnt terra di
Sienna, because these, on account of their gummy or
stony texture, will not admit such a cohesion with the
wax as will properly fix them ; but other colours which
cannot be admitted in oil painting, as red lead, red orpi-
ment, crystals of verdigris, and red precipitate of mercury,
may be used here. The crayons used in encaustic paint¬
ing are the same with those used in the common way of
crayon painting, excepting those which in their composi¬
tion have too great tenacity; and the method of using
them is the same in both cases.
The encaustic painting has many peculiar advantages :
though the colours have not the natural varnish or shin¬
ing which they acquire with oil, they have all the strength
of paintings in oil, and all the airiness of water-colours,
without partaking of the apparent character or defects of
either. They may be looked at in any light and in any si¬
tuation, without any false glare; the colours are firm, and
will bear washing; and a picture, after having been smok¬
ed, and then exposed to the dew, becomes as clean as if
it had been but just painted. It may also be retouched at
pleasure without any detriment to the colours; for the
new colours will unite with the old ones, without spots, as
is the case in common size painting: nor is it necessary
to rub the places to be touched with oil, as in oil pictures ;
it is not liable to crack, and is easily repaired if it should
chance to suffer any injury. The duration of this paint¬
ing is also a very material advantage; the colours are not
liable to fade and change; no damp can affect them, nor
any corrosive substance injure them; nor can the colours
fall off in shivers from the canvass. However, notwith¬
standing all these and other advantages enumerated by
the Abbe Mazeas and Mr Muntz, this art has not yet
been much practised. Many of these properties belong
to a much higher species of encaustic painting afterwards
discovered in England, the colours of which are fixed by
a very intense heat; nor are the colours or grounds on
which they are laid liable to be dissolved or corroded by
any chemical menstruum, nor, like the glassy colours of
enamel, to run out of the drawing on the fire. What this
method consists in will appear from the following account
communicated in a letter from Josiah Colebrook to the
Earl of Macclesfield, president of the Royal Society in 1756.
“ The art of painting with burnt wax,” says he, “ has
long been lost to the world. The use of it to painters in
the infancy of the art of painting was of the utmost con¬
sequence. Drying oil being unknown, they had nothing
to preserve their colours entire from the injury of damps
and the heat of the sun. A varnish of some sort was
therefore necessary; but they being unacquainted with
distilled spirits, could not, as we now do, dissolve gums to
make a transparent coat for their pictures. This inven¬
tion therefore of burnt wax supplied that defect to them;
and with this manner of painting the chambers and other
696
ENCAUSTIC PAINTING.
Encaustic rooms in the houses were furnished. This Pliny calls en-
Painting. caustum, and we encaustic painting.
“ The following experiments, which I have the honour
to lay before your lordship and the society, were occa¬
sioned by the extract of a letter from the Abbe Mazeas,
translated by Dr Parsons, and published in the second part
of the forty-ninth volume of the Philosophical Transac¬
tions, No. 100, concerning the ancient method of painting
with burnt wax revived by Count Caylus.
“ The count’s method was, 1. To rub the cloth or board
designed for the picture simply over with bees-wax: 2.
To lay on the colours mixed with common water; but as
the colours will not adhere to the wax, the whole picture
was first rubbed over with Spanish chalk, and then the
colours are used : 3. When the picture is dry it is put near
the fire, whereby the wax melts, and absorbs all the co¬
lours.
“ Exp. 1. A piece of oak board was rubbed over with
bees-wax, first against the grain of the wood, and then
with ihe grain, to fill up all the pores that remained after it
had been planed, and afterwards was rubbed over with as
much dry Spanish white as could be made to stick on it.
This, on being painted (the colours mixed with water only),
so clogged the pencil, and mixed so unequally with the
ground, that it was impossible to make an even outline,
but was so much thicker in one part than another, that
it wmuld not bear so much as the name of painting; nei¬
ther had it any appearance of a picture. However, to
pursue the experiment, this was put at a distance from
the fire, on the hearth, and the wax melted by slow7 de¬
grees ; but the Spanish white, though laid as smooth as
so soft a body would admit before the colour was laid on,
on melting the wax into it, was not sufficient to hide the
grain of the wood, nor show the colours by a proper white¬
ness of the ground; the wax, in rubbing on the board, was
unavoidably thicker in some parts than in others, and the
Spanish white the same.
“ To obviate the inequality of the ground in the first
experiment,
“ Exp. 2. A piece of old wainscot (oak board) one
fourth of an inch thick, which, having been part of an old
drawer, was not likely to shrink on being brought near
the fire. This was smoothed with a fish skin, made quite
warm before the fire, and then, with a brush dipped in
white wax melted in an earthen pipkin, smeared all over,
and applied to the fire again. That the wax might be
equally thick in all parts of the board, a ground was laid
(on the waxed board) with levigated chalk mixed with
gum-water (viz. gum-arabic dissolved in water). When
it was dry, I painted it with a kind of landscape ; and pur¬
suing the method laid down by Count Caylus, brought it
gradually to the fire. I fixed the picture on a fire screen,
which would preserve the heat, and communicate it to the
back part of the board. This was placed first at the dis¬
tance of three feet from the fire, and brought forwards by
slow degrees till it came within one foot of the fire, which
made the wax swell and bloat up the picture ; but as the
chalk did not absorb the wax, the picture fell from the
board, and left it quite bare.
“ Exp. 3. I mixed three parts white wax, and one
part white resin, hoping the tenacity of the resin might
preserve the picture. This was laid on a board heated
with a brush, as in the former; and the ground was chalk
prepared as before. This was placed horizontally on an
iron box charged with a hot heater, shifting it from time
to time, that the wax and resin might penetrate the chalk,
and hoping from this position that the ground, bloated by
melting the wax, would subside into its proper place; but
this, like the other, came from the board, and would not
at all adhere.
“ Exp. 4. Prepared chalk four drams, white wax, white Encaustic
resin, of each a dram, burnt alabaster half a dram, were Painting,
all powdered together and sifted, mixed with spirit of mo- ''-’"V'*-'
lasses instead of water, and put for a ground on a board
smeared with wax and resin, as in Exp. 3. This was
also placed horizontally on a box-iron, as the former. The
picture blistered, and was cracked all over; and though
removed from the box-iron to an oven moderately heated,
in the same horizontal position, it would not subside nor
become smooth. When it was cold, I took an iron spatula
made warm, and moved it gently over the surface of the
picture, as if I were to spread a plaster. (This thought
occurred from the board being prepared with wax and re¬
sin, and the ground having the same materials in its com¬
position, the force of the spatula might make them unite).
This succeeded so well as to reduce the surface to a tole¬
rable degree of smoothness ; but as the ground was broke
off in many places, I repaired it with flake white, mixed
up with the yolk of an egg and milk, and repainted it with
molasses spirit, instead of water, and then put it into an
oven with a moderate degree of heat. In this I found the
colours fixed, but darker than when it was at first painted ;
and it would bear being washed with water, not rubbed
with a wet cloth.
“ Exp. 5. A board, that had been used in a former ex¬
periment, was smeared with wax and resin, of each equal
parts ; was wetted with molasses spirit to make whitening
or Spanish white, mixed with gum water, adhere. This
when dry was scraped with a knife to make it equally
thick in all places. It was put into a warm oven to make
the varnish incorporate partly with the whitening before
it was painted, and it had only a small degree of heat;
water was only used to mix the colours. This was again
put into an oven with a greater degree of heat; but it
flaked off from the board : whether it might be owing to
the board’s having had a second coat of varnish, the first
having been scraped and melted of, and that the unctu¬
ous parts of the wax had so entered its pores that it
would not retain a second varnish, I cannot tell.
“ Exp. 6. Having miscarried in these trials, I took a
new board, planed smooth, but not polished either with a
fish skin or rushes. I warmed it, and smeared it with wax
only ; then took cimolia (tobacco-pipe clay) divested of its
sand, by being dissolved in water and poured off, leaving
the coarse heavy parts behind. After this was dried and
powdered, I mixed it with a small quantity of the yolk of
an egg and cow’s milk, and made a ground with this on
the waxed board. This I was induced to try, by knowing
that the yolk of an egg will dissolve almost all unctuous
substances, and make them incorporate with water; and
I apprehended that a ground thus prepared would adhere
so much the more firmly to the board than the former had
done as to prevent its flaking off. The milk, I thought,
might answer two purposes; first, by uniting the ground
with the wax; and, secondly, by answering the end of
size or gum-water, and prevent the colours from sinking
too deep into the ground, or running one into another.
When the ground was near dry, I smoothed it with a pal¬
let knife, and washed it with milk and egg where I had
occasion to make it smooth and even. When dry, I paint¬
ed it, mixing the colours with common water. This, on
being placed horizontally in an oven only warm enough to
melt the wax, flaked from the board; but held so much
better together than any of the former that I pasted part
of it on paper.
“ Exp. 7. Flake-white, or the purest sort of white-lead,
mixed with egg and milk crumbled to pieces in the oven,
put on the waxed board, as in the last experiment.
“ The bad success which had attended all the former
experiments led me to consider of what use the wax was
ENCAUSTIC PAINTING.
697
Encaustic in this kind of painting, and it occurred to me that it was
Painting. on]y as a varnish, to preserve the colours from fading.
“ In order to try this,
“ Exp. 8. I took what the bricklayers call fine stuff ox
putty ; to this I added a small quantity of burnt alabaster,
to make it dry; this it soon did in the open air; but be¬
fore I put on any colours, I dried it gently by the fire, lest
the colours should run. When it was painted, I warmed
it gradually by the fire, to prevent the ground from crack¬
ing, till it was very hot. I then took white wax three
parts, white resin one part; melted them in an earthen
pipkin, and with a brush spread them all over the painted
hoard, and kept it close to the fire in a perpendicular si¬
tuation, that what wax and resin the plaster would not
absorb might drop off. When it was cold, I found the
colours were not altered, either from the heat of the fire,
or passing the brush over them. I then rubbed it with
a soft linen cloth, and thereby procured a kind of gloss,
which I afterwards increased by rubbing it with a hard
brush; which was so far from scratching or leaving any
marks on the picture, that it became more smooth and
polished by it.
“ After I had made all the foregoing experiments, in
conversation with my honoured and learned friend Dr
Kidby, a fellow of this society, I said I had been trying
to find out what the encaustic painting of the ancients
was; upon which he told me, that there was a passage
in Vitruvius De Architectura relative to that kind of paint¬
ing, and was so good as to transcribe it for me from the
7th book, chap. 9, De minii temperalura. Vitruvius’s
words are: At si quis subtilior fuerit, et voluerit expolitio-
nem miniaceam suum colorem retinere, cum paries expolitus
et aridus fuerit, tunc ceram Punicam liquefactam igni,paulo
oleo temperatam, seta inducat, deinde postea carbonibus in
ferreo vase compositis, earn ceram apprime cum pariete, cale-
faciendo sudore cogat, fiatque ut percequetur, deinde cum
candela linteisque puris subigat, uti signa marmorea nuda
curantur. Hcec autem y.aucig Greece dicitur. Ita obstans
ceres Punicee lorica non patitur, nec lunee splendorem, nec
solis radios lambendo eripere ex his politionibus colorem.
“ Which I thus translate: ‘ But if any one is more
wary, and would have the polishing [painting] with ver¬
milion hold its colour, when the wall is painted and dry,
let him take Carthaginian [Barbary] wax, melted with a
little oil, and rub it on the wall with a hair pencil; and
afterwards let him put live coals into an iron vessel [cha¬
fing-dish], and hold it close to the wax, when the wall,
by being heated, begins to sweat; then let it be made
smooth ; afterwards let him rub it with a candle and clean
linen rags, in the same manner as they do the naked marble
statues. This the Greeks called mucsii. The coat of Car¬
thaginian wax thus put on is so strong, that it neither
suffers the moon by night, nor the sun-beams by day, to
destroy the colour.’
“Being satisfied, from this passage in Vitruvius, that the
manner of using wax in Exp. 8 was right, I was now to find
if the wax-varnish, thus burnt into the picture, would bear
washing. But here I was a little disappointed; for rubbing
one corner with a wet linen cloth, some of the colour came
off; but washing it with a soft hair-pencil dipped in water,
and letting it dry without wiping, the colour stood very well.
“ A board painted as in Exp. 8 was hung in the most
smoky part of a chimney for a da}', and exposed to the
open air in a very foggy night. In the morning the board
was seemingly wet through, and the water ran off the
picture. This was suffered to dry without wiping: and
the picture had not suffered at all from the smoke or the
dew, either in the ground or the colours; but when dry,
by rubbing it, first with a soft cloth, and afterwards with
a brush, it recovered its former gloss.
VOL. VIII.
“ Suspecting that some tallow might have been mixed Encaustic
with the white wax I had used, which might cause the Painting,
colours to come off on being rubbed with a wet cloth, I
took yellow wax which had been melted from the honey¬
comb in a private family, and consequently not at all adul¬
terated : to three parts of this I added one part resin, and
melted them together.
“ Exp. 9. Spanish white, mixed with fish glue, was put
for a ground on a board, and painted with water-colours
only. The board was made warm ; and then the wax and
resin were put on with a brush, and kept close to the fire
till the picture had imbibed all the varnish, and looked
dry. When it was cold, I rubbed it first with a linen cloth,
and then polished it with a hard brush.
“ In these experiments I found great difficulties with
regard to colours. Many water-colours being made from
the juices of plants, have some degree of an acid in them ;
and these, when painted on an alkaline ground, as chalk,
whitening, cimolia, and plaster, are totally changed in their
colours, and from green become brown ; which contributes
much to make the experiments tedious. I would there¬
fore advise the use of mineral or metallic colours for this
sort of painting, as most likely to preserve their colour:
for although I neutralized Spanish white, by fermenting it
with vinegar, and afterwards washed it very well with
w'ater, it did not succeed to my wish.
“ These experiments, and this passage from Vitruvius,
will in some measure explain the obscurity of part of that
passage in Pliny which Dr Parsons, in his learned com¬
ment on the encaustic painting with wax, seems to de¬
spair of.
“ Ceris pingere was one species of encaustic painting.
'Rmauerov, inustum, may be translated, “ forced in by the
means of fire; burnt in for w hatever is forced in by the
help of fire can be rendered into Latin by no other signi¬
ficant word that I know of but inustum. If this is allowed
me, and I think I have the authority of Vitruvius (a
writer in the Augustan age) for it, who seems to have
wrote from his own knowledge, and not like Pliny, who
copied from others much more than he knew himself, the
difficulty with regard to this kind of painting is solved,
and the encaustic with burnt wax recovered to the public.
“ What he means by the next kind he mentions, in
ebore cestro, id est viriculo, I will not attempt to explain at
present.
“The ship-painting is more easily accounted for, the prac¬
tice being in part continued to this time; and is what is
corruptly called breaming, for brenning or burning.
“ This is done by reeds set on fire, and held under the
side of a ship till it is quite hot; then resin, tallow, tar, and
brimstone, melted together, and put on with a hair-brush
while the planks remain hot, make such a kind of paint as
Pliny describes ; which, he says, nec sole, nec sale ventisque
corrumpitur. As they were ignorant of the use of oil
painting, they mixed that colour with the wax, &c. which
they intended for each particular part of the ship, and put
it on in the manner above described.
“ In the pictures painted for these experiments, and
now laid before your lordship and the society, I hope
neither the design of the landscape, nor the execution of
it, will be so much taken into consideration as the varnish,
which was the thing wanted in this inquiry: and I think
that will evince that the encaustic painting with burnt
wax is fully restored by these experiments; and, though
not a new invention, yet having been lost for so many ages,
and now applied further, and to other purposes, than it
was by Vitruvius, who confined it to vermilion only, may
also amount to a new discovery, the use of which may be
a means of preserving many curious drawings to posterity ;
for this kind of painting may be on paper, cloth, or any
. 4 T
698 E N C
Encaustic other substance that will admit a ground to be laid on it.
Painting. The process is very simple, and is not attended with the
disagreeable smell unavoidable in oil-painting, nor with
some inconveniences inseparable from that art; and as
there is no substance we know more durable than wax, it
hath the greatest probability of being lasting.”
Still, however, there seem to have been some defects or
inconveniences attending these and other subsequent at¬
tempts ; for we find the ancient or some similar method
of painting in wax remaining a desideratum upwards of
twenty-five years after the publication of the preceding
experiments ; when in 1787 a method was communicated
to the Society of Arts by Miss Greenland, for which she
was rewarded with a prize. The ground of her informa¬
tion she had received at Florence, through the acquaint¬
ance of an amateur of painting, who procured her the
satisfaction of seeing some paintings in the ancient Gre¬
cian style, executed by Signora Parenti, a professor at that
place, who had been instructed by a Jesuit at Pavia, the
person who had made the greatest discoveries in that art.
Miss Greenland’s friend knowing she was fond of paint¬
ing, informed her what were the materials the paintress
used, but could not tell her the proportions of the com¬
position ; however, from her anxiety to succeed in such
an acquisition, she made various experiments, and at last
obtained such a knowledge of the quantities of the differ¬
ent ingredients as to begin and finish a picture, which she
afterwards presented to the society for their inspection.
Her method is as follows: “ Take an ounce of white
wax, and the same weight of gum mastich powdered. Put
the wax in a glazed earthen vessel over a very slow fire;
and when it is quite dissolved, strew in the mastich, a
little at a time, stirring the wax continually until the
whole quantity of gum is perfectly melted and incorpo¬
rated : then throw the paste into cold water, and when it
is hard, take it out of the water, wipe it dry, and beat it in
one of Mr Wedgwood’s mortars, observing to pound it at
first in a linen cloth, to absorb some drops of water that
will remain in the paste, and would prevent the possibility
of reducing it to a powder, which must be so fine as to
pass through a thick gauze. It should be pounded in a
cold place, and but a little while at a time, as after long
beating the friction will in a degree soften the wax and
gum, and, instead of their becoming a powder, they will
return to a paste.
“ Make some strong gum-arabic water ; and when you
paint, take a little of the powder, some colour, and mix
them together with the gum water. Light colours re¬
quire but a small quantity of the powder, but more of it
must be put in proportion to the body and darkness of
the colours ; and to black there should be almost as much
of the powder as colour.
“ Having mixed the colours, and no more than can be
used before they grow dry, paint with fair water, as is
practised in painting with water colours, a ground on the
wood being first painted of some proper colour, prepared
in the same manner as is described for the picture ; wal¬
nut tree and oak are the sorts of wood commonly made
use of in Italy for this purpose. The painting should be
very highly finished, otherwise, when varnished, the tints
will not appear united.
“ When the painting is quite dry, with rather a hard
brush, passing it one way, varnish it with white wax, which
is put into an earthen vessel, and kept melted over a very
slow fire till the picture is varnished, taking great care
the wax does not boil. Afterwards hold the picture be¬
fore a fire, near enough to melt the wax, but not make it
run; and when the varnish is entirely cold and hard, rub
it gently with a linen cloth. Should the varnish blister,
warm the picture again very slowly, and the bubbles will
END
subside. When the picture is dirty, it need only be wash- Enceintf
ed with cold water.” p
The opinion given by the society upon the above is, Endian.
“ The method made use of by Miss Greenland provides
against all inconveniences ; and the brilliancy of the co¬
lours in the picture painted by her, and exhibited to the
society, fully justifies the opinion, that the art of painting
in wax, as above described, highly merited the reward of
a gold pallet voted to her on this occasion.”
ENCEINTE, in Fortification, is the interior wall or
rampart which surrounds a place, sometimes composed
of bastions or curtains, either faced or lined with brick
or stone, or only made of earth. The enceinte is some¬
times only flanked by round or square towers, which is
called a Roman wall.
ENCEPHALI, in Medicine, worms generated in the
head, where they cause so great pain as sometimes to oc¬
casion distraction.
ENCHASING, Inciiasing, or Chasing, the art of en¬
riching and beautifying gold, silver, and other metal work,
by some design or figures represented thereon in bas-re¬
lief. It is performed by punching or driving out the me¬
tal, in order to form a figure, from withinside, so as to
stand out prominent from the plane or surface of the me¬
tal. In order to this, a number of fine steel blocks or
puncheons of divers sizes are provided ; and the design
being drawn on the surface of the metal, the inside is
applied to the heads or tops of these blocks, directly under
the lines or parts of the figures; then the metal, sustain¬
ed by the block, being struck by a hammer, yields, and
the block makes an indenture or cavity on the inside,
corresponding to which there is a prominence on the out¬
side, which stands tfor part of the. figure; and thus the
workman proceeds to chase and finish all the parts by the
successive application of the block and hammer to the se¬
veral parts of the design. It is wonderful with what beauty
a'hd justness artists, by means of this simple piece of me¬
chanism, represent foliages, grotesques, animals, histories,
and the like.
ENCLITICA, in Grammar, particles which are so
closely united with other words as to seem part of them,
as the que in virumque, &c. There are three enclitic par¬
ticles in Latin, viz. que, ne, ve.
ENCRATITES, in Ecclesiastical History, heretics who
appeared towards the end of the second century. They
were called Encratites, or Continentes, because they gloried
in abstaining from marriage, and the use of wine and ani¬
mal food.
ENCYCLOPAEDIA, a term nearly synonymous with
Cyclopaedia, but adopted in preference to it in denomi¬
nating the present work, as being more definite and of
better authority. According to the observation of that
learned printer Mr Bowyer, the preposition en makes the
meaning of the word more precise. For Cyclopaedia may
denote “ the instruction of a circle,” as Cyropacdia is
“ the instruction of Cyrus,” whereas in ENcyclopaedia,
the preposition determines the word to be from the dative
o'icyclus, “instruction iNacircle.” And Vossius, in his book
])e Vitiis Sermonis, has observed, “ that Cyclopaedia is used
by some authors, but Encyclopaedia by the best.” Some
account of the history and merits of the different Ency¬
clopaedias which have appeared will be found in the Ge¬
neral Preface to this work.
ENDEMIC or Endemical Diseases are those to
which the inhabitants of particular countries are subject
more than others, on account of the air, water, situation,
and manner of living.
ENDIAN, a town of Persia, in the province of Kuzis-
tan, occupying both banks of the river Tab, which is here
24?0 feet broad. It is surrounded by numerous walls, no-
E N E
E N F
699
Endless
II
Energu-
mens.
where more than three feet thick, and is nearly two miles
in circuit. It contains from 4000 to 5000 inhabitants, and
carries on trade with Bassora and with the countries to
the east. Lat. 30. 18. N
ENDLESS, something without an end; thus authors
mention endless rolls, the endless screw, and the like.
ENDOR, in Ancient Geography, a town of Galilee, four
miles to the south of Mount Tabor, in the tribe of Ma-
nasseh, where the Pythoness was consulted by Saul.
ENDORSED, in Heraldry, an ordinary, containing the
eighth part of a pale, which Leigh says is only used when
a pale is between two of them.
Endorsed, in Heraldry, is said of things borne back to
back, more usually called Adosse.
ENDORSEMENT, in Law and Commerce. See In¬
dorsement.
ENDOWMENT, in Law, denotes the settling a dower
on a woman ; though sometimes it is used figuratively, for
settling a provision upon a parson on the building of a
church ; or the severing of a sufficient portion ol tithes for
a vicar, when the benefice is appropriated.
ENDRACHT’S Land, or Concord, is an extensive,
low, and sterile tract on the west coast of New Holland,
in which is a spacious bay, lately called by the name of
the English navigator Dampier, and which was formerly
denominated Shark’s Bay.
E.NDRIE, a town of Asiatic Russia, in the district of
Eastern Caucasus. It is situated on the river Akatsch,
after it has left the mountains and spread into the plain,
nearly about twenty miles from the Caspian Sea. It con¬
tains several mosques, an Arminian church, and two sy¬
nagogues ; and is the joint property of several Russian
princes, who acknowledge the Russian authority. The
inhabitants are chiefly Mahommedahs, who allow the most
complete toleration to the Georgian and Arminian Chris¬
tians, and also to the Jews. The latter carry on an exten¬
sive commerce. The surrounding country is inhabited
by savage tribes, who make frequent inroads on the peace¬
able inhabitants, and carry off slaves, whom they plunder
and sell to the highest bidder, or keep till they are ran¬
somed. Endrie is the seat of this extensive traffic, and
is acknowledged as a free town by all the natives of the
Caucasus ; and it is a great commercial resort. It was for¬
merly called Baal or Balek, and afterwards Endrie, from
a governor by whom it was bravely defended against the
Arabs. . In 1722 it was sacked by the Russians.
ENDYMION, in fabulous history, a shepherd, son of
iEthlius and Calyce. It is said that he required of Ju¬
piter to grant to him the privilege of being always young,
and sleeping as much as he chose; whence came the pro¬
verb of Endymionis sornnum dormire, to express a long
sleep. Diana observed him naked as he slept on Mount
Latinos, and was so struck with his beauty that she came
down from heaven every night in order to enjoy his com¬
pany. Endymion married Chromia, daughter of Itonus,
by whom he had three sons, Paeon, Epeus, and iEolus,
and a daughter called Eurydice. The fable of Endymion’s
amours with Diana, or the moon, arose from his knowledge
of astronomy ; and as he passed the night on some high
mountain in order to observe the heavenly bodies, it came
to be reported that he was courted by the moon. Some
suppose that there were two persons of this name; the
son of a king of Elis, and the shepherd or astronomer of
Caria. The people of Heraclea maintained that Endy¬
mion died on Mount Latmos; and the Eleans pretended
to show his tomb at Olympia in Peloponnesus.
ENEMY, in Law, an alien or foreigner, who publicly
invades the kingdom.
ENERGUMENS, in Ecclesiastical History, persons sup¬
posed to be possessed by the devil, and concerning whom
there were many regulations among the primitive Chris- Energy
tians. They were denied baptism and the eucharist; at II
least this was the practice of some churches : and though t Enfield,
they were under the care of exorcists, yet it was thought
a becoming act of charity to let them have the public
prayers of the church, at which they were permitted to be
present.
ENERGY, a term of Greek origin, signifying the power,
virtue, or efficacy of a thing. It is also used figuratively,
to denote emphasis of speech.
ENERVATING, the act of destroying the force, use,
or office, of the nerves, either by incision, by weakening
them with debauchery, or by some other violence.
ENESEI, or Yenesei, a river of Siberia. It has its
rise in the mountains of Central Asia, which border on
Chinese Tartary, and, taking a northern direction, flows
into the Frozen Ocean, after a long course through the
plains of Siberia, in long. 82. 14. E. lat. 72. 20. N.
ENESEISK, or Yeneseisk, a town of Siberia, in the
government of Tobolsk, situated on the right bank of the
river Yenesei. It is of considerable size, is fortified, and
has a jurisdiction over an extensive tract, from which a
tribute of furs is paid to government. It has several ma¬
nufactories, of which the most remarkable are those for
working up the sea-horn and mammoth teeth into various
beautiful articles. It is one of the most antique places in
Siberia, the old Russian style of building being still kept up,
in which the roofs of the houses project twelve and fifteen
feet beyond the walls. In one of the churches here there
is a massive candelabrum suspended from the centre. Its
weight is a thousand pounds, and its value above L.5000.
Long. 91. 50. E. Lat. 58. 16. N.
ENFANS Perdus, the same with forlorn hope.
ENFIELD, Wieliam, LL.D. an elegant and justly
admired writer, was born in the year 1741, at Sudbury.
His original destination was for the sacred office of the
ministry, and he was educated amongst the Protestant dis¬
senters at Daventry, where the high polish which he gave
to his compositions distinguished him from many of his
contemporaries. The congregation of Benn’s Garden of
Liverpool made choice of him for their minister in the
year 1763, when he was not more than twenty-two years
of age; and in this situation he was soon taken notice of
as an amiable member of society, and an engaging preach¬
er. Whilst he resided in Liverpool, he published two vo¬
lumes of sermons, duodecimo, as well as a collection of
hymns and family prayers, which met with a very favour¬
able reception. In the year 1770 he was appointed tutor
and lecturer in the belles-lettres at Warrington academy,
which he filled for some years with general approbation
and unwearied diligence. He was the compiler of many
useful books, amongst the most popular of which we may
rank his Speaker, consisting of pieces for recitation selected
from the best and most approved English authors. At the
beginning of this collection there is an excellent essay on
elocution. The Preacher s Directory, the English Preach¬
er, a collection of sermons in 9 vols. 12mo, from the most
celebrated authors, and Biographical Sermons on the prin¬
cipal characters in the Old and New Testament, with a
number of single sermons on particular occasions, were
also the productions of his pen. The controversy relative
to literary property likewise engaged his attention, and on
this he wrote a quarto pamphlet. He also published, in
one volume quarto, Institutes of Natural Philosophy, theo¬
retical and experimental; and during the time of his re¬
sidence at Warrington, as teacher in the academy, the
university of Edinburgh conferred upon him the degree of
LL.D. When that academy was dissolved in 1783, Dr
Enfield continued for two years at Warrington in the ca¬
pacity of private tutor, after which he was chosen pas-
700 ENG
Enfield tor of the Octagon meeting-house at Norwich, in the
II year 1785. He at length gave up his private tuition, and
Engano.^ entirely devoted his time to literary labours, and the pe-
cu]iar duties of his pastoral charge. About this time he
lost his eldest son, who had been appointed to the office
of town-clerk of Nottingham. This event would have
been productive of very serious effects on his health and
spirits, had it not been for the consolations of religion and
philosophy, which are sufficient to support the human
mind under the pressure of the severest calamities. He
undertook and executed the laborious task of abridging
Brucker’s History of Philosophy, which, in 1791, he pub¬
lished in 2 vols. 4to. It has been generally acknowledg¬
ed that the tenets of the different sects of philosophers
were never before exhibited to the world with such per¬
spicuity and elegance ; qualifications for which Dr Enfield
was undoubtedly eminent. He contributed largely to the
Biographical Dictionary published under the inspection of
Dr Aiken and others.
An unsuspected distemper hastened the termination of
his useful life, and, on the 3d of November 1797, he ex¬
pired in the fifty-seventh year of his age. That general
love of mankind which Dr Enfield possessed, falls to the
lot of but few ; nor does it often happen that an individual
dies so universally lamented. It was essential to him to
be amiable in every station and condition of life. His
posthumous sermons, in 3 vols. 8vo, had a very numerous
list of subscribers ; a strong proof of the estimation in which
he was held by all who knew him, either personally or by
report. In these discourses he treats chiefly on moral to¬
pics, which he discusses with the nicest discrimination,
and in a train of the most pleasing and manly eloquence.
Enfield, a village of the hundred of Edmonton, in the
county of Middlesex, nine miles from London. There
are the remains of an ancient royal palace, in which Ed¬
ward VI. kept his court, and where Elizabeth rested on
her way to London in order to assume the crown. Near to
it was Enfield chase, disforested in 1779, divided between
several parishes and the crown, and now occupied by se¬
veral country seats of the more opulent traders of Lon¬
don. The parish is extensive, and its population amount¬
ed in 1801 to 5881, in 1811 to 6884, in 1821 to 8227,
and in 1831 to 8812.
ENFILADE, in the art of war, is used in speaking of
trenches, or other places, which may be scoured by the
enemy’s shot along their whole length. In conducting
the approaches at a siege, care must be taken that the
trenches be not enfiladed from any work of the place.
ENFINE', formerly Antinoe, a city of Egypt, built by
Adrian in honour of his favourite Antinous. It is situated
towards the middle of the Said, or Upper Egypt, and
still contains several stately monuments of antiquity. In
ancient times this city was very magnificent. See article
Egypt.
ENFRANCHISEMENT, in Laiv, the incorporating of
a person into any society or body politic.
ENGANO, or Pugniatan, an island in the Eastern
Seas, lying off the south-west coast of Sumatra, being about
thirty miles in circumference, and nearly eighteen miles
in length. It is covered with trees, and has always a
verdant appearance. The natives are taller and fairer
than the Malays; the men have black hair, which they
cut very short, while it is worn long by the women, and
neatly turned up; and they are extremely savage in their
manners, the men going entirely naked, and the women
having no other covering than a slip of plantain leaf round
the waist. Their houses are of a conical form, resembling
bee-hives, supported on posts, and standing singly amidst
ENG
their plantations; and their canoes are formed of two Engastri.
planks sewed together, pointed at each end, and provided mythi
with outriggers. An attempt was made by the Dutch in , II
1645 to commence an intercourse with these people; but Engineer
it ended in a shameful act of treachery, by which they
trepanned about sixty or seventy of the natives, many of
whom died after arriving at Batavia. In 1771 another
attempt was made by the English settled in Sumatra to
gain some acquaintance of the people, but it failed. Long.
102. 20. E. Lat. 10. 20. S.
ENGASTRIMYTHI, in Pagan theology, the Pythias
or priestess of Apollo, who delivered oracles internally,
without any action of the mouth or lips. The ancient
philosphers, and others, are divided upon the subject of
the engastrimythi. Hippocrates mentions this peculiar
manifestation as a disease; others will have it a kind of
divination ; others again attribute it to the operation or
possession of an evil spirit; and others to art and me¬
chanism. Scottus maintains that the engastrimythi were
poets, who, when the priests could not speak, supplied the
defect by explaining in verse what Apollo dictated in the
cavity of the sacred tripod.
ENGEN, a bailiwick in the circle of the Lake of the
Duchy of Baden, in Germany, containing one market town,
with eighteen hamlets and 9500 inhabitants, the capital
of which is situated on the river Aach, is of the same
name, and contains 211 houses and 1204 inhabitants.
ENGENDERING, a term sometimes used for the act
of producing or forming any thing. Thus meteors are said
to be engendered in the middle region of the atmosphere,
and worms in the belly.
ENGHIEN, a city of the circle of Mons, in the pro¬
vince of Hennegau, in Flanders, with 3054 inhabitants,
employed in making lace, lace thread, and fine linen.
Long. 3. 55. E. Lat. 50. 40. N.
ENGINE, in Mechanics, is a compound machine, includ¬
ing one or more mechanical powers, as levers, pulleys,
screws, and the like, made in order to raise, cast, or sus¬
tain any weight, or produce any effect which could not be
easily effected otherwise. The word is formed, through
the medium of the French, from the Latin ingenium, by
reason of the ingenuity required in the contrivance of en¬
gines to augment the effect of moving powers.
ENGINEER, taken generally, is a term applied to
those who are employed in devising or forming engines
or machines, and in directing their applications. In a
more restricted and appropriate sense, it denotes two very
important professions; the one that of the military, the
other that of the civil engineer.
The Military Engineer is an officer whose business it is
to delineate the plans and direct the formation of military
works, and to regulate attacks and defences. Those
branches of knowledge which more particularly relate to
his profession are treated, in this work, under the heads
of Artillery, Fortification, Gunnery, and War.
The Civil Engineer is a person who applies the prin¬
ciples of mechanical and physical philosophy to the con¬
struction of the machines and public works by which the
arts and accommodations of civil life are rendered more
efficient, extensive, and secure. The subjects which
more immediately belong to his important calling are
treated in this work under the heads of Bridge, Car¬
pentry, Docks, Gas Lights, Harbours, Light-houses,
Navigation, Navigation Inland, Railways, Roads,
Tunnels, Water-works, &c. ; and also under the heads
Dynamics, Hydrodynamics, Machinery, Mensura¬
tion, Resistance of Solids, Strength of Materials,
&c.
701
ENGLAND,
The southern division of the island of Great Britain. In prehending the History of England, the second the Statis- History,
treating of this grand division of the British empire, we tics of that country, and the third some account of its
shall divide the subject into three Parts; the first com- Government and Laws.
PART I.
HISTORY.
The history of England, till the period of the Saxon the title of Bretwalda. He received kindly the deputies of
Conquest, has been fully treated of in the first chapter of Rome, and became a convert to their doctrine; an exam-
the article Britain. After that event the country relapsed pie which his subjects were not slow in following. From
into a state of obscure barbarism, nearly as great as that this period the spread of the Christian faith over the island
from which it had been rescued by the Romans. The pro- appears to have been rapid; for we find that in about a
vincial Britons had profited by their intercourse with that century after the arrival of St Augustin it was professed
great people. From the latter they had learned many of and believed throughout Anglo-Saxon Britain. That it
the arts of civilized life, and during the period of their sub- conferred many temporal benefits upon the community,
jugation they had erected a considerable number of cities, cannot be doubted. But, however its divine precepts may
towns, and villages; but these were subsequently levelled have influenced the conduct and ameliorated the lot of
with the ground by barbarian invaders, and the natives individuals, crimes upon a great scale continued to be per-
were frequently involved in the same ruin with their habi- petrated as formerly. It may have mitigated the horrors
tations. We are informed by one historian that a mighty of war, but battle followed on battle with as uniform a
conflagration began on the western coast, and gradually succession, and native blood flowed as freely, as hereto-
extended itself over the whole island. To escape from the fore. The continual struggle amongst the Anglo-Saxon
exterminating swords of the Saxons, the Britons sought principalities for the supremacy was however fast coming
refuge in their native fastnesses; and thus the spark of to a crisis. It is evident that such a state of affairs could
civilization which had been struck out amongst them, and not continue for any length of time, and that it must ne-
which, in more auspicious circumstances, might have kin- cessarily end in the establishment of a regular hereditary
died into a generous flame, was totally extinguished. magistracy in the island. I his took place partially at the
About the year 700, the island of Great Britain was di- beginning of the eighth century, in the person of Egbert,
vided into no fewer than fifteen sovereignties. Of these, king of Wessex, who was a lineal descendant, and the only
eight were Saxon ; but the union of the two Northumbrian surviving prince, of the house of Cerdic, the founder of
principalities reduced the number to seven ; and from this that kingdom. The great talents which he early exhibited
circumstance, as well as from some vague alliance amongst had given offence to Brihtric, king of Wessex, who, jealous
these petty states, historians have designated the whole of his popularity, projected his destruction. Egbert, how-
by the name of the Heptarchy. They ruled over a con- ever, eluded his vengeance, and fled for protection to Ofla,
siderable portion of England, and whilst they waged a king of Mercia, a monarch illustrious for the talents he dis-
fierce and endless war with every other kingdom in the played and the prosperity he enjoyed, but whose name is
island, they also maintained amongst themselves a con- stained with perfidy and blood. Thither the vindictive Brih-
tinual struggle for the superiority. It would appear that trie pursued the youthful fugitive, who was finally corn-
one state usually exercised an undefined power over all pelled to cross the channel and to seek shelter beneath the
the others ; and the prince who possessed this equivocal as- broad shield of the victorious Charlemagne. 1 ranee, go-
cendency had the title of Bretwalda, or wielder of the Bri- verned by that renowned sovereign, excelled all the states
tons, bestowed upon him. The history of this period is not of the West in civilization and the arts of government, as
characterized by any event which would lead us to take well as those of war. Trained in such a school, therefore,
an interest in the fluctuating fortunes of the various states, and early disciplined by adversity, he was undergoing an
Our information relating to the earliest portion of the admirable probation for wielding with judgment and mo-
Saxon rule is also scanty; but what we do possess is not deration the perilous sceptre which was destined to be
of such a nature as to awaken any feelings of regret that transferred into his hands. I he death of Brihtric, who
more minute particulars have not been transmitted to us. perished by the machinations of his queen, recalled the
Details of the shedding of kindred blood, and acts of op- fugitive from his exile. In W essex the claim of Egbert
pression, treachery, and cruelty, exercised towards the was at once acknowledged, while his accession to the
natives by the fierce invaders of their soil, are not ealeu- throne of his celebrated ancestor, an event highly popular
lated to interest human feelings. The re-introduction of in itself, was ennobled by a victory, the omen of many a
Christianity, however, in some degree alleviated the dark- future triumph.
ness of the picture. The exact date of its first appearance At this period the island, though nominally under a a. d. 800.
in Britain is uncertain, but it had made some progress hexarchy, was rapidly verging to a triarchy, from several
before the close of the second century. It disappeared how- of the smaller states becoming gradually blended and
ever, with the other traces of civilization, when the Saxons identified with their more powerful neighbours. Wessex
commenced their devastations. It was in the year 596 that had been enlarged by the incorporation of Sussex; and
Gregory the Great sent over St Augustin, with forty other various favourable circumstances conspired to concentrate
missionaries, to convert the Saxons; and their arrival in in the hands of Egbert a well-organized power, which he
Kent marks a new era in its history, and probably in that was prepared to wield when summoned by any great emer-
ofthe country. At this period Kent was governed by Ethe- gency. For several years, however, after his accession to
bert, an able and powerful monarch, and the third who bore the throne, his sword remained in its sheath ; and this pio-
702
ENGLAND.
Hist(ny. pitious period of tranquillity afforded him an opportunity
of turning his undivided attention to the affairs of govern¬
ment. His administration was as mild as it appears to
have been politic; circumstances which completed the
attachment of his subjects, and consolidated his growing
strength. It was upon the unfortunate Britons of the west
that he first made trial of his military prowess. About the
year 809 the struggle between him and the natives com¬
menced. The latter made a strenuous but unavailing
resistance ; and Egbert carried the havoc of war and the
flames of destruction from the east to the west. In a few
years the greater part of modern Wales, as well as the
people who occupied the northern shore of the estuary
of the Severn, acknowledged his authority. The king of
Mercia, whose strength had been augmented by the ap¬
propriation of the petty sovereignties of Kent, Essex, and
East Anglia, was now the only rival for the supreme au¬
thority whom Egbert had to fear or to contend withal.
Their power was nearly equally balanced, for what Wes¬
sex wanted in numerical force was compensated by dis¬
cipline and skill. War had now become inevitable; nei¬
ther would brook a superior, and only one Bretwalda could
be acknowledged. The conflict began, therefore, and was
speedily brought to a termination. In an obstinate and
bloody battle the king of Mercia was totally defeated, and
Egbert became lord of the ascendant. State after state
was annexed to Wessex; Mercia wras invaded and sub¬
dued ; and in nineteen years after he had first drawn the
sword, Egbert was acknowledged over the greater part of
the island as the eighth Bretwalda.
Theauthority of Egbert, however, still continued doubt¬
ful ; and the Anglo-Saxon power was as yet very far from
being consolidated. The fortunes and immunities of those
composing the several states were not dependent upon one
common legislature; and in regard to the details of govern¬
ment, the whole principalities remained as distinct from
each other as before. Wales still continued to annoy him ;
and it was not until he had marched an army to Snowden
that North Wales quietly submitted to that of the Saxon
Bretwalda. But new and more formidable enemies than
any he had yet encountered had begun to threaten Eng¬
land, and trouble the tranquillity which it in some mea¬
sure enjoyed. These were Scandinavians, recognised in
France by the name of Normans, and in England by that of
Danes. Familiarized, from their maritime situation, to the
dangers of the ocean, this people, like the Saxons of old,
spent the greater portion of their time upon its waves. A
pernicious law of succession, which consigned the whole pa¬
trimony to the eldest son, drove the younger branches of
families to seek their fortunes by means of their ships and
their swords. It was only in this manner that they could ac¬
quire riches and renown ; and such pursuits were peculiarly
agreeable to a people who unhappily preferred the acqui¬
sitions of rapine to the fruits oflaborious industry. It was
the custom of these pirates to set sail for some distant
province in squadrons, under the command of chieftains
called Vikingr, or Sea-Kings. After pillaging the coast
where they landed, they collected the spoil and returned
to their own country, where they disencumbered them¬
selves of their booty and prepared for fresh expeditions.
Three descents upon England are recorded as having
taken place in the eighth century, but these attempts pro¬
duced no permanent alarm. Towards the termination of
Egbert’s reign, however, the numbers of the pirates great¬
ly increased, whilst their visits were annually renewed ;
and for two centuries to come the country was destined to
be a prey to these fierce and fearless invaders.
After making several successful inroads into various
parts of England, in 835 they landed on the coast of Corn¬
wall, where they succeeded in seducing the Britons from
their allegiance. The king of Wessex met the united History
forces of the enemy at Hengstone Hill, and gained a
bloody but decisive victory, which restored the glory of
his arms. This was the last exploit of Egbert, who died
the year following, after a reign as prosperous as it was
long, and which, allowing something for the condition of
society at the period, may also be termed glorious.
Ethelwolf succeeded his father on the throne of Wes¬
sex ; but an unfortunate arrangement, by which the for¬
mer king bequeathed all his dominions except Wessex to a
younger son, greatly weakened the power of his successor,
and lessened the influence of the Bretwalda. Ethelwolf had
been a monk, and appears to have been better adapted for
the cloister which he had left than the throne which he
now ascended. The history of his reign presents little of
interest or.variety. It is merely an account of the atro¬
cities of the Danes, who made repeated descents upon
England, laying waste the country, plundering towns, and
despoiling the rich monasteries, where treasure was sup¬
posed to have been accumulated. No defeat, however
signal and decisive for the time, was capable of perma¬
nently expelling them from the island ; and although routed
and compelled to flee for shelter to their ships one year,
they returned the next with persevering audacity. In
the meanwhile Ethelwolf found leisure to perform a pil¬
grimage to Rome; and in passing through France on his
journey homewards, he espoused Judith the daughter of
Charles the Bald, king of the Franks. But he was not
permitted to enjoy undisturbed domestic tranquillity. On
his return to England he found his son Ethelbald at the
head of a formidable conspiracy, which threatened him
with deposition and exile. The two parties, however,
came without bloodshed to terms of accommodation. It
was agreed that Ethelwolf should possess the eastern states
appertaining to Wessex, whilst the kingdom of Wessex
proper, which belonged of right to the head of the family,
should be enjoyed by Ethelbald, but, it would appear, with
a nominal subjection to his father. Ethelwolf survived
these arrangements only a few years, having died in 858.
After his demise Ethelbald continued to occupy the
throne of Wessex; whilst Ethelbert, a younger brother,
succeeded to the government which had been left va¬
cant by the death of his father; but both these princes
died in a few years, and left their thrones to their brother
Ethelred, who assumed the sceptre at a most unpropitious
period. Not only was the kingdom divided against itself,
but the Danes, acting now in a well-organized confederacy,
and terrible from their numbers as well as from the fre¬
quency of their inroads, threatened the total annihilation
of the Saxon dynasty and the subjugation of the island.
In the reign of Ethelred ancient chroniclers present us
with little else than accounts of battles fought and towns
sacked, prolonged by all the sickening minutia; of rapine
and bloodshed. The conflicts were numerous and san¬
guinary ; and in one of these, which took place at Merton
in the year 870, the king received a wound of which he
soon afterwards died.
By the death of Ethelred the throne of Wessex devolv¬
ed upon Alfred, the fifth and favourite son of Ethelwolf.
As an account of this extraordinary individual has already
been given under the head of Alfred, it is unnecessary
to,recapitulate the events of his life. He was succeeded by
his son Edward, who ascended what may now almost be
termed the throne of England, in the year 901. Alfred
had been called to the crown in preference to the children
of his elder brother, who were considered at the time as
too young to be entrusted with the government. Their
pretensions being also set aside at his death, Ethelwold,
one of the rejected princes, attempted by violence to seize
hold of the royal authority. He formed an alliance with
ENGLAND.
703
History, the Danes and other enemies of Edward; but in a battle
with the men of Kent he met his fate, and the island was
once more rescued from a destructive competition for the
crown.
Previously to this event the Danes had contrived, by a
union with some of the disaffected provinces, to obtain a
kind of permanent footing in the country. They possess¬
ed the north of England from the Humber to the Tweed,
and the eastern districts from the Ouse to the sea. Em¬
boldened by their strength, they invaded Mercia, but were
met by Edward, who obtained over them a decisive vic¬
tory, which effectually restored his supremacy. The most
remarkable individual after Edward was his sister Ethel-
fleda, upon whom the mantle of Alfred seems to have de¬
scended. She governed Mercia, and vigorously seconded
her brother in fortifying the country against the common
enemy. Upon her death in 920 the Anglo-Saxon mo¬
narchy received additional security from the final incor¬
poration of Mercia with Wessex. After various successes
over his northern and other enemies, Edward the elder
expired at Farrington in Berkshire, in the year 924. This
monarch would appear to greater advantage were he not
viewed in such close proximity to Alfred the Great, the
brilliancy of whose reign was calculated to eclipse that
of his successor, had the latter been even a greater man
than he actually was. Edward, however, was a great
man, and every way worthy to wield the sceptre of his
father, which he did with uncommon judgment and suc¬
cess.
He was succeeded by his son Athelstane, whom histo¬
rians, on the faith of an old song, are in the habit of styl¬
ing illegitimate; but a contemporary poetess has recog¬
nised his mother as the partner of Edward’s throne, a
circumstance which fairly balances the former authority.
There is one argument in favour of his legitimacy, which,
as far as we are aware, has been overlooked; it is the ex¬
ceeding partiality evinced towards him by his grandfather
Alfred. It seems improbable that an individual, whose
moral rectitude and ardent piety were so conspicuous as
those of Alfred, should have singled out as his especial
favourite one whose birth was a public scandal; that he
should also have invested him with the insignia of knight¬
hood whilst yet a child, and looked upon him as the fu¬
ture hope of Britain, more especially as, supposing the
youth to have been a natural son, the legitimate children
of his father had a preferable right to the throne. Viewing
the matter in this light, the truth of the hypothesis that
Athelstane was the fruit of a union sanctioned by law and
religion appears highly probable, even allowing that the
distinction of natural from legitimate children was at that
period somewhat faint. It does not appear to have been
so in the mind of Alfred the Great.
Athelstane was thirty years of age when his father ex¬
pired ; and Mercia immediately, and Wessex shortly after¬
wards, recognised him as king. Opposition was, however,
experienced in other quarters; but he ultimately suc¬
ceeded in seating himself firmly upon the throne, and
fully justified the early popularity he enjoyed with his
grandfather. In the person of Athelstane the Anglo-
Saxon sovereign became a character of dignity and con¬
sequence in Europe. His connections with the most re¬
spectable potentates on the Continent gave to his reign a
political importance, and he is moreover entitled to be
considered as the first monarch of England.
The sovereignty of the whole island appears to have
been the object of Athelstane’s ambition. In his military
enterprises he w'as completely successful, and compelled
the princes of the Scots, Cambrians, and Britons, to swear
fealty to him, in the same manner as the Saxon vassal was
accustomed to swear to his lord. But his prosperity was
interrupted by a powerful confederacy formed against him,
which threatened not only to emancipate Northumbria
from his authority, but even to overwhelm his hereditary
government. The confederates were Constantine king of
the Scots, and Anlaff the son of Sigtryg or Sihtric, who
was king of Northumbria at the time of Athelstane’s ac¬
cession. Anlaff had received the hand of Athelstane’s
sister; but he drove her from his court, for which barbar¬
ous conduct the Anglo-Saxon monarch stripped him of
his kingdom and ejected him from the island. Anlaffhad
fled to Ireland, whence he returned with a large fleet, in
order to retaliate the insult of his expulsion. The re¬
maining malcontents were the Welsh princes who had been
humbled into submission, the Danes who inhabited the
eastern coast from Tweed to Thames, the petty states of
Cambria, and a constantly increasing host of lawless pi¬
rates and freebooters from Scandinavia.
Athelstane prepared with firmness and energy to meet
the storm which threatened him with destruction. The
armies met at Brunanburgh in Northumbria, and a battle
was.fought, celebrated in Saxon and Scandinavian poetry.
The confederates were routed with great slaughter, and
Anlaff’ and Constantine effected their escape with great
difficulty. So complete was the overthrow, and so decisive
the victory, that the remainder of Athelstane’s reign was
undisturbed by the rebellion of his subjects or the inva¬
sion of a foreign enemy. The throne of his ancestors
was now effectually secured to him ; and the Britons were
so completely humbled, that to him belongs the glory of
having been the founder of the English monarchy. The
fame of his accomplishments, his talents, and his suc¬
cesses, was not confined to the insulated kingdom which
he governed; it extended throughout all Christendom.
With several foreign courts he maintained a friendly corre¬
spondence ; and three princes, who afterwards became emi¬
nent in Europe, were fostered under his care, and restored
by his aid or influence. These were Haco of Norway,
Alan of Bretagne, and the son of his sister, Louis d’Ou-
tremer, so called from his residence in England. A con¬
cern in the death of a brother named Edwin is generally
ascribed to him, but the story is somewhat doubtful; and
if the other events of Athelstane’s life, his public services
and private virtues, be allowed to have any influence upon
our judgment, it must be pronounced as improbable. Athel¬
stane died in the year 940, regretted by his subjects,
amongst whom he was revered as a prince alike distin¬
guished for wisdom, justice, and benevolence.
Having left no issue, he was succeeded by his brother
Edmund, who perished by the dagger of an assassin six
years afterwards. The life of this king is not characterized
by any events of importance. He was succeeded by his
brother Edred, whose reign was short, and distinguished
by no remarkable circumstance, except the complete in¬
corporation of Northumbria with the rest of the Anglo-
Saxon kingdom.
Edred died in 955, and left the throne to Edwin, who is
usually styled Edwy, the eldest son of Edmund the Elder.
The name of this monarch is intimately connected with that
of the celebrated Dunstan, abbot of Glastonbury. The life
of that individual having been already given under the
head of Dunstan, we shall only mention here a few cir¬
cumstances which are indispensably necessary to the com¬
plete chain of historical events. The reign of his uncle
Edred had been looked upon by Edwy as a usurpation,
and when he himself ascended the throne, the counsellors
of the former monarch became the objects of his antipathy.
He discarded them altogether, and surrounded himself
with a host of young courtiers, more ready to emulate
the vices of their master than to suggest prudent mea¬
sures of government. At their instigation Edwy imposed
History.
a.d. 937-
ENGLAND.
704
History, unjust taxes upon his subjects, despoiled the clergy, and
''-"V''"*' committed other unseemly acts. Dunstan, having been
one of the leading advisers of Edred, was most probably
obnoxious to tbe young king ; and at his coronation a cir¬
cumstance occurred which brought the hostile parties
immediately into collision. On that day Edwin, after tbe
ceremony, withdrew from the festive board at which the
nobles and clergy vrere regaling themselves, and retired
to his own apartments. This indecorous act appears to
have displeased the assembly; and Odo, archbishop of
Canterbury, deputed Dunstan and another individual to
bring back the king to join in their carousals. Dunstan
penetrated into the private apartments of his sovereign,
whom he found in company with Ethelgiva or Elgiva, bis
wife or mistress; the mother of the latter was also pre¬
sent. The two deputies forcibly tore the king from the
company of the ladies, and brought him back to that of
the nobles. This daring and insolent conduct of the monk
towards the newly-consecrated monarch drew down upon
him the royal vengeance. At the instigation of Elgiva,
Dunstan was deprived of his honours, and condemned to
exile. During his absence, Odo contrived to take Elgiva
from her husband’s residence, and send her a prisoner to
Ireland, where her face was branded with red-hot irons,
for the purpose of obliterating her charms; but in vain.
They revived with the healing of the wounds ; but on her
return to England she was pursued by the opposite party,
who falling in with her at Gloucester, actually hamstrung
the unfortunate fair one. In a few days death released
her from the vengeance of her enemies and from her own
sufferings.1 In the meanwhile a conspiracy was formed
against the now unpopular Edwy; and at the head of it
was his brother Edgar, who, supported by the Northum¬
brians and Mercians, drove the unfortunate monarch be¬
yond the Thames. His sufferings and humiliation, how¬
ever, were of short duration, for he died in 959, ere he
had attained the full age of manhood. By some histo¬
rians he is said to have been assassinated; others state
that he pined to death for the loss of his throne, and his
Elgiva, whom he tenderly loved; but all agree that his
demise was as miserable as it was premature. His youth
was the source of all his calamities, for it seems certain
that he was only sixteen or seventeen years of age when
he assumed the sceptre. He had also the misfortune to
live at a very critical period. It was the commencement
of that struggle between seculars and regulars which was
to be maintained for many centuries thereafter. Tbe in¬
trusion of Dunstan into the king’s private chamber was
the earnest of many a bold step upon the part of the
clergy. It is thus memorable as being one of the earliest
instances in our history, of the putting forth of that over¬
whelming strength with which the church of Rome was
armed, and which was destined ere long to exercise so
preponderating an influence over the political affairs of
every court in Christendom, whose haughtiest monarchs
were soon taught to tremble at the thunder of the Vatican.
The death of Edwin put his brother and rival Edgar
in peaceable possession of the whole Anglo-Saxon terri¬
tory. His reign was tranquil, neither foreign enemy
nor domestic broils having interrupted its quiet, so that
posterity has styled him “ the peaceful.” The only event
of a warlike character ascribed to him is an invasion of
Wales. In his personal character he was distinguished
alike for his religious zeal and for his licentiousness. A few
facts relating to each of these may be stated here. He
espoused the cause of the monks, and, during the sixteen History
years of his reign, erected a vast number of Benedictine
monasteries. He recalled Dunstan from exile, placed the
bold saint at his right hand as chief counsellor, and con¬
ferred upon him the see of Canterbury. In this situation that
celebrated ecclesiastic prosecuted his ambitious schemes
connected with the order to which he belonged wdth re¬
doubled vigour. He expelled the clergy from the mo¬
nasteries, and supplied their places with Benedictines,
making the rule of their founder everywhere predomi¬
nant throughout the nation.
We now find the church so intimately mixed up with
political affairs, that some account of it is necessary for
the elucidation of history. Although religious indivi¬
duals had been collected in monasteries from the period
of Augustin’s landing in Kent, yet the order of Benedic¬
tines seems to be the most ancient example of monastic
rule. Each congregation of recluses lived according to
its own internal regulations, nor were the several monas¬
teries consolidated into one community before the time of
Dunstan. The Scottish or Irish, the Pictish and British
churches, though in communion with Rome, were still
independent of the papal see; and it was the object of
the popes to suppress this independence of the different
national churches; a cause which was warmly espoused by
Dunstan. His policy was to enforce clerical celibacy; to
expel at least all the married clergy from canonries and
prebends in cathedrals, in order to make way for Bene¬
dictines ; and to reduce all monasteries to the rule of the
founder of that order. The opposition he encountered
was formidable, and the cause of the clergy was espoused
by the laity. Amongst the latter the secular priests found
many powerful partizans, and the schisms of the church
at last degenerated into factions amongst the people. But
Dunstan was impetuous, and determined to carry through
the reformation which he had begun, for he looked upon
himself in the light of a reformer; and although the ex¬
tension of his own powrer and that of his order may have
been so blended with his zeal for the service of God as to
deceive even himself, yet there seems no reason to doubt
his sincerity. That there were many clerical abuses to be
corrected, is consistent with the history of religion in all
ages. The Danish invasions, and other national calami¬
ties, dispersed the clergy amongst the laity, with whose
vices they doubtless became contaminated. The necessi¬
ties of his situation compelled the prelate to be a states¬
man and an intriguer. He made some progress during the
reign of Edred; in that of Edwy we have seen him check¬
ed ; but in the present one, invested with the highest ec¬
clesiastical dignities, and backed by the power of his sove¬
reign, he appears before us under auspices which enabled
him to carry his loftiest projects into execution. And he
was not slow in seizing the opportunity. Not content
with the ordinary engines of intrigue and supple policy, he
drewr upon the superstitious feelings of the time, and arro¬
gated to himself divine intuition and the power of working
miracles. He succeeded in deceiving that unenlightened
age, and perhaps also himself.
The foregoing remarks may afford a key to some of
the more prominent events of Edgar’s reign. A national
synod was held, at which the king publicly expressed his
sentiments in favour of the Benedictine cause. It fol¬
lowed as a consequence of this, that the unfortunate se¬
culars were ejected if they refused to comply with the
enactments made by Dunstan and his party, under the
1 Tihele 18 n<1.difect Proof that this atrocity was perpetrated under the sanction of the Archbishop of Canterbury; and it is im¬
possible to implicate Dunstan in the guilt, for he was in Flanders at the time. The deed, however, was done by the adherents,
and praised by the encomiasts, of the archbishop.
ENGLAND.
History, sanction of the sovereign ; whilst monks were everywhere
received with honour, and the erection of monasteries was
for a time a royal mania. During the sixteen years of
his reign Edgar built no less than forty-eight of these
establishments.
In the midst of all this holy zeal, however, he found
leisure for the indulgence of his licentious appetites. On
one occasion he violently carried off a young lady edu¬
cated in a convent, and made her his concubine. For
this offence he was reproved by Dunstan, and compelled to
do penance during seven years ; but the mortifications im¬
posed were not of a very severe character. His second
marriage was connected with circumstances of a very tra¬
gical nature. The beauty of a young and noble lady hav¬
ing been praised to him, he commissioned Ethelwold, a
favourite minister, to visit her residence, and report upon
her charms. The deputy was himself captivated with the
lady. He represented her in an unfavourable light to his
sovereign, and married her himself; but Edgar, not being
satisfied with the report, paid a personal visit to Elfrida,
and, fascinated by her beauty, he procured the destruction
of her husband, and espoused the bereaved lady himself.1
In extenuation of these delinquencies, he has been al¬
lowed the honourable distinction of having warmly patron¬
ized trade with foreigners. His commuting the tribute
from Wales into three hundred wolves’ heads, and his re¬
formation of the coinage, also redound to his credit. By
his orders a numerous fleet constantly guarded the king¬
dom from invasion, and he regularly visited his provinces
in order to countenance the execution of the laws. His
reign was glorious, and he seems to have converted his
prosperity into ostentatious pomp. It is stated that eight
kings, amongst whom were Kenneth of Scotland, and his
son Malcolm of Cimbria, did him homage by rowing his
harge down the river Dee.
Edgar died in 975, in the thirty-second year of his age,
and was succeeded by Edward, surnamed the Martyr, his
eldest son. A younger brother, Ethelred, by Elfrida, dis¬
puted the crown with Edward ; but the latter was finally
established upon the throne through the influence of Dun¬
stan. His reign was chiefly occupied with disputes be¬
tween the two clerical systems before mentioned, Elfrida
having, on account of her son Ethelred, espoused the cause
of the seculars, in opposition to Dunstan, who headed
the regulars, and who was also the means of supplanting
her son. The monks gained a complete victory over the
seculars, who were now totally expelled from their con¬
vents. During this reign occurred that tragical circum¬
stance which has afforded modern historians an opportu¬
nity of accusing the primate of murder. A council of nobles
had been summoned to meet at Caine. During the pro¬
ceedings, and just as the wily Dunstan had pronounced
these words, “ I confess I am unwilling to be overcome;
I commit the cause of the church to the decision of God,”
705
the floor fell instantly down, and numbers of his opponents History,
were killed and wounded. The primate, and probably
his partizans, escaped unhurt, a circumstance which can
only be accounted for by supposing that their seat re¬
mained unmoved. Some historians charge Dunstan with
having secretly loosened the floor from the walls, and affirm
that during the debate the temporary props which support¬
ed it were withdrawn according to his directions. This
is very improbable; but there can be little doubt that he
interpreted the occurrence as a divine judgment upon his
enemies, and thus wrought upon the prejudices of that
superstitious age. Several heinous crimes are laid to the
charge of the queen dowager, but the last was the darkest
and most atrocious of all. Edward, in one of his hunting
excursions, visited Corfe Castle, in Dorsetshire, where El¬
frida resided with her son Ethelred. He was received with
the utmost cordiality, and invited to enter the castle, but
declined, requesting at the same time to see his brother,
and also the favour of some refreshment. Whilst in the
act of raising a cup of wine to his lips, he was mortally
stabbed in the back by the orders of his stepmother. On
account of his violent death he has been surnamed the
Martyr.
Edward was succeeded in 978 by Ethelred, the uncon¬
scious cause of his untimely fate. W hen the latter attained
the crown he was only in his boyhood, and throughout a
long life he never rose above it. This is one of those reigns
which it is painful to narrate. It was the saddest which
the descendants of Alfred yet had seen, and presents a
strong contrast to that of his father. Edward compelled
kings to be his watermen. His son by Elfrida became the
sport of traitors ; and having five times purchased his crown
from the roving Danes, he was forced at last to make an
ignominious surrender of it to a foreign invader.
For more than a century the Northmen had formed the
chief part of the population of Northumberland and East
Anglia, and they now stretched their power to the utmost
in order to place one of their chiefs upon the Saxon throne.
In 980, and for ten years thereafter, England was insulted
by a series of inroads, which, although unimportant of
themselves, were calculated to excite some alarm amongst
the people, when the latter contemplated on the one hand
the power and audacity of the Danes, and on the other a
pusillanimous monarch and an unguarded country. But
these petty aggressions were followed, in 991, by the ap¬
pearance of a formidable armament upon the English
coast. The invaders advanced without opposition as far as
Malden, where they gained a victory, and their retreat was
disgracefully purchased by a bribe of ten thousand pounds.
Repeatedly afterwards did the Northmen play the same
game, and Ethelred make the same debasing submission,
by purchasing a momentary respite from their ravages.
But the very means which were employed to rid the king¬
dom of these invaders one year, insured their return the
Dr Lingard, in his Jlisiory of England, vol. i. p. 333, states that he is disposed to doubt this tale as improbable. “ Malmesbury,'’
says the learned and able historian, “ on the faith of an ancient ballad, has transmitted to us a storv probablv invented bv his (the
king’s) enemies.” The story may possibly have been invented by his enemies, but where is the evidence, direct or indirect, that
this was the case ? Dr Lingard goes on to say, u it is improbable in itself, and supported by questionable evidence.” Now, where lies
the improbability ? rI he tragical character of the transaction is in perfect keeping with that of the times in which it was committed;
and as for the perpetrator himself, does not the abuse of the nun prove that, in order to gratify his unhallowed desires, even the
religion, for the propagation of which he displayed such unbounded zeal, offered no impediment. Was the law of nature with regard
to moral evil stronger in his mind than that which religion had imposed ? This is much to be doubted. Nay, it may be surmised
that the erection of so many monasteries was a voluntary penance which his conscience dictated him to perform, in extenuation of such
crimes as those that are laid to his charge. The evidence is also said to be questionable ; but if historians, and the learned Doctor along
with the rest, unhesitatingly embody as historical facts the events and transactions related in similar compositions, we see no reason
tor making an exception with respect to the legend before us, because it happens to stand in the way of a favourite hypothesis. If
we take one we must take all, exceptions being made where there is direct contradiction by more authentic evidence, which is not the
vm6 ^ Present; distance. Sir James Mackintosh observes, “ William of Malmesbury, who might have known the counsellors of
Ddward the Confessor, relates the incident on the authority (not to be despised) of a Saxon song. The same story is told
by a later chronicler called Brompton {Dec. Scrip. 865), at great length, and with particulars characteristic of barbaric manners.”
VOL. VIII. 4 U
706
History.
ENGLAND.
next. Treason, famine, and disease, also aggravated the
calamities which overwhelmed the nation. Amongst the
instances of defection, that of Alfric, earl of Mercia, de¬
mands particular attention. On account of his miscon¬
duct he had been deprived of his government, but had
recovered it again through the influence of his friends.
In 992, a meeting of the witenagemote took place at Lon¬
don, where it was resolved to put the kingdom in a posture
of defence, by constructing a powerful fleet, and manning
it with picked men. This was accordingly done, and the
command of it conferred upon Alfric, with another noble¬
man and two prelates. Their commission was to surprise
the Danes at some part where they could be surrounded;
but this judicious scheme was foiled by the treachery of
the commander, who not only gave the Danes notice of
the intentions of the English, but consummated his perfidy
by secretly joining them. He urged an immediate flight;
but in the pursuit his vessel was taken, though the traitor
himself escaped. The king revenged himself upon Alfric,
by ordering his son Algar to be deprived of his eyes; an
act as barbarous as it was useless.
This bold exertion on the part of the invaded compelled
the Danes to transfer their arms from the south to the
north of England, where they extended their ravages;
but in 994 appeared two new and more powerful chief¬
tains, Sweyn, king of Denmark, and Olave, king^ of Nor¬
way. With ninety-four ships they sailed up the Thames,
and, although repulsed at London, they succeeded in ra¬
vaging several counties. But another humiliating subsidy
redeemed England from their grasp; and, what is more as¬
tonishing still, Olave was honourably received at the court
of Ethelred, where he pledged his word never to molest
England more. This promise is only remarkable inas¬
much as it was faithfully kept. The army of his compa¬
nion Sweyn, however, continued to occupy the country,
to which in course of time it became almost naturalized.
That it should remain inactive was not to be expected;
but that with impunity it should have been allowed to de¬
spoil provinces, displays a want of firmness, courage, and
national spirit, which seems unnatural to the island, and
can only be accounted for by supposing the existence of
a weakness almost amounting to imbecility in the sove¬
reign or his counsellors.
In 1002, Ethelred having lost his first wife, who bore
him ten children, married a Norman princess, who as¬
sumed the name of Elgiva. The same year became me¬
morable in the history of England for the perpetration of
a crime of as black a dye as ever darkened the annals of
any people. This wicked act, which rose out of a mis¬
chievous policy, is known by the name of the Massacre of
the Danes. On the 13th of November, the festival of
St Bride, the unsuspecting Northmen, with their wives,
children, and all belonging to them, were cruelly put to
death by a royal warrant. The details of this fearful trans¬
action are too horrible to be related. Suffice it to say,
that no place, however sacred, saved the victims from their
pursuers ; and that when they fled to the churches for
shelter, they were slaughtered in crowds around the al¬
tars. One painful episode is interwoven with this tale of
blood. Gunhilda, the sister of Sweyn, king of Denmark,
who was wedded to an English earl, saw her husband and
children massacred before her eyes, and was herself after¬
wards beheaded. It is related by all historians, that in
the agonies of death she foretold the vengeance which
would descend upon the English nation for the barbarous
act which it had committed; and the prediction was rea¬
lized, as we shall hereafter see.
The calamities of England seemed now to thicken as the
atrocities of its ruler grew darker. Common pity for the
failings of humanity would lead us to pardon Ethelred’s
pusillanimity; but this dark deed has affixed a blot to his History,
scutcheon too deep for time ever to wash away. Sweyn was '•y'O
not slow in revenging the fate of his countrymen ; and,
through negligence and perfidy on the part of England,
he succeeded in ravaging the island, for several years, al¬
most with impunity. In 1007, thirty-six thousand pounds
of silver abated his thirst of revenge. Two years after¬
wards the most powerful armament which had yet obeyed
the flag of England was collected at Sandwich ; but treason
again paralyzed its operations. The captains abandoned
their vessels, which were steered up the Thames by the
mariners. “ Thus,” say the annalists, “ perished all the
hopes of England.” The surrender of sixteen counties, and
forty-eight thousand pounds, stayed for a short period the
rapacity of the Northmen. The picture which the now
fallen and devoted England presents, it is painful to con¬
template. Accumulated treasons and defeats had unnerved
the courage of the natives; whilst the numerous victories
of the Danes had swelled their pride, and inspired them
with a preposterous idea of their warlike powers. Many
fortified cities withstood all their assaults; but the open
country was abandoned to their rapacity. Systematic de¬
struction and spoliation was their principle ; and the fields,
deserted by the husbandmen, ceased to yield the necessary
supplies of food, so that the Danes themselves were com¬
pelled to quit the island in search of provisions. Taxation,
direct and annual, which must be traced to this period,
weighed also upon the energies of the people, and ma¬
terially increased the now almost universal discontent. In
the midst of this ignominious submission and disaffection,
it is pleasing to record instances of magnanimity, and pain¬
ful to reflect that these were so few in number. The Arch¬
bishop of Canterbury having been made a prisoner by the
Danes, was offered his liberty for a moderate ransom,
on condition that he would advise Ethelred to pay them
heavy sums of money as a largess. “ I have no money,”
he replied, “ and I will not advise the king to dishonour
himself.” Still they persisted; but the dauntless prelate
remained unshaken. The barbarians condemned him to
death ; and he was immediately assailed with bones, horns,
and other remains of a feast in which they had been in¬
dulging. “ Gold, bishop; give us gold,” they exclaimed,
as they dragged him forth; but he remained unmoved,
and having been felled to the earth with the rude missiles
which wTere showered upon him, he received a mortal stab
from the hand of a man whom he had himself baptized.
Sweyn made his last incursion into the country in 1013.
Terrified at the universal disaffection, Ethelred fled at
last to Normandy, whence he returned on hearing of
Sweyn’s death, which occurred shortly afterwards. The
latter was succeeded by his son Canute; for the Danes
would now appear to have put in a claim for the sove¬
reignty of the whole country. Ethelred was recalled by
the English chiefs, who exacted a promise from him that
he would govern with less tyranny than formerly; and
pledges were also interchanged between the Danes and
English. But a contest soon ensued between the two
parties ; and although Ethelred succeeded in repeating
upon a small scale that system of treacherous massacre
lor which he had so severely suffered, yet Canute main¬
tained his superiority in open warfare, and took a bar¬
barous revenge upon the hostages in his hands, lor the
murder of his friends. Treason again added a fearful
contribution to the accumulated evils which surrounded
the unfortunate Ethelred. His son Edmund, surnamed,
from his hardihood, Ironside, vainly attempted to make
head against the Danes; for Canute penetrated to York,
where he was joined by the Earl of Northumbria and a
number of the people. The country was now a prey to
two contending armies ; but just at this crisis it was reliev-
ENGLAND.
History, ed from its greatest enemy, Ethelred, who died towards
'**~y*~' the end of 1016, worn out by care and disease.
Edmund Ironside was immediately chosen king by the
English ; and if the exertions of one man could have saved
the country, this achievement would have been performed
by the new king. During his short reign, for it extend¬
ed to only a few months, he gave proofs of bravery and
ability equal to any exigency, and worthy of a happier
fortune. The first struggle between him and Canute was
for the possession of London, which was held by the Eng¬
lish. During the siege Edmund fought two battles in the
provinces, one of which took place at Scearston, and is
celebrated by our annalists. Twice the darkness of night
came to the relief of the exhausted armies, which had
both suffered severely; but the dawn of the third morning
showed the result to be in favour of the English. Canute,
however, had taken advantage of the night, and marched
upon London. Not long afterwards another battle was
fought, in which Edric, a traitor thrice steeped in infamy
by his defection, played the game of victory into the hands
of Canute. After this calamitous event the greatness of
Edmund’s soul became more conspicuous. Although a
numerous army had again rallied around his standard, he
shuddered to lavish more of his country’s blood in this
murderous warfare, and challenged Canute to decide their
quarrel by single combat. Whether this proposal was
accepted or not, is matter of uncertainty ; but at all events
a pacification was shortly afterwards agreed upon, and
England was divided between the rivals ; the north being
given up to Canute, whilst Edmund retained possession of
the south. The latter, however, died shortly afterwards ;
and there is reason to believe that he perished through
the machinations of the perfidious Edric.
Edmund left two sons, infants; but by the unanimous
voice of the nation Canute obtained the sovereignty of
England. This remarkable prince was only twenty years
of age when he assumed the reins of government. His
qualities as a monarch were of a very high order, not un¬
alloyed, howevei’, with the ferocity natural to the North¬
men of the period. The first object of his policy was the
removal of the children of the two preceding kings. Some
of the sons of Ethelred were slain, and the rest consigned
to banishment; whilst those of Edmund were sent over to
Sweden, for the purpose of being dispatched. But their
fate was averted by the prince to whom they were convey¬
ed. He sent them both to the king of Hungary, by whom
they were educated in a manner befitting their station.
One died in his youth, the other married the daughter of
Henry, the emperor of Germany; and their issue was
Edgar Atheling, who will be mentioned hereafter.
Canute divided the kingdom into four governments. He
retained Wessex to himself. East Anglia was conferred
on a chief named Thurchil, who had formerly distinguish¬
ed himself; and Eric and Edric were continued in North¬
umberland and Mercia. But the latter shortly afterwards
received the full reward of his crimes and perfidy. At
a Christmas festival celebrated in London, he had the au¬
dacity to boast of his services, when Canute ordered him
to be cut down, and his body thrown into the Thames.
The Danish king had embraced Christianity, and also
taken to wife Emma, widow of Ethelred. The profession
of the former removed the main barrier between his Eng¬
lish and Danish subjects; and his espousal of a royal
female was no doubt intended to conciliate the affections
of the Saxons; and it seems to have had a considerable
effect in this respect. The other events of this reign will
be found related under the head of Canute. He died at
Shaftesbury in 1035, and was interred at Winchester. By
his wife Emma he had a son and daughter; the former
called Hardicanute, or Canute the Hardy. But previ-
707
ously to his marriage he had by another lady two sons, History,
named Sweyn and Harold. The former was installed in
the sovereignty of Norway, and the latter ascended the
throne of England.
Harold was not entitled to the crown; for it had been
provided in the marriage settlement of Emma, that the
issue of Canute by her alone should reign; yet he being
on the spot, succeeded in obtaining the sceptre as well as
the treasures of his father. Edward the son of Ethelred,
certainly the legitimate sovereign of the kingdom, made an
attempt to obtain it, but proved unsuccessful. His brother
Alfred renewed the enterprise, which proved fatal to him
and to most of his followers. This prince received a let¬
ter, which purported to be from his mother, inviting him
to come over and take possession of his father’s dominions.
The proposition was flattering, and in an unlucky moment
he yielded to it. Having landed with six hundred fol¬
lowers, he was treacherously made prisoner, along with
his companions. Every tenth man was set at liberty, a
few more were reserved as slaves, and the remainder
were massacred and mutilated with the most capricious
cruelty. Prince Alfred himself was deprived of his eyes;
and this shocking barbarity soon afterwards terminated
in his death. The unfortunate sufferer was the dupe of
a forgery; and the whole villanous transaction seems to
have been planned by Harold, and executed by his mi¬
nions, particularly Earl Godwin. This remarkable indi¬
vidual, according to the only account of him which we
possess, was the son of a Saxon herdsman. In his youth
he had assisted Ulfr, a Danish chieftain, to make his
escape to the ships of Canute. The Northman took him
under his charge, and by successive steps he rose to the
dignity of a Jar!, and to the possession of power little less
than sovereign during three reigns. The atrocious deed
of blood above related is the only event of importance as¬
sociated with the name of flarold the First. He died in
1040, and was succeeded by Hardicanute, his brother by
the half blood.
This sovereign reigned about two years; and the little
that is recorded of him is of a very mixed character. He
came over from Denmark, breathing revenge against the
murderers of Alfred, and even went so far as brutally to
insult the lifeless remains of Harold. Godwin stood pro¬
minently forward as an object of punishment, but a splen¬
did present turned aside the shaft of vengeance. Others
also escaped by appealing to his avarice, which seems to
have been his ruling passion. Edward the son of Ethel¬
red was kindly and honourably received at his court—a
noble act of generosity; yet the author of it died of in¬
temperance at the nuptial feast of a Danish lord.
Edward, surnamed the Confessor, the surviving son of
Ethelred, was chosen king of England in 1042. He was
a weak and feeble prince, and incompetent to the task of
vigorous government; yet the commencement of his reign
was characterized by an act of severity. He despoiled
his mother Emma of her property, and deprived her of
her influence. These proceedings were prompted by the
antipathy which she bore to the king, and by her luke¬
warmness in not punishing the murderers of her son Al¬
fred, of whose blood it was even whispered she was not
entirely guiltless. The weak and irresolute character of
the king threw the power entirely into the hands of the
three noblemen who divided the Saxon territory amongst
them, Siward earl of Northumberland, Leofric earl of Mer¬
cia, and Godwin earl of Kent, whose daughter, Editha,
Edward had been induced to marry. Godwin was by far
the most powerful of the three; for besides his own ter¬
ritory in Wessex, his two sons, Sweyn and Harold, held
large domains northward of the Thames. In 1051 he at
last presumed to bid defiance to his sovereign and son-in-
ENGLAND.
708
History, law. Edward, who had sojourned a long time in Nor-
v—'V'w' mandy, where he was well treated, when he ascended the
throne invited the guardians and friends of his youth to
accompany him to England. They accordingly flocked
to him in great numbers, and received ample preferment.
One of them, named Robert, obtained the primacy, at that
time the station of highest dignity and power. Amongst
those who resorted to England was Eustace count of Bou¬
logne, who had married Edward’s sister. At Dover, one
of Godwin’s towns, a foolish alfray took place between the
followers of the count and the English. This circum¬
stance gave vent to the popular jealousy of the people
against foreigners. Godwin assembled a force, and claim¬
ed the surrender of Eustace; but the latter was support¬
ed by the king, who ultimately succeeded in driving God¬
win and his sons into exile. The star of Godwin seemed
now to have fairly set; but just at this moment there
arose another of far more disastrous omen to the Saxon
line. William duke of Normandy came to England with
many of his followers, on a visit to his cousin Edward.
He was received with great honour, and loaded with pre¬
sents when he returned to his own country.
Had the illustrious stranger never risen to be ruler of
England, his first visit to it would probably have been
passed over by historians with a simple relation of the
event. But his singular fortune has induced some writers
to find in it a clue to his subsequent proceedings. It is
impossible to conjecture what may have passed in his
mind upon this occasion. On the one hand he saw, that
in the course of a few years, the crown would soon become
vacant, for its possessor was now stricken in years, and,
moreover, childless. On the other hand, there stood in
the way of his claim to it, first of all, Edward, the son
of Edmund Ironside; then his son Edgar Atheling, a
weak prince, however; and afterwards the brothers of
Edward’s queen. Under such circumstances his vaulting
ambition may have led him to indulge in aspirations to
the crown; but only a vague probability of ultimate suc¬
cess must have been awakened in a mind possessed of such
high reflecting powers as that of William the Conqueror.
Too many obstacles stood in the way of his fostering any
sanguine hopes of acceding to the throne of England; and
it is certain that the objects of his first visit were pacific.
It appears highly probable that his politic foresight might
induce him to take measures for securing the crown after
the death of Edward the son of Ironside, which took place
some years subsequently to his visit to England; and a
conjecture may be hazarded that it was immediately after
the demise of his brother’s son that the Confessor made
a promise to William of leaving him the crown. That
such a promise was given was afterwards alleged by the
Conqueror, as we shall see when he comes before us as a
claimant of the sovereignty. In about a year after this
the Godwins were restored to their honours and estates;
and Editha, who had been repudiated by the king, was
called from her prison to the throne. She was innocent
of any participation in her father’s guilt. The annalists
of the time represent her in the most amiable light, and
as incapable of devising evil either against her husband
or any other individual. On his re-instalment in his earl¬
dom and possessions, Godwin succeeded in inducing the
king to outlaw Archbishop Robert and all the Frenchmen ;
and not long after he died ripe in years and in crimes.
In 1055 Siward followed him to the grave; and two years
afterwards expired Leofric, the wise and powerful duke
of Mercia, who was succeeded in his dukedom by his son
Algar. Tostig, brother of Harold, received the earldom
of the former; but in a few years afterwards (1065), he
was deposed for his cruelties, and his sovereignty confer¬
red upon Morcar, son of the Duke of Mercia.
Soon after these transactions, the pacific monarch of History.
England began to sicken. When he saw his end approach-
ing, he ordered the magnificent church of St Peter at West¬
minster, which he had built, to be consecrated with solem¬
nity and splendour. He died two days after, on the 4th
or 5th of January 1066, in the twenty-fourth year of his
reign, and was interred in the church which he had so re¬
cently dedicated. He left no issue; for he had taken a
vow of continence for life. Edward Atheling, the only
surviving son of Edmund Ironside, had landed from Hun¬
gary with his wife and children, for the purpose of being
proclaimed heir to the crown; but shortly after his ar¬
rival in London he expired, bequeathing his claim to his
son Edgar.
Edward the Confessor presents himself to us only in
one character, that of a royal monk. His piety and gen¬
tleness might have adorned a cloister, but, unallied with
those sterner virtues which fit a monarch for wielding the
sceptre with firmness and energy, they rendered him un¬
fit for ruling, except under the influence of able counsel,
which he had the good fortune to possess during the
greater part of his reign. Abject superstition will unnerve
even a strong mind, and to a weak one it imparts a cha¬
racter of childlike feebleness, and forms such an individual
as Edward. But he had many amiable qualities, which
would have redeemed even greater weaknesses than those
with which he is chargeable. He loved his people much;
he was averse to the imposition of taxes, some of which
he abolished; and his charities were frequent and exten¬
sive. His subjects repaid his attentions by lamenting his
loss as a national misfortune, and consigning his memory
to the veneration of posterity.
The day which witnessed the funeral of Edward, saw
the coronation of Harold, the son of Godwin. A report
had been circulated that the Confessor had appointed him
his successor, which greatly conciliated the chiefs; in¬
deed the only opposition which he experienced was from
his own unnatural family. On Edgar Atheling, the last
surviving prince of the house of Cerdic, was confer¬
red the earldom of Oxford, in lieu of the crown. Tostig,
the brother of the king, was a competitor for the crown.
Harold Hardrada, king of Norway, promised him his sup¬
port, and the politic duke of Normandy did the same. In
Flanders he was permitted to raise an army, with which he
landed in Northumberland ; but he was defeated by Mor¬
car, on whom the earldom of the province had been con¬
ferred. The discomfited Tostig fled to Malcolm, king of
Scotland, where he was well received. The Caledonian
monarch had himself been sheltered at the English court
during the usurpation of Macbeth, and was established on
the throne of his ancestors by the aid of England. As a
grateful return for the attentions he had received in that
country, he always readily welcomed the malcontents who
fled from it. The arrival of his Norwegian ally recalled
Tostig from his exile. They joined forces at the mouth
of the Tyne, and marched upon York, in the neighbour¬
hood of which city the Saxon army sustained a defeat.
But this was only a prelude to the grand struggle. Harold,
the king, notwithstanding the necessity under which he
lay of watching the south-eastern extremity of the island
from a still more formidable rival, collected a considerable
army, and marched with promptitude and secrecy to meet
Tostig and his Norwegian ally. So rapid had been the
movements of the king that he took the enemy in some de¬
gree by surprise. They, however, retired upon Stamford-
bridge on the Derwent, where they drew out their line of
battle. The contest which ensued was bloody, and long
of doubtful issue. For a while the firm array of the Nor¬
wegians bade defiance to all the efforts of the English ca¬
valry, which, accustomed to charge in detached masses,
ENGLAND.
709
History, fell in this dispersed state almost harmless upon the
bristling rampart of Scandinavian spears. The king of Nor¬
way, conspicuous by his blue tunic and glittering helmet,
made the most heroic exertions ; but victory forsook his
standard ; a fatal dart pierced his throat, and he fell lifeless
to the ground. Tostig assumed the command, and after
a desperate effort to turn the fortune of the day, he perish¬
ed, with the flower of the Norwegian army. This victory,
which is memorable on account of the dreadful slaughter
that distinguished it, was gained on the 25th of September
1066. It must be recorded to the honour of Harold, that
twice he offered peace and pardon to his rebellious bro¬
ther, once before and once during the heat of battle, when
the Norwegian had fallen, but both times these offers were
refused. Three days after this conflict William duke of Nor¬
mandy landed in England, and Harold had to prepare for
another desperate struggle to retain the crown. It will
now be necessary to examine how far the pretensions of
the new competitor for it were legitimate.
This celebrated claimant to the sceptre of England was
the descendant of Rollo, a renowned Vikingr or Sea-King,
who flourished at the beginning of the tenth century.
Rognvalldr, the father of Rollo, was one of those earls ap¬
pointed by Harold Harfager, or the fair-haired, to guard
his conquests. He had two sons, Thorer and Rolfr, better
known by his more celebrated name of Rollo.1 The pro¬
genitor of William the Conqueror was expelled from his
country on account of a violation of the law which for¬
bade freebooters, under pain of death, to destroy cattle on
the Norwegian shore. Driven from his paternal shores,
he resolved to seek for a kingdom elsewhere; and after
much successful valour he succeeded in establishing a
Scandinavian state in France. Rollo proved himself a
prince worthy of a kingdom, and his acquisition in course
of time assumed the name of Normandy. His exertions
for the improvement of his dominions, the civilization of
the rude Northmen, and the humanizing of their minds to
the love of order, justice, and the arts of peace, class him
with those illustrious individuals who have proved them¬
selves benefactors of the human race. He died in 931,
and was succeeded by his son William. After two others,
Robert the Magnificent, or the Devil as he was perhaps
more appropriately designated, succeeded. He was father
to the duke, who now appears before us as a competitor
for the English throne. William was an illegitimate child
by a damsel of humble condition, of whom his father was
enamoured, but could not wed during the lifetime of his
duchess, the sister of Canute. Like their northern pro¬
genitors, the nobles of the Norman duke were careless of
the distinction between concubinage and wedlock, so that
on the death of Robert in 1035, William, although then
only eight years of age, was triumphantly placed upon
the ducal throne, which he filled with renown for fifty-
three years.
The circumstance of numerous Norman barons having
settled in England during the reign of Edward the Con¬
fessor, who was the grandson of a duke of Normandy, has
already been noticed; as also the visit paid by William to
the childless monarch. It wTas afterwards asserted by the
Duke of Normandy, that upon one occasion, probably that History,
to which we have already alluded, Edward had bequeathed
to him the crown of England. He also alleged a testa¬
mentary bequest, as well as Harold. Both were alike des¬
titute of any claim founded on the modern principles of
hereditary descent, but both by consanguinity made out
a species of right to inherit; William as the grand uncle
of Emma the king’s mother, and Harold as the king’s
brother-in-law. The claims of the champions were there¬
fore nearly balanced, and seem to have contented their
partizans ; the sword alone could decide to whom thq real
title should belong.
In the mean time the claim of Harold suffered consider¬
ably on account of a circumstance which occurred a short
time before the demise of the late king. The Saxon had
been shipwrecked in France, but obtained leave to proceed
to Normandy by alleging that he was intrusted with some
communications to Duke William. That prince received
him kindly, and imparted to him the hopes which he che¬
rished of obtaining the English crown. He received a
promise of aid from Harold, and by an artifice succeeded
in making him swear fealty to his cause. Underneath the
missal on which the Saxon had sworn were concealed va¬
rious sacred relics, such as the bones of saints and martyrs,
and thus he had unconsciously bound himself by the most
solemn oath. When the struggle came, Harold urged the
plea of compulsion as releasing him from any obligation
to keep his vow. Abhorrence of oath-breakers, however,
is characteristic of a superstitious age ; and whilst the cir¬
cumstance materially weakened the cause of Harold, it
strengthened in a corresponding degree that of his rival.
There is also every reason to believe that it was the prin¬
cipal means of enabling William to obtain from the holy
see a declaration in favour of his enterprise. At such a .
period a bull from the pope was itself worth an army, and
this the adventurer not only obtained, but also a conse¬
crated standard, a ring, and a lock of his holiness’s hair.
William now set busily to work in preparing the means
of offensive aggression. When his purpose was known, he
was speedily joined by all the young knights of the neigh¬
bouring countries who sought fortune or renown, and by
all the freebooters whom the hope of spoil allured to his
standard. With an armament more formidable than the
western nations had yet witnessed, he accordingly put to
sea. Annalists have greatly exaggerated the number of
his troops ; for altogether they did not probably much ex¬
ceed twenty-five thousand men. With this army he landed
without opposition at Pevensey, in the county of Sussex,
as has already been observed. Fie made no stay at that
place, however, but proceeded immediately to Hastings to
procure provisions. Harold, apprised of the arrival of
his most dreaded enemy, flew to attack him. William,
informed of his victory and advance, was counselled by
some to remain in his entrenchments, and not to hazard an
open engagement. But the mind of the future conqueror
was not liable to the agitations of fear. He had thrown
his life upon a cast, and was resolved to stand the hazard
of the die. In this emergency the conduct of Harold
has been severely censured. He appropriated to him-
1 In the History of England by Sir James Mackintosh (vol. i. p. 90), the following sentence occurs :—“ One of the sons of liogue-
vald, called in the Icelandic poems Hrolpt, better known to us by the name of Kollo, had, for reasons unknown to our authorities,
been excluded from all share in his father’s domains, and had no resource but piracy.” The reason of his exclusion was in all like¬
lihood his being a younger son. We have already noticed, that amongst the Northmen of this period an absurd law obtained, by
which all but the eldest son were excluded from any participation in the property left by the father. By this pernicious arrange¬
ment the younger branches of families were driven to seek their fortune upon the sea. It is certain that lloguevald left
two sons; it is also next to certain that he would observe the law of the land as it then existed. Now, the question comes to be,
which of the two was the first born. There is no direct evidence upon the point, but the circumstance of Thorer’s name having always
the precedence when the brothers are mentioned together, and also that of Kollo’s piratical exploits, whilst there is no mention made
of his brother in that capacity, seem to determine the point that the progenitor of a future royal family of England was the young¬
est son ;—and thus the difficulty is explained.
710
History.
ENGL A N D.
self all the spoils of the late battle, which added to his un¬
popularity ; whilst the death of his brother was by common
report imputed to him. On his mjirch against William, a
considerable portion of his army deserted him, and their
place had to be supplied by raw and undisciplined levies.
When the two rivals were near enough to interchange
messages, the Norman offered Harold the choice of abdi¬
cation, of single combat, or of appeal to the pope. These
propositions being rejected, he was then offered Northum¬
berland for himself, whilst Kent would be conceded to his
brother Gurth; but the latter proposal shared the fate of
the former one ; upon which William declared his inten¬
tion of giving battle to his rival, whom he looked upon and
designated as a liar and a perjured wretch, excommuni¬
cated by the holy father. He even expressed astonish¬
ment that an individual conscious of such guilt as that
with which Harold was chargeable should venture his per¬
son in battle. We are told that such a feeling also pre¬
vailed in the English army, and that the king was advised
by his brothers Gurth and Leofvvin to withdraw, whilst
they would lead on the battle. Harold, however, only
smiled at their apprehensions, and expressed his resolu¬
tion of commanding the army in person.
On the morning of Saturday the 14th of October William
advanced to the attack of the Saxons, after having solemn¬
ly heard mass and received the sacrament. The previous
night is also said to have been passed in devotion, whilst
songs and revelry resounded throughout the Saxon camp.
The spot which Harold had fixed upon for this important
contest was a piece of rising ground about eight miles in¬
land from Hastings. It was open towards the south, and
was covered at the back by an extensive wood. On the
front of the declivity the troops were arranged in one com¬
pact mass, in the centre of which floated the royal ban¬
ner, with the king and his two brothers near it. On an
opposite hill stood William in front of his warriors, with
the relics upon which Harold had sworn hung round his
neck, and the consecrated standard waving by his side.
After a short address to animate his soldiers, he advanced
upon the enemy, shouting the national war-cry “ God is
our help whilst the cry of “ Christ’s rood, the holy rood,’’
rose from the adverse ranks. The impetuous onset of the
Normans was received by the English with their battle-
axes, with which they broke the lances and cut the coats
of mail, on which their opponents placed great reliance.
The confidence of the Normans began to waver, and the
left wing, both horse and foot, actually gave way. With
eager rashness the English pursued, and thus exposed
themselves to the hazard of being cut off; for William
with dauntless fortitude and presence of mind had suc¬
ceeded in rallying his fugitive bands. The attack was re¬
newed, and again the English repulsed it. The duke had
now recourse to an artifice which ultimately proved the
destruction of the enemy’s army. By a feigned flight he
allured a body of them from their strong position, and,
whilst the latter too eagerly pursued, he turned upon them
with his cavalry, and hewed them in pieces. Twice was
this stratagem repeated, and each time with perfect suc¬
cess. Still the main body of the English presented an
unbroken rampart of shields, against which the mass of
Norman chivalry for a long time was hurled in vain.
During the conflict both leaders gave proofs of perso¬
nal bravery and skill worthy of the crown which the one
was combating to retain and the other to wrench from his
grasp. William had three horses killed under him, and
hand to hand he had grappled on foot with his adversaries.
A little before sunset Harold, both of whose brothers had
already fallen, received an arrow in the eye, which pene¬
trated to the brain. His fall relaxed the vigour of the
English. Their lines were penetrated, their standard
taken; and a panic having seized upon them, they broke History,
and dispersed through the wood, whilst darkness closed
upon the spoils of the field and the hopes of the Saxons.
Thus ended the battle of Hastings, memorable in vari¬
ous respects, first, as introducing a new dynasty of mo-
narchs to rule the southern part of Britain ; and secondly,
as opening up to the inhabitants of the island the means
of a more extensive intercourse with the continent than
they had ever yet enjoyed. By this means were introduced
into Britain those modes of life, manners, customs, and
institutions which were at the time considered as charac¬
teristic of civilization and refined society ; and henceforth
England was destined to take a large share in the trans¬
actions and fortunes of the continental powers, perhaps
ultimately for the mutual benefit of all parties.
On the morning after the battle, the victors, having
stripped the bodies of the slain, pranced wantonly over
them with their horses. The mother of Harold, like an¬
other Andromache, begged the corpse of her son from the
conqueror ; but whether her maternal request was complied
with or not is a matter of great uncertainty; for upon this
point our annalists are either contradictory or ambiguous.
By one party it is asserted that the corpse of the fallen
monarch was interred upon the beach ; by another that it
was given up when demanded, its weight in gold having
been offered as a ransom. Perhaps both are correct; for
it is probable enough that it was first buried on the shore,
and afterwards exhumated at the request of the mother.
Without entering into any speculation connected with the
Norman conquest, we may simply remark, that in order to
interest the reader of English history, and excite commi¬
seration and pity for Harold, he has, by a number of his¬
torians, been invested with talents, virtues, and accom¬
plishments which he did not possess in a degree sufficient
to command the entire affection of his countrymen during
his life ; whilst his death has also been deplored with un¬
necessary regret, as a sort of national loss. Where the
stakes are equal, and the game a fair trial of strength and
dexterity, sympathy will always side with the loser. Over
his opponent Harold had the advantage of fighting for his
native land against a foreign invader; but it must be ob¬
served that his own aggrandisement and the independence
of the nation were inseparably connected, and that in pur¬
suing the one he was combating for the other.
Before entering into the subsequent history of the con¬
queror’s proceedings, it will be necessary to pause and
take a rapid glance at the Anglo-Saxon institutions be¬
fore they were supplanted by the system which the suc¬
cessful invasion of the Normans was destined to introduce.
The Anglo-Saxon king, without possessing despotic sove¬
reignty, was in dignity, property, and power elevated far
above the level of the rest of the nation. He was elected by
the assembly called the wittena-gemote, a meeting of wise or
prudent men. This was the great council of the nation,
and seems to have resembled what our modern parliament
would be if lords and commons mingled together and de¬
bated in one house. It was composed of the prelates,
earls, and a great many thanes or considerable proprietors
of land, a class similar to our modern gentry; so that the
Saxons may be said to have possessed the elements of a
free and popular government, though as yet in a rude
and chaotic state. This supreme judicial and legislative
assembly was convened by the king, and held its meet¬
ings on the great festival days of the church, such as
Christmas. But these were not confined to such seasons,
being called together according as circumstances required.
Besides electing the king, and presiding at his coronation,
they assisted him in making laws and treaties, in military
preparations, in administering justice, and the other affairs
of government. Their power was considerable, but it de-
ENGLAND. 711
History, pended in a great measure upon the character and capa-
city of the sovereign. The highest officer in the kingdom
was the ealdorman ; he was chief of a shire, and had great
judicial powers. An eorl was the next dignity, which re¬
mained separate from the former until towards the close
of the Anglo-Saxon period, when the title of ealdorman
seems to have been superseded by that of eorl; under
them were other officers, whom it is unnecessary to par¬
ticularise. There was of course a wittena-gemote to every
kingdom ; and when all the principalities merged in Wes¬
sex, and gave rise to a single one for the whole country,
the monarch occasionally held shire-gemotes, or county
meetings, where the laws made by the king and his coun¬
sellors were proclaimed, and being acknowledged and
sworn to, became binding on the whole nation.
The Anglo-Saxons were divided into freemen and slaves.
But there was a third class, such as bordars, cottars, and
others, wdio were cultivators of the soil, and, ranking pro¬
bably in the lowest order of freemen, were scarcely re¬
duced to the degrading level of slaves. As far as has yet
been ascertained, the class which was subject to tbe most
complete thraldom was small in comparison with those
who enjoyed superior privileges, probably about one in
seven. The Anglo-Saxons paid some attention to the
cultivation of the land, which was held by various te¬
nures, and liable to certain burdens, which varied in kind
and quantity. Military service, which consisted in pro¬
viding a certain number of armed men when public safety
required them, was one of these. The other two great
services were the constructing or repairing of bridges, for¬
tresses, and walls. Besides these, the sub-proprietors of
land were more or less liable to many other burdens. With
regard to their conveyances, we have several of their
grants of land without any pecuniary consideration; of
their conveyances on purchase ; of their deeds of ex¬
change ; of their testamentary devises, and their leases.
These were, in the early periods of Anglo-Saxon history,
short and simple ; but in grants of a more recent date the
general wrords are nearly as numerous as in our present
deeds.
The supreme legal tribunal was the wittena-gemote,
which, like the present House of Lords, was paramount
to every other. There were also shire-gemotes and burgh-
gemotes, so many yearly meetings of which were strictly
enjoined upon those who composed them. Much of their
judicial proceedings rested upon oaths, and perjury was
therefore severely punished. For the various breaches
of the law the punishments were commonly pecuniary.
In the case of murder, the amount, which was partly le¬
vied by the state as a penalty, and partly granted to the
family of the deceased as a satisfaction for the loss of their
relative, was proportioned to the rank of the murdered man.
Persons accused of crimes had occasionally to pass through
an ordeal of hot water or hot iron, of which they had their
option.
There were many popular institutions which rendered
the king subordinate to the community. The meetings
of the people at the various courts, from the folkmote of
the hundred, to the wittena-gemote of the nation, contri¬
buted to foster the principles of equal law and of popu¬
lar government. From the Anglo-Saxons we derive our
language, the names of the most ancient officers among us,
and those of the greater part of the divisions of the king¬
dom, and of almost all our towns and villages.
In their domestic habits the Anglo-Saxons were social,
and loved the pleasures of the table. Their food was that
mixture of vegetable and animal diet which always marks
the progress of civilization. Ale and mead were their fa- History,
vourite drinks, and wine was an occasional luxury. They
had become so far acquainted with the conveniences of
civilized life as to display both variety and vanity in adorn¬
ing their persons. Their dwelling-houses seem to have
been small and inconvenient, although they were both
expensive and magnificent in their ecclesiastical buildings.
Amongst the Anglo-Saxons females were very respectfully
treated, and occupied the same independent rank in so¬
ciety which they now enjoy. The trades and mechanical
arts had made considerable progress, and even foreign com¬
merce was carried on and considered as a highly honour¬
able calling. With regard to their circulating medium, it
may be shortly stated, that they had their pounds, shil¬
lings, pence, and farthings, exactly as we have at present.
Learning, except amongst ecclesiastics, was neglected ;
and with regard to literature, little can be said with cer¬
tainty, for the monuments of this kind which they have
left us, except what is historical, have not yet been exa¬
mined with sufficient care.1
The conquest of England did not altogether terminate
with the battle of Hastings. London and other important
towns were put in a posture of defence, whilst a nume¬
rous fleet had assembled at Dover to interrupt the pro¬
ceedings and distract the attention of the invader. Ed¬
gar, the legitimate heir to the throne, appears to have
been either crowned or acknowledged as sovereign at Lon¬
don, where the two powerful earls Morcar and Edwin,
with the loyal inhabitants, resolved to make a desperate
stand against the advancing foe. William, however, in¬
stead of attacking the city, chose rather to lay waste the
country, which he did most effectually, consigning to the
flames what could not be forcibly removed. He now ap¬
pears before us in a character somewhat new. Formerly
he had combated for the crown against an individual who,
according to all modern notions of legitimacy, had no more
right to it than himself; but in the present instance he was
attempting to snatch it from the brow of him who alone
had a hereditary claim to wear it. On this account the
atrocities committed by his troops are justly contemplated
with horror, whilst the disposition to palliate them is pro¬
portionally lessened.
William, however, was the candidate favoured by the
see of Rome, and the bishops interfered in his behalf.
Stigand, the metropolitan, was the first to throw himself
on the mercy of William, whom he met as the conqueror
crossed the Thames at Wallingford, and swore fealty to
him as his sovereign ; others followed his example, as did
Edgar, Edwin, and Morcar upon the part of the nobility.
The crown was offered to him, and he was formally invested
with it in Westminster Abbey, on Christmas 1066. Dur¬
ing the ceremony a tumult arose which made the stout
heart of the conqueror to tremble beneath its iron mail;
and, had an English force, led by any competent comman¬
der, and capable of making head against the Normans, ap¬
peared at the moment, it might have cost him his crown
and his life. Whilst, by loud acclamations, both English
and Normans expressed their willingness to have William,
for king, his troops set fire to the houses, and commenced
the plunder of the city. The coronation service was hastily
concluded, and the insurrection quelled without much dif¬
ficulty, although the English looked upon it as a bad omen,
and William as a most unfortunate occurrence. It was his
interest to propitiate the affections of the people whom
he had now been appointed to govern, and he anxiously
wished to do so. In explanation of this occurrence, it is
usually alleged that the Normans mistook the acclama-
1 Turner’s Anglo-Saxons, voL ii. passim. Mackintosh’s England, vol. i. p. 71-
712
ENGLAND.
History, tions of those who shouted within the church for an alarm
of the English to rise in revolt. But if this had been the
case, why did they not instantly fly to the rescue of their
king, instead of spreading themselves about and firing and
pillaging the city ? His safety was surely their first care ;
for had he fallen, their fate was inevitable. The whole
unquestionably originated in the desire of the troops for
sack and pillage.1 * * * * *
Hitherto William had been called the Bastard ; from
this period he obtained the surname of the Conqueror,
a term which at the time was employed to designate a
person who had sought and obtained his right, as well as
a subjugator. It was necessary for William to maintain a
strong military force in order to compel the obedience of
his subjects; and he could only feel himself secure sur¬
rounded by his trusty Norman barons. But the duration
of their services being limited to a certain term, they na¬
turally expected to be released from their engagements,
and re-conveyed to their country, when the period of ser¬
vitude had expired. In order to encourage them to re¬
main, he put into their hands the strongholds and princi¬
pal towns of the kingdom, whilst all the conquered terri¬
tory of the English, which he had at his command, was
likewise distributed amongst them. Having thus put his
dominions in a secure posture, he embarked for Normandy,
carrying along with him Morcar, Edgar, and Edwin, and
leaving the chief management of affairs in England in the
hands of William Fitzosbern, a Norman baron, and Odo,
bishop of Bayeux, the son of his mother by a plebeian
husband. During the absence of the Conqueror, the
Saxons began to mutter threats of vengeance, and even
went so far as to enter into a conspiracy to cut off the Nor¬
mans as their forefathers had done the Danes. It appears,
from the testimony of several credible annalists, that the
oppression which the English suffered at the hands of the
insolent soldiery was most galling, and called loudly for
retaliation. These alarming rumours crossed the channel,
and reached the ears of William, who hastened from his
continental dominions, and, landing in England in De¬
cember 1067, made a sort of second conquest of that
country. The Saxons of Devonshire, joined by the neigh¬
bouring Britons in Cornwall, had thrown off their alle¬
giance to him, and against them he first turned his arms.
They made a gallant stand; but William having reduced
Exeter, succeeded in breaking the spirit of resistance for
a time. About this period, Edgar, with his mother and
two sisters, having embarked for Hungary, were driven by
a tempest upon the coast of Scotland. That country was
at the time governed by Malcolm, surnamed Ceanmore,
who gladly received the fugitives, and made them a re¬
turn for that kindness which he had himself experienced
under similar circumstances at the English court. Many
Saxon nobles followed Edgar, who, with subsequent emi¬
grations of disaffected Normans, founded the greater num¬
ber of the Scottish noble families. Malcolm afterwards
married Matilda, the eldest sister of Edgar.
William the Conqueror now turned his attention to the
north, where his authority had not yet been properly esta¬
blished. From the heart of Mercia to the confines of History.
Scotland a spirit of open insubordination prevailed, and v—
was fostered by Edwin, who had been at one time promised
the hand of William’s daughter, but was afterwards refused
it. The insurrection became formidable ; but it was soon
quelled, and this served more and more to confirm the
power of the Normans. William penetrated as far as York,
which opened its gates to him, scattered the isolated and
feeble bands who opposed his march, and reduced all the
important towns on his way. During this expedition he
also fortified a number of castles. The tranquillity thus
produced was, however, of short duration. At Durham
the English succeeded in massacring the whole Norman
force established there, excepting two men. York followed
the example of Durham, and rising upon the garrison,
killed the governor, with many of his retainers. Shortly
after this event, the sons of Harold, the late king, landed
from Ireland with the intention of making an effort to re¬
cover the crown ; but they were utterly defeated in two
engagements, by Brian, son of the Earl of Bretagne.
A new and formidable auxiliary of the malcontents had
now however arrived in the Humber ; this was a powerful
Danish armament. Edgar Atheling, several illustrious
Saxons, and crowds of the English, having joined them,
they successfully assaulted York ; but William, apprised
of their descent, hastened to the scene of war. His usual
good fortune attended him; and the Danes were compel¬
led to quit the country without crossing arms with theNor-
mans in any conflict worthy the name of a battle. Hints
have occasionally been thrown out that they were bribed
by the Conqueror; but of this circumstance there is no di¬
rect evidence. Upon another point, however, all historians
are agreed, namely, that, piqued by these repeated insur¬
rections, the king, in a transport of passion, had sworn to
extirpate Northumbria. This merciless vow w7as perform¬
ed nearly to the letter. Unbounded license wras given to
the soldiery, who ravaged the country with fire and sword.
The destroying angel could scarcely have left a more de¬
solate wilderness behind. An historian, William of Malmes¬
bury, who wrote sixty years after the event, thus describes
it: “ From York to Durham not one inhabited village
remained; fire, slaughter, and desolation made it a vast
desert, which continues to this day.” The dead remained
unburied; famine, with pestilence in its train, stalked
throughout the neighbouring provinces; w hilst confisca¬
tion brought up the rear of this terrible visitation, and
completed the ruin of the country and its inhabitants,
gleaning whatever the sword had not destroyed. Such
atrocities as these imprint a blot upon the escutcheon of
William wEich it is impossible to obliterate. To his au¬
thority the rebel chieftains were compelled to submit; and
having thus in the most summary manner crushed rebel¬
lion in this quarter of his dominions, he returned south¬
wards, clearing the provinces of the disaffected as he pro¬
ceeded, and repairing or building castles for the subjection
of the country. <
William was now undisputed master of England. The
conquest of the country, properly speaking, only began
1 Although not mentioned by our historians, contemporary annalists establish and illustrate the fact that the armies of the conti¬
nent at this period were in a great measure composed of mercenaries, who followed war as a profession, and hired themselves out to
the best paymaster, these individuals were different from those who followed the banners of the barons according to the feudal
system. They were little better than hired banditti, and were very numerous in the Low Countries, whence William had sprung. That
the force with which he invaded England contained vast numbers of these condottieri, is not only probable, but appears nearly
certain, when we contemplate the methods of furnishing out an army in those days. The plunder of the provinces which they
overran or conquered seems to have been looked upon by them as not only allowable, but as forming part of their reward.
That the affair at William’s coronation arose from their rapacity for pillage, which they looked upon as a right, there can be
little doubt; and they chose the most fitting time for successfully carrying their project into execution; a time when their leaders
were withdrawn, and in attendance at the ceremony going on within the church. They had previously broken out in the same
way at Dover.
ENGLAND.
713
History, with the battle of Hastings. It was not until seven years
thereafter, when he carried the terror of his arms to
York, that the country was completely subdued. Before
that period not one half of England acknowledged his au¬
thority. But the spirit of the Saxons was now fairly bro¬
ken, and finding themselves pursued with such extirpating
vengeance, many of them sought refuge amongst the hills
and forests, whilst others emigrated to foreign lands. A
party of them under Hereward, a resolute chief, attempt¬
ed to make a stand in the island of Ely, immediately after
the northern massacre. This land of fens and marshes
was the last asylum of Saxon independence ; and Morcar,
with some bishops and the remainder of the most conspi¬
cuous Saxons, repaired thither. For a while William dis¬
dained to notice the efforts of Hereward; but at last he
invaded his circumscribed territory, and, scattering his
little band, compelled him to fly. This bold and patriotic
chieftain afterwards gave in his submission, and being
allowed to retain his paternal possessions, the end of his
days proved happy. His daring exploits had endeared
him to his countrymen, and conferred on him a romantic
celebrity. His actions were the theme of many a Saxon
song; and even the Normans did homage to his warlike
virtues. He was the last of the Saxons who drew the
sword in the cause of national independence.
William having now quieted the tumults at home, turn¬
ed his attention to Malcolm, king of Scotland, whom he
compelled to submit. The affairs of the church also oc¬
cupied him for a time; and several changes were effect¬
ed, not, it may well be believed, to the advantage of the
Saxon prelates. One of them, the Archbishop of Canter¬
bury, was deposed, and his place supplied by Lanfranc,
who, although a worthy man, was the creature of William,
and in bondage to Rome. In the meanwhile, Edgar Athe-
ling had sought and obtained the friendship of the Con¬
queror, who, to his honour, ever afterwards maintained
this weak and almost imbecile youth in ease and affluence
at his court.1 William now ventured upon another visit
to Normandy, where we shall leave him engaged in petty
contests, and take a view of the state of England after its
subjugation.
By the introduction of a foreign sovereign, a foreign
hierarchy, and a foreign nobility, the native population
suffered severe depression. To supply the liberal grants
of land and places of honour and trust to his followers, the
English were of course sacrificed ; and thus they were com¬
pelled to become the servants or dependents of their con¬
querors. Contempt and oppression became their heritage.
Their farms were pillaged, their females violated, their
persons imprisoned, and other indignities heaped upon
them, at the caprice of the petty tyrants who were set over
them. The principal favourites of the Conqueror had an¬
other distinction conferred upon them in addition to the
grants of land. This was the earldom or command of the
several counties. Two legal revolutions occurred or were
completed during the reign of William ; the separation of
the ecclesiastical from the civil judicature, and the intro¬
duction or consummation of the feudal system, for an ac¬
count of which the reader is referred to the proper head.
He effected various other judicial changes which were ul¬
timately beneficial to the community. The crown reve¬
nues were a continuation of those which the Anglo-Saxon
kings enjoyed ; but they appear to have been considerably History,
increased by the various changes which took place, and
also very carefully collected ; for from an ancient historian
we learn that the king’s daily income amounted to above
one thousand pounds, a sum almost incredible when we
reflect that gold was then three times and silver ten times
the value which they possess in modern times.
During the visit of William to his continental posses¬
sions, the Norman barons rebelled against him, and were
joined by some Saxon chiefs. The king hastened across
seas with a band of auxiliaries, and made an easy conquest
of the insurgents. The remaining events of his reign are
not sufficiently important to require a minute recital. The
most remarkable is the revolt of his son Robert, who had
been promised the duchy of Normandy when William first
invaded England. The French monarch fomented the
hostilities between the father and son, which existed for
several years, and closed with a most romantic incident.
Robert, being besieged in the castle of Gorberoi, engaged
a knight enveloped in complete armour, and unhorsed him,
at the same time inflicting a wound in his arm. When
about to pursue his advantage, Robert recognised in the
fallen warrior the voice of his father. A reconciliation
was finally effected by the tears and entreaties of Matilda,
the mother of this Norman Absalom.
Whilst engaged in a desolating warfare against Philip,
king of France, William came before the town of Montes
in July 1087, and ordered it to be burned. He rode to
view the scene, and galloping among the smouldering ruins,
his horse reared and plunged so violently as severely to
wound the rider, who was at the time very corpulent and
unwieldy. He was carried in a dangerous state to the
vicinity of Rouen, w here he breathed his last, on the 9th
of September. On his death-bed the conscience of the
Conqueror appears to have stung him deeply; for he or¬
dered that several prisoners in England, amongst whom
was Odo his half-brother, should be set at large; and that
restitution should be made for what he had violently de¬
stroyed. But these atonements were inadequate to expi¬
ate the crimes of which he had been guilty.
The character of William has been drawn in the Saxon
chronicle by an Englishman, who was his contemporary,
and lived at his court. From this document we learn that
the king was very wise, very rich, and “ more worshipfull
and strong than any of his fore-gangers.” It is added,
that “ he wras mild to good men who loved God, and stark
beyond all bounds to those who withstaid his willand
the chronicler goes on to show that he exercised a pas¬
sionate as well as politic tyranny. That, in fact, he sur¬
passed his contemporary rulers in capacity for command,
the events of his life bear ample testimony. All those
qualities which fit an individual for directing and control¬
ling the minds of men in troubled times he possessed in
an eminent degree. In extenuation of his perfidy and
cruelty, it may be urged that these detestable qualities
were not more characteristic of him than of the age in
which he lived ; and that he is conspicuous for them above
his competitors only because, from the vigour of his mind,
and the great transactions in which he interested himself,
he was their superior in every thing else. In a happier
state of society, when moral restraint is generally recog¬
nised, and influences the development of the mental con-
1 Sir James Mackintosh, in his Hislory of England (vol. i. p. 108), gives a somewhat different account of this youth, but upon
what authority is not stated ; ours is Mr Turner, wrho quotes from William of Malmesbury. There is considerable ambiguity in the
passage ; for Sir James (p. 102 of the same work) says that Malcolm Ceanmore “ married the Princess Margaret, after the death of
her brother Edgar." Now the king of Scotland espoused this princess several years before the events noticed in p. 108, so that one
or other of these statements must be erroneous ; for none of our historians makes mention of two contemporary princes named Edgar
belonging to the royal house of Wessex.
vol. vrir. 4 x
714 E N G I
History, stitution of man, his glories would not probably have ap-
peared more stained with blood than those of Cromwell
and other warriors who have attained the seat of success¬
ful ambition and uneasy power. Neither these palliatives,
however, nor his death-bed penitence, can atone for irre¬
vocable crimes, or erase from the page of history such
deeds as the Northumbrian massacre.
Much has been written concerning the Norman con¬
quest, for it is a subject of inexhaustible interest. That
it became ultimately of incalculable benefit to the coun¬
try, whatever may have been the suffering immediately
consequent upon the event itself, no one can doubt who
reflects upon the fluctuating condition of England, its os¬
cillation between foreign bondage and native independ¬
ence, its internal broils and never-ending distractions, pre¬
viously to the invasion of the Normans, with the consoli¬
dated strength which it internally displayed, and the dig¬
nified bearing which it outwardly assumed, after it was
conquered by them. Insurrections, though not unknown
afterwards, were of less frequent occurrence, and far less
alarming, than before; and from the period of the inva¬
sion of William, no foreign enemy dared to set his foot
upon the soil with impunity. Amongst the financial in¬
novations of his reign was the composition of the Dooms¬
day Book, for an account of which the reader is referred
to the article under that head.
The Conqueror left three sons by his wife Matilda.
Robert, the eldest, was installed in the duchy of Norman¬
dy; whilst William, surnamed Rufus or the Red, from his
complexion, obtained the throne of England, and was
crowned on the 26th of September 1087. An attempt
was made by his half-uncle Odo to dethrone him, and to
set up his brother Robert in his stead. But William,
alarmed at the formidable demonstrations which were
made against him, appealed to the English for aid, and
his call was most loyally obeyed.- The Normans who had
invaded England were compelled to fly, and William car¬
ried the war into Normandy, where a reconciliation was
effected in the year 1091. The king of England had ac¬
quired several continental fortresses, of which he was still
to retain possession. It was also stipulated between the
brothers, that on the decease of either, the survivor should
succeed to the dominions of the other. Henry, the young¬
er brother, who suffered by the treaty, held out several
strong places in Normandy; but they joined their forces
together, and besieged him in St Michael’s Mount, whence
he was compelled to fly from want of water.
Robert accompanied his brother to England, where he
had been promised possessions as an equivalent for the
fortresses which he had yielded up in Normandy. But
William did not find it convenient to fulfil the terms of
the treaty ; upon which his brother, who had again crossed
the channel, sent over two heralds for the purpose of de¬
claring him a false and perjured knight. In order to de¬
fend his honour, the king followed them into Normandy;
but his transactions there belong rather to his own in¬
dividual history than to that of the country which he go¬
verned. The possession of his brother’s dominions was a
leading object of William’s ambition ; and he gradually ac¬
quired an ascendency in Normandy, which he repeatedly
invaded, obtaining new cessions at each adventure. Robert
finally mortgaged the whole country to him for three years,
at an equivalent of ten thousand merks.
The other events of William’s reign Were, an invasion of
Wales, which was crowned with the usual success ; and a
war with Scotland, in which the monarch of that country
was slain. His government of England was most unpo¬
pular. For the gratification of his own appetites, and the
enriching of worthless favourites, he plundered the coun¬
try with impunity. During the life of Lanfranc, his un-
AND.
disciplined rapacity was checked by the wisdom and in- History,
fluence of that excellent prelate. His death, however,
removed every restraint, for the king supplied his place
by the appointment of an able but remorseless counsellor,
who, according to the king himself, was capable of brav¬
ing the execrations and the vengeance of mankind, in or¬
der to gratify his master’s desires. Many bishoprics, in¬
cluding amongst these the see of Canterbury, were kept
vacant by the king for several years, until a severe illness
convinced him of the necessity of appointing a primate.
The individual whom he fixed upon was Anselm, one of
the most learned and meritorious men of his age. This
individual at first demurred to accept the archbishopric,
dreading the violence of the king ; but the earnest solici¬
tations of his friends at last induced him to comply, and
he thus became primate of England. William, as long as
his illness was of a dangerous character, showed himself
penitent and submissive. He commanded all his prison¬
ers to be released, all his debtors to be forgiven, and all
offences to be remitted ; and he solemnly vowed that if he
recovered he would govern the land in righteousness. But
no sooner was he convalescent than he showed that his
profession of amendment was only a matter of convenience,
and extorted from an unforgiving spirit by the terrors of
death. Anselm, as was usual in such cases, brought a
voluntary present to his master as an acknowledgment for
the dignity which had been conferred upon him; but the
gift, not corresponding to the avaricious views of the mo¬
narch, was refused, and the unfortunate primate was ever
afterwards persecuted by him with the most unrelenting
tyranny. Anselm at last sought shelter in Rome, where
he continued until William’s demise.
The death of the monarch, like his life, was violent.
Whilst hunting in the New Forest, he was accidentally
struck by an arrow, which buried itself in his breast, and
he expired on the spot. The shaft is believed to have
been shot at random, and to have come from the bow of
Walter Tyrrel, a French knight, who immediately made
his escape. This event happened on the 2d of August in
the year 1100.
Henry the First, surnamed Beauclerk or the Scholar,
ascended the throne of England three days after the death
of his brother, the preceding monarch. The compact
which had been made between William and Robert was
set aside; but the latter, considering himself as aggriev¬
ed, invaded England. The formidable demonstrations
made by his brother, however, intimidated him, and a
pacification was at last effected at the accession of Henry;
and the latter propitiated the favour of his subjects by
many wise acts. He removed the unpopular agents of
his unfortunate brother, particularly Flambard, the ob¬
noxious minister formerly alluded to, and also abolished
the oppressive exactions which the latter had enforced.
Anselm was recalled, and the clergy conciliated, whilst
the people had restored to them the Anglo-Saxon laws
and privileges as amended by Henry’s father. He also
gratified the nation by espousing Matilda, or Maud, daugh¬
ter of Malcolm, king of Scotland, by Margaret, the sister
of Edgar Atheling.
The king now turned his attention to the punishment
of the outlaws who had thrown off’ his authority. Amongst
these were included several noblemen, and particularly
Robert de Belesme, the most powerful subject in Eng¬
land, and a man haughty, rapacious, and deceitful. He
had secured himself within the walls of Shrewsbury, but
at the arrival of Henry before this place he made a humi¬
liating surrender, upon which his life was spared, but he
was condemned to perpetual exile. Some time after these
events Robert unexpectedly arrived in England, where
he was received with apparent affection by his brother,
ENGLAND.
715
History, but very soon discovered that he was in reality a captive.
The purpose of his visit was to intercede with Henry in
favour of the rebels; but instead of compounding for their
liberation, he was reduced to solicit his own, which he
obtained by consenting to pay an annuity of three thou¬
sand merks. After his return to Normandy he entered
into terms of friendship with the outlaw Belesme, who
possessed numerous castles in the country. Intelligence
of this having reached Henry, he renounced the alliance
by which he had bound himself to keep the peace with
Robert. This compact was similar to that which had sub¬
sisted between William and Robert, and a second time
the latter became a brother's dupe. Henry invaded Nor¬
mandy, and a decisive conflict before the walls of Tinche-
brai, on the 27th of April 1106, decided the fate of Ro¬
bert. His army was completely routed, and he himself
taken prisoner and sent to England, where he remained in
close confinement till his death, which happened in 1135.
The cruel fate of this prince has served as a foil to the
virtues which he possessed, and shed over them an arti¬
ficial or spurious lustre. There can be no doubt, however,
that his qualities as a warrior were brilliant, and his mind
would seem to have been forgiving and conciliatory. Per¬
haps an amiable weakness in the latter respect was the
ultimate cause of his misfortunes. Amongst the prison¬
ers taken at Tinchebrai was Edgar Atheling. Either from
his inherent weakness precluding any thing like fear on
his account, or from a desire to retain the golden opinions
of the Saxons, Henry pardoned him, and from this period
the descendant of Alfred intrudes himself no more upon
the page of English history.
Robert had a son about five years of age named William,
whom a faithful vassal succeeded in conveying to the
French court. As the age of this prince advanced, the
hopes of his partizans proportionally increased. Henry,
after obtaining possession of Normandy, had succeeded in
tranquillizing it, and restoring peace and order; but as his
nephew grew up, the claims which he possessed to the
duchy of his father became more and more popular, and
disturbed the quiet both of his uncle and the country.
Henry should have at once yielded his paternal inherit¬
ance to the young prince ; and the withholding of it was
an act of injustice which harassed his life and dishonour¬
ed his name. The Norman barons, along with the king of
France, took part with the injured youth; but this coali¬
tion terminated with the battle of Brenville, ivhich was
fought in the year 1119. Louis, the French king, had
four hundred, and Henry of England five hundred knights.
Both princes displayed great bravery during the engage¬
ment, which ended, with comparatively but little blood¬
shed, in favour of the English. William of Normandy
made his escape ; and the pope, who paid a visit to Henry
atGisors, effected a reconciliation between him and Louis,
without touching upon the main cause of quarrel, namely,
the difference between the English monarch and his bro¬
ther Robert, or rather his nephew William, the father be¬
ing now politically dead.
Matters having been once more pacifically arranged, and
the ambition of Henry gratified, he set sail for England
towards the end of November 1120. Upon this occasion
a most calamitous event occurred in his family, namely,
the loss of his only son William. The prince, with a large
retinue of gay young knights and noblemen, embarked
shortly after his father. Festivity, riot, and intoxication
prevailed on board; but in the midst of this feasting and
debauchery, the care of‘the vessel being forgotten alto¬
gether, she struck upon a rock near Harfleur, and went
down. Of three hundred individuals who were on board,
only one escaped to record the dismal fate of his com¬
panions. Prince William would have been saved but for
the shrieks of his natural sister, which recalled him to the History
wreck with the boat in which he was proceeding towards
shore; and it sunk under the multitudes who crowded
into it.
This sudden calamity revived the hopes of Henry's ne¬
phew William, and disturbed all the arrangements of the
king in Normandy. A new war was kindled in that country;
but it terminated in 1124 in favour of the English monarch.
The discomfited youth, however, received a new favour
of fortune. Louis of France bestowed upon him the hand
of his sister-in-law; and along with her he received se¬
veral of the provinces nearest to Paris, which had been
united to Normandy by conquest. Soon afterwards he
was invested with the earldom of Flanders, which had been
left vacant by the assassination of Charles the Good in
1127. In the meanwhile, Henry had endeavoured to per¬
petuate the succession in his own family, by marrying a
second time, after the death of Matilda, his first wife, who
had brought him a son and daughter. The premature
fate of the former we have already noticed; and the latter,
named Matilda, had espoused the Emperor of Germany.
The marriage of the king proved to be without issue; and
his daughter having recently become a widow, was invited
to England, for the purpose of settling upon her the suc¬
cession to the throne. In a general assembly of the pre¬
lates and chief tenants of the crown she was proposed by
her father and acknowledged by the meeting as heiress
presumptive; and shortly after this transaction her father
privately married her to the Count of Anjou. This secret
negociation drew forth loud complaints from the barons;
and many of them declared that the duplicity of the king
had released them from the obligation of their oath. This
doubtless disturbed the serenity of the king’s reign; but
another and more important cause of disquietude arose
from the increasing power and fame of his nephew in
Flanders. However, the death of that prince soon after¬
wards removed all uneasiness on his account, and restored
at least the prospect of tranquillity. But this was not
realized; for a quarrel with his son-in-law retained him
in Normandy, and embroiled the last years of his reign,
which was now drawing towards a close. Robert, the
unfortunate duke of Normandy, died at Cardiff Castle in
Wales, in the eightieth year of his age and twenty-eighth
of his captivity, a great part of which had been spent in
total blindness ; for an unsuccessful attempt to escape had
provoked his brother to deprive him of sight. All the
historians of the period do not mention this circumstance,
and some state that the prisoner enjoyed every indulgence ;
so that the point is doubtful, and for the honour of huma¬
nity we leave it in this state. In about a year thereafter,
he was followed to the grave by king Henry, who died
of a surfeit of lampreys, on the 1st of December 1135,
in the sixty-seventh year of his age and thirty-fifth of his
reign.
The character of Henry has been drawn by both friends
and enemies, his contemporaries. The former extol him
as wise, rich, and brave; and the latter execrate him as
cruel, avaricious, and incontinent. By joining the two cha¬
racters together, we will form a pretty fair estimate of the
monarch. He was undoubtedly an able statesman and a
courageous soldier, whilst his resolute attack upon the
popular system of rapine which disgraced Europe at the
time is entitled to very high praise. He punished of¬
fences severely; but his administration of justice was
highly beneficial to the country; and hence arose his
title of the Lion of Justice. On the other hand, the im¬
morality of his private life, his exactions, his cruelty to
his brother and others; his dissimulation, for even his fa¬
vourites distrusted him ; and his avarice, for he hoarded
gold like a miser; render his character exceedingly equi-
716
ENGLAND.
History.
vocal as a man, whatever estimate we may form of him as
a sovereign. His reign offers little worthy of praise, ex¬
cepting what has been noticed above. It was moreover
so agitated, that he passed only five years of untroubled
tranquillity in England.
It was the darling plan of Henry that his beloved daugh¬
ter Maud should be his successor. By her second hus¬
band she had three sons, one or other of whom their uncle
no doubt looked upon as the future monarch of England.
But the claims of the ex-empress of Germany were waived,
and Stephen earl of Boulogne, son of Adela, the daughter
of William the Conqueror, succeeded to the throne. He
was crowned upon the 26th of December 1135, and soon
made himself very popular. According to custom, he im¬
mediately issued a charter, which promised of course good
government and ample redress of grievances. His courts
at the solemn festivals were held with extraordinary mag¬
nificence. He repulsed the invasion of David king of
Scotland, who received a severe defeat at the Battle of
the Standard, which was fought near Northallerton; he
subdued his enemies in Normandy; and, by a yearly
pension, he pacified the husband of the lady whom he
had supplanted upon the throne. Robert earl of Glou¬
cester, natural son of Henry, and the great supporter of
Maud’s rights, perceiving all hostility to be unavailing, at
last swore fealty to the king. For the first two or three
years of his reign, Stephen sat secure upon the throne;
but he was doomed to be overtaken by a series of calami¬
ties. These arose partly from the inevitable consequences
of his usurpation, and partly from his defects as a sove¬
reign. That passion for depredation and conflict which
the preceding monarch had subdued, again broke out.
Every one built his own castle and maintained his own
band of mercenary ruffians, who sallied forth day and
night to plunder the surrounding country, and drag into
dungeons such as they expected would give a high ran¬
som for their freedom. A contemporary chronicler has
drawn a horrible picture of the atrocities thus committed
with impunity; for the mildness of Stephen’s character,
and probably the recollection of his own conduct in ob¬
taining the crown, induced him to be forbearing and in¬
dulgent. His popularity rapidly declined; and in the
fourth year of his reign it appears to have altogether
ceased. In 1139 Matilda, with a few attendants, landed
in England, for the purpose of recovering her lost inhe¬
ritance. She was joined by Robert earl of Gloucester,
with a hundred and fifty knights, who commenced a war¬
fare which nearly hurled Stephen from the throne. After
many conflicts, which were only characterized by the mi¬
sery attendant upon them, the army of the Empress Ma¬
tilda or Maud defeated that of Stephen near Lincoln, in
the year 1141. The king was captured after a brave re¬
sistance ; and Matilda was soon afterwards crowned queen
of England at Winchester. The clergy, although they
countenanced the accession of Stephen, now acknowledg¬
ed her prior claim ; and the queen, proceeding to London,
was joyfully hailed by the citizens.
But her popularity was of short duration. By her arro¬
gance and contemptuous conduct towards the friends of
Stephen, she soon alienated the affections of the people,
and was at last compelled to fly from the city and to
establish her head-quarters at Oxford. In one of the nu¬
merous struggles which followed, the Earl of Gloucester
was taken prisoner, which put the fortunes of the belli¬
gerents nearly upon a level. The king and the earl were
exchanged for each other; and as both parties had now a
commander upon whom they could depend, the conflict
was perpetuated, with increasing misery to the nation. For
some years the balance of power hung nearly in equi¬
poise between them. Stephen reduced Oxford, but Ro¬
bert defeated him at Wilton; and this miserable warfare History,
continued, until, on the death of her brother Robert, Ma-
tilda returned to Normandy in 1147, when a breathing
time of two years intervened.
In the meanwhile Henry, the son of Matilda, was ad¬
vancing in years and in fortune. By his uncle David,
king of Scotland, he had been knighted at the age of six¬
teen ; a year thereafter he obtained from his father the ces¬
sion of the duchy of Normandy; and at the death of that
prince he succeeded to the earldom of Anjou. In 1152,
by a politic marriage, he annexed the extensive duchy of
Aquitaine to his dominions. This aggrandizement of her
son’s power having elevated the hopes of Matilda and those
of her partizans, Prince Henry landed in England ; but in
consequence of the death of Eustace, the oldest son of Ste¬
phen, the two parties agreed to terms of peace. Stephen
adopted Henry, and appointed him as his successor, one of
the best acts of his troubled reign. They lived in harmony
with each other for about a year, when Stephen died on the
25th of October 1154. He reigned nineteen years, dur¬
ing the greater part of which time England exhibited a
scene of misery unequalled since the invasion of the
Danes. The cause of these calamities we have already
alluded to. The character of Stephen is not so deeply
stained with atrocities as that of some of his predecessors,
probably because it was not so determined. In compari¬
son with them, the grasp which he held of the sceptre was
as feeble as his right to seize it at hll was equivocal.
Henry II. or Plantagenet, the son of Matilda, ascended
the throne without a dissenting murmur. He was crown¬
ed, along with his queen Eleanor, at Westminster, on the
19th of December 1154, in presence of an immense con¬
course of people. The prospect which opened up to this
young sovereign was more glorious than that of any of his
forerunners in England, or his contemporaries in other
countries. An unprecedented mass of power was concen¬
trated in his hands. A third part of France, including al¬
most the whole western coast from the borders of Picardy
to the mountains of Navarre, acknowledged his authority.
These possessions, along with England, comprehended the
most warlike portion of Europe; and had the ambition of
the individual who ruled over them been commensurate
with his power, the humiliation, if not entire subjugation, of
France would not have been reserved for the Henries and
Edwards of after times. Although by no means desti¬
tute of a passion for power, Henry possessed a love of li¬
terature, which led him to eschew the cloudy and troubled
atmosphere of war. The civil discord which prevailed dur¬
ing the reign of his predecessor had inflicted numerous evils
on the nation, and to the alleviation of these Henry de¬
voted the first years of his reign. He issued a new coinage,
of standard weight and purity; he drove beyond seas the
foreign mercenaries who had harboured in England dur¬
ing the reign of Stephen ; he seized the royal castles which
had been usurped, and demolished those which had been
reared for the purpose of systematic plunder. By these
vigorous steps of reformation Henry secured the effective
administration of justice in his English dominions. One
of the leading features of his character was restless acti¬
vity. On foot or on horseback he was perpetually in mo¬
tion ; and the moments which he could spare from more
important concerns were usually devoted to the chase.
Some of the leading events of Henry’s reign are asso¬
ciated with the name of Thomas a Becket, who has been
portrayed as a saint and martyr, or a hypocrite and trai¬
tor, according to the religious bias of the historian who
happened to draw the picture. Under the article Becket
an account of this celebrated prelate will be found ; and
it is only necessary in this place to allude to those events
of his life which are identified with the history of his
ENGLAND. 717
History, country. One of Henry’s first measures was the promo-
tion of this individual to the chancellorship of England,
in which capacity he vigorously seconded the measures of
reform which the king had undertaken. His administra¬
tion has been characterized as alike beneficial to the coun¬
try and to the sovereign, who loaded his favourite minister
with honours and emoluments. By the advice of Becket,
Henry proposed a treaty of marriage between his eldest
son and the daughter of Louis king of France. On this
occasion the chancellor undertook a journey to Paris, dis¬
playing upon the occasion a pomp and parade transcen¬
dency elaborate. Henry himself followed ; and although
a rupture ensued between the sovereigns about the city of
Toulouse, which belonged of right to the king of England,
their enmities terminated with the marriage of their child¬
ren whilst the infants were as yet in the cradle. We have
now arrived at that period of Becket’s life in which his
conduct has been the subject of a kind of historical cru¬
sade. In 1161 Theobald the archbishopof Canterbury died,
and Becket was recommended as his successor by the king.
The clergy of England, however, resisted the nomination,
declaring it to be unseemly for a man who was rather a
soldier than a priest, and whose life had been devoted to
hunting and falconry, to be appointed an archbishop. More
than twelve months elapsed between the nomination and
appointment, during which time Becket still retained the
chancellorship, and evinced no change in his feelings or
way of living, which was eminently worldly. He even
went so far as to smile at the idea of metamorphosing the
gay and pompous Chancellor of England into the Arch¬
bishop of Canterbury; and he appears himself to have
thought that the choice arose from Henry’s confidence
that he would become the pliable instrument of his will
in ecclesiastical affairs. If the king anticipated such a
consummation, never were the hopes of man more miser¬
ably disappointed. For no sooner was Becket invested
with the primacy, than a change took place in his man¬
ners, more strongly contrasted with his former life than
were the two offices which he had held. Instead of a
train, which in splendour and fastidious pomp had rival¬
led the retinue of kings, he chose a few monks the most
conspicuous for their humility and mortification. Instead
of the oriental magnificence and gorgeousness of apparel
with which he loved to dazzle the eyes even of courtiers,
he selected as his chosen garment the roughest sackcloth.
His sports and revels were exchanged for deeds of peni¬
tence and humiliation. And thus far his conduct appears
to have been commendable; but did his future behaviour
warrant a belief that this sudden change was attributable
to the sincere conviction of a pure and lofty spirit, which
had changed its views regarding the relative value of
earthly and heavenly things, or to the policy of a deep and
designing hypocrite ? The remaining particulars of his
life will best enable the reader to form his own judgment
as to this, which is one of the most disputed points in our
history.
The first step which Becket took after his promotion
was to return the seals of his former office to Henry, on
the ground of his incompetency to hold two such offices.
This measure is said to have at first excited the indigna¬
tion of the king, who had never before heard Becket ob¬
ject to the prelacy on that account. But it was not until
1163, when hostilities commenced between the church
and the state, that Becket and the king came fairly into
collision. Previously to the Norman conquest, ecclesias¬
tical affairs had, like others, been decided before the hun¬
dred, with the addition of the metropolitan sitting as one
of the judges. The Conqueror, however, had instituted a
separate tribunal, where the clergy were judged by a court
composed of themselves, and from that time they were inde¬
pendent of secular jurisdiction. Becket upheld this claim History,
with firmness, as he ought to have done, until it was for-
mally set aside by the king and his counsellors. This, how¬
ever, did not justify the decisions which were pronounced,
and which had now become notoriously partial. Crimes
of the darkest description had frequently been perpetrated
by ecclesiastics with the most scandalous impunity ; for the
judges could not inflict capital, nor indeed any adequate
punishment. An abominable instance of seduction hav¬
ing attracted the notice of the king, he determined that
those chargeable with such atrocities should be tried be¬
fore the criminal tribunals of the state. For this purpose
he summoned a great council at Westminster, where he
demanded that ecclesiastics, whenever convicted of such
offences, should be degraded, and handed over to a secular
justiciary. His question was, Would they agree to observe
the ancient customs of the realm? Becket answered yes,
saving his order; an ambiguous reply, which was echoed
by the conclave of bishops present, with only one excep¬
tion. But, although not at this assembly, he was after¬
wards compelled to yield the point without any reserva¬
tion respecting his order. This formal assent was obtain¬
ed at the celebrated council of Clarendon, which took place
on the 25th of January 1164 At this great or common
council of the realm, for the word parliament had not yet
been introduced, Becket was compelled to yield compli¬
ance to the demands of his sovereign. At first he pe¬
remptorily refused his acquiescence; but the king, in¬
censed at his obstinacy, menaced him with exile or death,
whilst several individuals of rank present entreated him
with genuflections and tears to submit; by which means
a compliance was at last reluctantly wrung from him.
These customs and usages, the recognition of which was
thus so vehemently urged, were contained in sixteen ar¬
ticles, which were afterwards well known under the name
of the Institutions of Clarendon, by which it was enact¬
ed that clergymen accused of any crime should be tried
in civil courts ; that laymen should not be tried in spiri¬
tual courts, except by legal and reputable witnesses ; that
no ecclesiastical person should quit the realm without the
king’s license ; that all causes not ecclesiastical should be
finally determined in the king’s court; that all ecclesias¬
tical persons who were tenants in capita of the crown
should follow the king’s customs, sue and be sued respect¬
ing their fiefs before his justices, and attend, like other
barons, at his courts; that vacant dignities in the church
should be in the king’s hands; and that he should also re¬
ceive the profits of his seignorial dues. These, with some
others, to the number of sixteen, were subscribed by all
the ecclesiastics present, including Becket himself. He
was now not only mortified in the highest degree, but, pre¬
tending extreme contrition for what he had done, did open
penance for his supposed delinquency. He attempted to
make his escape to France, but was arrested for an of¬
fence against the institutions which he had recently sign¬
ed. Henry was now exasperated beyond all bounds at
the archbishop, and assembled a parliament at Northamp¬
ton, obviously for the purpose of crushing him. Becket
was accordingly summoned to account for rents and pro¬
fits connected with his primacy. He arrayed himself in
his sacerdotal vestments, and, with the cross in his hand,
proceeded to the place appointed. The king complain¬
ed to the council of the insolent behaviour of Becket, and
the whole assembly joined in condemning his inconsis¬
tency. The suit regarding rents, which was only intend¬
ed as a menace, he attempted to free himself from, by
pleading a release by Henry the king’s son; but this was
overruled. After being condemned as a perjured traitor,
he left the palace, his eyes fixed upon the cross, which he
held uplifted in his hands ; and, travelling in disguise, he
718 ENGLAND.
History, reached the port of Sandwich, whence he immediately
embarked for the Continent.
Becket was received with marks of esteem by the king
of France, and likewise by the pope, whose cause he had
so strenuously defended in England. When Henry learn¬
ed the flattering reception which the obnoxious exile had
received, he dispatched an embassy to expostulate with
Louis, and sent another to Rome, to justify his conduct to
the pontiff. But the ambassadors were received with cool¬
ness, if not with something which bordered upon contempt.
The judgment of the barons and bishops was annulled by
the pope, and those who should invade the property of the
church were declared to be cut off from the society of the
faithful. . Henry’s irritation had now reached its climax,
and he resolved upon taking a bold step, which, had the
human mind been ripe for such a measure, might have
ended in the separation of the English church from that
of Rome ; but this achievement was reserved for the Henry
of a future day. He gave orders to his justiciaries, prohi¬
biting, under severe penalties, all appeals to the pope or
the archbishop, and forbidding any person to receive man¬
dates from them, or to apply to their authority ; and he
declared it treasonable to bring over from either any in¬
terdict against the kingdom. On the other hand, the pope
was not slow in issuing his fulminations. Becket w'as
ordered to excommunicate Henry’s chief ministers, and
put the see of Canterbury, including about three fourths
of the kingdom, under an interdict. But Henry stood
firm, and looked with indifference upon the papal light¬
nings which played around him. At last, however, he be¬
gan to dread the powers of his victim, chiefly on account
of his continental dominions, and proposed a reconcilia¬
tion. The treaty of accommodation, although more than
once broken off, was finally concluded, and Becket return¬
ed to the see of Canterbury without having been com¬
pelled to make any express submission to the institutions
of Clarendon.
But the wounds had been too deep to be thus sudden¬
ly healed, and, though closed at the surface, the venom
still rankled underneath. The ai'rogance and presump¬
tion of the primate returned along with his dignity. He
refused compliance with the terms of the general am¬
nesty, and would not submit to take the oath of homage
for his baronry ; neither would he withdraw the whole
of the ecclesiastical censure from the prelates who lay
under it on account of their obedience to the king’s com¬
mands. Several very imprudent excommunications soon
followed, and so provoked Henry that he is said to have
dropped certain passionate expressions, intimating some¬
thing which was interpreted into a desire that Becket’s
life might be taken away. The supposed will of the king
was instantly accomplished by four knights of distinguish¬
ed rank, who repaired to the church of Canterbury, where
the primate then officiated, and barbarously slew him at
the foot of the altar. See Becket.
Thus perished by foul murder, in the fifty-third year
of his age, Thomas a Becket, who, every thing considered,
was probably the most remarkable man of his time. That
he believed he was all the while conscientiously perform¬
ing his duty, in preserving the immunities of the church,
there seems little reason to doubt; for he would not have
met his fate with such heroic and martyr-like firmness
unless this had been the case. His virtues were of an
austere character, and wanted that amiable attractive¬
ness which we usually associate with the character of one
who is profoundly inspired by the morality of the gospel.
His vices, on the other hand, were the reverse of mean and
grovelling; for his spirit was lofty and aspiring, and his
designs were invested with a dazzling grandeur, and pur¬
sued with a fearless firmness much more calculated to ex¬
cite awe than detestation, far less contempt. That Henry History,
did not intend the murder of Becket, appears certain from '
his subsequent conduct. He was thrown into the utmost
consternation on hearing of it, knowing well that the pri¬
mate’s death would accomplish what his most violent op¬
position during his lifetime could never have effected. He
abandoned himself to sorrow and mortification, and for
some time refused to take any nourishment. The pope
was with some difficulty made sensible of the king’s inno¬
cence ; but declined to grant him a pardon, except on
condition that he should make every future submission,
and perform every injunction which the holy see thought
proper to prescribe or impose. He was likewise enjoin¬
ed to perform a humiliating penance at the tomb of Bec¬
ket, who was in due time canonized as a saint and vene¬
rated as a martyr. The assassins, despairing of pardon,
sought refuge in a distant castle. By the pope they were
enjoined to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, where
they all died, and were buried before the gate of the temple
at Jerusalem.
We come now to a very important event in the reign
of Henry II. that is, the annexation of Ireland to the
English crown ; but the details of his invasion it is unne¬
cessary to relate here, as they will come in due order to
be treated of under the head Ireland.
The king was scarcely freed from the Irish war, and
the dangerous controversy in which he had engaged with
the church of Rome, when he found himself involved in
the most unnatural contests with his own children, to
whom he had always behaved in the most tender and af¬
fectionate manner. He had ordered Henry, his eldest
son, to be anointed king ; and he had destined that prince
as his successor in the kingdom of England, the duchy of
Normandy, and the counties of Anjou, Maine, and Tou-
raine, territories which lay contiguous, and which might
thus easily afford mutual assistance to each other when
necessity required. Richard, his second son, was invested
with the duchy of Guienne and the county of Poitou;
Geoffrey, his third son, inherited, in right of his wife, the
duchy of Brittany ; and the new conquest of Ireland was
destined for John, his fourth and youngest son. The last
sixteen years of Henry’s life were embittered by family
hostilities. A mighty confederacy was secretly formed
against him. in which his three eldest sons participated.
Louis VII. king of France, fed the discord ; for the power
of the English monarch had now become so formidable
as to excite alarm and kindle up jealousy in the breasts
of the continental sovereigns. The young prince was
persuaded to demand of his father some of the dominions
which he had been promised, and of which he was nominal
sovereign; but he was refused. Upon this the prince
made his escape, and put himself under the protection of
the king of France. The French monarch then invaded
Normandy; and Richard and Geoffrey, the sons of King
Henry, severally raised the standard of revolt in Guienne
and Bretagne. William the Lion, king of Scotland, con¬
sidering this as a favourable opportunity for invading Eng¬
land, advanced into the northern counties, destroying all
he met with. A great force of foreign mercenaries, called
Braban^ons, landed in Sussex, under the command of the
Earl of Leicester, whilst Prince Henry collected another
army in France in order to co-operate with them. To
meet this formidable coalition against his authority, King
Henry made the best preparations which circumstances
admitted of; and if we may judge of these by the results
which followed, he must have taxed his constitutional ac¬
tivity to the utmost in collecting forces, and in opposing a
barrier to the tide of war which thus rolled onward from
every quarter, threatening to overwhelm his throne. Few
of his own barons could be depended upon, and he had
ENGLAND. 719
History, recourse to the foreign mercenaries so largely employ-
ed by his adversaries. Twenty thousand of these auxi¬
liaries enlisted under his banners, and with them were
united such of his own nobles and retainers as could be
trusted.
The enmity of the young princes against their father
had been in no inconsiderable degree excited and fostered
by Eleanor their mother, whom the incontinent and licen¬
tious life of Henry had for ever estranged from her affec¬
tions. She attempted to make her escape ; but was taken
prisoner, and consigned to close imprisonment, where, with
the exception of a short interval, she remained till the
death of her husband.
In the meanwhile, the plan devised by the allies began
to be acted upon, as already indicated ; but Henry of Eng¬
land proved himself superior to the emergency. His fo¬
reign enemies were on all sides discomfited, and William
of Scotland having accidentally fallen into the hands of
Henry, the Scottish army broke up and dispersed. Their
sovereign afterwards obtained his freedom by the humi¬
liating surrender of his authority as king of Scotland ;
for conceding to Henry the title of lord paramount of his
kingdom was virtually casting his crown at the feet of his
enemy. A pacification was brought about at Falaise, on
the 28th of September 1174, by which the princes were
pardoned and enriched with new liberalities.
King Henry, however, was permitted to enjoy but a few
years of repose. The dissensions between him and his child¬
ren again broke out. The latter also quarrelled amongst
themselves, and a most unnatural war ensued, in which
neither party gave quarter. But the death of Henry, the
eldest son, for a time suspended these disputes. This un¬
fortunate prince died in 1183, of a fever brought on by vexa¬
tion and fatigue. Three years afterwards Geoffrey perish¬
ed beneath the feet of a horse in a tournament at Paris,
so that the subjects of discord were diminished. The
widow of Geoffrey, soon after his decease, was delivered
of a son, who was named Arthur, and invested with the
duchy of Brittany, under the guardianship of his grand¬
father, who, as duke of Normandy, was also suzerain lord
of that territory. Philip, as lord paramount, disputed the
title of the English king to this wardship; but he was
obliged to yield to the wishes of the Bretons, who pre¬
ferred the government of Henry. Some other causes in¬
flamed the dissension between these monarchs, and Philip
once more seduced Richard from his duty. He insisted
that the marriage of that prince with Adelais, his sister,
should be immediately completed, and threatened to en¬
force his demands with a formidable army. This lady had
been confined for a long time in a castle by Henry, who
procrastinated the nuptials, until a suspicion arose that he
intended to appropriate her to himself. At the conclu¬
sion of the truce which had followed the death of Geof¬
frey, Richard finally forsook his father, and did homage
to the king of France for his continental dominions.
For some time the eyes of the monarchs of Christen¬
dom had been turned to Palestine, which the Sultan Sala-
din was overrunning with his mighty hosts. Henry of
England was desirous of taking the cross and proceeding
to Syria, but his perpetual contests with his family de¬
tained him until the holy city was taken by the infidels.
The news of this event awakened feelings of regret and
indignation throughout Christendom. The Emperor of Ger¬
many marched his bravest knights towards Asia. Philip
of France and Henry agreed to follow, but tbe union of
the former with Richard the son of the latter compelled
the king of England, in the first place, to look to the de¬
fence of his own territories, which were once more in- History,
vaded by the confederates. The war proved very unfor-
tunate for Henry, who lost several towns, and very nar-
rowly escaped falling into the hands of the enemy. A
treaty was at length agreed to, but the terms of it were
very humiliating to the English monarch. With a heart
overwhelmed with grief, he returned to the castle of Chi-
non, where he soon afterwards expired, on the 6th of July
1189, in the thirty-fifth year of his reign and the fifty-
seventh of his age. Upon his death-bed he was sedulously
attended by one of his natural sons, the fruit of an amour
with Rosamond, whom popular romance and tradition have
surnamedthe Fair, and invested with every virtue but one.
Henry was interred with little pomp in the convent of Fon-
tevraud, in the presence of his rebellious son Richard, and
a few knights ; but Eleanor, his queen, survived him many
years, having been liberated by her son Richard. The
character of Henry II. has been already detailed at suffi¬
cient length. During his reign important changes in an¬
cient law and usage were matured, and became conspi¬
cuous, on which account they have been ascribed to the
administration of this monarch ; but it is more probable
that they resulted from the slow growth of circumstances,
with little aid from rulers, who were perhaps unconscious
that any change had occurred.1
Richard I. succeeded to the throne without opposition,
and was crowned on the 3d of September 1189. The
reign of this monarch, the Achilles of modern Europe, is
interwoven with events which are more akin to romance
than to real history. His life is made up of the adven¬
tures of a knight-errant. His character was a singular
compound of qualities noble and mean ; of the grand and
the grovelling, the sublime and the grotesque. It has
been thus drawn by Mr Turner, in his History of England:
“ Haughty, irascible, and vindictive, a towering and bar¬
baric grandeur, verging sometimes into barbarian cru¬
elty, distinguished his actions. Valiant beyond the com¬
mon measure of human daring, unparalleled in his feats
of prowess; inferior to no man in hardihood, strength,
and agility; stern and inflexible in his temper; rapacious
and selfish, yet frequently liberal to profusion ; gorgeous
to ostentation, yet often gay, familiar, satirical, and jocu¬
lar ; unshaken by adversity; resolute to obstinacy, furi¬
ous in warfare, fond of battle, and always irresistibly vic¬
torious ; his life seems rather the fiction of a poet’s ima¬
gination than the sober portrait of authentic history.” But
this character for martial prowess and heroism was soften¬
ed by a love of literature, particularly Provencal poetry;
and although the specimens of his compositions which have
been transmitted to us scarcely deserve the name of poetry,
still they evince the presence of the passion in his mind.
It was the same sentiment which thus penetrated the tem¬
pestuous atmosphere so congenial to his soul that imbued
his exploits with the spirit of genius and romance. An
overweening love of praise added its inspiration to his feel¬
ings, and contributed to render his actions pre-eminently
conspicuous even in the high and palmy age of chivalry.
He had no sooner ascended the throne than he began to
make arrangements for joining the new levies of crusaders
preparing to embark for the Holy Land. In such a sphere
nature had fitted the king of England to shine without a
rival. His landing in Palestine was destined to mark an
era, when the Moslemins were to encounter a wrarrior su¬
perior even to the most distinguished of their own in lofty
daring and proud contempt of danger, and when the brows
of their bravest chieftains were to darken at the name of
Richard.
1 Mackintosh’s History of England, vol. i. p. 17'2.
720 ENGL
History. At his coronation an event occurred which it is painful
to mention, and too shocking to give in detail. The Jews,
eager to express their fealty to the new sovereign, ap¬
proached him in numbers, bearing rich presents of gold
and silver, commodities which they well knew would be
peculiarly acceptable to the king. In their endeavours to
press forward towards the hall door during the state din¬
ner, a scuffle ensued. The Jews resisted the ill treatment
they received, which so inflamed the passions of the
English mob that they arose upon the defenceless stran¬
gers, and drove away or destroyed them. This example
of violence spread not only over the city, but throughout
the country; and the unfortunate Israelites were mas¬
sacred and plundered without mercy. It was in vain that
the king attempted to allay the tumult; the sanguinary
rabble would not desist until its ferocity and rapacity were
completely satiated.
Richard having equipped his armament, and acquired the
necessary treasure by every means in his power (and from
his natural impatience he was never scrupulous upon that
point), joined Philip of France and marched with him to
Lyons. As the principal events connected with this ex¬
pedition are already embodied in the article Crusades,
we shall not recapitulate here the whole details, but only
notice such as have not been there introduced. On his
way Richard relieved Portugal, by joining the sovereign
of that country with five hundred knights, and bidding
defiance to the Moors or Saracens. This was an evil
omen for the followers of the Prophet. After landing at
Messina, he remained there six months, which were chiefly
occupied in warm disputes with Tancred, who had usurp¬
ed the Sicilian crown. On the 10th of April 1191 Richard
set sail from this place ; but his fleet having been dispers¬
ed by a storm, and the ship in which were his sister Joan,
and his betrothed wife Berengaria, being driven into Cy¬
prus, he landed on that island for the purpose of chastis¬
ing the governor, who had treated the royal ladies with
some discourtesy. Richard reduced the whole island, and
after marrying Berengaria, and causing her to be crowned
queen of England, he set sail for St Jean d’Acre, which
afterwards surrendered to him. (See Acre.) The fall of
this place opened the way to Jerusalem, towards which
he now advanced, performing on his way those chivalrous
deeds which taught the infidels to shudder at the appari¬
tion of his name. (See Crusades.) In October 1192
Richard set sail from the Holy Land for England, with a
fleet, which contained his wife and sister, who appear to
have reached their destination in safety. But a storm
having dispersed the ships, Richard was driven near Mar¬
seilles. Having learned, however, that plans were in agi¬
tation to seize his person (for Philip of France and other
continental sovereigns, together with his brother, were
leagued against him), he formed the unfortunate resolu¬
tion of passing through Germany in disguise.
He landed at Zara, and after a variety of adventures and
hairbreadth escapes, he was at last arrested by Leopold,
duke of Austria, who immediately ordered him to be loaded
with fetters. This prince had served under Richard at the
siege of Acre, where he received, or imagined he had re¬
ceived, some injury at his hands, and took this base method
of revenging himself. Henry VI. emperor of Germany,
was then equally an enemy to Richard, on account of his
having married Berengaria, the daughter of Tancred king of
AND.
Sicily. He therefore required the royal captive to be de- History,
livered into his hands, and stipulated to pay a large sum
of money to the duke as a reward for his services.
The disaster which had befallen the English monarch
could not be long concealed. The news of his captivity
spread general indignation at home ; a feeling which was
responded to by the disinterested portion of Europe.
Richard’s mother, along with the clergy of Germany, ap¬
pealed to the pope ; and the emperor, finding that his con¬
duct was condemned as disgraceful, made an attempt to
justify it, by charging his prisoner with several weighty
crimes. These were, his behaviour in Sicily, his conquest
of Cyprus, and the alleged murder of Conrad, who was as¬
sassinated whilst contending for the Christian kingdom of
Palestine. The latter charge being by far the most seri¬
ous, every effort was made to vindicate Richard from the
guilt of the alleged crime. At home the ministry exert¬
ed themselves to the utmost; and the most able prelates
set out for the Continent to bargain for his ransom. He
was removed from a dungeon in the Tyrol to the resi¬
dence of the emperor at Haguenau, and was taken from
thence to Worms, for a final adjustment of differences.
In the meanwhile, his brother John, with Philip of
France, were busily prosecuting their plans for his de¬
struction. Their design was to effect the utter ruin of
Richard; and every method was tried to accomplish their
purpose. John made his feudal submission to Philip for
his brother’s continental possessions; and having assembled
an army, he returned to England with the intention of seiz¬
ing the crown, whilst his colleague invaded Normandy.
Both the confederates were completely unsuccessful. John,
by circulating false reports of his brother’s death, attempt¬
ed to give a gloss of right to his projected usurpation ; but
his duplicity was too well known, and his armament of fo¬
reign mercenaries was repulsed from the coast.
The negociations for Richard’s liberation ended at last
in the agreement that a ransom of one hundred thousand
marks of silver should be paid for it. It was in vain that
his mortal enemies, Philip and John, protracted his im¬
prisonment. By a general tax the sum was raised; and
soon after his emancipation he set out for England, where
he arrived on the 13th of March 1194. The remainder
of his reign is very unimportant; it was chiefly occupied
with a species of petty bickerings with Philip of France.
The money required for the crusade, and the ransom of
Richard, had so exhausted the finances of England, that
the king found himself unable to undertake war upon a
grand scale. If we contemplate the character of the in¬
dividual who found himself thus fettered by pecuniary ne¬
cessities, this was a fortunate circumstance. It would be
difficult to estimate the amount of human misery which
was thus saved. After various undecisive battles and
equivocal victories, Richard was mortally wounded before
Chaluze, an obscure castle in the province of Limousin,
held by a rebellious vassal, and expired on the 6th of
April 1199, in the forty-second year of his age and the
tenth of his reign.
Thus perished, in the prime of life, one of the most
romantic characters to be met with in real history.1 His
character we have already given; and with respect to his
reign, we cannot discover any thing in which it added to
the civilization or prosperity of the country. for the
immense sums of money which he drew from it, the only
1 1 lie lines which Dr Johnson applies to Charles XII. of Sweden are literally true of Richard Coeur-de-Lion of England;
His fate was destined to a foreign strand,
A petty fortress, and a dubious hand ;—
He left a name at which the world grows pale,
To point a moral or adorn a tale.
!i 1M G L A. N X
.
mfiasures Ifjr.tnj'&out 't-he realm.
JMrh the brother or the kr khv^ rui the
: v* to the modern hoci n'-.m of the t-.-iin. taS vested in
h»« I! •' "r Alt ■ ; ■ : ' if-o : ft
• h rf-1 in hi- tafoet N/ •ook . bt»N» on the
■ strongly marked,'and ; se* mor* in-
'"•« h?tt, of ani'other'»onarch sfi h: list of risk'-
fr- hardly rhfeuy, hi jvtrftd >a;s nimltg’.-tty, ?« b ■ -u-
t;. >: r in uftprincipiefi cryeity, i< ^kont^- of tp? - • *,
anness, *«! ax.r.e-'■ Eftd^vcry vj .-• r: tty,
nee <-■ di ; so-, tn g o tin . spiri) -di usd nre(‘
t-M bottsK-.-. ot Vi- • ice -Hke -rleb;, hidfm -A-.i-se t.me
v ing •subjeeti<.;i i tb pwpt tkH e bv ;vh ai ‘heir e se-
tinOa tv ere Usnaify confirm l.he eteet:;ni of the ^rrh-
o St Au^tistm'-* Alcey in that city. - inf&ttf .-iahned
the .right of choc;-ing ; b@t o»>dcc t’i icsestion teas c«n-
coV< ■■ >1‘-? ’ - C}:0! '!!•? vvh, ■ - : i ng oi he
ipbj^ had the {toner tifuoramatiott; r-ar t: .• b:s»hor» weffe
ac< ossible t»:. the ■liilnence of the enc'. ; e sw<, - in
consistency nith the genius of the -:*rck t-re - ass* 1
by Rome. In the mean time the avchbishor- dtoil, H»d the
• ■ - r>n arc A* 'dcctec !'t • ; Ud thei • #<■.* >n. hi-.
■■■■.K enough to call forth the execrations of nost.r-riry 'V-se contest. v-ith (ins *.
’ ■ ’the halo of talefit emblaxons heir neroe^
• ■ 9 to mirigat:. the-sev', y o? censure. J-'hn. v ,»*
: his character h '‘-rv. adeemed bv one sdjtah tir :&■.
> ? and most dycct'Vco that '-vr • • rotea
'. ’ chard had 'h ' ; ' ■%% ■ -■
crown of i -c hi d he h- ' m ■ of No.matif by
care jff V' h >, king of ■;■> -nee, *vbo claimed for him
’ns CQitllnent •• ; h .-s.' \ - i n,gg!e ensued bctwet*r»
moraidis of France and t'.rtgland. Philip, who. it
d apjpct>r, used Am ur y, i.v-lw as a tool r sn
■ ■ nurposcs, sent him with a miidary ryi' vue r,m '
h ' nions to uliich b< laid datm. He took .the >ow..
’s-)r<..gau, orV.-g h-'W rfwhich hckl out u?,<w r Hies;
widow of • •? -ry V.; but on tht fiigfiit between tV
rted wirli ;1 droefiy rnly demobiftcal, a1- worthy cV r<v
h rontemporary y . » ascribed to John the guilt
' ! murder. That, the ha k -t ^ -mfh met >vith a -iotent
V . is evident, and that h< fe<- ititer by hH trade’s own
? - r V. or by his orders, there seems .tvfew- m to dc -bt.
3)- al ci - hi • mu . -Ii • n a*••-••■ ■ , (:■•:■■
g the wretch d»o, a few a sc afterwards f - a
-eight ‘^dsh licet, ‘••. tdc-s uther at: in '-
,dill, .'of V trm.-t( and iV^uitaine, toan« cr
Vreheh territoHee, The ^ing of Fmnce moved bow ;
. • ngl ;,!' moharch yer*. sc>^&tl and annexed t the
dc. d « re
oealy *«k
. ir>ee_.figures in the pkgeyuf flmftf i ifault without a r am; The bioho|xi "emohstrafed againM. tin- «-•- an in-1
d#t>o of raising tiu- -Pw'^ip of
> -trwieh £0 the :i: ie t mm: v.-.e-, ii-'rcah l t>»
Bbife : and Pope f atioient IIU, ea^- •'• extefe hk power
a t n|. evl, ofaot-nded el-.Bli*'. - i-■;*-• I ir>pm,
a most ' .vet. ■ onabh.: in ■■"■■leuiii,. • ■' --ce
sequel, proved bonseif eavitM*atl.y we-thy iC1r<. < gtotot
fr m fa.- ■ «
.
8 > ■
■
, li-irgirii ,r|san£ with Sex c. I vi
: t i n.-s, and ttie nikged murder of C-onrad> who w . .
:> red whilst cdritemlitig fkr-the Chrimia; kingdu
; !o i;' ■ • a- : i x. vt< j* . Irani
et for tne uontment to narg ut
■ oeign Richard; mid ^ve?*) Aethod 'wax tried to accomplish thf s
iv lance to en* "ttiw * an evil t.sbroker’s continontal possessions; and having assembh -
t count « ; - knigh- -
** •■It j . «• » .i• *>y±*** ■ *■*•*.. *.*•.*. J
r the Continent to bargain for his ransom, 1
■ •oca.-ied :a disputes • u i'ancred usurp-
ed if *o«n. On th Oth «f A} chard by circulating false reports of his brother' s death,;; i mv{ .
set th, i ; hot Iti* fleet hav; ; *> *f*ers-
ed to give a gloss of right to h projected usurpation . U
his dnp . ;ty was too weii kuuwn, and his armament t fo*
i fn irevceoar-it'S was repinsed from the coast
. rci me i that a ransom of one hundred.thousand
• h e utived oh the 13th ot larch II&4r" The remau»o
Ihc now at'.-- nr.'*d, pi-tforawi ; on his i I i* rei ;n is very unimpcrt.mt; it was chiefly oecup;
mho i'und idm^elf thus fettered bypecuniiir
-
e d tenth of his reign.
romantic characters to be met with m real histor
th civilizatie-n or nrosnmb / o; tht country.
H i ? civilization or prosperity
"o ■ i TicbaM ndiur-d*. -Liou of j£n . ■
ENGLAND.
721
History, return worthy of notice was an equalization of weights
and measures throughout the realm.
John, the brother of the late king, and the youngest
legitimate son of Henry II., succeeded to the throne with¬
out opposition ; for, although the hereditary right, accord¬
ing to the modern acceptation of the term, was vested in
his nephew Arthur, son of John’s elder brother Geoffrey,
the uncle had likewise a hereditary claim, as being near¬
est of kin to the deceased monarch, and the nation de¬
clared in his favour. His coronation took place on the
27th of May 1199. The character of John is perhaps
more strongly marked, and possesses more individuality,
than that of any other monarch on the list of English kings.
In cowardly villany, in perfidious malignity, in base ingra¬
titude, in unprincipled cruelty, in grossness of appetite,
in meanness, weakness, and every vicious infirmity, this
prince figures in the page of history almost without a
rival. Other kings there may have been whose vices are
black enough to call forth the execrations of posterity;
but the halo of talent which emblazons their names
serves to mitigate the severity of censure. John, how¬
ever, stands before us utterly divested of any such quali¬
ty ; his character is unredeemed by one solitary virtue;
his reign is unillustrated by one solitary good action per¬
formed without compulsion. He is altogether alone, the
lowest and most abject slave that ever wore a crown.
Richard had destined Arthur as his successor, and, on
his death, Mons, Tours, and Anjou, appointed the youth,
then Earl of Bretagne, their lord. On the assumption of
the crown of England and the dukedom of Normandy by
John, Constance, the mother of Arthur, gave her son over
to the care of Philip, king of France, who claimed for him
his continental possessions. A struggle ensued between
the monarchs of France and England. Philip, who, it
would appear, used Arthur entirely as a tool to suit his
own purposes, sent him with a military retinue into the
dominions to which he laid claim. He took the town of
Mirabeau, saving a tower, which held out under Eleanor,
the widow of Henry II.; but on the night between the
31st of July and 1st of August 1202, John arrived, and
compelled the besiegers to surrender. The prisoners were
treated with a cruelty truly demoniacal, and worthy of the
man ; but this was only the opening scene of the tragedj'.
Prince Arthur was brought to Falaise, where he was con¬
fined for some time. He then all of a sudden disappeared,
and contemporary history has ascribed to John the guilt
of his murder. That the hapless youth met with a violent
death is evident, and that he fell either by his uncle’s own
hands, or by his orders, there seems no reason to doubt.
Even in that semi-barbarous age, there was scarcely an
individual capable of committing such an atrocity, ex¬
cepting the wretch who, a few years afterwards, took a
diabolical pleasure in starving to death the wife and chil¬
dren of a nobleman who had offended him, and hanging
twenty-eight Welsh hostages, besides other atrocities too
horrible to be named.
By this foul deed, a third part of John’s dominions were
wrenched from his grasp. Philip Augustus summoned
John, as duke of Normandy and Aquitaine, to answer be¬
fore a court of peers to the charge of having murdered
Arthur duke of Brittany. But he dreaded the tribunal,
and having refused to appear, he was branded as a mur¬
derer, condemned to death, and adjudged to lose all his
French territories. The king of France moved onwards
from conquest to conquest, and one by one the provinces
of the English monarch were seized and annexed to the
dominions of Philip ; Touraine, Maine, and Anjou in 1203,
the duchy of Normandy in 1205, and the county of Poitou
in 1206.
Another important event in the reign of John was his
vol. vin.
contest with the pope, the only contest indeed in which
he ever displayed any thing of that spirit which had fired
the bosoms of his ancestors. The clergy had for some time
acted as a community independent of the civil power,
owning subjection to the pope alone, by whom their elec¬
tions were usually confirmed. The election of the Arch¬
bishop of Canterbury had been a subject of contention be¬
tween the suffragan bishops of the province, and the monks
of St Augustin’s Abbey in that city. Each party claimed
the right of choosing ; but under this question was con¬
cealed the more important one, whether the king or the
pope had the power of nomination; for the bishops were
accessible to the influence of the crown, and the monks, in
consistency with the genius of their order, were biassed
by Rome. In the mean time the archbishop died, and the
monks privately elected Reginald their superior in his
room. The bishops remonstrated against this as an in¬
novation on their privileges ; and the king took part in
the contest, with the resolution of raising the Bishop of
Norwich to the primacy. The cause was appealed to
Rome; and Pope Innocent III., eager to extend his power
in England, commanded the election of Stephen Langton,
a most unexceptionable individual, and one who, in the
sequel, proved himself eminently worthy of the highest
station. John, however, incensed at this proceeding, vio¬
lently expelled the monks from their convent, took pos¬
session of it himself, and seized upon the revenues. The
tiara, however, was not to be thus contemptuously treat¬
ed. An interdict was threatened, unless compliance with
the wishes of the papal court was immediately yielded.
In vain the prelates in the most supplicating manner en¬
treated the king to give his consent to the measure. With
that stoical indifference to human suffering w'hich he uni¬
formly evinced, he determined that both himself and the
nation should brave the vengeance of Rome. He swore
that if it descended upon him, he would banish the whole
clergy, and confiscate their possessions. The pope, how¬
ever, laughed his menaces to scorn, and published that
terrible interdict, which in those ages was calculated to
make the heart of a nation tremble. A stop was imme¬
diately put to divine service, and the administration of all
the rites of religion except baptism, and the confession,
absolution, and extreme unction to the dying. The church-
doors were shut, and the images of the saints deposed. The
dead were refused Christian burial, and thrown px-omiscu-
ously into ditches and on the highways, without any fu¬
neral solemnity. Other injunctions, equally severe, were
included in this formidable interdict; and John, in revenge,
persecuted the clergy with unsparing rigour. But his fu¬
rious and imprudent efforts pi'oved useless. Innocent re¬
mained firm, and, in two years thereafter, 1209, launched
his last thunderbolt at the English monarch. He excom¬
municated John, absolved his subjects from their oath of
allegiance, and soon afterwards deposed him. He also
commissioned the king of France to take his crown; and
published a crusade all over Christendom against King
John, exhorting the chivalry of Europe to take up arms
against him, and enlist under the French banner. Philip
was not less active on his part. He summoned all the
vassals of the crown to attend him at Rouen; and hav¬
ing collected a fleet of 1700 vessels, was ready in 1213 to
invade England.
But the fulminations of the pope were alike disregarded
by John and his subjects, who had now become familiar
with them. His strength does not appear to have been
lessened, for the only successful expeditions of bis reign,
those against Ireland and Wales, were undertaken during
the period of his proscription by the see of Rome. In or¬
der to meet the king of France, he assembled a vast army;
but it was not the interest of his holiness to allow matters
4 Y
History.
722
ENGLAND.
History, to be carried to extremities. He accordingly sent over
two legates, Pandulf and Durand, who, in a meeting of
parliament holden at Northampton, ventured to declare to
John that he was bound to obey the holy see as much in
temporal as in spiritual affairs. After shuffling, according
to custom, John, at the head of an army capable of bid¬
ding defiance to any invader, surrendered himself to the
will of the pope, and acceded to all the terms which Pan¬
dulf had exacted. With a meanness of spirit almost ex¬
ceeding belief, he laid his crown at the feet of the haughty
legate, resigned England and Ireland into the hands of the
pope, swore homage to him as his liege lord, and took an
oath of fealty to his successors. The terms of this re¬
markable oath deserve a place in every history.
“ I John, by the grace of God king of England and lord
of Ireland, in order to expiate my sins, from my own free
will and the advice of my barons, give to the church of
Rome, to Pope Innocent and his successors, the kingdom
of England, and all other prerogatives of my crown. I
will hereafter hold them as the pope’s vassal. I will be
faithful to God, to the church of Rome, to the pope my
master, and to his successors legitimately elected. I pro¬
mise to pay him a tribute of 1000 merks ; to wit, 700 for
the kingdom of England, and 300 for the kingdom of
Ireland.” This memorable submission took place on the
15th of May 1213.
This oath was taken by the king before all the people,
kneeling, and with his hands held up between those of the
legate. Having then agreed to install Langton in the
primacy, he received the crown which he had been sup¬
posed to have forfeited; whilst the legate, to add to his
former insolence, trampled under his feet the tribute
which John had consented to pay, but afterwards stooped
to gather it up. The king of France was enraged at this
behaviour of the pope, and resolved to execute his project
of conquering England in spite of him and his censures.
His fleet, however, was attacked in their harbours by the
English, who took three hundred vessels, and destroyed
about a hundred more; whilst Philip, finding it impos¬
sible to prevent the rest from falling into the hands of the
enemy, set fire to them hihiself, and thus abandoned the
enterprise. This naval action is memorable as being the
first which took place between the fleets of France and
England, and was a good omen for the latter.
John being thus delivered from all danger, continued to
follow the same cruel and tyrannical measures which had
hitherto rendered him odious to his subjects. His scan¬
dalous subjection to the clergy now gave the barons an
opportunity of exerting themselves, in order to reduce the
enormous prerogatives of the crown. Their designs were
greatly facilitated by the concurrence of Langton the pri¬
mate, who on all occasions showed a sincere regard for
the interests of the kingdom. At a synod of his prelates
and clergy, convened in St Paul’s on pretence of examin¬
ing into the losses of some bishops who had been exiled
by John, he privately conferred with a number of barons,
to whom he expatiated upon the vices and injustice of
their sovereign. He showed them a copy of Henry I.’s
charter, the only one in the kingdom, having been found
amidst the rubbish of an obscure monastery. Langton ex¬
horted the barons to insist on a renewal thereof; and this
they solemnly swore to perform. The same agreement was
afterwards renewed at a more numerous meeting of barons
summoned by Langton at St Edmondsbury. Here it was
resolved that at Christmas they should prefer their com¬
mon petition in a body, and in the mean time they sepa¬
rated, intending to put themselves in a posture of defence,
to enlist men, and to make other warlike preparations. In
the beginning of January 1215 they repaired to London,
accoutred in the military garb and with their equipage, and
presented their petition to the king, alleging that he had History,
promised to grant a confirmation of the laws of Edward
the Confessor, at the time when he was absolved from his
excommunication. John resented their presumption ; and
required a promise under their hands and seals that they
would never demand or attempt to extort such privileges
in future. But this they refused with such unanimity and
resolution, that the king desired time to consider of their
petition; at the same time promising that, at the festival
of Easter, he would give a positive answer. He also of¬
fered securities, which the barons accepted, and thereaf¬
ter withdrew.
John, however, had no intention of complying with
their demands, for it is evident that his promise was ex¬
torted from him by fear. He had recourse to the clergy,
whose favour he propitiated by promising many things
which he had not the slightest intention of ever perform¬
ing. The pope was likewise appealed to, who threw the
weight of his authority into the scale of his vassal, and
exhorted the barons to abandon their treasonable enter¬
prise. At the same time his holiness also agreed to con¬
sider their petition, and to endeavour to obtain for them
the concession of those demands which appeared to be
just. But, happily for English liberty, the confederates
disregarded the injunctions of Innocent III., who by his
decision had now more embroiled the fray. Both parties
gave up all hopes of a peaceful negociation at the ensuing
festival, and made the best preparations they could for
war, in which the barons had an unequivocal superiority.
After waiting until Easter, when the king promised to
return them an answer, they met by agreement at Stam¬
ford. There they assembled a force of above two thou¬
sand knights, with a prodigious number of foot, and thence
marched to Brackley, about fifteen miles from Oxford, then
the court residence. John, hearing of their approach, sent
the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Earl of Pembroke, and
others of his council, to know the particulars of their re¬
quest, and what those liberties were which they so much
importuned him to grant. The barons delivered a sche¬
dule containing the chief articles of their demands, found¬
ed on the charters of Henry and Edward, but which were
in the highest degree displeasing to the king. He burst
into a furious passion, and, asking the barons why they did
not also demand his kingdom, swore that he would never
comply with such exorbitant requests. The confederates
then as their general chose Robert Fitzwalter, whom they
dignified with the title of Mareschal of the army of God
and of the holy church. They laid siege to Northamp¬
ton, but were repulsed; they, however, took Bedford, and
were joyfully received into London.
The concurrence of the metropolis proved decisive of
the contest. It was in vain that the pope fulminated a bull
in favour of his vassal John ; the many were unanimous,
and the few were compelled to yield the point. The king,
with a court now reduced to seven attendants, retired to
Odiham, where, seeing the necessity of submitting, he
agreed to a friendly conference. The barons named, as a
proper place for meeting, Runnymede. It was a meadow
situated between Staines and Windsor, and, like the holy
ground of the Hebrews, it is still held in veneration as
the spot where the standard of English freedom was first
unfurled. On the 15th of June 1215, both parties met
there ; and having taken up separate stations, a long dis¬
cussion ensued, which terminated in the king signing the
charter, called, by way of pre-eminence, Magna Charta.
For a particular account of the great charter, which for
centuries afterwards was looked upon as the palladium of
our national freedom, the reader is referred to the article
Magna Charta.
This charter, however, at the time when it was granted,
ENGLAND.
listory. secured liberty to the clergy, the barons, and the gentle-
men, much more than to the bulk of the people, who did
not for a long time obtain any privileges of importance.
Freedom of elections was secured to the clergy; and it
was determined that fines imposed on them for any of¬
fence should be laid on in proportion to their estates, and
not the value of their benefices. The privileges secured
to the barons were, either abatements in the rigour of the
feudal laws, or relief from arbitrary and ambiguous deci¬
sions before the courts. It was also decreed that barons
should recover the lands of their vassals, even though for¬
feited by felony, after having been in the possession of
the crown for a year and a day; and no tax was to be im¬
posed without consent of the great council of the nation,
excepting in case of the captivity of the king, the knight¬
ing of his eldest son, or the marriage of his eldest daugh¬
ter. No land belonging to any baron was to be seized for
a crown debt, except when the possessor had not personal
property enough to pay it; neither was any vassal to be
allowed to sell so much of his land as to incapacitate him
from performing the necessary service to his lord. It was
also determined, that when the great council of the nation
was called, the prelates, earls, and barons should be sum¬
moned by a particular writ, and that the lesser barons
should receive a summons from the sheriff. In favour of
the people it w-as stipulated, that they should receive from
the barons all the immunities and privileges granted by
the king to the former. Merchants were to be allowed to
carry on their business without any arbitrary tolls or im¬
positions, and to go out of the kingdom and return at
pleasure. The goods of every freeman were to be dis¬
posed of according to his will; or if he died intestate, the
nearest heir was in that case to succeed him. No carts,
horses, or wood were to be taken by the crown officers
without the consent of the owner. The king’s courts were
to be stationary ; no delay was to take place in doing jus¬
tice to every one ; and no freeman was to be taken or im¬
prisoned, dispossessed of his free tenement, outlawed, or
banished, unless by the legal judgment of his peers. It was
likewise stipulated that London should remain in the hands
of the barons, and that the Tower should be consigned to
the primate, till the 15th of August following, or till the
articles contained in the charter were fulfilled. In order to
secure the accomplishment of this, the king allowed them
to choose twenty-five of their own number, to whose au¬
thority no limits were assigned. If any complaint were
made of a violation of the charter, either by the king or
his officers, any four of the barons might admonish the
king to redress the grievance; and if satisfaction were not
obtained, they might assemble the whole council of twenty-
five and, in conjunction with the great council, compel
him to fulfil the charter. In case of his resistance, they
had liberty to levy war against him, attack his castles, and
use every kind of violence, except against his person, or
those of his queen or children. All men throughout the
kingdom were bound, under the penalty of confiscation,
to swear obedience to the twenty-five barons; and the
freeholders of each county were to choose twelve knights,
whose business it was to report such obnoxious customs
as ought to be redressed in terms of Magna Charta.
But although John had thus been obliged to recognise
the liberty of his subjects, he had no mind that they should
in reality enjoy it. The sense of his subjection to his own
vassals sunk deep into his soul, and he became sullen, si¬
lent, and reserved. He shunned the society of his former
friends, and retired into the Isle of Wight, as if to hide
his disgrace in solitude, but, in reality, to meditate plans
of revenge. He sent to the Continent in order to enlist
a large body of mercenary troops, and made heavy com
plaints to the pope on account of the insurrections of the
723
barons against him. The pontiff, as might be expected, History,
warmly espoused his cause ; a bull was sent over annul-
ling the whole charter; the principal barons were excom¬
municated by name, and declared to be worse than Sara¬
cens ; and at the same time the foreign troops arriving,
the king once more found himself in a condition to de¬
mand his own terms from his untractable subjects.
The barons had made no preparations for war, not sus¬
pecting the introduction of a foreign army. The king,
therefore, was for some time undisputed master of the
field, and the most horrid cruelties wrere committed by
his army. The nobility who had been most active in
procuring the great charter accordingly fled with their fa¬
milies to Scotland, where they obtained the protection of
King Alexander by doing homage to him. The barons,
finding themselves totally unable to raise an army capa¬
ble of contending with that of John, resorted to the equi¬
vocal and perilous expedient of calling in foreign aid. They
applied to their old enemy Philip of France, offering the
crown to his eldest son Louis, upon the condition of their
being protected from the fury of John, and the unprinci¬
pled mercenaries whom he commanded. The French king
eagerly accepted their proposals, and dispatched his son
with a powerful army to England. He was received by
the barons with great acclamations, and having united
their forces, they secured all the southern counties. Essex
and Sussex were soon after added; and they advanced
successfully into Norfolk, spreading around them all the
devastations of civil war. The forces of John occupied the
northern districts, where the king of Scotland harassed
him by an invasion of Northumberland. But these hos¬
tilities, which might ultimately have ruined the independ¬
ence of the country, by sinking it to the level of a French
province, were happily terminated by the death of John,
in the forty-ninth year of his age, and seventeenth of his
reign. His demise took place at Newark, on the 19th of
October 1216. The death of this monarch was as much
a public blessing as his reign had been a national misfor¬
tune. The signing of Magna Charta is the only event of
his life which is worthy of being recorded in history. He,
however, deserves no credit for that act, which was the
result of compulsion. As well might we consider honesty
the actuating principle or motive of the malefactor who
consents to deliver up the treasure of which he had pos¬
sessed himself, when he comes in sight of the wheel upon
which, in case of refusal, he is to be broken alive.
John left six legitimate children, namely, three sons and
three daughters. The eldest of the former, Henry of Win¬
chester, was only ten years of age when he found himself in
possession of the title, although not entirely of the power,
of king. He was crowned as Henry III. upon the 28th of
October 1216, nine days after he succeeded to the inchoate
right to the throne. The care of his person was entrust¬
ed to the Earl of Pembroke, earl-marshal, with the style
and title of guardian of the kingdom. Through the instru¬
mentality of this nobleman the great charter of liberties
was revived, and the claims of the crown were reconciled
with those of the subject, to the satisfaction of the ad¬
verse barons. Besides the eldest son of John, there was
another competitor for the crown, namely, Louis of France,
who had been called over by the barons of liunnymede,
in order to take possession of the English throne. For
some time Louis kept the field, and not without success;
but he was defeated at Lincoln; and a fleet which his fa¬
ther had sent to him with succours having been totally de¬
stroyed by the English, he was compelled to abandon the
enterprise, and to make an honourable retreat.
A peaceful king is looked upon either as imbecile or
as pusillanimous by an age which feels the intoxication of
military glory, and considers the principal duties of a mo-
724
ENGLAND.
History, narch to be “ to go out and in before bis people, and fight
their battles.” The reign of Henry III. is but little adorn¬
ed with the triumphs of war ; and, if we are not mistaken,
it has been too much depreciated on this account. But this
fact, as well as his monarchical character, we will be en¬
abled to ascertain with more certainty after we have pass¬
ed in review the principal events of his reign. Its early
history exhibits only some of those evils incident to an in¬
judicious, but not, strictly speaking, wicked administration.
In 1225 the great charter was a third time confirmed, upon
the occasion of Henry assembling a great council, and ur¬
gently demanding aid against a pretended invasion of the
French. In consequence of this, it has ever since retained
its place at the head of English statutes. The wardship
of the young king had now solely devolved upon Hubert
de Burgh, the grand justiciary, and a man of ability and
spirit, but nurtured under Richard and John. For several
years he ruled as the favourite without control, repressing
the disorders of the times with a vigorous, but, in the eye
of an enlightened age, cruel policy. In 1227, Henry was
declared in parliament to have attained to the years of dis¬
cretion ; and two years afterwards he resumed the project
of conquering France, and landed there with a considera¬
ble army. The expedition proved most disgraceful to the
English arms ; and in a year after he returned to his coun¬
try not a little humbled in its estimation, as well as his
own. The next event of importance which we meet with
is the disgrace of De Burgh, who was accused of negli¬
gence and treachery in the discharge of his duties; with
what degree of truth it is difficult now to determine. He
was imprisoned for some time, but afterwards restored to
liberty, honours, and emoluments.
In 1236, Henry espoused Eleanor of Provence. This
event gave rise to a new immigration of foreigners of higher
rank and more specious pretensions than those who usually
flocked to the soil of England. One of the queen’s uncles
became prime minister, a second was made primate, and
a third Earl of Richmond. This favouritism excited much
discontent both amongst the native barons and the people.
The other events of this long reign consist of petty wars
and bickerings with France, Scotland, and Wales. The
prodigality of the king was extreme, and he was repeat¬
edly compelled to lay his necessities before parliament and
solicit supplies. These were as often afforded; but not¬
withstanding these grants, he had frequent recourse, under
specious pretexts, to the most unjust exactions. Mean¬
while England rapidly increased in wealth, and widely ex¬
tended her commercial relations with other countries.
In the year 1254, at the instance of the pope, Henry
accepted of the crown of Sicily for his son Edmund. It
had been formerly offered to his brother Richard, who was
wise enough not to accept of it, probably because he felt
himself unable to compete with the other powerful princes
who aspired to it. In order to raise the money necessary
to carry his foolish project into execution, Henry had re¬
course to every expedient which the regal or papal mini¬
sters could devise. The principal burden fell upon the
clergy, who, by the menace of excommunication on the
one side, and of forfeiture on the other, were compelled
to submit. This oppression widened more and more the
breach between the king and his people ; and he found it
necessary at last to look to the security of his own crown,
instead of fighting for a foreign diadem to grace the brow
of his son.
Amongst the foreigners of distinction who established
themselves in England during the reign of Henry III. was
Simon de Montfort, earl of Leicester. He was the young¬
er son of the Count de Montfort, celebrated in the annals
of religious warfare for his cruel crusade against those dis¬
senters from the Roman faith called Albigois or Albigen-
ses. Simon the younger received the hand of King Henry’s History,
sister in marriage, and very early began to act a conspicu-
ous part in the civil commotions which agitated the coun¬
try. He was a bold and ambitious man ; and placing him¬
self at the head of the disaffected barons, he formed a pow¬
erful confederacy against the king. In the year 1258, a
famous parliament was summoned at Oxford, in order to
digest the new plan of government, and to elect to the
chief authority such individuals as were deemed worthy
of trust. This assembly, afterwards celebrated in our an¬
nals by the derisive name of the mad parliament, went
very expeditiously to work in the business of reformation.
Twenty-four barons were appointed, with supreme autho¬
rity, in order to reform the abuses of the state; and Lei¬
cester was placed at their head. Twelve of these barons
were chosen by the king’s council, and twelve by the par¬
liament. Their first step was to order four knights to be
chosen out of each county, who should examine into the
state of their respective constituents, and attend at the
ensuing parliament to give information of their complaints.
They ordained that three sessions of parliament should be
regularly held every year; that a new high sheriff should
be elected annually; that no wards nor castles should be
entrusted to foreigners, no new forests made, nor the reve¬
nues of any counties farmed out. Thus far these provisions
were good, and an approximation to popular representation,
although some modern writers have designated the whole
transaction as a revolution.
The twenty-four barons continued to conduct the affairs
of government for several years ; but they at last began to
quarrel amongst themselves. The Earls of Gloucester and
Leicester pursued opposite interests, and formed opposite
parties, who eyed each other with mutual jealousy. Lei¬
cester, perceiving that his rival was likely to gain the as¬
cendency, retired to France; but the balance was again
restored in his favour by the union of Prince Edward
with his friends. A short time after this event, the rival
parties seem to have assumed, if not the reality, at least
the appearance of unanimity. In 1262, Henry made a
fruitless attempt to escape from the authority of the ba¬
rons ; but his son Edward remained firm to their cause,
on account of his having sworn to observe the provisions
of Oxford. After other ineffectual attempts upon the
part of the king, he agreed that the twenty-four noble¬
men should continue to govern, not only during his own
reign, but also during that of his successor. By this sti¬
pulation, Edward joined his father, which restored vigour
to the royalists, and more equally balanced the power of
the parties. It was proposed that the differences between
them should be submitted for arbitration to Louis IX., and
both swore to abide by his decision. That excellent mo¬
narch enjoined the restoration of all castles, possessions,
and royal rights enjoyed by the crown before the parlia¬
ment of Oxford, upon condition of universal amnesty, and
of the full enjoyment of all the privileges and liberties
granted by the charter. The award was confirmed by the
pope, who empowered the Archbishop of Canterbury to
excommunicate all who refused to submit to it.
The moment the decision was made known to the ba¬
rons, they declared it to be contrary to truth and justice,
and immediately took the field. The contest was at first
favourable to the royal prerogative; but in 1264 Prince
Edward lost a great battle by his impetuosity in pursuing
too far one of the wings of the enemy’s army, which he
had defeated. His father and uncle were taken prisoners,
and placed in the castle of Lewis, where he contrived to
join them. They acceded to the propositions submitted
to them, and the administration of the kingdom fell into
the hands of the Earls of Gloucester and Leicester, and
the Bishop of Chichester.
ENGLAND.
The situation to which the kingdom was now reduced
proved at last the means of settling the government upon a
more proper foundation. Leicester, in order to secure
himself, was obliged to have recourse to an aid, till now
entirely unknown in England, namely, that of the body
of the people. He called a parliament, where, besides the
barons of his own party, and several ecclesiastics who
were not properly tenants of the crown, he ordered re¬
turns to be made of two knights from every shire; and
also deputies from the boroughs, which had been hitherto
considered as too inconsiderable to be allowed any share
in the legislation. This parliament was called on the
22d of January 1265; and here we find the first outline
of an English House of Commons ; an institution which
has ever since been considered, and justly, as the bulwark
of British liberty.
The new parliament was far from being so compliant
to Leicester as he had desired or expected. Many of the
barons who had hitherto stedfastly adhered to his party
were disgusted with his boundless ambition; and the
people, who found that a change of masters was not a
change of circumstances, began to wish for the re-esta¬
blishment of royal authority. Leicester at last, making
a virtue of necessity, released Prince Edward from his
confinement, and had him introduced at Westminster-
hall, where his freedom was confirmed by the unanimous
voice of the barons. But though Leicester had all the
popularity of restoring the prince, he was yet politic
enough to keep a strict watch over him. Edward was no¬
minally free, but in reality a prisoner. At last, however,
he found means to effect his escape. The Duke of Glou¬
cester, being disgusted with Leicester, left the court, and
retired to his estates upon the borders of Wales. His
antagonist pursued him thither, and, in order to give the
greater authority to his arms, carried the king and Prince
Edward along with him. This afforded young Edward an
opportunity which he had long desired of making his es¬
cape. Being furnished by the Earl of Gloucester with a
horse of extraordinary speed, he took leave of his attend¬
ants, or rather his guards, under pretence of trying the
mettle of his steed. He was hotly followed; but an end
was put to the pursuit by the appearance of some of Glou¬
cester’s troops.
No sooner was the prince at liberty than the royalists
joined him from all quarters, and an army was soon as¬
sembled which proved more than sufficient to meet the
forces of Leicester. The latter now found himself in a
remote quarter of the kingdom, surrounded by his ene¬
mies, and shut out from all communication with his friends
by the river Severn, the bridges on which Edward had bro¬
ken down. In this extremity he wrote to his son to hasten
to his assistance from London, with a considerable body
of troops which the latter had under his command. With
this view his son advanced to Kenilworth ; but here he was
surprised by Prince Edward, and the greater portion of
his followers were made prisoners. The young prince
immediately advanced upon Leicester himself, whose last
anchor had given way with the defeat of his son. He
was by no means able to cope with the royalists; his men
were inferior both in numbers and resolution to their an¬
tagonists. In the battle which ensued, the royalists gained
a signal victory over their opponents, defeating them with
great slaughter. Leicester himself was slain, together with
his eldest son Henry, and about a hundred and sixty knights
and other gentlemen. The body of the fallen earl was
mutilated in a frightful manner, and portions of it sent to
various places. His memory was long revered by the peo¬
ple, who looked upon him as a martyr to the liberties of
the realm. But a vigorous reign ensued, and the national
feeling was suppressed, or directed to other objects. He
left, however, an imperishable name, as the first who had History,
called together a parliament of which the lower house
composed part.
The victory of Evesham restored the fortunes of the
royalists. The followers of Leicester were proscribed,
and their lands distributed amongst the victors. With the
death of Montfort the spirit departed from the baronial
party, whose members hastened to give in their submission,
and to open the gates of their castles to the king. Several
places, however, still held out; but by the activity and va¬
lour of Prince Edward they were all finally reduced. The
country submitted, and the royal authority was completely
re-established throughout the realm. The good sense of
Edward, however, infused a wiser and more popular spirit
into the conduct of government. So judicious appears to
have been his administration, indeed, that, in a few years
after the battle of Evesham, he felt himself in a capacity to
take the cross, and enlist under the banners of the crusa¬
ders. This step of the heir apparent to the crown of Eng¬
land may appear somewhat extraordinary, when we con¬
sider the advanced period of life to which his father had
now attained, and the civil commotions from which he had
so recently emerged. But in an age when it was common
to ascribe any sudden transition of fortune from one ex¬
treme to another, to the immediate interposition of pro¬
vidence, it is less to be wondered at. The recent deli¬
verance of himself and his father from their enemies had
incurred a debt of gratitude to heaven which it was now
his desire to pay off. His expedition to the Holy Land
was of little importance, and was moreover in no way con¬
nected with the history of his country, although it was
distinguished by those romantic adventures and chivalrous
feats of arms peculiar to the age, and more especially to
the wars in Palestine.
The remaining events of Henry III.’s reign afford no ma¬
terials for history. He died on the 16th of November 1272,
in the fifty-seventh year of his reign. The character of
Henry is not strongly marked either by good or by evil.
During its long continuance we see no premeditated crime,
no deep laid plot involving the liberties of his subjects,
with which to impeach his memory. The evils which
grew and prospered whilst he held the sceptre did not arise
from vices in the sovereign, but from the unsettled state of
society and the turbulent spirit of the times. His virtues,
however, were not very conspicuous; they were rather
of a passive than of an active kind ; rather the negative
of vice than positive moral greatness. With regard to
intellect, he appears to have been below mediocrity; and
it is usual with historians to describe him as deficient in
capacity to govern. This was probably the case, but it was
productive of inconvenience to himself rather than misery
to his subjects. Under his pacific rule, as we have already
observed, the nation grew more rapidly in wealth and pros¬
perity than it did under the more dazzling sway of his
military progenitors.
Edward, upon hearing the news of his father’s death, and
feeling himself secure of the throne, returned slowly from
the Holy Land. He arrived in England in August 1274,
and was crowned at Westminster on the 19th of the same
month. Two years afterwards he undertook an expedi¬
tion against Lewellyn, prince of Wales, who had refused
to do homage for his crown. The conquest of that coun¬
try cost him some trouble, and was not completed until
the year 1283. After this period the principality of Wales
was annexed to the crown of England, and thenceforth
conferred a title upon the king’s eldest son. In 1286,
Wales had been so entirely broken into subjection, that
Edward undertook a journey to the Continent for the pur¬
pose of mediating a peace between Alonzo of Aragon and
.Philip the Fair of France. These two monarchs had differed
726
ENGLAND.
History, about the kingdom of Sicily; but a negociation was ef-
fected, and the king of England returned to his country
after an absence of three years, during which period much
disorder had been introduced into his dominions. Rob¬
bery and violence had become frightfully prevalent, and
the corruption of the judges had poisoned the fountains
of justice. In order to remedy these evils, Edward sum¬
moned a parliament, and cited the delinquents to appear
and take their trial. All of them," except two clergymen,
having been convicted of flagrant acts of corruption and
bribery, were accordingly fined, and deposed from their
office.
The next great event of Edward’s reign was an attempt
to subjugate Scotland. This he never altogether effected,
although he succeeded in reducing the country to great
distress, and in even nominally attaching it to the English
crown as a conquered province. For an account of these
transactions, see the article Scotland. Edward was at
the same time engaged in expensive contests with France ;
and these multiplied wars, by obliging him to have fre¬
quent recourse to parliamentary supplies, became the re¬
mote causes of great and important changes in the go¬
vernment. The parliament was modelled into the form
which it has ever since retained. As a great part of the
property of the kingdom, by the introduction of commerce
and by improvements in agriculture, was transferred from
the barons to the lower classes of the people, so their con¬
sent was thought necessary in order to raise the supplies.
For this reason the king issued writs to the sheriffs, enjoin¬
ing them to send to parliament, along with two knights of
the shire, two deputies from each borough within their
county; and these, too, provided with sufficient powers
from their constituents to grant such demands as they
should think reasonable for the safety of the state. The
charges of these deputies were to be borne by the
boroughs which sent them; and so far were they from
considering this deputation as an honour, that nothing
could be more displeasing to any borough than to be thus
obliged to send a deputy, or to any individual than to be
thus chosen. The authority of these commoners, however,
increased in course of time. Their union gave them weight;
and it became customary among them, in return for the
supplies which they granted, to prefer petitions to the
crown for the redress of grievances. The more the king’s
necessities increased, the more he found it necessary
to give them an early hearing, until, from requesting, the
commons proceeded to demanding; and having all the
property of the nation, they by degrees began also to be
possessed of a considerable share of the power.
Edward I. died of a dysentery, near Carlisle, on the7th of
July 1307, as he was leading a great army into Scotland,
against the inhabitants of which he had vowed the most
dreadful vengeance. Edward ranks amongst the great¬
est monarchs of England. In military talents, in sound
judgment, in vigour, decision, irascibility, and vindictive¬
ness, he bore some resemblance to the Conqueror. Like
him too he possessed an unsatiable ambition, and his un¬
holy crusade against the independence of Scotland must
be regarded as an indelible blot upon his memory. He
was succeeded by the eldest of his surviving sons, who bore
his father’s name, but inherited nothing of his capacity,
and who was crowned on the 8th of July 1307, with great
magnificence. His father had charged him upon his
death-bed to prosecute the war against Scotland until he
had finally subdued the kingdom ; but war had few attrac¬
tions for Edward II., and he withdrew his army inglo-
riously from the country which his father went to subju¬
gate. The first years of Edward’s reign are distinguish¬
ed for nothing but bickerings with his barons, who finally
extorted from him a reformation of abuses in full parlia¬
ment. The Scots in the mean time gradually recovered
their power; and Edward having invaded their country
with a prodigious force, was met by Robert Bruce at Ban¬
nockburn, near Stirling, who totally defeated the puissant
army of the English on the 24th of June 1314. See Scot¬
land.
The reign of Edward II. was one continued series of quar¬
rels with his turbulent subjects. His favourites were the
most general causes of discontent. The first of these was
one Pierce Gaveston, the son of a Gascon knight of some
distinction. The latter had honourably served the late
king, and, in reward for his services, had obtained an esta-
blisbment for his son in the family of the Prince of Wales.
To be the favourite of any king whatsoever is no doubt
in itself a sufficient offence to the rest of the courtiers.
Numberless faults were therefore found with Gaveston by
the English barons. When the king went over to France
to espouse the Princess Isabella, to whom he had been
long contracted, Gaveston was left guardian of the realm,
with more ample powers than had usually been conferred
in such cases. But upon the arrival of the queen, who was
of an imperious and intriguing spirit, Gaveston had the
misfortune to fall under her displeasure, on account of the
ascendency he had acquired over the king. A conspiracy
was soon formed against the favourite, at the head of
which was the queen and the Earl of Lancaster, a relation
of the king’s, and the most powerful nobleman in England.
Edward found himself unable to protect his favourite
against such a formidable combination, and was compelled
to banish him. His recall some time afterwards again
spread alarm over the country, and kindled a civil war.
The nobility were successful in obtaining possession of
the obnoxious Gaveston ; and, in order to free themselves
for ever from uneasiness on his account, they put him to
death.
After the defeat of Bannockburn, King Edward chose a
new favourite named Hugh le Despencer. He was a young
man of a noble English family, and possessed some merit,
and engaging accomplishments. His father was a person
of apparently unimpeachable character, but he also enjoy¬
ed the king’s favour, and that was a sufficient crime. The
king imprudently dispossessed some lords of their estates,
in order to bestow them upon young Despencer. This
afforded a sufficient pretext to the barons for openly at¬
tacking both the father and son. The Earls of Lancaster
and Mortimer, chief of the Welsh marshes, flew to arms;
and sentence of perpetual exile against the two Spencers,
with a forfeiture of all their estates, was procured from par¬
liament. At last the king took the field, and obtained a
signal victory over the other party at Boroughbridge. The
Earl of Lancaster was made prisoner, and beheaded a few
days afterwards at his own castle of Pomfret. This indi¬
vidual was canonized in 1389. Many other noblemen suf¬
fered the same punishment without having the same re¬
spect paid to their memory, whilst Mortimer was con¬
demned to perpetual imprisonment.
The triumph of the Spencers was now complete; but
tbe partiality with which the king regarded his two fa¬
vourites had the effect of alienating not only the affections
of his subjects, but also those of his queen. Other charges
are brought against Edward as having contributed to ef¬
fect this estrangement, and Isabella sought an opportu¬
nity of escaping from her husband. The palace of her
brother at Paris was her natural place of refuge. A rup¬
ture having commenced between England and France,
the queen proceeded to the court of the latter as negocia-
tor, and concluded a peace humiliating to her husband.
But she had another object in view in visiting her native
country. Her residence became a sanctuary for the Eng¬
lish malcontents, who flocked to her in great numbers; and
History.
ENGLAND.
727
history.
amongst these came Mortimer, who had contrived to effect
his escape, and for whom she has been charged with enter¬
taining a stronger passion than that of friendship. The
cause of quarrel between the two powers was the county
of Guienne, for which the monarch of France required
Edward to do homage and fealty. The disputed terri¬
tory was resigned to the young Prince of Wales, who
joined his mother, and made the necessary submissions.
When Isabella considered that matters were sufficiently
matured for executing her purpose, she landed in England
on the 22d of September 1326, where she was universally
welcomed, and immediately joined by the most potent
barons. The unfortunate king found that the spirit of dis¬
loyalty had spread over the whole kingdom. Some de¬
pendence was placed upon the garrison of Bristol, which
was commanded by the elder Spencer; but the soldiers
rebelled against their governor, and delivered him into
the hands of the barons, by whom he was cruelly put to
death. Young Spencer did not long survive his father.
Along with some others who had followed the fortunes of
the wretched king, he was made prisoner in an obscure
convent in Wales; and the queen having no patience to
wait the formality of a trial, gave orders for his immediate
execution.
In the mean time the king was discovered and deliver¬
ed up to his adversaries, who loaded him with insults. He
was conducted to the capital, and consigned to the Tower.
The charge against him exhibited no other crimes than
his incapacity to govern, his indolence, his love of plea¬
sure, and his accessibility to evil counsel. His deposition
was quickly voted by parliament; he was assigned a pen¬
sion for his support; his son Edward, a youth of fourteen,
was appointed to succeed him, and the queen was nominat¬
ed regent during the minority. But the deposed monarch
did not long survive his disgrace. He was at first put
into the custody of the Earl of Lancaster ; but this noble¬
man having shown some marks of respect and pity for the
misfortunes of his sovereign, the latter was taken out of
his hands and delivered over to the Lords Berkeley, MaL
travers, and Gournay, who were entrusted alternately,
each for a month, with the charge of guarding him.
Whilst he was in Berkeley’s custody, he was still treated
with some degree of humanity; but when the turn of Mal-
travers and Gournay came, every species of indignity was
practised upon him, as if they had designed to accelerate
his death by accumulating his mental sufferings. As his
persecutors, however, saw that his death might not speed¬
ily arrive, even under every cruelty which ingenuity
could devise, and as they were daily afraid of a revolution
in his favour, they determined to put their fears to rest
by destroying him at once. Mortimer, therefore, secret¬
ly gave orders to the two keepers to dispatch the king;
and these ruffians contrived to render the manner of his
death as barbarous as possible. Taking advantage of Ber¬
keley’s sickness, in whose custody he then was, and who
was thereby incapacitated from attending to his charge,
they came to Berkeley Castle, and obtained possession of
the king’s person. They threw him on a bed, and held
him down with a table which they had placed over him.
They then ran a horn pipe into his bowels, through which
they conveyed a red-hot iron; and thus deprived him of
life without disfiguring his body. The murderers fled on
the perpetration of this horrible enormity; for the dying
agonies of the king created suspicions which ended in the
discovery of the crime. One of the fugitives was taken
at Marseilles, and beheaded on his way to England. The
other concealed himself for some years in Germany; but
having found means of rendering some services to Edward
III. he ventured to approach the person of that monarch,
and by his humiliating submission received a pardon.
By the death of Edward II. the government fell entirely
into the hands of the queen and Mortimer, who had now
the disgraceful pre-eminence of royal paramour. The par¬
liament, which had raised young Edward to the throne, had
indeed appointed twelve persons as his privy council, to
direct the operations of government. Mortimer excluded
himself, under a show of moderation; but at the same time
secretly influenced all the measures which came under
their deliberation. As this influence began very soon to be
perceived, and the queen’s criminal attachment to Morti¬
mer was universally known, the administration soon be¬
came obnoxious to the people. It had continued four
years, when a circumstance occurred which added great¬
ly to its unpopularity. The Scots having made an irrup¬
tion into England, were met by an overwhelming force
under young Edward, or rather Mortimer. The results
of this mighty expedition were most ludicrous. By their
superior skill and activity, the Scots foiled the English
commanders, and made their escape into their own coun-
tty. Soon after this inglorious campaign, a solemn treaty
of peace was concluded, in which Edward, for a sum of
money, renounced every claim of superiority over Scotland.
This, although a commendable act of moderation, was not
calculated to propitiate the favour of the English people.
It was not long before another stroke of Mortimer’s power
and policy startled the nation from its propriety, and
paved the way for his own destruction. Amongst those
who began to betray indignation against the encroaching
spirit of Mortimer, was Edmund earl of Kent, who, deceiv¬
ed into a belief that his brother Edward II. was still alive,
wrote a letter to that prince, which was betrayed into the
hands of Mortimer, now Earl of March, by the individual
who had undertaken to deliver it. The writer of the epis¬
tle was immediately tried for high treason, condemned,
and executed. There is little doubt that the whole affair
of the letter was a plot laid for the destruction of Kent,
not only to get him out of the way, but to show that there
was no one too high not to be struck down by the ven¬
geance of Mortimer.
Edward finding the restraint under which he was re¬
tained becoming irksome, resolved to shake it off, and to
rid himself and the nation at once of an authority which
had now become alike odious to both. The queen and
her paramour had repaired to Nottingham, where a parlia¬
ment was then held. They had chosen the castle as a
place of residence, and taken every precaution to ensure
their safety; for fear follows guilt like its shadow. The
enemies of Mortimer, however, found means to obtain ad¬
mission at dead of night; and having seized him as he
lay in an apartment adjoining to that of the queen, he was
taken prisoner to London, tried before his peers for various
crimes, convicted, and executed.
The queen, who was perhaps the most culpable of the
two, was screened from capital punishment by the dignity
of her station, but stripped of all power, and confined for
life to the castle of Risings. From this imprisonment she
was never liberated, but during her life the king paid her
an annual visit of ceremony.
Edward III. proved one of the greatest warriors who
had ever sat on the English throne. His first attempts
were to raise Edward Baliol to the throne of Scotland: this
however he failed in effecting. But his mind now began
to be diverted to loftier and more ambitious speculations.
The crown of France became the object of contest between
Edward, the son of Philip the Fair’s daughter Isabella,
and Philip of Valois, the son of the brother of Philip. The
question was, whether the crown was descendible only
through males, or whether it might be claimed by the near¬
est male although his descent was by females. Charles
the Fair died in 1328, and left the crown of France with-
History.
728 ENGLAND.
History, out direct male descendants to inherit it. The three last
kings were the sons of Philip the Fair, and they all reign¬
ed successively, but died without issue. According to
the English law, the son of the daughter precedes the
nephew in inheritance; but the French Salic law exclud¬
ed females. Edward contended that the feudal laws of
France forbade females to inherit who could not perform
the feudal duties, yet that their male heirs were not de¬
barred by the spirit of this law, because they were com¬
petent to discharge all the military services required. On
the other hand, it was insisted by the French advocates
for Philip de Valois, that the exclusion of the female in
the first instance was an exclusion of all the descendants
of either sex. If it had been a question of succession to
the English crown, it would have been rightfully deter¬
mined by the parliament and law of England; but as it
concerned the crown and law of France, it was clearly a
matter for the French state and lawyers to decide. They
decided in favour of Philip de Valois, and he was accord¬
ingly crowned king of France. In this decision they dis¬
played the soundest principles of national policy, and Ed¬
ward ought undoubtedly to have acquiesced.1 The king
of England, however, thought otherwise, and accordingly
began to make preparations for an invasion of France.
By doing homage to Philip for the duchy of Guienne,
Edward gained time to collect such an army and treasure
as were necessary for the enterprise. Two powerful con¬
tinental allies appeared in his favour ; namely, Robert of
Artois, who had been excluded from the county to make
way for his aunt Matilda, a nearer relative by blood to
the preceding count; and James von Artaveldt, a famous
brewer of Ghent, and leader of the democratical party
among the Flemings. It was at the suggestion of the lat¬
ter that Edward assumed the title of king of the French,
as a pledge that he would pursue his undertaking with in¬
flexibility of purpose. The king of England landed at Ant¬
werp in July 1338; but it was not until more than a year
thereafter that he reached the confines of France. His
first campaign was unimportant, but in the second he
achieved a considerable naval victory on the 22d of June
1340. Flushed with this success, he marched to the siege
of Tournay at the head of 100,000 men. Near this town
the king of France had encamped himself in a situation so
strong as to bid defiance to attack. Edward challenged
him to single combat, but this was refused ; and the Eng¬
lish were at last compelled to raise the siege, and to retire
sullen and discontented from the place.
The efforts of Edward began now to be much crippled for
want of money. The exchequer of England was unable
to satisfy his demands, and his allies had become clamour¬
ous for their arrears. Some of his courtiers having in¬
stilled into his mind suspicions of the fidelity of his mini¬
sters, he suddenly returned to London, where he landed
about midnight at the Tower. Next morning he displaced
the chancellor, treasurer, and master of the rolls, confined
three of the judges, and ordered the arrest of most of the
officers employed in the collection of the revenue. Arch¬
bishop Stratford, however, boldly opposed his career of
resentment and cruelty, and vindicated the cause of the
ministers. The king was compelled at last to abandon
his process against the primate, for the urgency of his
wants admitted of no delay.
The failure of his first two campaigns did not wean Ed¬
ward from his attachment to foreign alliances. By a dis¬
puted succession to the duchy of Brittany, in which he
took the part of the individual who opposed Philip of
France, a new road was opened up to him into that coun¬
try. He collected a vast army, with which he landed near
Cape la Hogue about the end of July 1346. His career in History
France was a series of triumphs most glorious to the Eng-
lish arms. On the 26th of August 1346 was fought the
decisive battle of Cressy, which is still memorable after the
lapse of many centuries. In this celebrated conflict, Ed¬
ward the Black Prince, a youth only sixteen years of age,
gained unfading laurels. The siege of Calais followed, and
the place was reduced after an obstinate defence. The
first fruit of the reduction of this place was a truce, which
lasted till 1355, when Edward the Black Prince, who go¬
verned his father’s dominions in France, undertook an
expedition into the neighbouring provinces, and in the
following year carried his arms into the heart of France.
The victory of Poitiers was another mortifying humiliation
to the French. John their king was taken prisoner, and
treated with noble hospitality and respect by his renown¬
ed conqueror. He was conveyed to England, where his
reception resembled rather the return of a victorious
prince than the humiliation of a captive monarch. For a
particular account of these and other transactions of the
English in France, the reader is referred to the article
France.
During the absence of the king of England on the Con¬
tinent, his country was harassed by the Scots, who invad¬
ed it, but experienced a defeat at Nevelles Cross. In
1355, Edward himself invaded Scotland; and the havoc
caused by this expedition was long remembered by the
natives. The death of Edward Baliol in 1364 left David
Bruce without a rival to the Scottish throne; and the pre¬
tensions of the Plantagenets to Scotland were terminated
by Edward III.’s recognition of his brother-in-law. See
Scotland.
In the mean time Edward the Black Prince, after a
Spanish campaign, in which he gained the celebrated bat¬
tle of Navarete, returned to England in pursuit of health
and quiet. But thirty years of toil and war had exhausted
his robust frame, and he expired at Canterbury on the 8th
of June 1376, in the forty-sixth year of his age. He left
behind him a lofty reputation for bravery and skill as a
commander, generosity as a knight, and wisdom and vigour
as a statesman. His father Edward III. did not long sur¬
vive his loss. He died on the 21st of June the year follow¬
ing. The reign of this monarch is generally considered by
Englishmen as the most illustrious period of their ancient
annals. “ The victories of Cressy and Poitiers,” says
Mr Turner, “ may have produced the popular sentiment;
but the reflective mind will adopt the opinion as steadily,
when it observes, during this reign, that our navy esta¬
blished its preponderance over the most celebrated fleets
that were then accustomed to navigate the British chan¬
nel; that our parliament enjoyed, in full and upright ex¬
ercise, those constitutional powers which the nation has
long learnt to venerate as its best inheritance, but which
weaker sovereigns have too eagerly contested; that our
manufactures and commerce began to exhibit an afflu¬
ence and an expanding growth, and to be conducted on
the true principles of public improvement; that our clergy
evinced a disposition to emancipate themselves from the
papal despotism, and some to exercise a just freedom of
thought on the most important of all human concerns;
that the lineaments of our prose literature became dis¬
tinctly discernible; that the pursuit of the mathematical
and natural sciences, and of the art of reasoning, at one or
both of our venerable universities, was ardent and success¬
ful ; that our poetry assumed the attractive form with
which its life, sympathy, utility, and immortality are most
surely connected; and that our manners displayed a mo¬
ral sentiment, which, though somewhat fantastic, and al-
1 Turner’s History of England, vol. ii. p. 144.
ENGLAND.
flistoiy. ways pure, yet contributed to soften the horrors of war,
and has led to that more cultivated feeling which, con¬
tinually increasing and refining, has made Englishmen dis¬
tinguished for their generosity, magnanimity, and honour.”
It may be added, on the authority of Sir Mathew Hale,
that during this reign the law was greatly improved, and
nearly attained its meridian. The monarch himself kept
pace with the progress of the time, and his reign was suffi¬
ciently protracted to afford opportunities for the develop¬
ment and consolidation of all improvements. He left his
country ennobled in the eyes of Europe, and possessed of
gigantic energies capable of realising the glorious desti¬
nies which awaited her.
Edward III. was succeeded by Richard II. son of the
beloved Black Prince. He commenced his reign, being
only eleven years of age, on the 22d of June 1377, with
many expressions of congratulation from his subjects. His
coronation took place on the following year, and parlia¬
ment was opened with a speech from the Archbishop of
Canterbury, which, being “ soothing and gracious,” was
meant to propitiate the favour of the representatives of
the nation in behalf of the young sovereign. The Dukes
of Lancaster, York, and Gloucester, uncles to the king,
with some other noblemen, were appointed regents during
Richard’s minority. The war, which was still prosecuted
in France on a small scale, and the expenses necessary
for retaining the towns already taken, required supplies of
money, which could not be raised without additional taxa¬
tion ; and this gave rise to much discontent amongst the
people. An imposition of three groats upon each person
of both sexes and every condition who had passed the
age of sixteen, particularly excited the minds of the com¬
mon people against the government. The manner, too, of
collecting this tax, soon furnished an occasion of revolt.
The insurrection began in Essex, where a report was in¬
dustriously spread that the peasants were to be destroyed,
their houses burned, and their farms plundered. At Dart-
ford, an individual, well known by the name of Wat Tyler,
was the first who excited the malcontents to arms. The
tax-gatherers proceeded to this man’s house whilst he was
at work, and demanded payment for his daughter. He
refused to comply, on the ground that she was under the
age stipulated in the act; upon which one of these fel¬
lows offered to prove the contrary in a very indecent man¬
ner, and for this purpose laid hold of the maiden. Such
insolence, however, roused the spirit of the father, and with
one blow he laid the ruffian dead at his feet. A shout of
applause burst from the bystanders, who declared them¬
selves prepared to protect Wat from the vengeance of his
enemies. The cry of the men of Kent was responded to
by those of the neighbouring counties, and Wat soon found
himself at the head of an enormous body of insurgents.
They advanced to Blackheath in the month of May 1381,
and proceeded to enforce their counsels by an attack upon
London, in which they succeeded. The king, finding that
resistance was vain, agreed to listen to their demands.
On this they made a very humble remonstrance; requiring
a general pardon, the abolition of slavery, freedom of com¬
merce in the market-towns, and a fixed rent instead of
those services required by the tenure of villenage. The
king granted all these requests; and charters were made
out by which the grant was ratified. In the mean time, ano¬
ther body of these insurgents had broken into the/Tower,
and murdered the chancellor, the primate, and the trea¬
surer, with some other officers of distinction. They then
divided themselves into parties, and took up their quarters
in different parts of the city. At the head of one of these
was Wat Tyler, who led his men into Smithfield, where
he was met by the king, who invited him to a conference,
under pretence of hearing and redressing his grievances.
VOL. VIII.
729
Tyler ordered his companions to retire till he should give History,
them a signal, and boldly ventured to begin a conference
with the king in the midst of his retinue. His demands
were, that all slaves should be set free, that all common-
ages should be open to the poor as well as to the rich,
and that a general pardon should be granted for the late
outrages. During the interview, the rebel kept playing
with his dagger, and at last he is said to have laid his
hand on the bridle of his sovereign’s horse ; upon which
Walworth, lord mayor of London, alarmed for the king,
plunged a basillard in the throat of Tyler, and at the
same moment another esquire dispatched him with his
sword. Ihis is the tale told by the writers of the victo¬
rious party, for the partizans of Wat Tyler had no his¬
torian to give their version of the story. The insurgents
who witnessed the fall of their leader bent their bows with
the design of revenging his death. But Richard, though
only sixteen years of age, with admirable presence of
mind galloped up to them, exclaiming, “ What are you
doing, my lieges ? Tyler was a traitor. Follow me, and
I will be your leader.” With sullen and wavering discon¬
tent they followed him into the fields at Islington, where
a body of troops had been collected for the protection of
the young king. The insurgents were ordered to return
to their homes instantly, and under the penalty of death
they were forbidden to skulk about the city during night.
But the whole of the rebels did not thus escape, and the
revolt was not finally extinguished without much blood¬
shed and cruelty.
The courage, address, and presence of mind which the
king had discovered in quelling such a dangerous tumult,
gave great hopes to the nation: but, in proportion as Richard
advanced in years, these hopes began to wither; and his
want of capacity, or at least of solid judgment, appeared
in every enterprise which he attempted. The king had
unluckily lost the favour of the common people after the *
insurrection just mentioned. He allowed the parliament
to revoke the charters of enfranchisement and pardon
which had been granted; some of the ringleaders in the
late disorders had been severely punished, and others were
put to death without any form or process of trial. Thus
the popular leaders were greatly exasperated by this
cruelty, though probably the king did not in this follow
the dictates of his own mind so much as the advice of his
counsellors. But having thus lost the favour of one party,
he quickly afterwards fell under the displeasure of the
other also. Conceiving himself to be in too great subjec¬
tion to his uncles, particularly the Duke of Gloucester,
he attempted to shake off the yoke, by raising others to
an equal share of rank and favour. Accordingly one of
his favourites, Michael de la Pole, was created Earl of
Suffolk, and raised to the chancellorship ; whilst another,
Robert de Vere, earl of Oxford, a young man of an agree¬
able person, but dissolute in his behaviour, soon acquired
an absolute ascendency over him. This nobleman was
first created Marquis of Dublin, and afterwards Duke
of Ireland, both preposterous and invidious titles. The
duke having soon become the dispenser of all the king’s
favours, a conspiracy was formed against him by some of
the most powerful nobility in the kingdom. The Earl of
Suffolk was impeached in parliament, and, being con¬
victed of certain charges brought against him, was con¬
demned to pay a suitable fine. Soon afterwards the king
was prevailed upon to vest the government in the hands
of eleven commissioners along with the three great officers
of state. This measure was carried into effect by the
Duke of Gloucester, who stood at the head of the com¬
mittee ; and the king could not without regret perceive
himself thus totally deprived of authority. He first en¬
deavoured to gain over the parliament to his interests, by
* 4 z
730 E N G I
History, influencing the sheriffs of each county, who were then the
only returning officers; and this measure failing, he next
applied to the judges, who declared that the commission
w’hich had deprived the king of his authority was unlawful,
and that those who procured or advised it deserved con¬
dign punishment; but their sentence was quickly opposed
by declarations from the lords. The Duke of Gloucester
armed his partizans, and appeared at the head of a body
of men sufficient to intimidate both the king and his ad¬
herents. These insurgents, sensible of their own power,
began by demanding of the king the names of those who
had advised the adoption of the late rash measures. A
few days afterwards they appeared armed in his pre¬
sence, and accused by name the Archbishop of York, the
Duke of Ireland, the Earl of Suffolk, and Sir Robert Tre-
sillian, one of the judges who had declared in his favour,
together with Sir Nicholas Brembre, as public and dan¬
gerous enemies to the state. The parliament which met
on the 3d of February 1388 condemned the five accused
persons to suffer the death of traitors. The Duke of Ire¬
land escaped to Flanders, where he expired four years
afterwards ; De la Pole died at Paris in the same year;
Tresillian and Brembre were put to death, and the Arch¬
bishop of York became a Flemish curate, and died in that
humble capacity. The other individuals who had sub¬
scribed the bold opinion were condemned to perpetual
imprisonment; with the exception of Black, wrho had drawn
up the questions, and Usk, appointed under-sheriff to ar¬
rest the Duke of Gloucester, who were both executed.
But the king became restive in the traces with which
his uncle restrained him. In a meeting of parliament he
declared himself competent to manage his own affairs, as
he had by this time attained his twenty-second year.
This bold announcement was followed by bis ordering
Thomas Arundel, whom the commissioners had recently
appointed chancellor, to give up the seals, which, on the
following day, he delivered into the hands of William
Wickham, bishop of Winchester. The council was next
cleared of the Duke of Gloucester, the Earl of Warwick,
and other opposition lords ; and the great officers of the
household, as well as the judges, were changed for more
pliable instruments.
Being now his own master, Richard notified by procla¬
mation that he had taken the reins of government into his
own hands; and, whether it was owing to the king or his
ministers, it must be owned that for some years his ad¬
ministration was tranquil and happy. During this halcyon
period he made a journey into Ireland, in order to divert
the melancholy with which he was afflicted on account of
the loss of his wife Anne. Soon afterwards he espoused
Isabella, a princess of France, then in her eighth year,
which contributed to an armistice with that kingdom for
twenty-five years.
This alliance with the royal family of France encouraged
Richard to execute a scheme of vengeance which he
had long nourished in his bosom against Gloucester and
others who had been instrumental in the punishment of
his favourites. The duke, with the Earls of Warwick and
Arundel, were appealed for treason; in consequence of
which the former was sent prisoner to Calais, and the two
latter committed to the Tower. Here the head of Arun¬
del w'as shortly after struck off, and Warwick was banished ;
but the fate of the Duke of Gloucester is involved in some
obscurity. On the 21st of September 1397 a writ w?as
issued to Thomas Mowbray, earl marshal, governor of
Calais, commanding him to bring the body of his prisoner,
the Duke of Gloucester, to answer before the king in par¬
liament to the appeal of treason against him. The reply
of the governor of Calais wras, that the prisoner had died
in his custody. At a subsequent period circumstances
A N D.
transpired which indicate that the duke perished by the History,
foulest murder, doubtless at the instigation of his ownne-
phew. It remains to be mentioned, that at the meeting
of parliament, in which these noblemen were impeached,
all the acts in which Gloucester had taken a share were
annulled, the commission of government was cancelled,
the opinions of the judges were declared to be legal, and
the judgment against Michael de la Pole was reversed.
After the destruction of Gloucester and the heads of
his party, a misunderstanding arose amongst the noble¬
men who had joined in the prosecution. The Duke of Here¬
ford, son to John of Gaunt, appeared in parliament, and
accused the Duke of Norfolk of having uttered treason in
a private conversation. Norfolk denied the charge, and
offered to establish his innocence by single combat. The
challenge was accepted; but the king interrupted the
duel, and commanded both the parties to leave the king¬
dom. The Duke of Norfolk was banished for life, but the
Duke of Hereford only for ten years. The former re¬
tired to Venice, where he died shortly afterwards. Here¬
ford displayed so much resignation to the will of his sove¬
reign, that the latter commuted the period of his exile
to four years. The king had obtained the object of his
wishes, namely, the civil destruction of those whose power
he dreaded. Even his uncles, either through affection or •
fear, seconded all his measures, which were now deeply
tainted witli despotism. On the death of John of Gaunt,
“ time-honoured Lancaster,” the crown claimed his im¬
mense estates, to the exclusion of the banished Earl of
Hereford, who was pronounced incapable of inheriting
them after the judgment which had been pronounced
against him in parliament.
By these and other impolitic acts, the king overstrained
the bow, and excited a spirit of discontent, which finally
hurled him from the throne. The resentment of Here¬
ford had been inflamed by the injury which he had re¬
ceived, and he only waited for a favourable opportunity
of retaliation, which soon afterwards occurred.
The Earl of March, presumptive heir to the crown, hav¬
ing been appointed the king’s lieutenant in Ireland, was
slain in a skirmish with the natives of that country; and
Richard, regardless of his precarious situation at home,
went over to Ireland with a considerable army, in order to
revenge the death of his relative. Hereford, now duke of
Lancaster, took advantage of the king’s absence. Solicited
by the discontented lords, and aware of the alienation of
the people from Richard, he embarked at Nantes, and, with
a retinue of only sixty persons in three small vessels, landed
at Ravenspur in Yorkshire. The Earl of Northumberland,
who had long been a malcontent, together with Henry
Percy, his son, surnamed Hotspur on account of his im¬
petuous valour, immediately joined him with their forces;
and the people flocked to him in such numbers that in a
few days he found himself at the head of sixty thousand
men.
Richard in the mean time continued in fancied security
in Ireland. Adverse winds for three perilous weeks to¬
gether prevented his receiving any news of the rebellion
which had broken out in his native dominions; but when
the intelligence arrived he was overwhelmed with dismay.
Some advised him to sail immediately and face the dan¬
ger ; others recommended that he should first send over
the Earl of Salisbury, for the purpose of collecting all who
were disposed to support his interests, which plan was
adopted. A numerous army joined the earl, but the king
protracted his stay in Ireland so long, that on his arrival
the whole of this force had melted down to less than an
hundred men. To take the field against Henry of Lancas¬
ter was consequently out of the question. He therefore
proceeded in disguise to the fortress of Conway, where
ENGLAND.
History. Salisbury had taken up his quarters. It was the policy
of Henry to show symptoms of negotiation, in order to
allure the king into his own hands. This he effected in a
very deceitful manner. The Earlvof Northumberland was
dispatched to Richard with a thousand men, who con¬
cealed themselves at some distance, whilst the earl pro¬
ceeded to the fortress where the king was lodged, and by
fair promises induced him to quit his stronghold and go
along with him to . Henry for the purpose of effecting a
reconciliation. But during the journey Richard was made
prisoner, and finally committed to the Tower to await the
judgment of parliament. On Monday the 29th of Sep¬
tember 1399, a deputation of lords and commons waited
upon the king, and having reminded him of a declaration
which he had formerly made at Conway Castle, of his
unfitness to govern, and readiness to resign the crown,
required his resignation of the regal power. To this he
consented, according to the ancient chroniclers, “ with a
cheerful countenance.” During his whole reign, Richard
held the sceptre with a wavering grasp, and in the para¬
lysis with which he was now stricken, he as it were un¬
consciously relinquished it. He likewise recommended
Henry his nephew as a fitting successor to the throne.
Before proceeding with the reign of Henry IV. we shall
• follow the deposed monarch through the few sad weeks of
his unhappy life. By parliament he was adjudged “ to a
perpetual prison, to remain there secretly in safe custody.
Richard was accordingly consigned to close confinement,
and shortly afterwards came to his end, there can be little
doubt in an unnatural manner. His fate seems to have
been accelerated by a conspiracy amongst his friends to
restore him to the throne. The Earls of Kent, Hunting¬
don, and Salisbury, laid a plot for the destruction of King
Henry ; but the secret was betrayed, and the confederated
noblemen were executed. The death of Richard seems
to have ipimediately followed this unsuccessful enterprise,
but the manner of it is involved in impenetrable mys¬
tery. According to some chroniclers, several ruffians were
sent to the castle of Pomfret, where he had been re¬
moved, for the purpose of dispatching him. I hey rushed
unexpectedly into his apartment; but he succeeded in
wresting a pole-axe from one of the murderers, with which
he killed several of them, but was at length overpowered
and slain. Others relate that he was starved in prison,
and that he lingered fifteen days before he expired.1 Ac¬
cording to some accounts, he was condemned to suffer
this miserable and protracted death; whilst others state
that it was a voluntary abstinence, to which he was im¬
pelled by despair. He died in the thirty-fourth year of
his age, and twenty-third of his reign. It was during the
life of Richard II. that Wickliff, the celebrated reformer,
promulgated his doctrines in England. See \Vickliff.
After the throne had been vacated by its legitimate oc¬
cupant, Henry duke of Lancaster stepped forward and
claimed it in right of his being a descendant of Henry III.
He was descended from this monarch both by father and
mother, but he could not claim by the father s side, be¬
cause the young Earl of March was sprung from the Duke
of Clarence, the elder brother of John of Gaunt, nor by
the mother’s side, because she was sprung from Edmund
of Lancaster, a younger brother of Edward I. It was pre¬
tended that Edmund was the elder brother, but it was never
731
proved. By the law of succession it belonged to the de- History,
scendants of Lionel, the third son of Edward III. That
prince died without issue male, and his possessions and
pretensions descended to his daughter Philippa, wife of
Roger Mortimer, the male representative of the powerful
baron who was attainted and executed for the murder of
Edward II. the grandfather of the Duke of Clarence. The
son of that powerful delinquent had been restored to his
honours and estates at a late period of the reign of Edward
III. The fourth in descent from the regicide was Roger
Mortimer, lord-lieutenant of Ireland, who was looked upon
as heir to the crown during the early part of Richard’s
reign ; but his son Edmund Mortimer was only ten years
of age when Richard was deposed, so that his claim was
easily set aside. Mortimer died in 1425 without male
issue, and the pretensions which he inherited through the
Duke of Clarence fell to his sister Anne Mortimer, who
espoused Richard of York, earl of Cambridge, the grand¬
son of Edward III. by his fourth son Edmund of Lang¬
ley, duke of York. But from the foregoing pedigree it is
clear that during the life of the Earl of March no right
to the crown had descended to any branch of the house
of York. Henry, however, notwithstanding the inferiority
of his title, was unanimously acknowledged by both houses,
and was crowned within a fortnight after the deposition
of his predecessor. He was the idol of the populace, the
master of parliament, and the heir of the fame and pos¬
sessions of John of Gaunt.
The reign of Henry IV. was little else than a continued
series of insurrections. In the very first parliament which
he assembled, a great number of challenges were given
and accepted by different barons ; and though Henry had
ability and address enough to prevent these duels, it was
not in his power to avoid continual combinations and re¬
volts against himself.
The most formidable of these disorders was that under
the Earl of Northumberland. Various causes are assigned
for this insurrection. One is, that the resentment of the
Percies had been excited by the king denying them the
privilege to liberate or ransom their prisoners; for at the
battle of Homildon, where the Scotch suffered a defeat, a
number of noblemen had fallen into the hands of Hotspur,
who commanded the English. The insurgents themselves
assigned another cause for the quarrel, and this was pro¬
bably the real one. In the course of a war with the
Welsh, the Lord Grey of Ruthyn and Sir Edmund Mor¬
timer had both fallen into the enemy’s hands. The former
being a friend to the king, was allowed to be ransomed by
his relations; but the latter, who was uncle to the young
Earl of March, the lawful heir to the throne, and of course
an object of jealousy to Henry, was denied the privilege
of being liberated. This fired with resentment the in¬
flammable spirit of Llotspur, who had married the sister of
Sir Edmund ; his father the Earl of Northumberland, and
his uncle the Earl of Worcester, shared his discontent;
and amongst them they projected nothing less than the
dethronement of the king.
With this view they formed an alliance with the Scots
and Welsh, who were to make an irruption into England,
at the same time that the Percies were to raise what forces
they could in order to join them. The Earl of Northum¬
berland, by a sudden fit of illness, having been incapa-
1 It was at first believed that Richard had effected his escape into Scotland, and that he lived there twenty years. This ancient
tradition has been revived by Mr Tytler, in his History of Scotland, and he supports his views with considerable ingenuity. The chief
evidence upon which he relies consists in charges made by the regent of Scotland for the expenses of the king of England. But Sir
Janies Mackintosh, in a note at the end of the first volume of his History of England, gives several cogent, and we think unanswerable
reasons for differing from Mr Tytler upon this point, and adhering to the common narrative. Those who feel an interest m tins
subject are referred to the work‘above mentioned, and to the appendix to the third volume of Mr Tytler s History of Scotland.
732
ENGLAND.
History, citated for active warfare, young Percy took the command,
w"V'w; and marched to Shrewsbury for the purpose of joining the
Welsh. But the king had assembled a small army, with
which it was his intention to act against the Scots; and,
knowing the importance of celerity in civil wars, instantly
hurried to meet the rebels. He approached Shrewsbury
before a junction could be effected with the Welsh; and
by his headstrong impatience Percy was impelled to risk
an engagement, which at that time he ought to have de¬
clined. The evening before the battle he sent a manifesto
to Henry, in which he renounced his allegiance, set the
king at defiance, and enumerated all the grievances of
which he imagined the nation might justly complain.
Amongst the charges with which he reproached the king,
were those of perjury, murder, and usurpation of rightful
property. All this vituperation was productive of no other
effect than that of exasperating to the utmost both the
king and his adherents.
The armies were fairly matched, consisting of about
fourteen thousand men each, and both leaders were men
of approved valour. The action, which took place on the
21st of July 1403, was obstinate and bloody. After a chi¬
valrous display of his characteristic valour, Percy was slain
by a random arrow, and with his fall the courage and the
confidence of his followers evaporated. They were com¬
pletely routed, and driven from the field with great loss.
Lord Worcester and two other conspicuous individuals
were beheaded on the field. The Earl of Northumberand,
however, notwithstanding his connection with the rebels,
was mercifully treated by Henry. But this lenity does
not appear to have quieted the country; for various insur¬
rections, particularly amongst the Welsh under the cele¬
brated Owen Glendower, disturbed the remaining years of
Henry’s reign. Owen, under the title of Prince of Wales,
gained so many remarkable successes over the royal troops,
that the king himself publicly attributed them to necro¬
mancy. The unconquerable spirit of the Welsh leader
actuated all classes of his countrymen, who flocked to his
standard from every part in England where they had taken
up their abode. Owen remained free and unsubmissive
to the English yoke till the close of his career, and the
last glimpse which history affords of his patriotic course
is as bright as the first.
The reign of Henry was much disturbed, and the lan¬
guage which our great dramatist makes him employ, “ un¬
easy lies the head that wears a crown,” is remarkably ap¬
propriate from the lips of such a monarch. The swell
with which the nation heaved when he ascended the
throne never subsided during his lifetime. The position
in which he stood with regard to the succession seems to
have caused him much concern; for the case was a dif¬
ficult one. In his first parliament his eldest son Henry
was created Prince of Wales; and in 1404 the right of
that prince s brothers to reign, in the event of his dying
without issue, was recognised by parliament. The most
disgraceful feature of Henry’s reign was his deadly perse¬
cution of those who entertained the new religious doc¬
trines. In his second year was passed that sanguinary
act, the first that stains the English statute-book on the
subject, which orders heretics to be burned; and many
an unfortunate Lollard suffered for his faith during the
sway of the Bolingbrokes. A remarkable circumstance
occurred in 1405, namely, the capital punishment of a
clergyman of the highest rank. Scroop, archbishop of
York, was an enthusiastic defender of the claims of the
Earl of March, and, being taken in arms against his sove¬
reign, was beheaded without trial, conviction, or defence.
Notwithstanding the act against the Lollards, the doc¬
trines of Wickliff gained ground ; and the support which
Henry gave the hierarchy did not preclude his parliament
from attempting its reformation, and even from despoil¬
ing it of part of its possessions.
In 1405 the Commons, who had been required to grant
supplies, proposed to the king to seize all the temporalities
of the church, and employ them as a perpetual fund to
meet the exigencies of the state. When this address was
presented, the Archbishop of Canterbury, who then attend¬
ed the king, objected that the clergy, though they went
not in person to the wars, sent their vassals and tenants
in all cases of necessity; whilst at the same time they
themselves who staid at home were employed night and
day in offering up their supplications for the success of
the enterprise and the prosperity of the state. The speaker
answered with a sarcastic smile, that he thought the pray¬
ers of the church but a very slender supply. The arch¬
bishop, however, prevailed in the dispute; the king dis¬
couraged the application of the Commons, and the Lords
rejected the bill which the lower house had framed. The
Commons were not discouraged by this repulse ; in 1410
they returned to the charge with renewed zeal and deter¬
mination.
A Lollard had been burnt, and the lower house of par¬
liament, as if in retaliation of this atrocity, presented a
schedule to the king, showing that he might have from
the temporal possessions of the bishops, abbots, and priors,
that were then uselessly wasted, 15 earls, 1500 knights,
and 6200 esquires. But the reply of the king was severe,
and he forbade them to discuss such topics for the future.
They then petitioned that the clergy should be subjected
to the civil tribunals, but this was also refused; and a re¬
quest that the statute against the Lollards might be mi¬
tigated shared the same fate.
The reign of Henry was now drawing towards a termi¬
nation. The last years of his life were darkened by dis¬
ease, and undistinguished by vigour. He had been subject
to eruptions in his face and to attacks of epilepsy. By one
of these he was carried off, at Westminster, on the 20th of
March 1413, in the forty-seventh year of his age and four¬
teenth of his reign. Henry owed the English sceptre, not,
in the first instance, to his own plotting or ambition, but to
a popular revolution against the authority of his predeces¬
sor. He landed in England for the avowed purpose of only
seizing his own possessions, of which he had been most
unwarrantably deprived; but finding Richard a most un¬
popular sovereign, and his own reputation very high, whilst
his affinity to the blood royal was, though not so near as
that of the Earl of March, sufficiently so to give him a
plausible pretext for standing forward as a candidate for
the crown, he accordingly did so, and proved successful.
He united in a high degree watchfulness and circumspec¬
tion, with a bold and decisive policy. For his arbitrary mea¬
sures he brought forward the plea of necessity, “ which,”
says Sir James Mackintosh, “ prevented them from grow¬
ing into precedents subversive of the constitution.” As
he owed his throne to popular revolt, so he was in some
measure compelled to adopt popular principles. Under
his reign the House of Commons advanced with a steady
pace towards importance and authority. It assumed a
higher and more decisive tone than had hitherto charac¬
terized its proceedings, and pushed its inquiries into all
the affairs and departments of government.
Henry of Monmouth, eldest son of the preceding mo¬
narch, ascended the throne immediately after the death
of his father. With the early life of Henry V. we usual¬
ly associate acts of frivolity, insubordination, and even
low vice. But to the creative genius of a powerful poet
must in a great measure be attributed this almost univer¬
sal impression. That he was guilty of delinquencies
beneath the dignity of the heir apparent to the English
throne, may be true ; but there is no satisfactory evidence
History
ENGLAND.
733
either to confirm or refute the traditionary stories which
are told of him. At an early age he discovered talents
of no common order. He was only sixteen years of age
when the battle of Shrewsbury was fought, and on that
occasion he displayed equal firmness and ability. After¬
wards, when intrusted with the guardianship of the Welsh
marches, he conducted himself in a manner so highly cre¬
ditable, that he more than once received the thanks of
the House of Commons for his conduct. On his accession
to the throne, be made himself popular by several wise
and generous measures. He liberated his cousin the Earl
of March from the constraint under which that prince,
undoubtedly the heir of Edward HI., had been held by
the jealousy of Henry IV. The Percies, who were exiles
in Scotland, he restored to their possessions, and even to
a command over their martial vassals. Those ministers
of his father who had recommended themselves by their
uprightness and decision, were retained in the offices
which they held. The chief justice, in particular, who had
formerly imprisoned the king, whilst Prince of Wales, for
his misconduct, was not only pardoned, but received into
high favour. He expressed deep regret for the fate of
Richard II., and performed his funeral obsequies with
becoming pomp and solemnity. That Henry had a mind
which towered above the level of his contemporaries, his
remarkable triumphs in France are evidence; but that in
some respects he was not in advance of his age, the seve¬
rities which he practised against the Lollards afford ample
proof. The head of that party was Sir John Oldcastle,
an individual alike distinguished for his valour and mili¬
tary talents, and who had acquired the esteem both of the
late and present king. His high character pointed him
out as a proper object of ecclesiastical fury, and he was
accordingly denounced to Henry, who, at a private inter¬
view, attempted to make him recant his faith; but in
vain. Oldcastle was therefore condemned to suffer the
death of a heretic; but having effected his escape, he
raised an insurrection, which was soon crushed. He suc¬
ceeded however in eluding pursuit for four years, but he
was at last taken and executed as a traitor. After the
suppression of the revolt, the most severe laws were pass¬
ed against the unfortunate Lollards. It was enacted, that
whoever should be convicted of Lollardy, besides suffer¬
ing capital punishment according to the laws formerly
established, would also forfeit his lands and goods to the
king; and the officers of government were likewise bound
by oath to use their utmost endeavours to extirpate the
heresy.
The restoration of tranquillity afforded Henry an oppor¬
tunity of turning his attention to France, the miserable
condition of which offered a fair prospect of success to his
arms. The claim of his family to the crown of that coun¬
try was revived; and on the 15th of April 1415 he assem¬
bled a great council at Westminster, to whom he an¬
nounced his determination of making a “ voyage in his
own proper person, by the grace of God, to recover his
inheritance.” He appointed his brother, the Duke of Bed¬
ford, lord lieutenant of the kingdom during his absence.
When about to set sail for Normandy, a rash conspiracy
broke out, which detained him for a little time; but it was
soon suppressed, and Henry embarked at Southampton
with an army of about thirty thousand men, the greater
proportion of whom were archers. He entered the Seine;
and having reduced Harfleur, he challenged the dauphin
to meet him in single combat, and decide the contest for
the crown of the country which he had invaded. But this
was destined to be competed for on a far wider arena than
that which two combatants could occupy. Henry cross¬
ed the Somme, and was proceeding on his road towards
Calais, when he came up with the enemy at a small vil¬
lage, called by the French Azincourt, and by the English History.
Agincourt. Here was fought a great and decisive battle, '
which ended in the total defeat of the French army, esti¬
mated at not less than four times the strength of that of
the English. (See Agincourt.) Henry did not imme¬
diately pursue his victory, and returned to England, where
he was received with the utmost enthusiasm ; but he soon
afterwards rejoined his troops in France. The claimants
for the crown of that kingdom were so numerous, that
had he boldly prosecuted his own schemes, the opposing
factions might have leagued together against him as a
common enemy. It was therefore his policy to remain
inactive, and, by tampering with them separately, to fo¬
ment the discord which prevailed amongst the French lead¬
ers. On the 21st of May 1420, a treaty was at length
concluded at Troyes, which promised to crown the hopes
of the Plantagenets with success, and establish them on
the throne of France. The principal articles stipulated
the marriage of Henry with Catherine, daughter of the
French king; that Henry should be regent of France
whilst Charles remained alive; and that he should suc¬
ceed that monarch after his decease. Henry accordingly
espoused the French princess; but be was not long per¬
mitted to enjoy his connubial happiness or his good for¬
tune. A fatal malady seized him at Paris; and having
been conducted by his own orders to Vincennes, he ex¬
pired there on the 31st of August 1422, in the thirty-
fourth year of his age, and the tenth of his reign.
The name of Henry V. is adorned with all the splen¬
dour of brilliant conquest and successful ambition. By
a single victory he brought the crown of France within
his reach, if not within his grasp. But he had other qua¬
lities besides those of a warrior; he was a statesman of
consummate skill, as his conduct after the victory of Agin¬
court sufficiently testifies. His mind was altogether of a
superior order, and there seems nothing to prevent his
being ranked with the greatest of English monarchs, ex¬
cept the countenance which he gave to ecclesiastical per¬
secutions.
By Catherine of France Henry had a son who succeeded
him when not yet a year old. The whole of his long reign
is occupied with a war for the French crown, and a disas¬
trous civil war in England between the houses of York
and Lancaster. At the accession of Henry VI. parliament
ordered a new royal title, in which he was recognized as
king of France and England, and lord of Ireland ; appoint¬
ed his father’s eldest brother, the Duke of Bedford, pro¬
tector, defender, and chief counsellor of the kingdom and
of the English church; and in his absence invested the
Duke of Gloucester, his younger brother, with these ho¬
nours. A council was named, and certain articles enacted,
for the purpose of limiting the power of the protector.
The kingdom of France was now in the most deplorable si¬
tuation. By the solemn investiture off the infant king of
England with the royal prerogative in that country, Charles
VII. succeeded only to a nominal kingdom ; for the greater
portion of it adhered to the interests of Henry. But not¬
withstanding all these advantages, the English daily lost
ground, and in the year 1450 they were finally expelled
from the country. See the article France.
It may be easily conceived that such a train of bad suc¬
cess was likely to be productive of discontent at home.
Continual animosities were kept up amongst the king’s
counsellors during the first thirty years of his nominal
rule. This tended to plunge the nation in convulsions,
and prepare it for becoming the theatre of a sanguinary
civil war. Humphrey duke of Gloucester was envied by
many on account of his high station. Amongst these was
Thomas Beaufort, bishop of Winchester, afterwards car¬
dinal, the legitimate son of John of Gaunt, brother to
734 ENGLAND.
History. Richard II. This prelate, to whom the care of the king’s
w~Y'''“’y education had been committed, was a man of some capa¬
city and experience, but of an intriguing and restless dis¬
position. He had frequent disputes with the Duke of
Gloucester, over whom he gained several advantages. The
Duke of Bedford employed both his own authority and
that of parliament to reconcile them, but in vain; their
mutual animosities served for several years to embarrass
government, and to lay it open to its enemies. The sen¬
timents of the two leaders were particularly divided with
regard to France. The bishop laid hold of every prospect
of accommodation with that country; and the Duke of
Gloucester was for maintaining the honour of the English
arms, and regaining whatever had been lost by defeat or
delay. Both parties, therefore, called in all the auxiliaries
they could command. The bishop resolved to strengthen
himself by procuring a proper match for Henry, at that
time twenty-three years of age, and then by bringing over
the queen to his interests. Accordingly, the Earl of Suf¬
folk, a nobleman whom he knew to be stedfast in attach¬
ment to him, was sent over to France, apparently to settle
the terms of a truce which had then been contemplated,
but in reality to procure a suitable consort for the young
kinr£-
The bishop and his friends had turned their attention
to Margaret of Anjou, daughter of Regnier, titular king
of Sicily, Naples, and Jerusalem, but who was destitute
of either real power or possessions. She was looked upon
as the most accomplished princess of the age, both in
mind and person; and it was thought the abilities which
she possessed would supply the want of them in her hus¬
band, to whom maturity of years had brought no maturity
of understanding. He was a child from the cradle to the
grave. The treaty was therefore hastened on by Suffolk,
and soon afterwards ratified in England. Previously to the
king’s marriage, however, a conspicuous blow was struck
at the protector’s greatness. In that age a charge of
sorcery was capable of blasting any character, however
spotless or pure; and even of throwing odium upon all
who were related to the individual accused. It was an
irresistible weapon made use of by churchmen for the de¬
struction of their enemies, and it was wielded by the pre¬
late against his political opponent with tremendous force.
Fie brought forward an accusation of sorcery and treason
against Elinor Cobham, wife or concubine of the Duke of
Gloucester. She was charged with having made an image
of the king in wax, which being placed before a gentle
fire, gradually dissolved ; and it was expected that as the
wax wasted away, the strength of the king would also disap¬
pear, and that his death would take place when the whole
of the image had melted. Three other individuals were
implicated in this accusation, which was readily believed.
The prisoners were pronounced guilty; the duchess was
condemned to do penance and suffer perpetual imprison¬
ment ; one priest was hanged, and another died in prison;
whilst, to consummate the affair, Margaret Jourdemayn,
a reputed witch, was burnt at Smithfield.
The Bishop of Winchester was resolved to carry his re¬
sentment against Gloucester to the utmost. He procured
a parliament to be summoned, not at London, which was
too well affected towards the duke, but at St Edmunds-
bury, where the prelate’s adherents greatly preponderated.
As soon as Gloucester appeared, he was accused of treason,
and thrown into prison. On the day appointed for him to
make his defence, he was found dead in his bed, though
without any signs of violence upon his body. This, how¬
ever, is no proof that he came not by a violent end.
The death of the Duke of Gloucester was universally
ascribed to the cardinal of Winchester, who himself died
six weeks thereafter, without leaving behind him so good
a name as his political adversary. The Lancasterian party Hist
was thus deprived of its chiefs : no male Plantagenet of j
that lineage remained except the king, who was at best
but an apology for one.
After the demise of the cardinal of Winchester, Suffolk
governed with uncontrolled sway. But his conduct was
obnoxious to the rest of the nobility, who now concerted
measures for his destruction. In the year 1447 he was
impeached of high treason on various charges. He was
accused of exciting the French to invade England, in
order to depose Henry and place on the throne De la
Pole’s son, who was to marry Somerset’s daughter, consi¬
dered by the Lancasterian party as the next in succession
to the crown. He was also charged with the loss of France
by his negotiations in that country, and with revealing
state secrets to the French ministers. Other illegal acts
were ascribed to him in the bill of impeachment; and so
strong did the current of opinion run against him, that,
whether guilty or not, the king was compelled to banish
him from the kingdom. But this did not satisfy his ene¬
mies, who looked upon expatriation as a sheltering from
justice rather than as a punishment. The captain of a ship
was therefore employed to intercept him in his passage to
France; and, having been seized near Dover, his head
was struck off in a small boat, and his body consigned to
the waves.
The complaints against Henry’s government were
heightened by an insurrection, headed by an individual of
equivocal descent, but who has been transmitted to pos¬
terity by the name or nickname of Jack Cade. He assum¬
ed the honourable name of John Mortimer; and having as¬
sembled a great body of the peasantry of Kent, he marched
to Blackheath. A message was sent to him by the king,
demanding the cause of the insurrection. The audacious
Cade answered in the name of the community, that their
purpose was to punish evil counsellors, and to obtain a re¬
dress of grievances. Henry assembled a force; but part of it
having been defeated, the remainder refused to fight, and
the king retired from the field. Lord Say, the treasurer,
was committed to the Tower, in order to satisfy the revolt-
ers. In the mean time, the citizens of London opened their
gates to the victorious rebel, who made a triumphant en¬
try into the city arrayed in the shining armour and gilt
spurs of a knight. For some time he maintained great
order and regularity amongst his troops. He always led
them out into the fields in the night-time, and published
several edicts against every kind of plm?der and violence.
His followers, however, were not to be thus restrained. Lord
Say, without any trial, was beheaded ; and soon afterwards,
the insurgents, having committed some irregularities, were
shut out of the city by the inhabitants. Cade endeavoured
to force his way back to his quarters, when a bloody scuffle
ensued, which was only terminated by the approach of
night. The Archbishop of Canterbury, and the chancellor,
who had taken refuge in the Tower, hearing how matters
stood, drew up an act of amnesty, which was privately cir¬
culated amongst the rebels. This had an electrical effect
upon them, and in the morning Cade found himself total¬
ly abandoned by his followers. He effected his escape,
but was afterwards captured and slain. A number of cir¬
cumstances now contributed to revive the long dormant
pretensions of the house of York to the throne. France
had been lost; the arms of England had been disgraced;
Margaret the queen, by violence and arrogance, was most
unpopular; the king himself was a perfect cipher; whilst,
in strong contrast to him, appeared the Duke of York, a
man of popular virtues, and the legitimate heir to regal
power, according to the English laws of real inheritance.
All the males of the house of Mortimer were now extinct;
but Anne, the sister of the last Earl of March, having
espoused the Earl of Cambridge, who had been beheaded of government, procured his dismissal. She is even charg- History
for treason in the reign of Henry V. had transmitted her ed with having conspired his destruction, and that of his
latent but unforgotten claim to her son Richard. „ This most conspicuous adherents. A temporary reconciliation
prince, descended by his mother from Philippa, only was effected, but discord was again introduced; and the
daughter of the Duke of Clarence, third son of Edward parties having irrecoverably lost confidence in each other,
III stood plainly in order of succession before the king, prepared for the deadly struggle of arms,
who derived his descent from the Duke of Lancaster, The forces of the Duke of York under the Earl of ba-
fourth son of that monarch. The duke was a man of va- lisbury gained an advantage over the royalists at Elore-
lour and abilities, as well as of some ambition; and he heath; but a fatal desertion on the part of Yorks troops
thought that the weakness and unpopularity of the present at Ludlow turned the balance in favour of the king; and
rei-n afforded a favourable opportunity for asserting his York fled to Ireland, where he was joyfully received,
title. The ensign of Richard was a white rose, and that Rut this disaster, though in appearance it suppressed
of Henry a red one; circumstances which gave names to the party of York, was far from being fatal to its power,
the two factions who were now about to deluge the king- The snake was scotched, not killed, and it only waited a
dom in blood. favourable opportunity for darting on its victim. This
The Duke of York was in Ireland during the proceed- soon presented itself. Warwick, who had retained the
ines against Suffolk and the sedition of Cade. In Septem- government of Calais, landed in Kent, and, being joined
ber 1450 he returned to England, a circumstance which by a number of barons, advanced upon the capital, winch
excited considerable alarm at court. He advanced upon he entered amidst the acclamations of the people. Ihe
London ; and, proceeding to the palace at Westminster, number of his troops had now so much increased that he
knelt before the king, and, deploring the state of the king- found himself in a condition to encounter the royal army.
(lom, entreated him to summon a parliament. The queen Early in July 1460 he came up with them at Southamp-
apnears to have evinced her usual arrogance upon this oc- ton, and a bloody battle ensued, in which the king was
casion ; but York succeeded in extorting a promise from taken prisoner, and his army utterly dispersed. Mean-
the king that he would comply with his request, upon while the Duke of York having returned from Ireland,
which lie retired to his castle at Fotheringay. He was openly laid claim to the crown. In the House of Lords
scarcely gone, however, when the Duke of Somerset re- the cause of Henry and the Duke of York was solemnly
turned from France, and was chosen favourite adviser of debated; and the latter, though a conqueror, did not ab-
tlie king. The session of parliament proved unquiet and solutely gain his cause. It was determined that Flenry
stormy." York presented a complaint against the admini- should possess the throne during his. life, and that the
stration of Somerset, and in the year following exhibited Duke of Fork should be appointed his successor, to the
several articles of impeachment against him. But the utter exclusion of Henry’s offspring,
power and influence of the queen rendered his efforts fruit- 1 hough the royal party now seemed destitute of every
less. Legal prosecutions became thus inadequate to suit resource, the queen still retained her intrepidity, disdain-
the feelings of the enraged York, and he accordingly as- ing every arrangement which implied the dethronement of
sembled an army. The king, doubting his ability to tri- her child. Wales seemed the natural place of refuge for
uniph by opposing force to force, affected to acquiesce in the mother of him who was called its prince, and thither
the demands of the duke, and put Somerset under re- accordingly she fled. 'I his warlike dame assembled a con¬
straint. Upon this York disbanded his troops, and retired siderable army to rescue her pusillanimous husband, and
unattended to the royal pavilion, where he was immediate- marched to the northern provinces, where Northumber-
ly made prisoner, and compelled to take an oath of allegi- land and Clifford joined her with their borderers. This
ance to the king. Somerset rose higher in favour than union having alarmed the victorious party, York and So¬
ever, and completed his ascendency in the government by merset hastened to anticipate their designs, and, having
obtaining the entire confidence of the king and his consort, assembled a sufficient force, succeeded in reaching the
On the 13th of October 1453 Queen Margaret present- strong castle of Sandal before Christmas. Actuated by
ed her husband with a son and heir, the ill-fated Edward the pride of prowess and the impatience of inaction, York
prince of Wales. Not long afterwards the king sunk into engaged the queen’s army with one of inferior force, i he
a state of mental as well as bodily incapacity, and the conflict took place at Wakefield on the 30th of December
star of York again appeared above the horizon. The 1460, and terminated in the total defeat of the Yorkists,
total imbecility of the king having been ascertained, the The duke himself was either slain m the action, or put to
Duke of York was chosen protector and defender of the death after it; whilst the Earl of Salisbury was taken ur-
kingdom. Previously to this event Somerset had been re- ing the night, and decapitated next day. but no one was
moved from the palace of the queen to the Tower. The so much lamented as the young bail of Rutland, the son
king’s malady was not permanent, and on his recovery he of York, a boy in the twelfth year of his age. He was
put an end to the protectorate, released Somerset from made prisoner, and coolly stabbed to the heart by Clifford,
his confinement, and reinstated him in his honours. This in revenge for the death of his father, who had perished
was a mortal blow to the peace of York ; and having con- at the battle of St Albans.
ferred with the powerful Earls of Warwick and Salisbury, After this victory Margaret marched towards London,
who united themselves to his interests, he took the field in order to set the king at liberty ; but the bail of V ar-
with the declared intention of only expelling Somerset wick, who had now put himself at the head of the York-
from the government. But this nobleman’s fate involved ists, led about the captive king in order to give a sanction
that of the house of Lancaster. It was in vain that the to his proceedings. Except by the countenance which his
king attempted a reconciliation of interests ; he was com- presence seemed to give to the transactions of the York-
pelled to have recourse to arms, and meet the Yorkists in ists, he was as inert an instrument in their hands as t e
open warfare. A battle took place* at St Albans, in which royal standard which waved above their lines. Warwick
the royalists were totally defeated; Somerset, the imme- engaged the queens forces at St Albans; but, t lougi
diate cause of the conflict, having fallen in the action. the treachery of Lord Lovelace, who deserted with a con-
The king relapsed into his former state, and the Duke siderable force during the heat of the action, Warwick
of York was a second time chosen protector; but the queen, was defeated, and the pageant king fell once mose into the
who could not brook the idea of his continuing at the head hands of his own party.
ENGLAND.
736
History, The submission of the city of London seemed now to
be all that was wanting to complete the queen’s success;
but Warwick had secured it in his interests, and the citi¬
zens refused to open their gates to the royal victor. In
the meaii time, young Edward, eldest son of the late Duke
of York, put himself at the head of his father’s party. He
was now in the bloom of youth, remarkable for the beauty
of his person and for bravery; and he was, moreover, a
very great favourite with the people. He defeated Jasper
Tudor, earl of Pembroke, at Mortimer’s Cross in Here¬
fordshire ; the earl himself being taken prisoner, and im¬
mediately beheaded by Edward’s orders.
Meanwhile he was joined by the remainder of War¬
wick’s army, and the united forces entered the metropolis
amidst the applause of the people of the city and of the
surrounding provinces. Edward laid his claim before a
council of lords, and on the 4th of March 1461 he was
proclaimed king by the style and title of Edward IV.
But notwithstanding all her disasters, the queen re¬
mained inflexibly devoted to her purpose. She retired
to the northern counties, where such numbers flocked to
her standard that her army very soon amounted to sixty
thousand men. Edward IV. was a voluptuary, but he
never allowed his activity and vigilance to slacken. With
Warwick and an army of forty thousand men he com¬
menced his march to the north. The hostile forces met
at Towton, in the county of York, on the 29th of March
1461, and an obstinate engagement ensued, which conti¬
nued during the night, and was renewed with the utmost
fierceness on the following morning. The queen’s army
was totally defeated, and, as quarter was given on neither
side, the slaughter was dreadful. Between thirty and forty
thousand persons perished in these two bloody days. Af¬
ter this disaster the queen with her husband took refuge
in Scotland, whilst Edward returned to the metropolis,
where he was crowned on the 29th of June 1461. For
three years Edward IV. possessed the throne without any
serious insurrection having taken place on the part of the
Lancasterians. But during this period Queen Margaret
was making strenuous exertions both in France and Scot¬
land to raise a force capable of taking the field against Ed¬
ward. Flaving collected a small army, she made an inroad
into England, but after several indecisive skirmishes she
was totally defeated at Hexham, in Northumberland, on
the 17th of May 1464. The Duke of Somerset, who com¬
manded for her, was beheaded; and a number of gentle¬
men were also executed at York, with little form of law
or justice. • . ■ • . ,
By these repeated misfortunes the house of Lancaster
became so effectually reduced that Margaret was obliged
to separate from her husband, and both were compelled to
seek their safety in individual flight. The king was still
protected by some of his friends, who conveyed him to
Lancashire, where he was at last discovered, and consign¬
ed to the Tower as a prisoner. The queen made her escape
through Scotland into France, along with her son, and his
famous preceptor Sir John Fortescue.
In the mean time King Edward vigorously applied him¬
self to the affairs of government. Feeling secure on the
throne, he now also began, to give way to the gratification
of his amatory passions, to which he was exceedingly
prone. In order to divert his mind from such debasing
indulgences, the Earl of Warwick, hitherto his steady
friend, advised him to marry. Edward consented, and
the earl was appointed to negotiate a match with the Prin¬
cess Bonne of Savoy. He was successful in his mission,
but before the conclusion of the marriage treaty the king
privately espoused a lady of whom he had become ena¬
moured, and who resisted all his efforts to form an illicit
connexion. This lady was Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Philip
Woodville, and relict of Sir John Grey, a Lancasterian, Hisu
who had fallen at the second battle of St Albans. The v—y./
parties were solemnly united in marriage on the 1st of
May 1464, and the bride was acknowledged and in due
time crowned. This transaction highly displeased War¬
wick, who afterwards became still more disgusted at the
favour shown to the queen’s party, his own and his sove¬
reign’s natural enemies. A plan of revenge was therefore
set on foot, and a most powerful conspiracy was also form¬
ed against Edward. To accomplish his aim, Warwick not
only employed his own influence, which was very exten¬
sive, but likewise that of the Duke of Clarence, Edward’s
brother, on whom the earl had conferred the hand of his
daughter^ without the king’s permission. The effects of
Warwick’s secret combination with Clarence, his own bro¬
ther Montague, and the discontented nobility and gentry,
soon began to appear. Sedition was fomented through¬
out the country, and a popular insurrection at last broke
out in Yorkshire, where Robin of Redesdale, a hero
amongst the moss troopers of the border, appeared at the
head of sixty thousand men. The articles of their mani¬
festo were principally directed against the king’s counsel¬
lors and the church.
Henry earl of Pembroke was sent against them with a
body of seven or eight thousand men. He was joined by
Lord Stafford with five thousand more troops, and the two
commanders prepared to meet the insurgents. They at first
received a repulse, but it wras of no material importance.
An unfortunate dispute, however, between Pembroke and
Stafford, caused the latter to march off the field with his
troops ; and in a battle which immediately afterwards en¬
sued, the royalists were cut to pieces, and their comman¬
der taken prisoner and beheaded.
The king, enraged at this, caused Stafford to be execut¬
ed in a like summary manner. This event completed the |
disaffection of the king’s followers, who now deserted him
in thousands; and he himself was at last taken prisoner by
Warwick and his friends ; but this conquest embarrassed
the confederated nobles. The detention of the king was
not popular; and the military refused to act until he was
released, which took place accordingly, and a reconcilia¬
tion was effected. The truce was, however, of short du¬
ration. A new insurrection broke out in Lincolnshire, in
which Warwick and Clarence were deeply involved. The
rebels were commanded by Sir Robert Welles, son to a
nobleman of the same name. Under an alleged charge
of treason, the latter was beheaded by the king, who
marched against the insurgents with his usual celerity,
and gave them a total overthrow at Erpingham, in Rut¬
landshire, on the 12th of March 1469. Warwick and Cla¬
rence again attempted to entrap Edward, but having fail¬
ed of success, they escaped to France.
Louis XL openly espoused the cause of the malcontent
barons, and effected a reconciliation between them and
the fugitive Queen Margaret. Their mortal enmities were
reconciled in common hatred of the king of England. A
treaty was concluded, which stipulated that Edward should
espouse Anne Neville, Warwick’s daughter, and that they
should combine their efforts to restore Henry to the
throne of which he had been deprived. It was likewise
agreed upon, that in case of failure of issue by the prince,
the crown should descend to Clarence. After these pre¬
liminary arrangements, Warwick assembled a small force,
and set sail for England, where he landed whilst Edward
was in the north suppressing an insurrection which had
there broken out. This seems to have been an artifice
practised by a brother-in-law of Warwick’s, who thus drew
the incautious monarch to a distant part of the kingdom,
and left the southern counties open to the invader. War¬
wick was a great favourite with the people, the subject of
i
ENGL
istory. popular ballads, which resounded his praise throughout
every town in the kingdom. Thousands having flocked
to his standard, he advanced upon London, and there pro¬
claimed Henry VI. The usual activity of Edward seems
to have forsaken him, or else his pernicious frivolities had
alienated the affections of his troops, whose fidelity to-
wards him likewise decreased as Warwick drew near to
them. Edward was compelled to fly to Holland, Clarence
and Warwick made their triumphal entry into the capital,
and Henry was formally restored to regal authority. But
those who had reinstated him had placed only a barren
sceptre in his grasp, for the real power resided with them.
Edward was pronounced an usurper, and all acts passed
under his sanction were repealed. The crown was settled
on the male issue of Henry VI., and in default of such is¬
sue, on the Duke of Clarence and the heirs of his body.
But Edward’s party was not yet destroyed. After an
absence of nine months, he, seconded by a small body of
troops granted him by the Duke of Burgundy, made a
descent at Ravenspur in Yorkshire. At first he met with
little success; but his army increasing on his march, he
was soon in a condition to appear before the capital, which
instantly opened its gates to receive him.
The unfortunate Henry was thus again plucked from
the throne; and the hopes of Warwick were almost to¬
tally blasted by the defection of Clarence, Edward’s bro¬
ther. He however advanced to within about ten miles
of London, resolving to wait the approach of Edward,
and took a position at Barnet, where, on the 14th of April
1471, a battle was fought, more remarkable for its conse¬
quences than for the number of the slain or the obstinacy
of the combatants. Considering the animosity existing
between the parties, the general slaughter was unusually
small; but amongst the fallen were Warwick and his bro¬
ther Montague; and the death of the first of these indi¬
viduals was of far more importance to Edward than the
victory which he had gained. It broke the charm which
associated with his name the certainty of victory and suc¬
cess to the cause which he espoused. On account of the
remarkable transactions in which he had been engaged,
he received the appellation of “ the king-maker.” His
death also destroyed the greatness of the house of Neville.
At this time the queen had just returned with her son
from France, where she had been soliciting supplies. She
had scarcely time to refresh herself from the fatigues of the
voyage, wrhen she received the fatal news of the death of
Warwick, and the total destruction of his forces. All her
resolution w^as unable to support her under this calamity,
and she sunk to the ground in despair. Upon recovering
herself, she took sanctuary in the Abbey of Beaulieu in
Hampshire, where she still found friends ready to assist
her. Tudor earl of Pembroke, Courtenay earl of Devon¬
shire, the Lords Wenlock and St John, with some other
men of rank, encouraged her yet to hope for success, and
promised to stand by her to the last. On this assurance
she resumed the undaunted bearing which was natural to
her, and, advancing through the counties of Devon, Somer¬
set, and Gloucester, collected a considerable army. The
hostile forces came in sight of each other at Tewkesbury
on the 14th of May 1471, where a battle was fought, which
decided this sanguinary war. The queen’s army was to¬
tally defeated; the Earl of Devonshire and Lord Wenlock
were slain in the conflict; the Duke of Somerset, and
about twenty other persons of distinction, who had taken
AND. 737
shelter in a church, were surrounded, dragged forth, and History,
immediately beheaded; about three thousand of their sol- w-y-w
diers fell in battle, and the rest were entirely dispersed.
Queen Margaret and her son tvere taken prisoners, and
brought to the king, who asked the prince how he dared
to invade his dominions. The youth replied that he came
hither to claim his just inheritance; upon which Edward
struck him on the face with his gauntlet. The Dukes of
Clarence and Gloucester, Lord Hastings, and Sir Thomas
Gray, taking this blow as a signal for further violence,
hurried the prince into the next apartment, and there, it is
said, dispatched him.1 Margaret was thrown into the
Tower along with her husband Henry, who there closed
his unhappy career a few days afterwards. The Duke of
Gloucester has been charged with his murder, but there
is no proof of the fact.2 Margaret was ransomed by the
king of France in 1475, for fifty thousand crowns. She
survived her deliverance about seven years, during which
time she lived in France, withdrawn from the tumults of
state.
Edward being now freed from all his enemies, began to
inflict punishment on those who had formerly appeared
against him. Amongst the cruelties which he committed,
that on his brother the Duke of Clarence was the most
remarkable. They had been formally reconciled to each
other ; but this hollow truce to fraternal animosity was bro¬
ken by a singular incident. Whilst the king was one day
hunting in the park of one Burdett, a servant of the duke,
he killed a white buck which was a great favourite of the
owner. Burdett, concerned at the loss, broke into a trans¬
port of rage, and declared that he wished the horns of the
deer were in the belly of the person who advised the king
to that insult. For this exclamation Burdett was tried for
his life, and executed at Tyburn. Clarence exclaimed
against this sentence as iniquitous, for which he was at¬
tainted of treason, and charged with sorcery, in order to
give to Burdett’s expressions the dignity of necromantic
imprecation. Sentence of death was pronounced against
him; but the king having some repugnance to order the
public execution of a brother, he was dispatched in pri¬
vate. There was a rumour prevalent at the time that he
was drowned in a butt of malmsey wine, to which he is
said to have been very partial; but there is no proof that
his murder was effected in this manner.
The remainder of Edward IV.’s reign is unimportant.
A war with France, which followed the civil wars in Eng¬
land, terminated in 1475 without being characterized by
any memorable events. But the foolish idea of aggran¬
disement in France was still popular with the people, and
Edward employed a considerable portion of the latter
years of his reign in making apparent preparations for re¬
viving the pretensions of his predecessors to the crown
of that country. It does not appear, however, that he
ever had any intention of carrying his threats into execu¬
tion. Edward died on the 9th of April 1483, in the forty-
second year of his age and twenty-first of his reign, cal¬
culating from the period of his first assuming the crown.
In the character of Edward IV. we see a combination by
no means singular of great and vicious qualities. As a
commander he possessed decision, promptitude, daring, and
valour, in a remarkable degree ; in these respects indeed
he surpassed all his competitors. But the laurels which he
won in the field were stained by many cool-blooded atro¬
cities, which altogether deprive the individual who perpe-
1 Such is the account commonly given of the death of this scion of the house of Lancaster. It is worthy of remark, however, that
the Harleian manuscript not only gives no sanction to this popular tale, but expressly declares that the prince was slain in the field.
* A reader of the present day who can calmly dispossess his mind of the poetical associations with which the subject is invested,
will probably agree with a historian who has minutely investigated the subject, that Gloucester is to be exculpated from the charge
of murder in this case. (See Turner’s History of England, vol. ii. p. 375.)
VOL. VIII. 5 A
738
ENGLAND.
History, trated them of any claim to real greatness. He was cruel
and faithless, and no barrier was capable of restraining him
from indulging in sensual gratifications. Besides five
daughters, he left two sons ; Edward prince of Wales, his
successor, then in his twelfth year; and Richard duke of
York, then in his eleventh year.
On the death of Edward IV. the kingdom was divided
into new factions; and those of the queen’s family, who,
during the last reign, had come into power, were ob¬
noxious to the old nobility, who looked upon them as up¬
starts and inferiors. The king had endeavoured to pre¬
vent these animosities proceeding to any extent, by de¬
siring on his death-bed that his brother Richard duke of
Gloucester should be entrusted with the regency ; and he
recommended peace and unanimity during the minority
of his son. But the monarch was no sooner dead than
the former resentment between the two parties burst forth
with violence; and the Duke of Gloucester, to whom it is
customary to attribute every bad quality, resolved to pro¬
fit by their contentions. As soon as he learned the tid¬
ings of his brother’s death, he proceeded to Ludlow Castle,
where Prince Edward then was under the charge of Lord
Rivers, his uncle by the mother’s side. This nobleman
was charged by Gloucester with having instilled into the
mind of his young ward unfavourable opinions of the pro¬
tector, and under this groundless accusation he was put
into confinement, along with others of the Woodville fa¬
mily. Gloucester, with Buckingham, his noted accom¬
plice, marched to London with Prince Edward, and the
other young prince’s person having also been secured,
both of them were consigned to the Tower, under the
specious pretext that they would there be safe from the
machinations of their enemies. The coronation was post¬
poned from the 4th of May till the 22d of June, so that
the secret purposes of the protector began to be unveil¬
ed ; and it would seem probable that Hastings and Stan¬
ley, the friends of the late king, began to show some mis¬
givings as to the designs of Richard. At a council held
in the Tower on the 13th of June 1483, Hastings was
seized, and soon afterwards executed upon a log of tim¬
ber, without any form of trial. Stanley and other ob¬
noxious lords were thrown into various dungeons; and
on the same day Earl Rivers and some others were exe¬
cuted at Pomfret Castle, on the most unjust pretences of
treason.
The protector now considered himself as in a situation
to lay claim to the throne. He used his utmost endea¬
vours to inspire the people with a notion of the illegiti¬
mate birth of the late king, and that his children were
not only illegitimate on this account, but also because their
father had been secretly wedded to Elinor Butler pre¬
viously to the solemnization of marriage between him and
Elizabeth Woodville. Shaw, a popular preacher, was
hired to harangue the people to this effect from St Paul’s
cross. The number of Edward’s amours gave some plau¬
sibility to these rumours, and prepared the minds of the
people for the usurpation of the crown by Richard. Two
days afterwards Buckingham harangued the populace in
much the same manner as Shaw ; and on the 25th of June
1483, that nobleman presented Richard with a parchment
purporting to be a declaration of the estates of parliament
in favour of the protector, as the only legitimate prince
of the house of York. Richard, with his usual dissimula¬
tion, evinced some hesitation upon the point; but on the
following day he took possession of the crown, and from
the 26th of June 1483 (is accordingly dated the com¬
mencement of his reign.
The only obstacles which now interposed between Rich¬
ard and the peaceful possession of the crown were his two
nephews, whom he still kept in the Tower, for the sake of
safety, as he miscalled their imprisonment. During a pro- Histor
gress through the kingdom a confederacy was formed
against him, and meetings were held, which had for their
object the liberation of the princes. But this was unne¬
cessary, as they had been privately dispatched by the
king’s orders. The manner of their death was kept a
profound secret, and it is very doubtful if even yet we
are acquainted with the real facts. The most probable
account, however, is, that Richard having tampered in
vain with Brackenbury, the governor of the Tower, to put
them to death, found a ready instrument for the execu¬
tion of his diabolical purpose in Sir James Tyrrel, his mas¬
ter of the horse. This individual, with two other ruffian¬
ly associates, having obtained access during the night to
the apartment of the princes, smothered them as they lay
asleep, and buried their bodies at the foot of the staircase.
Richard having thus secured himself on the throne,
attempted to strengthen his interest by means of foreign
alliances, and also by procuring the favour of the clergy
at home ; but he found his power threatened from a quar¬
ter where he least expected an attack. The Duke of
Buckingham, who had been so instrumental in raising him
to the throne, either thinking his services inadequately
rewarded, or for some other causes which cannot now be
ascertained, instigated a revolt against Richard. The -
horror with which the intelligence of the midnight mur¬
der in the Tower was received prepared the public mind
for seconding the designs of Buckingham, who, with seve¬
ral other leading individuals in the kingdom, now declar¬
ed for Henry, the young Earl of Richmond, in opposition
to Richard. The earl, at this period an exile in Brittany,
was considered as the chief of the Lancasterian party.
His right to the crown by succession was, however, very
equivocal; but the cruel behaviour of Richard inclined
the people generally to favour his pretensions; and, in
order to give an additional strength to his title, a match
was projected between him and the Princess Elizabeth,
the eldest daughter of Edward IV., which, by uniting
the two rival families, would put an end to those dissen¬
sions which had so long distracted the kingdom and de¬
luged it with kindred blood. Messengers were accord¬
ingly dispatched to give him information of the conspi¬
racy, which fortunately escaped the usual vigilance of
Richard ; and, in about a fortnight afterwards, Richmond
returned an answer, which was no sooner communicated
to his friends than it reached the ears of the king. The
latter immediately summoned his adherents to join him
with their retainers at Leicester; and after proclaiming
Buckingham a traitor, he marched against him at the head
of his army. In the mean time storms interrupted the
voyage of Henry ; and the army of Buckingham, dispirited
by broken bridges and impassable currents, broke up and
dispersed. A price was set upon the head of Buckingham,
who fled, but was betrayed into the hands of Richard, and
immediately put to death.
Richard, now emboldened by his success, employed
every means of confirming his title to the throne, and
destroying the plans of the exiles and malcontents. He
summoned a parliament, the first which he had ventured
to call together; and an act was passed declaring him
undoubted king of the realm, and settling it upon his son
Edward, prince of Wales. The marriage of Edward IV.
with Elizabeth Woodville was declared null, and his son
pronounced a bastard : then followed a severe bill of at¬
tainder, in which several noblemen, bishops, knights, and
gentlemen, were deprived of their estates, honours, and
rights.
But notwithstanding all the measures of severity adopt¬
ed by Richard, he was seriously alarmed at the project¬
ed marriage between Henry of Richmond and the eldest
I
iistory.
ENGLAND.
739
daughter of the late king. To defeat this project, there¬
fore, now became the chief policy of the king. The prin¬
cess was induced to quit her sanctuary and come under
the protection of Richard, who probably had destined her
for his son; but the death of that prince forced him to al¬
ter his plans, and secure her for himself. Lady Anne Ne¬
ville, Richard’s queen, was in infirm health, and this in¬
duced him secretly to make an offer of his hand to the
young princess, which she agreed to accept. During the
illness of Anne, Elizabeth discovered, it is said, an unna¬
tural degree of impatience, and hinted her surprise at its
duration ; a most suspicious circumstance. Her appre-
hensions, however, were soon allayed. In less than a
month the queen died; but her hopes of sharing the
throne with Richard were not realized. The match was
so very unpopular that the royal wooer was dissuaded
from his purpose, and his attention was soon directed to
another quarter.
The crimes of Richard had alienated the greater por¬
tion of the York party from his interests ; and a union be¬
tween Elizabeth and Henry, for the purpose of reconciling
conflicting factions, became a topic of serious considera¬
tion. The latter prince again conceived the hopes of
seizing the crown by another invasion of England; and
having collected an army of three thousand men, he set
sail from Harfleur early in August 1485, and landed at
Milford Haven on the 6th of that month. Richard af¬
fected to hear the intelligence with joy; and displaying the
vigilance and activity of his brother Edward, he marched
from London on the IGth. His competitor had directed
his march through the northern districts of Wales, a tract
of country in the interest of the Stanleys. Both armies
met at Bosworth in Leicestershire, on the 22d of August
1485, where a battle was fought, memorable for having
restored tranquillity to the kingdom, which had so long
been the theatre of sanguinary civil wars.
The army of Richmond amounted to about six thou¬
sand men, that of the king to nearly twice the number;
and both prepared for the contest, equally confident of
victory. For, notwithstanding the inferiority of Richmond’s
troops, he was secretly encouraged by the promises of Lord
Stanley, who was hastening, with seven thousand men
under his command, apparently to join the royalists, but
really with the intention of siding with Henry. Stanley
continued his march slowly; and on the morning of the
battle he took up a neutral station on the wing of either
host. The king entrusted his vanguard to the Duke of Nor¬
folk, whilst that of Henry was assigned to the Earl of Ox¬
ford; and the two competitors for the crown placed them¬
selves at the head of the main bodies of their respective
armies. Richard, taking advantage of a marsh which co¬
vered his right flank, ordered a shower of arrows to be dis¬
charged into the adverse ranks, which for a moment threw
them into confusion. He sent orders to Stanley to join him
immediately; but the refusal of that nobleman to comply
with his request shook his confidence and also that of his
army, which now began to waver. To complete his dis¬
may, he saw Stanley join the ranks of Henry, a circum¬
stance which determined the fortune of the day. But,
in order to retrieve it, Richard made a vigorous effort
worthy of a better cause. Chancing to observe Henry
in the midst of the conflict, he made a dash at him,
determined to cut him down or perish in the attempt.
He slew with his own hand Sir William Brandon, the
bearer of the hostile standard, unhorsed Sir John Cheney,
and was within a blow of his rival, when he was overpow¬
ered by numbers, struck to the ground, and immediately
slain. After his fall resistance was hopeless, and his army
broke up and dispersed. The crown which he wore on
that day was taken up by Lord Stanley and placed on
Henry’s head, who was instantly greeted with shouts of History.
“ Long live King Henry.” Of Richard’s army a consi-
derable number were killed in the battle and pursuit, and
amongst these wete the Duke of Norfolk, and Lords Fer¬
rers, Radcliff, and Brackenbury. The victors lost but few,
and none of any note except their standard-bearer. To
enhance their triumph, Lord Strange, the son of Stanley,
whom Richard had ordered for execution before or dur¬
ing the conflict, escaped in the confusion and rejoined his
father. The body of the tyrant was thrown carelessly
across a horse and conducted to Leicester, where it was
interred with small ceremony.
Of Richard’s character little remains to be said. The
crimes of which he was undoubtedly guilty almost re¬
move him from the ranks of mankind, and class him with
the most ferocious animals. The arguments which have
been brought forward in modern times to prove his inno¬
cence are inconclusive, and scarcely to be named, when
confronted with the mass of evidence which may be ar¬
rayed against him. His fall excited no regret, except
amongst a few of his partizans, the slaves of his despotic
will. How could it? The death of his unoffending ne¬
phews must have still been fresh in the memory of his
subjects.
The quarrel between the houses of York and Lancaster
was now brought to a conclusion. In order to secure the
blessings of peace and an undisputed succession, it was
necessary for Henry at once to espouse Elizabeth, and, by
so doing, to blend the white and the red roses together.
There is no concealing the fact that his title to the crown
was of a very ambiguous description. It rested on three
grounds, first, his marriage with Elizabeth; secondly, his
descent from the house of Lancaster; and thirdly, the right
of conquest. According to the sagacious Bacon, “ he rest¬
ed on the title of Lancaster in the main, using the marriage
and the victory as supporters.” But this main support was
not a valid one; for even allowing his descent from John
of Gaunt to have been legitimate, he was not the nearest
descendant of that prince’s children. There were several
who had claims superior to his; but the individual whom
Henry looked upon with peculiar jealousy was Edward
Plantagenet, son of the late Duke of Clarence. After the
death of this prince’s father, Richard sent for him to court,
and created him Earl of Warwick, the title borne by his
grandfather; but fearing that he might afterwards become
a dangerous competitor, Richard had him conveyed to a
distant fortress ; and one of the first acts of Henry was to
change his place of confinement, and put him in the Tower,
as a prison of greater security. Elizabeth, who had been
his fellow-captive, was ordered to be conducted to the
house of her mother in London, whilst Henry himself lei¬
surely followed her to the capital. He was received there
with every demonstration of joy, and greeted by the inha¬
bitants as the deliverer of his country. His coronation
was delayed for a time, by the breaking out of a dreadful
disease, called from its predominant symptom the sweat¬
ing sickness. But at the end of a month its virulence began
to abate, and Henry was crowned on the 30th of October
1485. To heighten the splendour of the ceremony, he
bestowed the rank of knights-banneret on twelve persons,
and conferred peerages on three. Jasper earl of Pem¬
broke, his uncle, he created Duke of Bedford; Thomas,
Lord Stanley, his father-in-law, Earl of Derby ; and Ed¬
ward Courtenay, Earl of Devonshire. At the coronation
likewise appeared a new institution, which the king had
established for personal security as well as pomp; a band
of fifty archers, who were denominated yeomen of the
guard. But lest the people should take umbrage at this
step, as if it implied a diffidence in their loyalty, he declar¬
ed the institution to be perpetual. The ceremony of the
740
ENGLAND.
History, coronation was performed by Cardinal Bourcliier, arch-
bishop of Canterbury. On the 18th of January 1486, Henry
was united to the Princess Elizabeth; and his marriage
was celebrated at London with even a greater appearance
of joy than either his first entry or his coronation.
The reign of Henry VII. was for several years disturb¬
ed by plots and insurrections. The people, by a long
course of civil war, had become so turbulent and factious,
that no governor could rule, nor was any king likely to
please them. The violent animosity expressed by this
monarch, however, against the house of York, may justly
be considered as one of the causes of the extreme prone¬
ness to rebellion which was manifested amongst his sub¬
jects. Instead of endeavouring to conciliate the affection
of the opposite party, he invariably strove to quell them
by force and violence. For this purpose, soon after his ac¬
cession he took a journey to the north of England, where
the Yorkists were very numerous, trusting that his pre¬
sence might overawe them. On his way thither he re¬
ceived intelligence of an insurrection against him, headed
by Viscount Lovel, with Sir Henry Stafford and his bro¬
ther Thomas. The two latter had raised an army, and were
marching to besiege the city of Worcester; whilst Lovel
was hastening to their assistance with a body of several
thousand men. But they were induced to disperse by the
offer of a general pardon. Lovel withdrew from his troops,
who immediately gave in their submission to the king.
The Staffords took refuge in the church of Colnham, near
Abingdon; but they were dragged from this sanctuary, as
it was found not to possess the privilege of sheltering re¬
bels. The elder brother was executed at Tyburn, but the
younger one received a pardon.
Henry returned from his northern tour, and soon after¬
wards his queen presented him with a son, whom he named
Arthur, in honour of the supposed progenitor of the house
of Tudor, the renowned King Arthur; but Henry was
not permitted to enjoy undisturbed security. He never
was at any time popular except amongst his own party;
and in the northern counties, particularly, the late King
Richard was remembered and spoken of with regret. Henry
was hated for his success, and even charged with having
put to death the young Earl of Warwick, whom he had im¬
prisoned, as has already been mentioned. It was necessary
for the king to exercise extreme caution, on account of
the dangers which surrounded him; and hence he is de¬
scribed as having been mysterious and impenetrable. Sir
Thomas More remarks that one thing was frequently pre¬
tended whilst another was meant; and Bacon says that the
king had a fashion rather to create doubts than assurance.
The birth of his son seems to have roused his enemies
to make some exertions against him; and being destitute
of any chief of sufficient ability round whom insurgents
might rally with any hope of success, they were urged to
make one of the most extraordinary attempts recorded in
history. One Richard Simons, a subtle priest of Oxford,
took under his charge Lambert Symnel, the son of a trades¬
man belonging to the same town. The boy was about
eleven years of age, comely, and not without dignity and
grace in his person. With this individual, who was well
tutored to perform the extraordinary part which was to
be assigned him, the churchman landed in Ireland, and
presented him to the lord-deputy of the county as Edward
Plantagenet, earl of Warwick, who had made his escape
from the Tower. It seems to have been at first the de¬
sign of the fabricators of this singular deception to have
presented him to the public as the younger of the princes
who had been put to death by Richard in the Tower. In
order to further this scheme, a report was circulated that
one of these princes had made his escape from his assassins.
Why this plan should have been changed, and the youthful
impostor seduced to personate an individual still living, it
is difficult to conjecture ; but such is the fact. The Earl
of Kildare, to whom he was presented in Ireland, swal¬
lowed the bait, and allowed the claims of Symnel without
discussion. This nobleman was a zealous adherent of the
house of York; and the little colony called the English
Pale, long ruled by that party, retained all its ancient
attachments. A belief in the identity of Symnel with
the Earl of Warwick became universal, both amongst the
nobility and the people. He was lodged in the castle of
Dublin; the inhabitants universally took an oath of alle¬
giance to him, as the true descendant of the Plantagenets;
he was crowned with a diadem taken from the statue of
the blessed virgin, and proclaimed king by the title of
Edward VI.
Such an unexpected event so alarmed Henry that he
would have gone over to Ireland in person to quell the
rebellion, had he not dreaded the machinations of the
queen dowager in his absence. To prevent any thing of
this kind from occurring, it was resolved to confine her
for life in a monastery, under pretence, however, that it
was done on account of her having formerly delivered up
the princess her daughter to King Richard. The royal
dame murmured at the severity of her sentence; but the
king persisted in his resolution, and she remained in con¬
finement till her death, which did not take place till some
years afterwards.
The next measure was to exhibit the person of War¬
wick to the people. That prince was accordingly taken
from the Tower, and conducted through the principal
streets of London ; after which the procession moved to
St Paul’s, where great numbers were assembled to see
him. Still, however, the fictitious Warwick prospered in
Ireland, and being furnished by the Duchess of Burgundy
with a body of two thousand veteran Germans, under the
command of Martin Swart, a brave and experienced officer,
the invasion of England was determined upon. He land¬
ed in Lancashire, whence he marched towards York, ex¬
pecting that the country people would rally round his
standard during his march. But in this he was disap¬
pointed ; the people were unwilling to join a body of fo¬
reigners, and were besides kept in awe by the reputation
of Henry. Lord Lincoln, therefore, who commanded the
rebel army, determined to bring the matter to a speedy
issue. Accordingly he met the royalists at Stoke, in the
county of Nottingham, and an obstinate engagement
took place, which terminated in Henry obtaining a com¬
plete victory. Lord Lincoln, with four thousand soldiers,
perished in the action; and Symnel with his tutor Si¬
mons were taken prisoners. Simons being a priest, could
not be tried by the civil power, and was only committed
to close confinement. Symnel was pardoned, and made a
scullion in the king’s kitchen, whence he was afterwards
advanced to the rank of falconer, in which capacity he
died. Thus ended this most absurdly planned and inju¬
diciously executed revolt; but it was not destitute of good
results. It taught the king that the house of York was
not to be trampled upon with impunity; for to such an
extent had his antipathy to the branches of that family
and its adherents been carried, that it was said his own
queen was not exempt from the common odium which
was thrown upon them. It was asked by the people,
why was she, the rightf ul heir to the throne, not crowned,
and invested with the usual insignia of royalty? Henry
silenced these rumours by ordering her coronation; and
from that period she shared with him the usual honours of
royalty.
Having thus to a great extent established his authority
at home, he thought of diverting the minds of his subjects
from domestic insurrection to foreign enterprise. He
History
ENGLAND.
741
History, does not appear, however, to have had any intention of
prosecuting a serious war in a distant country, but he
used the pretext as a means of aggrandising himself. A
parliament was summoned, which granted the king a con¬
siderable sum for prosecuting the war in Bretagne, the
only great fief of the French crown which still retained
its own prince and its ancient constitution ; by force, by
policy, or by good fortune, the French monarchs had ob¬
tained possession of all the others. But of the supply grant¬
ed by parliament, only a small part could be raised. The
northern counties not only refused payment of their propor¬
tion, but rose in revolt, and murdered the Earl of North¬
umberland, the king’s lieutenant. The insurrection, how¬
ever, was quickly suppressed by the Earl of Surrey. John
a Chambre, one of the ringleaders, suffered at York; and
Sir John Egremont, the other, escaped to the Duchess of
Burgundy, where he had leisure to hatch new schemes of
• rebellion. The money which Henry by this means obtain¬
ed, and also in consequence of another grant from parlia¬
ment, was quietly deposited in his coffers. For although
he collected a considerable army, with which he pro¬
ceeded to Calais, the king had other objects than victory
and conquest in view. Some months previously to his
landing on the Continent, he had commissioned the go¬
vernor of Calais to negotiate d peace and alliance with
Charles of France, which was formally concluded. To
the French monarch the possession of Bretagne was an
important object; and Henry, naturally avaricious, agreed
to accept about L.200,000 as a reimbursement for the
expenses of the expedition. It was also stipulated that
the king of France should pay to him and- his heirs an
annual pension of 25,000 crowns.
But Henry’s hopes of a tranquil possession of the crown
of England were doomed to perpetual disappointment.
His reign was now to be disturbed by one of the most
mysterious personages to be met with in English history.
About the time when Avar was declared against France, a
pretender to the regal dignity appeared in Ireland, which
seems to have’ been the natural soil for these spurious
shoots of royalty. This impostor passed under the name
of Perkin Warbeck, but asserted himself to be Richard
duke of York, the second son of Edward IV. who, it was
alleged, had escaped from the Tower when his brother
was murdered. Previously to his appearance in Ireland, he
had been heard of at the court of Margaret, his suppos¬
ed aunt, who interested herself to the utmost in his fa¬
vour, and fondly styled him the White Rose of England.
But he Avas compelled to quit Burgundy ; for Henry had
dispatched some ambassadors to the sovereign of that
country, with secret instructions to demand either the
person of the impostor, or his expulsion from the territo¬
ries of the duke. Warbeck was received with open arms
in Ireland, for the Irish were fanatically attached to the
house of York. Several noblemen who had credulously
believed in the fraud of Symnel, from which they had
just escaped, gave countenance to his pretensions. A de¬
putation was sent to Flanders to ascertain his history;
but they had been corrupted by Henry before their land¬
ing in Burgundy, and they returned fraught Avith charges
of treason against the disaffected nobility. Some of the
most eminent malcontent Yorkists were put to death, and
amongst the rest Sir William Stanley, lord-chamberlain,
to whom the king bad owed his life on Bosworth field.
His fate was most mysterious, and the conduct of Henry
upon this occasion is open to the most odious suspicions.
Sir Robert Clifford, the individual Avhose information led
to these executions, was a confidential Yorkist; and his
behaviour towards his own party, so different from Avhat
might have been expected, tended to dissolve the ties
which subsisted between it and the malcontent exiles.
Three years had ooav elapsed since the pretender had History,
set forth his claim, and during that period he had never
attempted to establish it by legal proof. He began to
feel that he stood upon delicate ground, and resolved at
once to enforce his pretended right by an appeal to the
sword. With a small force collected in Flanders (for he
had been for some time absent from Ireland) he made a
descent in the neighbourhood of Deal; but the adventurers
were attacked by the inhabitants, and all of them driven
back to their vessels, or taken prisoners. Warbeck him¬
self made his escape, and returned in despair to Flanders.
From this country he Avas ejected at the instigation of
Henry ; and after vainly attempting to gain a footing in
Ireland, he set sail for Scotland, where he Avas Avelk re¬
ceived by the young king, Avho professed a conviction in
the justice of his title. King James conferred upon him
the hand of Lady Catherine Gordon, a near kinswoman of
his OAvn. The adventurer’s fortunes being thus suddenly
elevated, he, along with the king of Scotland, advanced
into England; but not a native sword was unsheathed
in favour of the White Rose. The enthusiasm Avhich
had been excited amongst the Scots by his first appear¬
ance in their country had begun to decline, and during a
long truce, which served all the purposes of a treaty of
peace between James and Henry, it was agreed to by
the former that he should induce W'arbeck to quit Scot¬
land. The adventurer, with a few adherents, accordingly
departed, and, after touching once more at Cork, and in
vain soliciting the aid of Earl Desmond, steered for Corn¬
wall, Avhere he landed on the 7th of September 1497.
His arrival in this part of the country was a politic
step, for an attempt to raise a tax there some time be¬
fore gave rise to an insurrection, which, although quelled,
left behind heartburnings and discontent. A considerable
body of Cornish men joined his standard, and before he
reached Exeter his army amounted to six thousand men.
But the king arrived, and preparations were made for a
battle ; the heart of the pretender, however, failed him at
the sight of the royal standard, and instead of risking an
engagement for the crown, he withdrew during the night,
and entered his name in the sanctuary of Beaulieu in
Hampshire. His followers laid down their arms to the
king, and his wife also submitted to his authority, and was
placed near the person of the queen. From his sanctuary
the fugitive was removed by the king to London, Avhere
he was ordered to keep within the precincts of the pa¬
lace. He contrived, however, to make his escape, but,
despairing of getting out of the country, surrendered him¬
self to the prior of the monastery of Shene. The monk
contrived to prevail with the king to spare his life; but
he Avas condemned to stand in the stocks and make a
public confession of his imposture, after which he was
committed to the Tower, in this fortress he met Avith a
singular companion, the real Earl of Warwick, who had
now been a prisoner for the period of fourteen years. His
life had thus been passed in cheerless captivity, for no
other offence than that of being the sole survivor of the
male descendants of Edward III. The two contrived a
means of escape, but they were discovered. Warbeck
Avas executed at Tyburn ; and the son of Clarence having
been arraigned for high treason, was condemned to death
and beheaded on the 28th of November 1499. This deed
was worthy of Richard III. It Avas a cool-blooded mur¬
der, aggravated by circumstances; for the harmless and
joyless victim was, from his long confinement, reduced to
a state of idiocy. The human soul shudders to think of
such atrocities, perpetrated in defiance alike of justice
and humanity. From the guilt of shedding innocent
blood it is impossible to purify the name of Henry VII.
In 1501, the king’s eldest son Arthur was married to
742 ENGLAND.
History, the Infanta Catherine of Spain; but he survived the mar-
riage only a few months, having died on the 2d of April
following. It was agreed upon a short while afterwards,
by the parents of the parties, that the widow of the late
prince should be espoused by Henry’s next son, now
Prince of Wales, and afterwards Henry VIII. The union
was sanctioned by the pope, who granted a bull, dispens¬
ing with any impediment which their affinity might other¬
wise cause. The eldest daughter of King Henry was
conferred upon James IV. of Scotland; an important union, •
as from this stock sprung all the sovereigns who have
since reigned in Great Britain. King Henry, in his own
time, was called the Solomon of England; and, without
allowing him to possess undisputed claims to so high-
sounding a title, the saying recorded of him regarding
the Scottish marriage displays no common foresight and
sagacity. When some of his counsellors objected to it,
on the ground that the kingdom might thereby fall to the
king of Scotland, he answered, “ Scotland would then
become an accession to England, not England to Scot¬
land; the' greater would draw the less; it is a safer
union for England than one with France.”1
In the latter part of this king’s reign, his economy, which
had always been very exact, degenerated into avarice, and
his oppressions at last became severe. In Empson and
Dudley he possessed two ministers, who did all that in¬
ventive minds could suggest, and hearts of stone perform,
to gratify a rapacity, which fed with equal appetite on
friend and foe. We are informed by one of the wisest
of historians and of men, that these individuals had no
reputation, otherwise than by servilely following his bent,
and that they “ shaped his way to those extremities for
which himself was touched with remorse at his death.”2
The hoard which the king had amassed by their unjust
extortions, and which was mostly kept in “ secret places
at Richmond,” is said to have amounted to nearly
L.16,000,000 of our present money. This amount of
specie is so enormous as to warrant a conviction that it
has been greatly exaggerated. It may be doubted whe¬
ther the whole circulating medium of the country at that
period amounted to the sum which the avaricious mo¬
narch is said to have accumulated.
Henry, who had enjoyed an uncommon share of health
during his life, was at fifty-two years of age attacked by
severe indisposition. He died on the 21st of April 1509,
in the twenty-fourth year of his reign, which, although
perpetually disturbed by domestic insurrections, was upon
the whole prosperous. He was interred in the chapel at
Westminster, which still bears his name; one of the no¬
blest trophies of architectural genius produced in any age,
and which confers peculiar distinction upon that in which
it was erected. There are many acts of Henry’s admini¬
stration, and some of these have already been particular¬
ised, which cannot be related but to his discredit. He was
mean, sordid, and unamiable in his nature. No tenderness
softened his rigid nature, if we except that which he evin¬
ced towards his mother; a virtue, however, too common to
be praised even in a king. We see no qualities about the
man which inspires us with regard for him; but there are
many virtues to admire in the ruler. He favoured every
national improvement; and, though penurious to excess in
ordinary or essentially private matters, he was munificent
in public works. He greatly improved the laws of the
realm. With respect to these, Lord Bacon remarks, with
his usual clearness and sagacity, “ his laws are deep, not
vulgar ; not made upon the spur of a particular occasion,
for the present, but acts of prudence for the future, to
make the estate of his people still more happy, after the History
manner of the legislators in ancient and heroical times.” ’’Y'^
He manifested great regard for trade, as is evinced by his
excellent laws for promoting it, and by the extended com¬
mercial intercourse of the country. He accepted the offer
of Columbus to make that most memorable of voyages,
in which he lifted the veil that covered a grand division of
the globe, and would have patronized it if he had not been
forestalled by Isabella. He gave his sanction to Cabot’s
celebrated voyage (see Cabot), and fitted out a ship to
join the expedition. In fine, the country improved under
his government, and became steadily attached to his family.
Henry VIII. son of the preceding monarch, ascended
the throne on the 22d of April 1509, being then in the
eighteenth year of his age. He assumed the reins of go¬
vernment under most auspicious circumstances. His title
was undisputed ; his treasury was well stocked ; commerce
was in a flourishing condition ; and the kingdom, which
now may be supposed to have looked to the youthful mo¬
narch with hope and indulgence, was at peace with every
foreign power, and quiet in itself. He was prepossessing
in person, accomplished in mind, and adroit in every
martial and fashionable exercise. But these advantages
belonged to an individual whose heart was usurped by
debasing passions, and whose mind was cast in the true
mould of despotism.
On the 6th of June 1509, Henry and Catherine were
finally united in wedlock, and on the 24th of the same
month they were crowned with great splendour. One of
Henry’s first acts was to bring Empson and Dudley, the
obnoxious ministers of his father, to trial. As a capital ac¬
cusation could not be brought against them for merely exe¬
cuting the will of the late king, it was found necessary to
indite them for a conspiracy to seize upon London with
an armed force during the last illness of Henry. Of this
charge, absurd and incredible as it appears to be, these in¬
dividuals were convicted; and though it seems probable
that the king would have been satisfied with imprisonment
for life, yet so clamorous were the people for the blood of
the culprits, that he wras compelled to sign a warrant for
their execution, which took place on Tower Hill.
In 1511, Henry entered into a league with Pope Julius
II., Ferdinand king of Spain, and other continental powers,
against Louis XII. of France. In this alliance the king of
England was not a deeply interested individual; but his
vanity was flattered with the idea of receiving the title
of Most Christian Majesty, which was promised to him
by the pope. The object which the confederates had in
view was to wrest from Louis some valuable provinces
which he had obtained in Italy; and although Henry had
no hope of sharing the spoil with them in this quarter,
yet the occupation of the French monarch in schemes of
aggrandisement beyond the Alps afforded an opportunity
to the English of invading France, and reviving the old
chimera of conquering that country. The point, whether
England should aim at continental dominions, was debated
in parliament; and the arguments against it greatly pre¬
ponderated. But the vanity of Henry was too much flat¬
tered to relinquish the scheme. He sent an ambassador
to demand of Louis the ancient patrimony of the English
crown in France, and this being refused, war was denoun¬
ced. Parliament granted a supply, and an army was
equipped and sent into Spain. But this expedition was
attended with no success, and the troops, dispirited and
mutinous, returned to England towards the close of 1512.
On the north-western frontier of France, however, the
arms of Henry were triumphant, and also in Scotland,
1 Bacon, iii. 409.
Ibid. iii. 379.
ENGLAND.
743
istory. which had been tempted by French councils to invade
England. James IV. with a considerable army under his
command, was met by the Earl of Surrey at Flodden,
where a bloody battle was fought, in which the Scots were
totally routed, and their king, with the greater portion of
his nobility, perished. (S-ee Scotland.) Henry receiv¬
ed the news of this victory at Tournay, which he had in¬
vested, after having demolished Terouanne. The latter
city opened its gates to him in eight days; but all parties
being now disposed for peace, a general treaty was con¬
cluded in August 15 L4.
With regard to the administration of government in Eng¬
land, when Henry mounted the throne, the leading mini¬
sters in the cabinet were, Howard, earl of Surrey, lord
treasurer; and Fox, bishop of Winchester, lord privy seal.
Amongst the inferior dependents of the court there now
appeared an individual, whose ambition and talent ena¬
bled him speedily to supplant every competitor. This was
Thomas, afterwards Cardinal Wolsey, who, although only
the son of a burgess of Ipswich, gradually raised himself
to the first offices of state. (See Wolsey.) His prefer¬
ment had been rapid beyond all precedent, and this was
not likely to be forgiven by an envious world. From the
year 1513 to 1515, he had passed through the various gra¬
dations, from being bishop of Tournay, to the honours of
the cardinalate, and he succeeded Archbishop Worham in
the office of chancellor. With respect to the manner in
which he executed his duty as a high public functionary,
Sir James Mackintosh remarks, that “ his administration
of justice as chancellor has been celebrated by those who
forget how simple the functions of that office then were;
and his rigid enforcement of criminal justice appears only
to have been a part of that harsh but perhaps needful
process by which the Tudor princes rather extirpated than
punished criminals, in order to reclaim the people from
the long license of civil wars. As he was chiefly occupied
in enriching and aggrandizing himself, or in displaying
his power and wealth, objects which are to be promoted
either by foreign connections, or by favour at court, it is
impossible to determine what share of the merit or de¬
merit of internal legislation ought to be allotted to him.
His part in the death of the Duke of Buckingham was
his most conspicuous crime; yet, after all, it is probable
that he was no worse than his contemporary statesmen.
The circumstance most favourable to him is the attach¬
ment of dependents.”1
On the death of Maximilian, which happened towards
the end of the year 1519, Henry, along with the kings of
France and Spain, became a candidate for the imperial
throne. The Spanish monarch was the successful compe¬
titor, and, to soothe the wounded pride of Henry, he paid
him a visit of ceremony at Dover. His principal design
in this was to persuade Henry to abandon a projected
meeting which was to take place between him and the
king of France, the wily emperor dreading that such an
interview might be fraught with danger to himself. He
was unsuccessful, however, and the two monarchs met be¬
tween Ardres and Guines in 1520. The place where this
meeting was held has been long celebrated under the name
of the Field of the Cloth of Gold. The pomp and parade,
the tournaments and other sports of the age, exhibited
upon the occasion, were on the grandest scale, and pecu¬
liarly calculated to delight the young king of England, a
creature of impulse, and one who sacrificed policy to tem¬
per, and interest to passion. It was thus that the con¬
tinental monarchs flattered his foibles, and ingratiated
themselves into his favour.
About the same time a crime was perpetrated, in the History,
guilt of which both Henry and his minister Wolsey have
been implicated ; we mean the execution of Edward Staf¬
ford, duke of Buckingham. This nobleman was descend¬
ed from the youngest son of Edward III.; and the principal
accusation brought against him was, that he had tampered
with a priest who laid claim to the gift of prophecy, and
who had foretold that he would yet ascend the throne in
virtue of his descent. Several other charges equally ab¬
surd, and not amounting to an overt act of high treason,
were brought against him ; he was tried by a jury of peers,
condemned to death, and beheaded on the 17th of May
1521. Upon this occasion the populace vented their in¬
dignation against Wolsey, whose subtle policy had brought
the sufferer to the scaffold, by loud cries of “ the butch¬
er’s son.”
Wolsey, however, continued to rule with unabated sway
from 1521 till 1527. This period is not distinguished by
any events of importance, if we except the opposition
which the House of Commons offered to the minister in
his attempts to raise supplies. That body obstinately dis¬
puted these grants, and attempts were made to raise mo¬
ney by the expedients of forced loans and pretended bene¬
volences, which the legislature had already condemned.
But these attempts produced a small supply and a great
deal of discontent. Wolsey, notwithstanding his unwearied
exertions in behalf of his master, never felt himself per¬
fectly secure in his elevated situation. The capricious
and tyrannical temper of Henry forbade his ministers to
be at ease in any place of trust near his person. The fall
of Wolsey seems always to have appeared to himself as an
event of very likely occurrence, and these gloomy fpre-
bodings were at last realized. The cause of the rupture
between the king and him was the divorce of Queen Ca¬
therine, which the former had begun to project. But the
fall of Wolsey was not the only event connected with
Henry’s divorce; it ultimately led to one of the most
memorable transactions in the history of England, name¬
ly, the separation of that country from the communion of
the church of Rome.
The doctrines of the reformation, propagated by Luther
in 1517, had gained considerable ground in England, and
many professed a belief in them, notwithstanding the se¬
vere persecution which had been carried on against here¬
tics during some of the preceding reigns. The papal au¬
thority, though still vei'y great, had in the space of ten
years declined considerably; but a detail of the circum¬
stances connected with this subject is not required in this
place. It may be noticed in general, that the reforma¬
tion in England was facilitated by the undeniable corrup¬
tion of the clergy, and the experience which many indi¬
viduals had of, and the partiality which they entertained
for, the doctrines of Wickliff. The seed sown by that di¬
vine had never been destroyed; and if it did not show it¬
self above ground, it was extending itself underneath, per¬
petuating a sort of dormant existence, and ready to spring
up on the first propitious occasion. Besides, the marriage
of King Henry was looked upon by many as in itself ille¬
gal, and only sanctified by a dispensation from the pope.
Whether Henry himself, during the early years of his
reign, felt any scruples about the validity of his marriage,
may reasonably be doubted ; for no trace of any thing of the
kind can be discovered in his public conduct till the year
1527. The queen was some years older than himself,
and was now past the meridian of life. Her personal
charms had decayed, and the heart of the royal sensualist
could not be attracted by beauty that belonged purely
1 History of England, vol. ii. p. 121.
ENGLAND.
744
History, to the mind. She had born him several children, all of
whom died in infancy except the Princess Mary, who sur¬
vived both her parents, and afterwards ascended the throne.
It is reported of the inconstant monarch, that he attri¬
buted the mortality in his family to the curse of heaven,
which blighted his unnatural alliance with Catherine, his
brother’s widow. But there was another and more power¬
ful circumstance which led him to contemplate a divorce
from his queen ; this was the love which he had contracted
for Anne Boleyn. The charms of this lady had touched
his fiery but not unsusceptible heart; and as his passion
could not be gratified except by means of an alliance sanc¬
tioned by law, he set seriously to work for the purpose of
removing the amiable partner of his throne and bed, and
placing the youthful beauty in her stead. The secret in¬
tentions of the king having become to some extent public,
he ventured to ask the opinions of the most eminent eccle¬
siastics upon the point. The dangers of a disputed suc¬
cession, if the king should die without male issue, were
brought forward as an urgent plea for taking the step
which he had in view. He had also recourse to his theo¬
logical lore, and certain religious scruples connected with
his first marriage helped to give a colour of principle to
his real desires, and at the same time to impart to them
life and warmth. Some of the divines whose counsel was
asked declared that no dispensation could authorize a
marriage with the widow of a brother; which they proved
from a passage in the Pentateuch. Others, who also
founded their arguments upon a portion of Scripture, con¬
tended that the prohibition referred to by the opposite
party was not universal, and might be dispensed with in
the king’s case, where the first marriage had been unpro¬
ductive of issue. Cardinal Wolsey, who had a hazardous
game to play, coincided with the former, and gave Henry
hopes that his petition to the court of Rome would be
successful. But Anne was not the individual whom the
prelate had in his eye as a wife for the king. He was
desirous of wedding his master to a French princess, and,
we are informed, threw himself on his knees before Henry,
and entreated him to desist from a project so unworthy of
his birth as an alliance with the Boleyn family. But the
pliant mind of the cardinal yielded to the impetuosity of
Ids master and to the force of circumstances ; and he found
it necessary to atone for his indiscreet zeal by displaying
redoubled activity to promote the marriage with the lady
upon whom the king had fixed his affections. The illus¬
trious Sir Thomas More declined to support the divorce,
and Fisher bishop of Rochester acted with the same in¬
tegrity.
A deputation was sent to Rome by Henry for the pur¬
pose of sounding Pope Clement upon the subject of the
divorce. The pontiff was in a situation unfavourable to
the success of the application ; and although he was bound
to the English monarch by the ties of gratitude, he de¬
clined giving an immediate assent to the proposition, but
appointed two legates to hear and determine the validity
of the first marriage of Henry. He also gave a solemn
promise not to recall the commission, nor to do any act
which should annul the judgment or prevent the progress
of the trial. The pontiff was at this period engaged in
a contest with the imperialists; but he at last concluded
a treaty of alliance with the emperor, who appeared the
only potentate capable of shielding him from his other
enemies. The forensic disputes respecting the divorce still
remained unsettled, and, from the date above mentioned,
Clement took his final part against the degradation of the
queen of England, who was an Austrian princess. But
still, by ingenious delays and plausible formalities, he con¬
trived to amuse Henry, whose power it was not his interest
to treat with direct contempt. The patience of the Eng¬
lish monarch, however, was now completely worn out by Histoi
these fruitless attempts at negotiation, and he redoubled
his entreaties to the pope to comply with his demands.
Clement, in order to show a willingness to acquiesce in
the wishes of Henry, sent over Cardinal Campeggio, who,
either separately or in conjunction with Wolsey, was em¬
powered to hear and determine the matrimonial suit. The
legate at first attempted to dissuade Henry from pursuing
the divorce ; but being unsuccessful with the monarch, he
next tried to persuade Catherine to embrace a religious
life, in which he also failed. The popular feeling was
against Henry, and he felt himself compelled to remove
Anne Boleyn from court, where she had for some time re¬
sided. At a great council which he convoked, he declar¬
ed that in prosecuting this matter he was solely actuated
by a desire to know whether or not his only remaining child
Mary was the rightful heir of the crown. On this occa¬
sion he made an appeal to the feelings and consciences of
his hearers which affected them much; and the perplexi¬
ties consequent upon the late proceedings afforded Cam¬
peggio an opportunity for putting off the decision of the
question until he had obtained further instructions from
Rome. Meanwhile Clement was seized with a dangerous
illness, which retarded his answer, and is said to have re¬
vived in the ambitious mind of Wrolsey a hope which he
had before indulged in, of obtaining possession of the tiara.
This occurred in the spring of 1529; and although the
pope recovered from his sickness, his legate contrived
from time to time to postpone the trial. On the Slst of
May, however, the court of parliament met, and sum¬
moned the king and queen to meet on the 18th of June.
The latter obeyed, but protested against the judges, and
appealed to the pope. At the next session, on the refu¬
sal of the cardinals to admit the appeal, she rose, and in a
calm and dignified manner threw herself at Henry’s feet,
imploring him in a truly eloquent address to desist from
his intended purpose of repudiating her. It made a profound
impression upon the audience, and even touched the cold
heart of her husband. The legates carefully prolonged the
trial until July, when a vacation from July to October took
place, during which time all courts were bound to suspend
their sittings; and, notwithstanding the importunities of
the king, Campeggio contrived to get the suit removed to
Rome. Agreeably to the instructions of Clement, Cam-
peggio quitted England, and the pope summoned Henry
to appear before him in forty days.
In these transactions Wolsey took no inconsiderable
share, and the compliant manner in which he gave his con¬
sent to the suggestions of Campeggio excited the suspi¬
cions of the king, that his minister was playing a double
game with him. The symptoms of approaching disgrace
now became too palpable to escape the notice of the car¬
dinal ; for all parties joined either openly or privately to
destroy him who had so long enjoyed the favour of the
king. It was a singular coincidence that the friends both
of Queen Catherine and Anne Boleyn were employed as
instruments of his overthrow. On the 9th of October 1529
a prosecution was commenced against him for procuring
bulls from Rome without the king’s license. On the Hth
of the same month the great seal was taken from him and
given to Sir Thomas More. On the 1st of December the
lords presented an address to the king, in which were em¬
bodied various articles of accusation against the cardinal;
and notwithstanding that the more serious parts ot the
charge wTere refuted by his servant Thomas Cromwell,
the court at last pronounced him to be beyond the pro¬
tection of the law, and “ that his lands, goods, and chattels
were forfeited, and that his person was at the mercy of
the king.” Wolsey had confessed his offence against the
statute of prcemunire, of which he was technically guilty,
ENGLAND.
History, inasmuch as he had received the bulls without a formal
license. It is scarcely necessary to observe that the sen¬
tence pronounced was most unjust; for the bulls had been
obtained with the consent and for the service of his un¬
grateful master, under whose eye they had been execut¬
ed for years without a word being uttered as to the man¬
ner in which they had been obtained. But nothing could
now save the cardinal. He was at once hurled from his
place of pride and power, and fell, with his vast posses¬
sions, a helpless victim, into the hands of the king. But
it would appear that, from habit perhaps, Henry still che¬
rished a feeling of partiality for his old favourite, and
sent him from time to time tokens of his esteem and re¬
gard. In February 1530 Wolsey was actually pardoned,
and restored to his see of Winchester, and to some other
emoluments. Even the great diocese of York was shortly
afterwards restored; but at the moment when he was
making magnificent preparations for his installation on the
archiepiscopal throne, he was arrested at Cawood on a
charge of high treason. His health was infirm, and during
his journey from York he was seized with a dysentery,
which confined him for some time at the seat of Lord
Shrewsbury. As soon as he was able he mounted his
mule and resumed the journey. But his strength rapidly
declined, and he was compelled to take refuge in the
abbey of Leicester, where he expired on the SOth of No¬
vember 1530, in the sixtieth year of his age.
After the death of Wolsey, the king, by the advice of
his ministers, had the legality of his marriage debated in
all the universities of Europe. (See the article Cranmer.)
By dint of money he succeeded in obtaining their votes in
his favour, but not without a stubborn opposition. Backed
by these judgments, Henry appealed to the pope ; but Cle¬
ment remained inflexible, and the king prepared to resist
the papacy, though not yet to separate himself entirely from
the church of Rome. In 1532 Cranmer was elevated to
the archbishopric of Canterbury; and early in the following
year Henry privately married Anne, and thus himself de¬
termined the long debated topic. A few months after¬
wards he openly solemnized his marriage with Anne, who
went in state with him as queen. On the 23d of May
Cranmer pronounced, not a divorce, but a sentence that
the king’s marriage with Catherine had been and was a
nullity, because it had been contracted and consummated
against the divine law; and not long afterwards he con¬
firmed the marriage of the king w ith the Lady Anne,
whose coronation wras performed in the most gorgeous
manner on the first of June 1533. (See Boleyn.) The
unfortunate Catherine, perceiving all further opposition to
be vain, retired to Ampthill, near Dunstable, where she
remained tor the rest of her days in privacy and peace.
Ihe pope w'as no sooner informed of these proceedings,
than he passed a sentence declaring Catherine to be the
king’s only lawful wife ; requiring him to take her again,
and denouncing censures against him in the event of re¬
fusal. Henry, on the other hand, knowing that his sub¬
jects were entirely at his command, resolved to separate
altogether from the church of Rome. In the year 1534< he
was declared head of the church by parliament; the au¬
thority ot the pope was completely abolished in England;
all tributes formerly payable to the holy see were declared
illegal; and the king was intrusted with the collation to
all ecclesiastical benefices. The nation readily entered
into the king’s measures, and took an oath called the oath
oj supremacy ; all the authority which the popes had main¬
tained over England for ages wras overthrown at a blow ;
and none seemed to repine at the change except those who,
from their dependence upon Rome, were immediately in¬
terested.
But though the king thus separated from the church of
Rome, he by no means adhered to the doctrines of Lu¬
ther which had been lately promulgated. He had him¬
self written a book against this celebrated reformer, which
the pope pretended greatly to admire, and honoured King
Henry, on this account, with the title of Defender of the
Faith. This character he seemed to be determined to
maintain, and therefore persecuted the reformers most vio¬
lently. Many were burnt for denying the Catholic doc¬
trines, and some also were executed for maintaining the
supremacy of the pope. The courtiers knew not which
side to take, both the new and old religions being equal¬
ly persecuted; and as both parties equally courted the
favour of the king, he w’as by that means enabled to as¬
sume an absolute authority over the nation.
The established clergy co-operated actively in the re¬
volution which was in progress. Six bishops sanctioned
by their vote every blow which was struck at the power of
Rome; and fourteen abbots were usually present when
the number of temporal peers who attended were some-
wdiat more than forty. “ They did not shrink,” says Sir
James Mackintosh, “ from the deposition of Catherine, by
reducing her title to that of Princess Dowager of Wales.
By ratifying the marriage of Anne Boleyn they adopted
those parts of the king’s conduct which most disgusted
the people. The bill for subjecting the clergy to the king,
as their sole head, was so favourably treated as in one day
to be read three times and passed: no division appears
to have taken place on these measures.”1
The attention of the king was now turned to Elizabeth
Boston, a nun in the priory of St Sepulchre at Canterbury,
who believed herself endowed with the power of working
miracles, and foretelling future events. Several clergymen
and other gentlemen of Kent believed in her mission; and
some individuals of the highest order, both of intellect
and piety, gave credit to her pretensions. She was sub¬
ject to convulsions ; and in the trances into which she
frequently fell, visions of a marvellous nature were vouch¬
safed to her, which turned of course upon the extraordi¬
nary events taking place around her. She was tried and
executed for high treason, and her abettors were arraign¬
ed on the same charge. Fisher, bishop of Rochester, was
attainted by the act against this modern Pythia ; but by
a separate statute he was afterwards attainted of mispri¬
sion of treason, for not having taken the oath to the suc¬
cession. Fie was eminent for his learning and virtue, and
probably his life would have been saved had not the pope
sent him a cardinal's hat while in prison, which roused the
jealousy of Henry. The remorseless tyrant ordered him
to be executed, at the same time remarking, with his
usual heartlessness, that the pope might send him a hat,
but that Fisher should have no head to wear it. Another
deed of blood was perpetrated a short time afterwards,
which alone is calculated to consign the name of Henry
VIII. to the execration of all future times. Sir Thomas
More, the first Englishman of his day, one who had ex¬
alted the nation in the eyes of Europe, and whose fame
was universal, was tried and executed for misprision of
treason, in not taking the oath to maintain the succes¬
sion. The legal pretext, if there was any, for the accusa¬
tion, was grounded on the obnoxious clause of a recent act,
which made it treason “ to do any thing by writing or
act which was to the slander, disturbance, or prejudice of
the marriage with the Lady Anne, or to the disherison or
disturbance of the king’s heirs by her.” Both More and
VOL. VIII.
1 History of England, vol. ii. p. 175.
5 B
745
History.
 '
746 ENGL
History. Fisher had abstained from either affirming or denying,
first, that Henry’s marriage with Catherine was invalid;
secondly, that his marriage with Anne was valid; and,
thirdly, they refused to disclaim all foreign authority in
the kingdom, spiritual authority included. After his con¬
demnation Sir Thomas avowed that he had studied the
question for seven years, and could not escape from the
conclusion that the king’s marriage with Catherine was
valid. For this scrupulous conscientiousness he expired
upon the scaffold on the 7th of July 1535.
This wanton shedding of righteous blood excited the
utmost indignation in foreign countries, particularly in
Italy. Here Giovio, an historian, compared the tyranny
of Henry to that almost preternatural wickedness which
the Grecian legends had embodied under the appellation
of Phalaris. Other individuals lashed the tyranny of the
English monarch with the utmost rigour, and lamented,
in strains of affecting eloquence, the fate of More, whom
they designated the martyr of unshaken probity. Amongst
the most eminent of these writers was Cardinal Pole, an
Englishman, allied to the royal family.
Catherine, the former consort of Henry, expired at
Kimbolton in the beginning of January 1536, having died
as she had lived, mild, forgiving, and resigned. On her
deathbed she wrote a most affectionate letter to her hus¬
band, whose iron nerves were touched by the perusal of
it. His less prudent queen had the levity to express her
satisfaction at the event. But if she expected that it
would in any way be conducive to her further happiness,
and a more devoted attachment on the part of her hus¬
band, she was most miserably disappointed. She soon
after gave birth to a still-born child, and her brutal lord
is said to have reproached her upon the occasion for the
loss of his boy. His desire for male issue, and his repeat¬
ed disappointments, seem to have at last weaned the af¬
fections of the fickle monarch from the idol whom he had
worshipped with so much devotedness and ardour. A
new passion had kindled in his breast, the object of which
was Jane Seymour, a young lady of the queen’s bed-cham¬
ber, which office Anne herself had held in that of Catherine.
The circumstances connected with the queen’s arrest may
be briefly stated. On May-day 1536 a tilting match was
held at Greenwich, in which her brother was the chief
challenger, and Norris, groom of the stole, the opposing
defendant. The queen having dropped her handkerchief
had it gallantly handed up to her by Norris, who was sup¬
posed to be her lover. The jealousy of the king burst
out; he left the joust precipitately; and ere night his
queen had passed through an examination, and was com¬
mitted a prisoner. Such was the trifle “ light as air,” which
to the jealous mind of Henry seemed a “ confirmation
strong as proofs of holy writ.” By the researches of Mr
Turner it has been discovered, that some days before the
tournament certain individuals were appointed to inquire
into the alleged misdeeds of Anne. The commission put
their authority into execution upon the 10th of May,
when a grand jury of Westminster was assembled. The
charge against her was adultery, and its consequence in
such a case, treason. Whether innocent or not, the un¬
happy Anne was deserted in her utmost need, and had
not a friend to counsel her in this alarming emergency.
On the day after the queen was committed to the Tower,
Cranmer had written to the king imploring the king’s mer¬
cy towards her, “his life so late, and sole delight;” but in
vain. The archbishop had been forbidden to approach
the court until desired by the king. The subsequent pro¬
ceedings were as rapid as they were terrible. On the 12th
AND.
of May, Norris, Weston, Brereton, and Smeaton, were Historv
tried in Westminster Hall for the crime of high treason.
Smeaton pleaded guilty to the charge; the others re¬
sisted, but were convicted. Three days afterwards the
House of Lords assembled for the trial of the queen.
She was without counsel, and attended only by her ladies.
Anne defended herself with modesty and firmness, but,
upon evidence of which no traces now remain, she was con¬
demned to suffer death. On hearing the sentence of her
judges, she raised up her hands and exclaimed, “ O Fa¬
ther and Creator 1 O thou who art the way, the truth,
and the life! thou knowest that I have not deserved this
death.” It is difficult to reconcile such an ejaculation with
a consciousness of guilt. She afterwards turned to her
judges, and made a serious protestation of her innocence.
On the 17th of May the other individuals who had been
convicted were carried forth to execution. Smeaton, who
had confessed to the guilt, probably from an erroneous im¬
pression that he would by this means save his life, was the
last to suffer. Anne’s brother Rochford was also tried and
condemned on the same day with herself, and was exe¬
cuted with the others. The curtain dropped upon this
horrible tragedy with the death of the queen, who was
beheaded on the day after her supposed accomplices had
suffered. For further particulars respecting this unhappy
personage, see Boleyn.
That Henry sacrificed his queen in a fit of vindictive
resentment against her, who, he too rashly believed, had
dishonoured him, is all that can be urged in his favour.
That he really believed her guilty, must also in common
fairness be allowed. To think otherwise would be to
attaint his name with one of the most horrid enormities
that ever disgraced the annals of crime. It seems very
improbable that the violent attachment which he had ail
along entertained for her should have cooled so suddenly,
and been supplanted by such deadly hate, without sup¬
posing that some levities in the conduct of Queen Anne
had fired his jealous soul, and roused him to demand her
blood as an expiation for the guilt imputed to her. But
he was not content with taking away her life under the
charge of adultery and incest; he deprived her of the name
and the right of wife and queen, and bastardized the
daughter which she had born him, even when he acknow¬
ledged that daughter to be his own. His contempt for
her memory was displayed in a manner which could be
believed of few other individuals. He dressed himself in
white on the day of her execution, and actually married
Jane Seymour next morning.
In bringing this tale of blood to a termination, we have
unavoidably outrun several important events. When the
news of Sir Thomas More’s execution reached the court of
Rome, a bull was prepared against Henry. In this extra¬
ordinary instrument were embodied all the offences of the
English monarch against the papal see, and he was allow¬
ed ninety days, and his fautors and abettors sixty, to re¬
pent, and to appear at Rome either in person or by attor¬
ney. In case of default, he was to be excommunicated,
and deprived of his crown ; his children by Anne were to
be rendered incapable of inheriting for several genera¬
tions; his subjects were to be absolved from their allegiance
to him ; and all treaties and alliances between him and
other powers were to be null and void. This thunderbolt,
however, though forged for the purpose of punishing the
king’s apostacy, it was resolved should be suppressed for
a time, and lodged in the papal armoury until a more
favourable opportunity should occur for launching it at
the royal culprit.1 The election of Henry as supreme
1 Thus far historians are perfectly agreed with regard to this bull. It is also-certain, that in 1538 the suspension of the bull was re¬
voked, and its publication ordered by the pope. Rut whether or not this really took place is a matter of doubt. Dr Lingard ob-
ENGL
listory. head of the church we have already noticed, and also
some of the events which followed his assumption of that
presumptuous title. Henry, however, at first assumed it
with wariness, and the language in which the statute is
couched shows that his supremacy might be reconciled
with the papal authority, if the jurisdiction of that power
were only of a spiritual nature. But by the statutes of
later years, the revolution in church government had been
consummated in England. The ancient doctrine of the
Roman Catholic faith was acknowledged ; but the king was
placed as a sort of lay patriarch at the head of the eccle¬
siastical establishment. Thomas Cromwell, who had now
become Henry’s chief minister (see Cromwell, Tho¬
mas), was at this time raised to the new office of the king’s
vicegerent, and empowered to send commissioners into
the several counties of England to inspect the monaste¬
ries, and to report, with rigorous exactness, the conduct
and deportment of such as were found there. This ap¬
pointment, which had been made between the parliaments
of 1536 and 1539, was confirmed by the recognition of
the latter ; and it was provided that the vicegerent should
take his seat in the House of Peers before the Archbishop
of Canterbury, and be ranked above all temporal lords,
except some branches of the royal family. The first ex¬
periment which Cromwell made of his unlimited power
was the gradual suppression of the various classes of reli¬
gious houses, and the seizure of their possessions, at that
time amounting to a large proportion of the landed pro¬
perty of the kingdom. This seizure of vested territorial
possessions was, in a legal point of view, direct spolia¬
tion. But it was urged, on the other hand, that from the
immorality, ignorance, and indolence in which those who
enjoyed them indulged, they had forfeited their right, and
might lawfully be deprived of these. By the inspectors
of the religious houses, the public were informed of the
existence of monstrous disorders in these communities. In
1536 the lesser monasteries were suppressed, amounting
to nearly four hundred. Their' revenues, computed at
L.30,000 per annum, were confiscated to the king’s use,
besides their plate and other goods, estimated at L.100,000
more. The confiscation, however, was most unpopular,
especially in those places where the ancient faith retained
most sway, and occasional revolts broke out. Such a
sweeping calamity must have brought ruin upon many
innocent and even worthy and deserving persons. The
spectacle of individuals, invested with the most sacred of
all functions, expelled from their only habitations, where
they had probably grown old, and were now unfit for bodily
toil, was calculated to awaken feelings of sympathy for
the sufferers, and probably of detestation for those who
had driven them forth to perish in the wilderness. A
disturbance broke out in Lincolnshire, where the first
visitation of religious houses took place. But in the
north a more serious affair, amounting to an insurrection,
occurred. Between the Humber and the Tweed the peo¬
ple had rushed to arms, and they were joined by the inha¬
bitants of Cumberland, Westmoreland, and a portion of
Lancashire. This formidable body was led into the field
by Robert Ask, a man of Yorkshire, and was preceded by
priests bearing banners emblazoned with paintings of the
sufferings of Christ. Several important towns fell into
their hands; but the king met them with a superior force,
which arrested their progress. They, however, succeed¬
ed in obtaining a general pardon, and then dispersed.
AND.
A second visitation of the monasteries took place short- History,
ly afterwards. Various circumstances had occurred to
exasperate Henry against the Catholic clergy; and the
alarming revolts, at which priests had presided, and princi¬
pally instigated the people by their inflammatory address¬
es, were of a nature to inflame such a combustible temper
as his. In this second spoliation, the richest and most re¬
vered shrines were pillaged and destroyed, and the sacred
relics, objects of so much superstitious veneration, were held
up to the derision of the public. Various historians have
enumerated a great number of these, and some of them
are certainly calculated to excite surprise at the depth
of that superstitious feeling which could induce a people
to believe that the parings of St Edmund’s toes, or the
felt of St Thomas of Lancaster, or the shirt of St Tho¬
mas of Canterbury, were infallible recipes for certain dis¬
orders. On this occasion the shrine of the latter saint was
demolished, and the wealth which it yielded was enor¬
mous. These shrines were pillaged, on the allegation, too
often true, that they were the scenes of imposture, where
miracles were pretended to be wrought. The king, on
the whole, suppressed upwards of six hundred monaste¬
ries, above two thousand chantries and free chapels, and
about two hundred colleges and hospitals. The confisca¬
tion was closed by a statute passed in 1539, which provid¬
ed that “ all monasteries, and other religious houses, dis¬
solved, suppressed, surrendered, renounced, relinquished,
forfeited, or by any means come to his highness, shall be
vested in him, his heirs and successors, for ever.” It must
be owned, that although great abuses may have been de¬
tected, revenue not reformation, plunder not punishment,
were the objects which the visitors had in view. With
respect to the important question regarding property, in¬
volved in this measure, we shall avail ourselves of the re¬
marks of Sir James Mackintosh on the subject.
“ Thus was completed the confiscation of a fifth or a
fourth part of the landed property of England and Wales
within the space of five years. It may be a fit moment
therefore to pause here, in order calmly and shortly to
review some of the weighty questions which were involved
in this measure. There is no need of animadverting upon
the means by which it was effected, though we must as¬
sent to the affirmation of a great man, ‘ that an end which
has no means but such as are bad, is a bad end.’ But the
general question may be best considered, keeping out of
view any of those attendant misdeeds which excite a very
honest indignation, but which disturb the operation of the
judgment. Property is legal possession. Whoever exer¬
cises a certain portion of power over any outward thing
in a manner which, by the' laws of the country, entitles
him to an exclusive enjoyment of it, is deemed a proprie¬
tor. But property, which is generally deemed to be the
incentive to industry, the guardian of order, the preserver
of internal quiet, the channel of friendly intercourse be¬
tween men and nations, and, in a higher point of view, as
affording leisure for the pursuit of knowledge, means for
the exercise of generosity, occasions for the returns of
gratitude; as being one of the ties which join succeeding
generations, strengthening domestic discipline, and keep¬
ing up the affections of the kindred; above all, because it
is the principle to which all men adapt their plans of life,
and on the faith of whose permanency every human ac¬
tion is performed; is~an institution of so high and trans¬
cendent a nature, that every government which does not
serves, “ I cannot find any proof that it was ever published at all.” Sir James Mackintosh is silent upon the point. Mr Turner, in
his History of the Reign of Hemy VIII. says, that in 1538 “ it was given unblushingly to the world. This last order recites, that it
had been suspended for three years on the persuasion of some princes. Cherubini, (!23.” In order to reconcile these conflicting
statements, it may perhaps be supposed that it never was “ published at all” in England, although it may have been “ given un¬
blushingly to the world” in other countries.
748 ENGLAND.
History, protect it, nay, that does not rigorously punish its infrac-
tion, must be guilty of a violation of the first duties of
just rulers. The common feelings of human nature have
applied to it the epithets of sacred and inviolable. Pro¬
perty varies in the extent of the powers which it confers,
according to the various laws of different states. Its du¬
ration, its descent, its acquisition, its alienation, depend
solely upon these laws. Hut all laws consider what is
held or transmitted agreeably to their rules as alike pos¬
sessing the character of inviolable sacredness. There may
be, and there is, property for a term of years, for life, or
for ever. It may be absolute as to the exercise of the
proprietor’s rights, or it may be conditional, or, in other
words, held only as long as certain conditions are per¬
formed. There are specimens of all these sorts of pro¬
perty in the codes of most civilized nations. But in all
these cases the essence of property is preserved, which
consists in such a share or kind of power as the laws con¬
fer. The advantages may be extremely unequal. The
inviolable right must, by the force of the terms, continue
perfectly equal.
“ The legal limits of the authority of the supreme le¬
gislature are not a reasonable object of inquiry, nor in¬
deed an intelligible form of expression. But to conclude
that, because the law may in some cases be said to create
property, the law is to be deemed on that account as en¬
titled rightfully to take it away, is a proposition founded
on a gross confusion of two very distinguishable concep¬
tions. It uses the word property in the premises for a
system of rules, and in the conclusion for a portion of
external nature, of which the dominion is acquired by the
observance of these rules. It is only in the first of these
senses that property can be truly called the creature of
law. In the second sense it is acquired or transmitted,
not by law, but by the acts of a man, when the acts are
conformable to legal rules. It is impossible within our
present limits to canvass the small or apparent objections
which may occur to this scheme of reasoning. It is suf¬
ficient, perhaps, here to remark, that these are the gene¬
rally acknowledged principles, and that deviations from
them in practice are no more than partial irregularities,
to w hich the disturbing forces of passion and interest ex¬
pose human society.
“ The clergy, though for brevity sometimes called a cor¬
poration, were rather an order in the state composed of
many corporations. Their share of the national wealth
was immense, consisting of land devised by pious men,
and of a tenth part of the produce of the soil set apart by
the customary law of Europe, for the support of the pa¬
rochial clergy. Each clergyifian had only in this case an
estate foV life, to which, during its continuance, the es¬
sential attribute of inviolable possession was as firmly an¬
nexed by law as if it had been perpetual. The corporate
body w as supposed to endure till it was abolished in some
of the forms previously and specially provided for by law.
“ For one case, however, of considerable perplexity there
was neither law nor precedent to light the w^ay. When¬
ever the supreme power deemed itself bound to change
the established church, or even materially to alter the
distribution of its revenues, a question necessarily arose
concerning the moral boundaries of legislative authority
in such cases. It was not, indeed, about a legal boun¬
dary ; for no specific limit can be assigned to its right of
exacting obedience within the national territory. The
question was, what governments could do morally and
righteously, what it is right for them to do, and what
they wTould be enjoined to do by a just superior, if such a
personage could be found among their fellow-men. At
first it may seem that the lands should be restored to the
heirs of the original grantor. But no provision for such a
reversion was made in the grant; no expectation of its Histon
occurrence was entertained by their descendants; no ha- '^’yxi
bit or plan of life had been formed on the probability of
it. The grantors or founders bad left their property to
certain bodies under the guardian power of the common¬
wealth, without the reserve of any remainder to those
who, after the lapse of centuries, might prove themselves
to be their representatives. It is a case not very dissimi¬
lar to that of an individual who died without discoverable
heirs, and whose property for that reason falls to the state.
It appeared, therefore, meet and righteous that in this
new case, after the expiration of the estates for life, the
property granted for a purpose no longer deemed good or
the best, should be applied by the legislature ^o other
purposes which they considered as better. But the sa¬
credness of the life estates is an essential condition of the
justice of such measures. No man thinks an annuity for
life less inviolable during his life, than a portion of land
granted to him and to his heirs for ever. That estate
might, indeed, be forfeited by a misperformance of duty ;
but perfect good faith is in such a case more indispen¬
sable than in most others. Fraud can convey no title;
false pretences justify no acts. There were gross abuses
in the monasteries; but it was not for their offences that
the monastic communities fell. The most commendable
application of their revenues would have been to purposes
as like those for which they were granted as the changes
in religious opinion would allow. These were religious
instruction and learned education. Some faint efforts
were made to apply part to the foundation of new bishop¬
rics ; but this was only to cover the profusion with which
the produce of rapine was lavished on courtiers and noble¬
men, to purchase their support of the confiscations, and
to ensure their zeal and that of their descendants against
the restoration of popery.
“ It is a melancholy truth, and may be considered by
some as a considerable objection to the principles which
have been thus shortly expounded, that if in ‘the seizure
of abbey lands’ the life estates had been spared, the monks,
who were the main stay of papal despotism, and the most
deadly foes of all reform, would have had arms in their
hands which might have rendered them irresistible. It
must perhaps be acknowledged, that it was more neces¬
sary to the security of Henry’s partial reformation to strip
the monasteries at that moment, than to dissolve commu¬
nities which a better regulation might in future reconcile
to the hew system.
“ We are assured by Sir Thomas More, ‘ that in all
the time while he was conversant with the court, of all
the nobility of this land he found no more than seven
that thought it right or reasonable to take away their pos¬
sessions from the clergy.’ So inconsiderable was the ori¬
ginal number of those who, not many years after, accom¬
plished an immense revolution in property.
“ To which it must be answered, that the observance
of justice is more necessary than security for any institu¬
tion ; that many regulations might have stood instead of
one deed of rapine; that the milder expedients would
have provoked fewer and more reconcilable enemies; that
if, on the whole, they afford less security, the legislature
were at least bound to try all means before they who were
appointed to be the guardians of right set the example of
so great a wrong. Rulers qan never render so lasting a
service to a people as by the example, in a time of dan¬
ger, of justice to formidable enemies, and of mercy to ob¬
noxious delinquents. These are glorious examples, for
which much is to be hazarded.”
Henry had now so far separated himself from the
communion of Rome, that it became in some measure
necessary for him to concoct a creed of his own. _ The
ENGLAND.
istory. clergy vvere divided into two factions, denominated the
men of the old and the new learning. The chief of the
former was Gardiner bishop of Winchester, who was
supported by Lee archbishop of York; Stokesty bishop
of London, Tunstall of Durham, and Clarke of Bath and
Wells. The latter acknowledged as leaders, Cranmer
archbishop of Canterbury, Haxton of Sarum, Latimer of
Worcester, and Fox of Hereford. These could depend
on the powerful interest of Cromwell the vicar-general,
and of Audley the lord chancellor; those on that of the
duke of Norfolk, and of Wriothesley the premier-secre¬
tary. Various long debates took place upon the new
creed, but it was neither completed nor sufficiently fenced
round with suitable penalties, till an act was passed by the
parliament, which sat in April 1539, entitled “ an act for
abolishing diversity of opinions.” This convocation was
opened by the chancellor informing the House of Lords
that it was his majesty’s earnest desire to extirpate from
his kingdom all diversity of opinions with regard to reli¬
gion; and as this enterprise was, he owned, difficult and
important, he desired them to choose a committee from
amongst themselves, who might frame certain articles, and
communicate these afterwards to parliament. The lords
named the vicar-general Cromwell, now created a peer;
the Archbishops of Canterbury and York; and the Bishops
of Durham, Carlisle, Worcester, Bath and Wells, Bangor,
and Ely. But this small committee itself was agitated
with such diversity of opinions that it could come to no
conclusion. The Duke of Norfolk then moved, that since
there was no hope of having a report from the committee,
the articles of faith proposed to be established should be
reduced to six, and a new committee be appointed to
frame an act respecting them. As this peer was under¬
stood to speak the king’s mind, his motion was imme¬
diately complied with ; and, after a short prorogation, the
bill of the six articles was introduced, and, having passed
the two houses, received the king’s assent. By this law
the doctrine of the real presence was established, the
communion in one kind, the perpetual obligation of vows
of chastity, the utility of private masses, the celibacy of
the clergy, and, lastly, the necessity of auricular confession.
The denial of the real presence was punishable with death
by fire, and the same forfeiture as in cases of treason, and
admitted not the privilege of abjuring; an unheard of cruel¬
ty, unknown even to the inquisition itself. The denial of
any of the other articles, even though afterwards recanted,
was punishable by the forfeiture of goods and chattels,
and imprisonment during the king’s pleasure. An obsti¬
nate adherence to error, or a relapse, was adjudged to be
felony, and subjected the delinquent to death. The mar¬
riage of priests was punished in the same manner. Their
commerce with women was, for the first offence, forfeiture
and imprisonment; and for the second, death. Abstain¬
ing from confession, and from receiving the eucharist at
the accustomed times, subjected the person to fine, and
■ to imprisonment during the king’s pleasure; and if the
criminal persevered after conviction, he was to suffer death
and forfeiture, as in cases of felony. Commissioners were
to be appointed by the king for inquiring into these he¬
resies and irregular practices, and the criminals were to
be tried by a jury.
Henry had now been a widower for above two years. In
1537 Jane Seymour, his third queen, had born bim a son,
afterwards Edward VI.; but she herself expired in less
than a fortnight afterwards. The king afterwards made
proposals of marriage to several foreign princesses, and
others, without success. Under these repeated disappoint¬
ments, he readily listened to the suggestions of Cromwell,
who proposed to him Anne, sister of the Duke of Cleves,
a considerable prince on the Lower llhine, who had lately
749
established Lutheranism in his principality. This choice History,
showed the leaning of his secretary’s mind, and the pro-
gress of men in general towards reformation. Henry had
seen a painting by Holbein of this lady. The artist
had invested her with fictitious charms, which captivated
the sensual monarch, and inspired him with such eager¬
ness to behold her, that he proceeded to Dover, where
she was to disembark, his mind no doubt swelling with
pleasing anticipations. But he was miserably disappoint¬
ed, and could not conceal his chagrin. She was indeed
of the standard dimensions, being large and tall as his
heart could desire; for stature had now become an in¬
dispensable qualification in the individual who should as¬
pire to gain the affections of the king of England. With¬
out entering into the disgusting particulars connected with
his marriage with Anne of Cleves, it is sufficient to state
that the nuptials were solemnized, and that the lady was
treated, not as a wife, but as a friend. The distress of
Henry was great, and at last drew the attention of the
House of Lords to the subject on the 6th of July 1540.
These obsequious peers entreated him to make inquiry
into the validity of his marriage with the Lady Anne of
Cleves; and the Commons having concurred with them,
the king granted their prayer. Of course this drama was
all arranged, and the characters cast, some days before
the meeting of parliament. The convocation appointed to
examine into the matter declared the marriage to be null
by the consent of Lady Anne herself, which was insured
by the grant of an income of L.3000 annually; and the
lady, it would appear, lived comfortably on her annuity for
sixteen years in England. The bill for the nullity was
passed by both houses, and received the royal assent on
the 24th of July 1540. About a fortnight afterwards
the king married his fourth wife, Catherine Howard, niece
to the Duke of Norfolk. But let us look back upon the
fate of Cromwell, who was instrumental in procuring the
former union. It was indispensably necessary that the
revolutions which took place in Henry VIII.’s palace and
bed should in some way or another be marked with blood.
The arrest, condemnation, and execution of Cromwell, is
another of those cruel and tyrannical measures which have
entailed accumulated odium upon the name of Henry VIII.
A bill to attaint the vicar-general of high treason was
brought into parliament in June 1540 ; and before the end
of the month it had passed through both houses. He
was charged with heresy because he had favoured the
new doctrines, and with treason because he had perform¬
ed several acts of royal authority without the warrant of
the king. Cromwell was condemned unheard, and exe¬
cuted in about a month afterwards. This was an act of
gross injustice, but it was far from being unpopular. The
nobility were glad to be rid of an individual who had
raised himself from the shop of a fuller to the highest
offices of state ; and the Roman Catholic party, who were
the most numerous, and had regained much of their as¬
cendency, rejoiced at the fall of one who was the active
conductor of that system of confiscation which struck
such a blow at their power in England. In that busi¬
ness he certainly must have connived at much rapine and
robbery, which it was out of his power to prevent. He
has also been charged with Machiavelian policy ; but
there is no satisfactory evidence that he was unfaithful
to his sovereign. Like Wolsey, he seems to have served
his king more faithfully than his God; and it is remark¬
able that he fell into his own snare, having repeatedly
shown the example of attainder without trial.
At this period the act of the six articles was in the fullest
vigour of its cruelty; and many iniquitous executions took
place. One of the most horrid of these was that of Court¬
ney marquis of Exeter, with Lord Montague and Sii Ed-
ENGLAND.
"50
History, ward Nevil. They were descended from Edward IV., and
this seems to have constituted their only crime. Towards
the close of 1538 they were first arrested and committed
to the Tower; and shortly afterwards the Countess Mar¬
garet, the mother of the Poles, was also taken into custody.
Exeter was charged with the offence of having conspired
to raise Reginald Pole to the throne. This individual,
best known as a cardinal, was the son of the above-named
lady, who was daughter of the Duke of Clarence. Her
son’s life was principally passed in Italy, where he was
much celebrated for his talents; and Henry appears to
have been proud of him, for he munificently discharged
his expenses. Their friendship, however, terminated with
the king’s divorce from Catherine, which the English mo¬
narch vainly besought Pole to sanction. The revenge of
Henry, who seems now to have thought that without the
shedding of blood there could be no remission of offences,
fell upon the mother of the cardinal, and the last of the
Plantagenets. She was attainted of high treason, and
sent to prison, as above noticed. The noblemen commit¬
ted about the same time were soon afterwards executed;
but the lady lingered two years in confinement, and was
at last conducted to the scaffold on the 27th of May 1541,
where, to complete the horror of the transaction, from mis¬
management on the part of the executioner, her neck
was horribly mangled, and her grey hairs, clotted with
blood, fell dishevelled over her face ere the bloody act
was consummated.
To return to the domestic affairs of Henry, he had not
been many months married to Catherine Howard before
he received such information of her dissolute life before
marriage as induced him to suspect that she might still
continue it, and to cause a rigid inquiry to be made into
her conduct. There was no doubt as to her vices previ¬
ously to her union with the king ; and some acts of infide¬
lity after it were also brought home to her, but the details
are too disgusting for human feelings. Cranmer was one
of the individuals employed to communicate information
to the king; and although there is no evidence that he
was ever guilty of a malicious or vindictive act, yet he
sometimes wanted the courage to resist crimes; and the
slavish manner in which he, along with the rest of the mi¬
nisters and parliament in general, bowed to the despotic
will of the king, cannot be extenuated.
Two of Catherine’s paramours were arrested, and con¬
fessed their crimes ; and the queen herself acknowledged
her guilt previously to the marriage, but denied having
committed any act of infidelity subsequently thereto. This,
however, was not believed; and on the 14th of February
1542 she was executed in the Tower, along with Lady
Rochford, who in some way or another was implicated as
an accomplice in the guilt of the queen.
lo attaint without trial had now become fashionable;
but to punish with death that which was not made crimi¬
nal by any former statute, was altogether new. To coun¬
tenance such severities as those which had lately taken
place, it was enacted in the very bill of attainder, that
every woman about to be married to the king or his suc¬
cessors, not being a maid, should disclose her unchastity
to him, under the penalty of treason; that any person know-
mg the fact and not disclosing it, should be subject to the
lesser penalty of misprision of treason ; and that the com¬
mission of adultery by the queen or wife of the prince
should be punishable with death.
Ihese laws afforded some amusement to the people, who
now said that the king must look out for a widow, as no
reputed maid would be disposed to offer herself whilst
such a dreadful statute was suspended over her head.
This in reality took place, for on the 10th of July 1543
Henry espoused Catherine Parr, the widow of Lord Lati¬
mer, and a lady of mature age. She had read Lutheran Histor
books, and was inclined to support the doctrines of the
reformers. She even went so far as to enter into contro¬
versy with her imperious lord, who valued himself not a
little on his theological knowledge. He ordered Wriothes-
ley and Gardiner to give orders for her imprisonment,
and to prepare articles of impeachment against her. The
third Catherine had very nearly been honoured with a
place upon the list of victims which were sacrificed by
this Blue Beard of the west, but she evaded the blow by
her ingenuity and tact. During the remainder of her life,
however,^ she never again ventured to provoke the ven¬
geance of the royal polemic.
As head of the church, the attention of the king was
now principally turned to the management of its affairs.
He enforced an observance of the six articles both by
Protestants and Catholics, and any deviation from them
was punished with tyrannical severity. He was very im¬
partial in his distribution of what he called justice; and
it was not uncommon for individuals professing opposite
faiths to perish at the same stake. The Christian of
those days had a difficult part to perform; for whilst the
king renounced in one respeect the authority of the pope,
he acknowledged it in another by his adherence to the
doctrines of the church of Rome; so that it frequently
happened that those who were against the head of it
were burned, and those who were for him were hanged.
In connection with church affairs, Henry effected a further
dissolution of colleges, hospitals, and other foundations of
that nature, with the spoils of which he enriched his trea¬
sury. He also extorted from many bishops a surrender
of their chapter lands, and in this manner he succeeded in
pillaging the sees of Canterbury, of York, and of London.
Amongst the religious orders suppressed was that of the
Knights of Malta, or, more properly, St John of Jerusa¬
lem. They obstinately refused to surrender along with
the other monasteries who laid their rights at the feet of
the king, and he was compelled to have recourse to par¬
liament for the purpose of obtaining its authority for dis¬
solving the order, which was very rich, and whose spoil
was therefore precious in his sight.
For the purpose of maintaining a rigid purity in specu¬
lative principles, he nominated a commission of divines to
make out a creed for the benefit of his subjects. In con¬
nection with this appointment a circumstance occurred
which strongly marks the character of this reign, as well
as of those who composed the council of the nation. Be¬
fore the reverend conclave had made any progress in its
arduous undertaking, the parliament passed a law which
went to ratify all the tenets which the divines might esta¬
blish in accordance with the king’s consent. This clearly
shows that the individuals composing that body, as well
as the parliament, were merely ciphers, and that Henry
was the initial unit which gave them value. A small vo¬
lume was published under the title of The Institution of a
Christian Man, which was made the infallible standard of
orthodoxy. But the king’s inconsistency was as strikingly
exemplified in his religion as in his morals. A new book
was ordered to be composed, and three years were spent
before it could be brought to that desirable state of per¬
fection which the king wished. At length, however, it
came forth under the title of A necessary Doctrine and
Erudition for any Christened Man ; and in order to distin¬
guish it from the former work upon the same subject, it
was called emphatically the king’s book. It taught the
same doctrines as the preceding compilation, with the ad¬
dition of transubstantiation and the sufficiency of commu¬
nion under one kind. The new creed was generally ap¬
proved of, and all writings in opposition to it were prohi¬
bited. From the period of the publication of the “ king’s
ENGLAND.
751
Htory. book” until the accession of the next sovereign, it conti-
V'-' nued to be the only authorized standard of English ortho¬
doxy. Henry had formerly sanctioned the publication of
the Bible in English, and permission was granted to all his
subjects to peruse it. But he afterwards retracted the
liberty which he had vouchsafed them, and prohibited the
reading of the Scriptures by the lower orders of the peo¬
ple under the penalty of imprisonment. The mass book
was also examined, and some alterations were made upon it.
But to return to the political affairs of the nation ; in
the beginning of the year 1543 Henry renewed his friend¬
ship with the emperor, which had been suspended by
the divorce question. They concluded an alliance against
Francis; and on the 14th of July 1544 Henry crossed
the seas in a ship furnished with sails of cloth of gold.
The principal event of this war was the surrender of Bou¬
logne, into which the English monarch made a triumph¬
ant entry on the 18th of September. But he shortly af¬
terwards returned to England. On the 7th of June 1546
hostilities were concluded by a treaty, of which the prin¬
cipal stipulation was, that within eight years ELenry should
receive two millions of crowns, with arrears and costs,
which are enumerated; and, on payment of these sums,
Boulogne and its dependencies were to be restored to Fran¬
cis. Henry’s warlike propensities were also exercised in
reference to Scotland and Ireland ; but peace was finally
restored after both countries had suffered considerably,
especially the former. These wars, however, exhausted
the treasury of the English monarch. He was compelled
to extort money from parliament in his usual manner, and
also to depreciate the coinage of the realm, which he had
not scrupled to do before.
The cruelty of Henry continued conspicuous to the very
close of his life. Disease made dreadful ravages upon his
worn-out and unwieldy frame, so that he had to be moved
from place to place by machines contrived for the pur¬
pose ; yet even these unequivocal tokens of approaching
dissolution had no effect in subduing the vindictive spirit
or humanising the mind of the sufferer. It was in this piti¬
able state that he perpetrated an act which has become
memorable from the fame of the illustrious victim, ihis
was the execution of Henry Howard, earl of Surrey, so
justly renowned for his poetical genius. Ihere had for
some time existed a spirit of rivalry between the Sey¬
mours and the house of Floward. The Duke of Norfolk
was indignant at the ascendency of the former in the
royal favour; and his son, the Earl of Surrey, could not
forgive the Earl of Hertford, a member of the other fa¬
mily, for having superseded him in the command of the
garrison of Boulogne; he had also been heard to predi¬
cate that the time of revenge was not far distant. The
house of Howard alone stood in the way of the Seymours
in the pursuit of their aggrandisement under the approach¬
ing minority; and they accordingly employed every means
of drawing down the vengeance of the king upon their
heads. Norfolk and Surrey were accordingly committed
to the Tower on the 12th of December 1546. Surrey was
tried on the 13th of January following, on a charge of
having quartered on his shield the arms of Edward the
Confessor. He vainly defended himself with his usual elo¬
quence and spirit, and show ed that he had worn the arms
fourteen years without giving offence, and that they had
been assigned to him by a decision of the heralds. But
the fact being admitted, it was taken as sufficient evidence
that he aspired to the throne, and the jury condemned
him to suffer death. About a week after the sentence was
pronounced, this gallant and accomplished nobleman ex¬
pired upon the scaffold. Elis father was also tried and
condemned to perish in the same manner on the 29th of
January. But on the morning of the 28th the spirit of
Henry VIII. followed that of Surrey to the judgment- History,
seat; and Norfolk, after remaining in prison for several
years, was at length set at liberty.
Henry VIII. is one of the most repulsive sovereigns to
be met with in the list of English kings. There is a gross
brutality about the man, and a remorseless tyranny and
blood-thirstiness about the king, which totally obscure
any human features which his character may have pos¬
sessed. Some of his crimes are of so dark a dye, and
so peculiarly diabolical, as to make the mind shudder at
the very mention of his name. It is difficult to extend
charity to, or rank with ordinary humanity, one who could
repeatedly hurry from his arms to the scaffold those whom
he had loved and embraced with passionate tenderness, if
such language may be used in reference to any feeling
which animated the breast of such a barbarian. It w^as
after the fall of Wolsey that the prominent features of
Henry’s moral deformity fully developed themselves; and
they are such as have attached to his name a degradation
which can neither be removed nor palliated. For the good
which he was the means of doing, in sanctioning a refor¬
mation in the affairs of the church, he deserves no credit;
for it originated in a spirit of vindictive revenge, and was
perpetuated by plunder and cruelty. Henry was not des¬
titute of ability; and the esteem which we may infer he
entertained for literature, since he patronised learning, is
one of the few traits of his character which are not re¬
pulsive and odious.
Henry was succeeded by his only son Edward, a boy
of nine years of age. He was proclaimed king of England
on the 31st of January 1547, and crowned in the month
following. The most remarkable transactions ot his reign
are those connected with religion. The restraint which
Henry VIII. had laid upon the Protestants was now taken
off; and they not only maintained their doctrines openly,
but soon became the prevailing party. Henry had fixed
the majority of his son at eighteen years ol age; and, in
the mean time, appointed sixteen executors of his will, to
whom, during the minority, he entrusted the government
of the king and kingdom. But the first act of the execu¬
tors was to choose the Earl ot Hertford, afterwards Duke
of Somerset, protector of the realm; and in him was lodg¬
ed all the regal power, together with a privilege of nam¬
ing his own privy council.
The Duke of Somerset had long been numbered amongst
the secret partisans of the reformers; and, immediately
on his elevation to his high dignity, he began to express
his intention of reforming the abuses of the ancient reli¬
gion. Under his direction and that of Cranmer, therefore,
the reformation was vigorously carried forward; persecu¬
tions under the act of the six articles ceased, prisoners
were released, and exiles were recalled. Homilies were
composed by Cranmer, and ordered to be read by parish
priests to their congregations. Visitors were appointed
to inspect ecclesiastical establishments, and see that four
sermons were vearly preached against the papal authority;
that the worship of images should be denounced, and those
who were the objects of pilgrimages and offerings should
be destroyed; that the English Bible, with Erasmus’s ,
commentary on the gospels, should be placed in every
church for the use of the people; together with many
other points, which, without being very important in them¬
selves, were calculated to assure the people that the govern¬
ment was no longer neutral in matters ot religion. I he
principal person who opposed these innovations was Gar¬
diner bishop of Winchester; a man of great learning, abili¬
ties, and resolution, but one of Henry’s devoted agents in
the suit for a divorce from Catherine* his first queen*. He
made a manly and becoming resistance to these injunc¬
tions, from principles of civil liberty, as much as of ecclesi-
752 ENGLAND.
History, astical discipline. To the disgrace of their own principles,
the reformers now displayed as virulent a spirit of perse¬
cution as the Catholics had formerly done. Gardiner was
committed to the Fleet prison, where he was treated with
great severity. He was afterwards sent to the Tower;
and having continued there two years, he was command¬
ed to subscribe several articles, amongst which was one
confessing the justice of his own imprisonment. To all the
articles but this he agreed to subscribe; but that did not
give satisfaction. He was then committed to close cus¬
tody ; his books and papers were seized; all company was
denied him; and he was not even permitted the use of
writing materials. Bonner of London, more violent and
more subservient, escaped protracted imprisonment by
obsequious submission. Several bishops also screened
themselves by sacrificing a considerable share of their re¬
venues ; others were deprived of their offices ; and Tunstal
bishop of Durham, an eminent prelate, was ejected from
the privy council, in order to impress on the people by a
strong example the disinclination of the protector to the
ancient faith. In November 1547 a parliament was as¬
sembled, in which several bills were passed to promote
and enlarge the reformation. The communion was ap¬
pointed to be received in both kinds by the laity as well
as by the clergy, without condemning the usages of other
churches. Bishops were to be nominated by the king,
and process was to run in the king's name in ecclesiasti¬
cal courts. The statutes against the Lollards were re¬
pealed, as well as all the acts of Henry VIII. upon reli¬
gious matters, excepting those directed against the supre¬
macy of the pope; and other acts relating to civil affairs
were also abrogated. In the next session uniformity in
public worship was established, in which the use of the
book of common prayer, as prepared by the primate and
his brethren, was enjoined. This composition is the foun¬
dation of that which, having undergone various alterations
in sdbsequent reigns, continues in use at the present day.
By one law the observance of fast days and of Lent was
enjoined under penalties; and by another the English
clergy were emancipated from compulsory celibacy.
The rest of this reign presents little but the history of
the intrigues and cabals of courtiers. There was a war
with Scotland, which began with injustice and was con¬
ducted with inhumanity. Insurrections also took place in
Ireland, where the reformation made no progress. The
details of these transactions will be given in the articles
fecoTLAND and Iceland. Ihe protector was first op¬
posed by his own brother Admiral Sir Thomas Seymour,
who had married Catherine, Parr, the late king’s widow.
She died soon after the marriage; and the widower is
said to have then paid his addresses, to the Princess Eli¬
zabeth. liis brother the duke, who was at that time in
the north, being informed of his ambitious projects, speed-
ny returned, had him attainted of high treason, and at
last condemned and executed. The Duke of Somerset
himself, however, became unpopular, and a powerful con¬
federacy was formed against him, at the head of which
was Dudley earl of Warwick. This nobleman succeeded
in overthrowing the power of the protector, and getting
him committed to prison on the 13th pf October 1549,
whilst lie himself was installed in the office of lord high
admiral. In the month of February following Somer¬
set was released upon payment of a fne and ransom;
but towards the end of 1551 he was again sent to the
lowei, tried for high treason and felony, and condemned.
He was acquitted of the first charge, but not of the se¬
cond, as he ought to have been. ^ He suffered upon the
scaffold on the 22d of January 1552. Warwick, now duke
of Northumberland, had thus the reins of government en¬
tirely at his own disposal. Not satisfied with the office of
protector, be aimed at altering the succession, and placing Histc
the crown upon the bead of bis son. He represented to
Edward, w ho was now in a declining state of health, that
his sisters Mary and Elizabeth, w ho were appointed by
Henry’s will to succeed to the crown, in failure of direct
heirs, had both been declared illegitimate by parliament;
that the queen of Scots, his aunt, stood excluded by the
king’s will; and being also an alien, lost all right of suc¬
ceeding. The three princesses being thus excluded, the
succession naturally devolved upon the Marchioness of
Dorset, eldest daughter of the French queen, Henry’s
sister, who had married the Earl of Suffolk after her first
husband’s death. The next heir to the marchioness was
Lady Jane Grey, the wife of Northumberland’s fourth
son, Lord Guildford Dudley. The king, who was ac¬
customed to submit to the politic views of this minister,
agreed to have the succession altered, and sketched with
his own hand a draft of the new destination of the crown,
which was submitted to a council. The judges, however,
were far from acquiescing in the proposal contained in
this instrument; and they hesitated to sign it, because it
would subject those wdio bad drawn and those who had
advised it to the penalties of treason. Their hesitation
excited the rage of Northumberland, who threatened them
with bis authority, and, pronouncing them traitors, de¬
clared that he would fight in bis shirt with any man in so
just a cause as that of Lady Jane’s succession. A new
paper was drawn up, by which the judges were screened
from any consequences which might have resulted from
their signing of it. By the new patent for changing the
succession, the princesses Mary and Elizabeth were set
aside, and the crown settled upon the heirs of the Duchess
of Suffolk, who was contented to forego her own claim.
For some time the king had languished under a pul¬
monary complaint, and symptoms of an advanced stage
of consumption began to make their appearance. After
the settlement of the crown, his health visibly declined
every day, and little hopes were entertained of his reco¬
very. Ihe deathbed devotions of Edward bear testimony
to his love for bis subjects, and his zeal for what he be¬
lieved to be the purest form of Christianity. “O Lord,
save thy chosen people of England, defend this realm from
papistry, and maintain thy true religion.” Such is a spe¬
cimen of the supplications which this pious and short-lived
prince breathed forth. On the 6th of July 1553, Edward,
being then in the sixteenth year of Ins age and seventh of
his reign, breathed his last. Whilst he filled the throne
of England, no Roman Catholic had suffered death on ac¬
count of his religion. By his gentleness and docility he
was indisposed to shed blood, and, on the whole, his reign
was more free from religious persecution than any admi¬
nistration of the same length, in any great country of Eu¬
rope, since the rise of protestantism. In abilities he was
equal, probably superior, to most boys of his years; but
the flattering praises lavished upon him by his panegy¬
rists are to be received with abatements. It was ins
dying wish that Lady Jane Grey, the companion of his in¬
fancy, should be his successor.
The death of Edward was carefully concealed for two
days; but on the 8th of July the event was communicated
to the ambassadors, and the civic functionaries of London
were ordered to make preparations for the coronation of
Lady Jane Grey. The intelligence was transmitted to
Mary by her friends at court, and on the 9th she wrote a
letjer to the privy council, expostulating with them upon
their conduct; and, solemnly affirming her right, she ten¬
dered a pardon to them if they would order her immediate
proclamation. The council, however, adhered to. the in¬
terests of Jane, and both parties prepared to decide the
contest by an appeal to arms.
ENGLAND.
{istory. When Edward’s death, and her own elevation to the
throne, were announced to Lady Jane, she was thrown into
a state of great agitation. The manner in which she was
affected will be best understood from a passage in a letter
of hers which she afterwards transmitted to Mary. “ As
soon as I had, with infinite pain to my mind, understood
these things, how much I remained beside myself, stunned
and agitated, I leave to those lords to testify who saw me
fall to the ground, and who knew how grievously I wept.”
She urged the preferable claim of the princesses to inhe¬
rit; but being pressed by the authority of the judges, she
at length consented to accept of the royal dignity. She
suffered herself to be conveyed to the Tower, and on the
same day the heralds proclaimed the death of Edward
and the succession of Jane. Mary was also proclaimed at
Norwich, and it is somewhat singular that the populace
took no interest in either of the proclamations. No shouts
of applause or outward demonstrations of joy followed the
announcement of the choice of a new sovereign. Northum¬
berland was unpopular, a great part of the Protestants co¬
operated with the Catholic partisans of Mary, who were
numerous and powerful; and the protector, by his supine¬
ness, allowed them to assemble in great force at Framling-
ham Castle, in Suffolk, where the princess had fixed her
residence. Northumberland became alarmed, and although
he had assembled a considerable army, his heart failed him
when he saw the demonstrations which were made by
the people in favour of Mary. He had taken the field in
person, which was a fatal step ; for his absence afforded an
opportunity to the adherents of Mary who were in the
council to make arrangements for exalting her to the royal
dignity. It is sufficient to observe that they effected their
purpose. Mary was proclaimed, and Jane, after a ten days
reign, resigned the crown with a great deal more satisfac¬
tion than she had accepted of it. Northumberland had
been compelled to proclaim Mary at Cambridge ; but this
did not prevent him from being led a prisoner to the Tower,
which had lately been his palace.
Mary, accompanied by her sister Elizabeth, made her
triumphal entry into London on the 3d of August 1553.
Her attentions were first turned towards those who had
suffered in her cause. She released several prisoners from
the Tower, amongst whom were the aged Duke of Nor¬
folk, and her kinsman Edward Courtenay, whom she soon
afterwards created Earl of Devonshire. On the I8th of Au¬
gust the Duke of Northumberland, the Marquis of North¬
ampton, and the Earl of Warwick, were tried for high
treason; and on the following day Sir John Gates, Sir
Henry Gates, Sir Andrew Dudley, and Sir Thomas Pal¬
mer, were tried for the same offence. Of the culprits who
were condemned, three were selected for execution, North¬
umberland, Sir John Gates, and Sir Thomas Palmer, who
suffered upon the scaffold on the 22d of August.
The mind of Mary now became solicitous about the af¬
fairs of religion. All the deprived Catholic bishops were
restored. The acknowledged abilities of Gardiner soon
raised him to the post of prime minister. He early re¬
ceived the custody of the seals, and not long afterwards
he was appointed chancellor. The Protestant bishops, in
the eyes of their Roman Catholic brethren, had incurred
deprivation by marriage, or still more severe penalties by
preaching heresy. On the 2d of September Cranmer was
committed to the Tower, and on the 13th Latimer fol¬
lowed him into the same captivity. The latter, in point
of moral heroism, was the antipodes of Cranmer, who was
gentle and kind, timid and pliant. Latimer was brave,
sincere, and inflexible. As he passed through Smithfield
on his way to the Tower, he remarked, “ Smithfield has
long groaned for me.” By an early proclamation Mary
had declared that “ she could not hide her religion, but
VOL. vm.
753
that she mindeth not to compel any of her said subjects History,
thereunto, until such time as a farther order by common
consent shall be taken therein.’' The “ farther order”
did take place, although not in accordance with “ com¬
mon consent.” On the 5th of October 1553, parliament
assembled, and, in a session of nineteen days, passed only
three acts ; one for the abolition of all the treasons and
felonies of Henry VIII.; another for the restoration in blood
of Gertrude marchioness of Exeter; and a third for the
like restitution of that lady’s son, Edward Courtenay, now
Earl of Devonshire. But on the 24th of the same month,
several important acts were passed, by which the road
was paved for the re-introduction of the Roman Catholic
faith as the creed sanctioned by royalty. By these acts
Henry’s divorce was declared void, and his first marriage
pronounced valid; so that the claim of Elizabeth, on
whom the Protestants had fixed their eyes with anxious
hope, was virtually set aside. But the progress of the
revolution in religious matters was slow; and before the
perfect re-union with the Church of Rome was consum¬
mated, several' events of considerable importance took
place. Mary having been crowned at Westminster with
the usual solemnity on the last day of September 1553, it
now became the interest of the Catholic party to obtain a
suitable marriage for her. Of natives only two were pro¬
posed to her choice, both descended from the house of
York; these were Cardinal Pole, and Edward Courtenay,
the individual whom she had released from confinement.
But the Emperor Charles having heard of Mary’s intention
to choose a husband, proposed his son Don Philip. This
Spanish match was so broad and decisive a step towards
Rome, that the House of Commons took the alarm, and
presented an address to the queen, in order to dissuade
her from her purpose. She returned a haughty answer;
and on the 30th of October, having conducted the impe¬
rial minister into her private oratory, she there solemnly
called God to witness that she plighted her troth to Phi¬
lip prince of Castille. To obviate all clamour, the articles
of marriage were drawn up as favourably as possible for
the interests of England. It was agreed that though
Philip should have the title of king, the administration
should be entirely in the queen; that no foreigner should
be capable of holding any office in the kingdom, nor should
any innovation be made in the laws, the customs, and the
privileges of the people ; and that Philip should not carry
the queen abroad without her consent, or any of her chil¬
dren without the consent of the nobility. Sixty thousand
pounds a year were to be settled upon her as a jointure,
and the male issue of this marriage were to inherit Bur¬
gundy and the Low Countries as well as the crown of
England; and in the event of the death of Don Carlos,
Philip’s son by his former marriage, without any heir,, the
queen’s issue were also to inherit the rest of the Spanish
dominions.
All these concessions, however, were not sufficient to
quiet the apprehensions of the people. They were con¬
sidered merely as words of course, which might be re¬
tracted at pleasure; and the nation murmured loudly
against a transaction so dangerous to its ancient liberty
and independence. The Duke of Suffolk, a zealous Pro¬
testant, attempted to excite his tenants in Warwickshire
to revolt; but with little success. His followers were
routed by Lord Huntingdon, and he himself was betrayed
into the hands of his enemies. An insurrection was also
raised by Sir Thomas Wyatt, a Roman Catholic, at the
head of four thousand men, who set out from Kent to
London, publishing a declaration against the Spanish
match and the queen’s evil counsellors. Having advanced
as far as Southwark, he required that the queen should
put the Tower of London into his hands ; that she should
5 c
754 ENGLAND.
History- deliver four counsellors as hostages; and that, in order to
ensure the liberty of the nation, she should marry an Eng¬
lishman. But his force was still by far too inconsiderable
to support such magnificent pretensions, although it was
afterwards augmented to fifteen thousand men; and he
unluckily wasted so much time without attempting any
thing of importance, that the popular ferment entirely
subsided, his followers gradually abandoned him, and he
was at last obliged to surrender himself near Temple-Bar
to Sir Maurice Berkeley, who committed him totheTower,
where, in a short time, he was joined by the chief of the
surviving conspirators. The nobility and gentry imme¬
diately repaired to St James’s to congratulate the queen
on the suppression of the rebellion. But two were ex¬
cepted ; Courtenay duke of Devonshire, and the young
Earl of Worcester, who, on the first approach of the ene¬
my, had turned their horses’ heads and fled. On the 3d
of November 1553, Lord Guildford Dudley and Lady
Jane Grey had been convicted of high treason. Lady
Jane and her husband were both only in their seven¬
teenth year, and no time was fixed upon for their execu¬
tion ; but the revolt of Suffolk, Lady Jane’s father, proved
an incentive sufficiently strong to prevail over the slender
pity of bigots and politicians, and the sacrifice was con¬
summated.
On the 8th of February Mary signed a warrant for
their execution, and on the 12th of the same month it
was put in force. Lord Guildford Dudley had requested
an interview with his beloved wife, who, however, declin¬
ed the meeting, justly fearing that it might unfit them
for the dreadful scene through which they were about to
pass. She saw him issue through the gate of the Tower
to the scaffold ; and soon afterwards, in chancing to look
from the same window, she saw the bloody carcass, half
covered in the vehicle which bore it back from the place
where vengeance and injustice, disguised under the name
of law, had done their worst. Lord Dudley was beheaded
on Tower-Flill; but his wife, on account of her royal de¬
scent, was spared the ignominy of a public execution.
Lady Jane Grey is celebrated as exhibiting a matchless
union of beauty with genius, and learning with virtue and
piety. She astonished the learned of Europe by her ta¬
lents and accomplishments, and will be recognised by all
posterity as one of the purest and most amiable of histo¬
rical characters. Were Mary chargeable with no other
atrocity than that of putting Lady Jane to death for the
crime of a father (for it was on his account that the
daughter suffered), it were quite sufficient to cover her
memory with irremoveable degradation. “ It was a death,”
says Sir James Mackintosh, “ sufficient to honour and
dishonour an age.” Suffolk, her father, perished in the
same manner a few days afterwards. Sir Nicholas Throg¬
morton was tried, but the defence which he made was
found so good in law, that the jury acquitted him. Above
sixty others of the conspirators were condemned to the
block, amongst whom were Lord Thomas Grey the bro¬
ther of Suffolk, and Wyatt the principal mover of the re¬
bellion.
This revolt had very nearly proved fatal to the Princess
Elizabeth, who for some time had experienced harsh treat¬
ment at the hands of her sister. Mary, upon whom the
mantle of Henry VIII. had descended, felt antipathy to
her on account of the quarrel between their mothers.
This circumstance, in the mind of one whose tender mer¬
cies were cruel, was sufficient to change the milk of sis¬
terly affection into mortal venom ; and a favourable oppor¬
tunity was only necessary to make her feel its deadly ef¬
fects. Nearly a month was spent in labouring to extract
information against Elizabeth from Wyatt whilst he lay
in prison. But the unfortunate gentleman honourably
acquitted her, although he might, in all probability, have Histor
saved his own life by implicating her in the late rebellion.
At Ashridge, whither she had retired to escape the con¬
strained participation in a worship which she disapproved,
overtures had been made to her by the chiefs of the re-
volters ; but her acceptance or consent was neither shown
nor seriously alleged. Immediately after Wyatt’s discom¬
fiture, she was conducted to London in a very infirm state
of health. It was doubted whether she would reach her
destination alive; but youth and strength triumphed over
the malady with which she was affected. Courtenay earl
of Devonshire was also arrested, and committed to the
Tower. Two councils were held on the fate of Elizabeth,
and the judges were divided in their opinions as to her
guilt. Gardiner, although he professed to think Eliza¬
beth deserving of death, yet considered her confinement
at Ashridge, and Courtenay’s residence at St James’s, as
irreconcilable with a just conviction of treason. The head
and front of her offending seems to have been misprision, or
concealment of projects of revolt, which was now not a ca¬
pital crime. It was fortunate for Elizabeth that one of the
first measures of her sister, when she ascended the throne,
was to sweep away the odious heap of treasons raised up
by her father, and the punishment of misprision with death
was one of them. But Elizabeth, although absolved from
a capital charge, was nevertheless committed to the Tower;
and shortly afterwards she was put under the charge of Sir
Henry Bedingfield, keeper of Woodstock. During her stay
in the Tower, the princess had no other expectation than
that of mounting the scaffold which had been trodden long
before by her unhappy mother, at her father’s stern behest,
and on which the blood of Lady Jane Grey, the purest of
the pure, was scarcely dry. When Bedingfield came with
his soldiers to conduct her to Woodstock, she asked, with
her usual quickness and poignancy, “ Is the scaffold of
Lady Janet taken away?” A few days later, Courtenay
was transferred from the Tower to Fotheringay Castle.
The rebellion had suspended for some weeks the pro¬
ceedings relative to the queen’s marriage. But in the be¬
ginning of March the English ambassador returned from
the Continent with the ratification of the treaty; and
Philip landed at Southampton on the 19th xif July 1554,
attended by a magnificent train of Spanish grandees and
Burgundian lords. The marriage between him and Mary
was solemnized by Gardiner in his cathedral at Winches¬
ter, before crowds of noblemen from all parts of Chris¬
tendom, and with a pomp and splendour seldom surpassed.
Philip was then in the twenty-ninth year of his age, and
Mary in her thirty-eighth year. The countenance and
form of the prince were far from being disagreeable; but
the stately reserve of his Spanish manners was not calcu¬
lated to lessen the repugnance of the English people to
the union.
Soon after her marriage, Mary resolved to restore the
religious polity of the kingdom to that state in which it had
existed at the time of her birth. Accordingly, on the 12th
of November a parliament was holden for this purpose, and
a bill passed both houses “ for the restitution in blood ot
the Lord Cardinal Pole.” But a difficulty arose regarding the
abbey lands ; for it was feared that those who possessed
them in spite of the indelible claims of the church might
be called before the tribunal of the pious cardinal. How¬
ever, on the 20th of November, Pole arrived at Dover,
armed apparently with ample powers to do every thing ne¬
cessary for the reconciliation of England with the church
of Rome; and amongst these was full authority to do with
the abbey lands as he thought fit. Nine days after his
arrival, he made an oration to the two houses, exhorting
them to return to the bosom of the universal church, at
the same time absolving the kingdom from the papal in-
ENGLAND.
755
istory. terdict. The request was formally acceded to, and Pole
was enabled to announce to the pontiff the success of his
mission. In order to quiet the possessors of church pro¬
perty, the legate issued his dispensation, declaring that
they should not be molested; and a statute passed con¬
firming his sentence. By another, the acts which had
abolished the papal supremacy were repealed. This new
restoration of power to the papacy formed a sad and dark
augury for the devoted Protestants. It was the first in¬
dication that the time approached when the fires of per¬
secution were to blaze forth in every county of England,
and when heaven was to be insulted by the profanation
of its sacred name as sanctioning the foulest deeds of
blood.
An act was passed by the parliament of 1554 for the
revival of the statutes of former sovereigns against here¬
tics, and especially against Lollards ; which revival was to
take effect from the 20th of January 1555. During the
last reign, no Roman Catholic had suffered capital punish¬
ment on account of his faith, nor does there appear to
have been any kind of jurisdiction or mode of procedure for
the trial of heresy, although the law remained in full force
against anabaptists and anti-trinitarians, whose doctrines
were looked upon both by Catholics and Protestants as
sapping the very foundations of Christianity. It has been
alleged by the opponents of Protestantism, that in T/ie
Reformation of Laws, composed in the latter part of Ed¬
ward’s reign, there are indications of a preparation for
lighting the faggot against the adherents of the ancient
religion ; and as the point is of some importance, we shall
avail ourselves of the following observations by Sir James
Mackintosh, which seem to put the matter in its true light.
Referring to the allegation that severity against the ad¬
herents to Catholicism was about to be put in execution,
he says,
“ This statement is chiefly grounded on a text of that
projected code, which directs that contumacious and in¬
corrigible heretics, after all other means have been ex¬
hausted, shall be at length delivered to the civil magistrate
to be punished. It is assumed that the punishment must
be death. Yet in the very first article of the code, which
relates to atheists and unbelievers in Christianity, death
is denounced against them in express words.
“ The admission of it into another article by mere im¬
plication is therefore unreasonable. It is too terrible an
enactment to be admitted without express words. If pu¬
nishment is held to be synonymous with capital punish¬
ment, by force of this clause death must be applied to all
heresies. If it was intended to confer on the civil magis¬
trate a large discretion in the infliction of inferior punish¬
ments for the enumerated heresies, the article is perfect¬
ly agreeable to the practice of the framers and the opi¬
nions of the times. It is incredible that capital punishment
could be denounced against the whole of a long series of
heresies, of which the catalogue nearly occupies twenty
quarto pages, besides what is called a monstrous heap of
other errors, less necessary to be specified, as being less
prevalent in that age. Even admitting this unreasonable
construction of the plan for a reformed code, it affects
only the reputation of the projectors. It never was adopt¬
ed by public authority. It was not laid before parliament.
There is no reason to doubt that the Protestant parliament
would have altered the very articles in question, if, when
they were communicated to that assembly, they could be
supposed to establish or countenance a practice perfectly
at variance with that of the king and parliament of Eng¬
land in the reign of Edward VI. To hold that a few words
in a Latin manuscript, of projected but not adopted laws,
not printed till many years afterwards, could have been
the incentive of those who kindled the fires of Smithfield
under Mary, is one of the most untenable of all positions.
Truth and justice require it to be positively pronounced,
that Gardiner and Bonner cannot plead the example of
Cranmer and Latimer for the bloody persecution which
involved in its course the destruction of the Protestant
prelates. The anti-trinitarian and the anabaptist, if they
had regained power, might indeed have urged such a mi¬
tigation, but the Roman Catholic had not even the odious
excuse of retaliation.”
The year 1555 opened with gloomy forebodings for the
reformed clergy; and ere a month had expired, the lower¬
ing tempest burst upon them with unexampled fur}'.
On the 28th of January a commission, with Gardiner at
its head as lord chancellor, assembled in the church of St
Mary Overies, in Southwark, for the trial of Protestants.
From the station which this individual held, and from his
commanding talents, there appears to be little doubt that
he was instrumental in pushing forward this bloody work,
although some writers have attempted to remove this
reproach from his character. Whether he was the main
author or not, is a matter of comparatively little impor¬
tance. As lord chancellor, and as head of the commis¬
sion, he sanctioned the whole proceedings. He must there¬
fore be held responsible for the deeds of those who acted
under his authority, and suffer the lash of posterity, in
the same way as Cromwell, on whom Catholic writers
have poured out the vials of their wrath, from his having
acted as captain of the banditti who plundered the holy
places in the reign of the eighth Henry.
The first martyrs in this persecution were Hooper bishop
of Gloucester, and Rogers, a clergyman of Essex, both
eminent divines of the reformed cause. They died with
feelings of triumphant piety in the midst of suffocating
flames ; and other victims were rapidly hurried to the stake.
The principal were, Archbishop Cranmer, Ridley bishop of
London, and Latimer bishop of Worcester. (See Cran¬
mer.) These persecutions soon became odious to the
wfliole nation, and the perpetrators of them were all willing
to shift the blame from themselves upon others. Many
of the Catholic prelates, to their honour, exercised occa¬
sionally an effectual and perhaps hazardous humanity in
their favour. Gardiner himself withdrew from this un¬
availing slaughter, and his place was supplied by Bonner
bishop of London, a less scrupulous dealer in blood. Even
Philip himself was moved to pity, and discountenanced
these diabolical proceedings. To describe the sufferings
of those persons of eminence and distinction who perished,
would fatigue the patience and harrow the feelings of the
reader. For four years the persecution was carried on
with unsatiated cruelty; and, keeping out of view those
who perished in dungeons under every form of misery, and
also those who expatriated themselves, nearly three hun¬
dred individuals are calculated to have expired at the
stake. We are positively informed by Lord Burghley,
that in this number of victims are comprised no less than
one hundred women and children. The perpetrators of
these “ more than heathen cruelties” deserve no quarter
from posterity; such deeds as those laid to their charge
stamp infamy deep on their names, and hold them up to
execration now and for ever.
The other events of this reign unconnected with reli¬
gion are, with the exception of the loss of Calais, unim¬
portant. The reduction of this town had cost Edward III.
a siege of eleven months, and the English standard had
waved over its battlements for above two centuries. It
surrendered to the arms of France after a siege of only
eight days, and its loss so affected the queen, that when
lying on her deathbed she said, “ If you open me you will
find Calais written on my heart.” Philip, her husband,
appears to have treated her with formal but cold respect.
History.
756
History. He had succeeded to the greatest monarchy then in the
world, and had been some time absent from England in
superintending its affairs. He returned again, but his de¬
parture a second time left Mary to brood over her fruit¬
less barbarity alone. She had more than once enter¬
tained the nation with rumours of her pregnancy, and was
herself cheated with the illusive hopes of offspring. But
this Shiloh of the ancient faith, like that of a celebrated
dreamer of after times, was the manifestation of a deadly
disorder. She died of dropsy on the 17th of November
1558, to the unspeakable relief of the greater portion of
her subjects.
It is customary to load the name of Queen Mary with
every kind of opprobrium. But in estimating human cha¬
racter, care should always be taken to distinguish between
acts committed under the influence of religious principles,
and agreeably to conscience, however erroneous such con¬
victions may be, and those perpetrated from the sheer bru¬
tality of passion, or from an instinct of cruelty and blood¬
shed. That the atrocities of Mary belong to the former
class of crimes, we have little hesitation in saying, even
with the case of Lady Jane Grey before us. Her minis¬
ters, also, must share with her no inconsiderable portion
of the odium which is always associated with her reign,
for to their errors or prejudices much of the misery which
she caused must be ascribed.
Although in the private life of Mary there is much
to praise, yet her nature was sour and unamiable, and
almost destitute of that tenderness which peculiarly dis¬
tinguishes the female character. Whether or not she was
a tyrant like her father, she was at all events pre-eminent¬
ly fitted for becoming the tool of tyrants. She was not
remorseless, for she is reported to have suffered much on
account of her conduct towards the Protestants, but un¬
fortunately her conscience never took effect in time.
After the death of Mary, the Princess Elizabeth suc¬
ceeded to the throne without opposition. She was at Hat¬
field when the news of her sister’s death were brought to
her, and hastening to London immediately, she was receiv¬
ed there with great joy. For the preservation of her life
this princess was indebted to Philip, the husband of Mary.
The Spaniard was aware that her death would remove
the only obstacle which stood between Mary of Scotland
and the throne of England. That sovereign had been mar¬
ried to the heir-apparent of France, his great political ene¬
my ; and the balance of power which might thus be thrown
into the hands of the latter would have endangered the sta¬
bility of Philip’s throne ; a circumstance which induced him
to this unusual act of liberal humanity. The first mea¬
sure of Elizabeth was to assemble around her throne a
body of counsellors who had recommended themselves to
public notice by the power of their talents or the steadi¬
ness of their principles. Her state council was composed
of both Catholics and Protestants, although her more con¬
fidential advisers were confined to a select portion of the
latter, and amongst these was Sir William Cecil, whom she
appointed her first secretary. Precautionary measures
were taken to meet any invasion on the part of France in
order to raise Mary Queen of Scots to the throne; for
the government of that country had made demonstrations
to this effect, by instigating Rome to hostilities against
Elizabeth. Mary had left a vacant treasury, and one of
the first cares of the new administration was to obtain pe¬
cuniary supplies ; and, from the high character and popu¬
larity of the queen, these were immediately granted by
the people. Her coronation was then celebrated with all
possible splendour and festivity.
lo establish the Protestant religion was Elizabeth’s
most ardent desire. With this view the statutes passed
in the late reign for the support of the ancient faith were
D.
repealed; and the acts of Henry VIII. in derogation of Histo
the papal authority, and of his successor in favour of the
reformed church, were for the most part revived. There
were some deviations in the new book of common prayer
from the liturgy of Edward VI., but of these only two are
important. The first consists in the omission of a prayer
to be freed from the “ tyranny of the bishop of Rome
and all his detestable enormities;” which certainly display¬
ed a conciliatory spirit towards the Catholic church. The
second was an alteration of the language which spoke of
the sacrament as being only a remembrance of the death
of Christ, and the substitution of words which indicate
the real but not corporeal presence. Towards the middle
of 1559 the Protestant liturgy was introduced, and the
oath of supremacy administered. Strong opposition to it
was evinced on the part of the clergy, especially amongst
those of a dignified station; and out of sixteen bishops
only one took the oath tendered to them. But the lower
orders were less scrupulous ; and it is probable that in many
instances necessity induced them to make a compromise
with their consciences. Those of the clergy who refused
compliance with the new code of religious doctrines were
deposed, and their places supplied by professors of the
reformed religion. According to the standard of punish¬
ments which followed contumacy in these ages, the treat¬
ment of the bishops was mild. Bonner was imprisoned;
but he was a man so empurpled with blood as to be odious
to all parties. This was the highest degree of suffering
to which any of the nonconformists were subjected.
During the time that the queen and her counsellors
were thus settling the religious affairs of the nation, nego¬
tiations were carried on between England and France for
a peace, which was at last concluded on the following
terms, viz. that the French king should restore Calais at
the expiration of eight years ; that in case of failure, he
should pay five hundred thousand crowns, and Elizabeth’s
title to Calais should still remain; that for the payment
of this sum he should find the security of eight foreign
merchants, not natives of France ; and that until such se¬
curity was provided he should deliver five hostages. If
during this interval Elizabeth should break the peace
with France or Scotland, she was to forfeit all title to
Calais ; but if the French king was to make war on Eliza¬
beth, he was to be obliged to restore the fortress imme¬
diately.
The reign of Elizabeth for the first eleven years, that
is, from the twenty-fifth to the six and thirtieth year of
her life, was distinguished for the internal quiet and
happiness of the country. During this interval she dis¬
played the very best qualities of a sovereign; firmness,
prudence, vigilance, activity, and foresight. These qua¬
lities were tempered with habitual amenity, and a ration¬
al piety. By her subjects she was admired, applauded,
and imitated; and during this halcyon period her throne
received an accession of strength which enabled it to
stand unshaken amid the tumultuous storms with which
it was afterwards assailed. She was repeatedly advised
to engage in a matrimonial alliance, but uniformly declin¬
ed to do so, declaring her resolution of remaining single for
life. Amongst her suitors were various foreign princes,
Catholic as well as Protestant; and some of her own
subjects even presumed to intrude their offers upon her
“ maiden meditation,” but without success. During the
religious war which raged in France, Elizabeth, ever ar¬
dent in the cause of the reformation, assisted the Hugue¬
nots with arms and money.
In the mean time the pretensions of Mary, queen of
Scotland, to the crown of England, involved Elizabeth in
transactions which have left a stain upon her name. Mary,
who was espoused to the dauphin of France, had quartered
E N G L A N
ENGLAND. 757
[istory. the arms of England with those of France and Scotland
kW upon her escutcheon; and to this she was advised by the
Catholics, who looked upon Elizabeth as a usurper, having
been illegitimised in her youth by the cruel mandate of her
father at the time when he consigned her mother to the
block. The result of this appropriation of the armorial
bearings of the English sovereign was a quarrel between
the two princes, which only terminated with the execu¬
tion of the unfortunate queen of Scotland. See the ar¬
ticles Mary and Scotland.
In 1569 Elizabeth was excommunicated by Pope Pius
V. These anathemas, by absolving subjects from the
oath and the duty of allegiance, and suspending the of¬
fices of religion, and even those of humanity, were some¬
times most disastrous to a country, upon which they de¬
scended like a deadly epidemic. But the majority of the
queen’s subjects were of the same religion with herself,
and had thrown off the papal yoke; so that it was in the
present instance productive of no other effect than the
publication of a severe act against all who held any com¬
munication with the bishop of Rome. Severe measures
were also taken with the puritans and other dissenters.
At this time the English nation was divided into three
theological and political parties ; the Churchmen, who con¬
sidered the ecclesiastical revolution as already perfect;
the Puritans, who sought further reformation by agitating
the minds of the people ; and the Catholics, who, support¬
ed by the great continental powers, did not yet despair of
seating their religion upon the throne. But men of all
these persuasions united in their abhorrence of anabap¬
tists ; and, in order to extirpate them, the fires of Smith-
field were, after an interval of seventeen years, re-kindled.
Fox the celebrated martyrologist dared to interfere in
behalf of this hated sect; but his courageous humanity
obtained for them only a temporary respite. Two men
were burned, and numbers were imprisoned or otherwise
corporally punished. These events took place about the
middle of the year 1575, and this was the first blood spilt
by Elizabeth on account of religion ; it, however, forms a
dark stain upon her government, which may be pronoun¬
ced mild when compared with others of the same period.
The blood of Henry VIII. was not yet sufficiently purified
in this its first descent from the fountain-head.
Amongst the other domestic events connected with the
history of England, was that of the rebellion of Percy
earl of Northumberland, and Neville earl of Westmore¬
land. This revolt partook both of a civil and of a reli¬
gious character, for the noblemen at its head were ad¬
herents of the ancient faith, and were encouraged to em¬
bark in their lawless enterprise by the Catholic states. But
on the approach of the royal troops under Sussex, the in¬
surgents broke up and fled. Northumberland was made
prisoner in Scotland, and executed at York; and West¬
moreland died in Flanders, in the humble capacity of com¬
mandant of a Spanish regiment. Other treasonable trans¬
actions originated with the Duke of Norfolk, whose vault¬
ing ambition aspired to the hand of Mary queen of Scots.
Indeed he and the two insurgents just named, together
with several other nobles, united in a conspiracy against
Elizabeth. The timely arrest of Norfolk, however, dis¬
concerted the confederacy, of which the northern rising
was merely a premature explosion. Mary of Scotland is
positively asserted to have been a participator in the plot.
Norfolk was brought to trial; and there seems little doubt
that he had incurred the penalties of treason, by having
had intercourse with Catholic princes who had undertaken
to land in England with a hostile army, and by his clan¬
destine renewal of negotiations for the delivery and espou- History,
sal of Mary, at that time a prisoner in the hands of Eliza- '
beth. He was condemned to death, and executed, after
a great deal of hesitation on the part of the queen.
England now began to distinguish herself in her na¬
tural career of maritime enterprise. Amongst the most
distinguished of the nautical adventurers of this age was
Sir Francis Drake, whose exploits will be found related
under the article Drake. A vague rumour had for some
time pervaded Europe, of vast naval preparations by the
king of Spain, for the invasion and conquest of England.
In 1587 Sir Francis Drake having been dispatched with a
fleet to attack the Spanish ships which lay in the bay of
Cadiz, was completely successful in his enterprise, burn¬
ing and destroying above one hundred vessels laden with
ammunition and naval stores. The fruits of his expedi¬
tion were of vast importance. Philip’s preparations were
disturbed, and his project of invasion put off for twelve
months, during which period Elizabeth had time to make
head against the storm which was gathering in that quar¬
ter. These were the obvious results of Drake’s bravery;
but who can estimate the moral effect which it had pro¬
duced? It gave a heroic impulse to the nation, and in¬
spired it with confidence in its own strength and resour¬
ces. It taught English seamen to look without terror
upon the towering bulk of the Spanish vessels; whilst the
Spaniards themselves must have in a proportional degree
lost the confidence of having an advantage over the enemy
by means of their floating castles.
The king of Spain having once more completed his com¬
plement of vessels, manned them with the ablest seamen
and soldiers, under the command of the most renowned
leaders. This Armada was truly imposing and magnifi¬
cent ; it was baptized The Invincible, but not with English
blood. Never before had the ocean borne a more splen¬
did fleet than that which sailed from the Tagus on the
25th of May 1588. The ships and their equipments had
been fitted out in every port of its king’s dominions. In
Flanders, the forest of Waes had been felled; the dock¬
yards of Antwerp, Dunkirk, Newport, and Gravelines
swarmed with artificers; and the rivers and canals were
covered with boats adapted for the transport of soldiers
destined to serve in the expedition. On the 20th of May
the following enumeration of the vessels was made : “ The
general sum was 130 ships, of 57,868. tons ; 19,295 sol¬
diers and 8450 mariners, with 2088 slaves, and 2630
great pieces of cannon of all sorts; also twenty caravals
for the service of the others, with ten salvers of six oars a
piece.” Towards the end of June another armament of
eighty sail left Lisbon to join them.1 To meet this over¬
whelming armament the royal navy of England mustered
181 ships, containing between seventeen and eighteen
thousand seamen. There were only eight ships above
five hundred tons burden, and the largest was only eleven
hundred. The aggregate burden of the whole English
fleet amounted to 31,985 tons, being little more than one
half of that of the Spaniards. The preparations made
on land displayed equal spirit and enthusiasm. A loyal
patriotism and active magnanimity pervaded the whole
kingdom. The city of London set a noble example. The
lord-mayor, in the name of the metropolis, put at the
disposal of his sovereign ten thousand soldiers and thirty
vessels. The whole nation emulated this wise liberality;
and every city, town, and hamlet poured forth its ardent
patriots to take their stand upon the coast and repel the
insulting invader. About fifty thousand men under the
command of Earl Hunsdon, a brave and able general,
1 Strype, p. 538-9, from the Spanish book, which rather styled the whole “ Felicissima Armada.’
758 E N G I
History, guarded the queen's person. The Thames at Tilbury was
watched by Leicester with a considerable force. Sir Wal¬
ter Raleigh was stationed at Portland Castle, in Dorset¬
shire, and the Earl of Sussex at Portsmouth. In the other
parts of the country the wisest measures of defensive war¬
fare were adopted. At sea one division of the fleet under
Lord Henry Seymour guarded the narrow seas ; whilst the
main body under Lord Charles Howard, the high admiral,
was stationed in the Western Ocean. The gallant Sir
Francis Drake and the able navigators Hawkins and Fro¬
bisher were in this division.
Under the Duke of Medina Sidonia, the Spanish Armada
set sail for the invasion of England. It was for some time
retarded by a tempest, which also harassed the English
fleet; and news were brought to the queen of England
that Medina’s Armada had been so injured and scattered
that the expedition was for the present abandoned. The
English ships withdrew to various ports, where they
might have been surprised and burned, had not intelli¬
gence accidentally arrived that the Spanish fleet was bear¬
ing down full sail upon the coast. On the 20th of July
the English admirals came in sight of the enemy, and next
day the first engagement took place. The plan of Lord
Howard was to evade a direct attack ; for his vessels being
so much inferior in bulk and weight of metal to the enemy’s
ships, were incapable of grappling in close action with
them ; but being superior in mobility and expedition, he
resolved to annoy their rear, and to cut off the sluggish
sailers. In the first attack neither fleet suffered much.
Early in the morning of the 23d the second conflict began,
and both fleets fought with valour; but the advantage was
at last on the side of the English, over v/hose smaller ves¬
sels the iron shower from the higher sides of the Spanish
ships flew harmless, whilst their own took full effect. On
the 24th a pause took place in the battle, which was, how¬
ever, renewed next day; but the mighty armament forced
its way unbroken to the vicinity of Calais. They were now
prepared to act in concert with the Duke of Parma, who
had completed his preparations. He possessed in the
harbours of Newport and Dunkirk transports which car¬
ried about twenty-eight thousand men, and which wait¬
ed the general’s command to make the grand attempt.
The concentration of the Spanish Armada off Calais sug¬
gested to the English admiral the idea of employing fire¬
ships to destroy it. Eight vessels were thereupon hastily
prepared for this purpose, and during the night of the 29th,
which was cloudy and boisterous, they were sent down
blazing with combustible materials into the heart of the
Spanish fleet. A cry of horror burst from the Spaniards,
and, seized with an irresistible panic, they cut their cables
with the intention of standing out to sea. But in their
terror and confusion they inflicted severe injury upon one
another; and, to augment their distress, a fierce gale sprung
up, which scattered the Armada along the coast from Os-
tend to Calais. Some struck on the shallows at Flanders,
whilst others beat out to sea ; the remainder, amounting to
about forty sail, were assailed by Drake and the rest of the
English fleet. I his was the most severe engagement which
had yet taken place, and was maintained with great bra¬
very for a whole day. The Spaniards lost several of their
best ships; and after vainly endeavouring to regain their
position in the narrow strait, where Parma could alone
join them, they resolved to return to Spain by making a
circuit round Great Britain. The want of ammunition
compelled the English to refrain from pursuing the in¬
vaders at a time when they might have annihilated them.
But this was reserved for an enemy even more formidable
than that before which they fled. A storm overtook them
on their unfortunate voyage, and the coasts of Scotland and
Ireland were strewed with the wrecks of the Invincible
AND.
Armada, so that only a feeble remnant of that splendid Histoi
fleet reached the shore from whence it had sailed, in all
the pomp and circumstance of war, as if to an assured tri¬
umph.
The events of Elizabeth’s reign which followed the dis¬
comfiture of the Spanish attempt to invade England may
be briefly related. The Earl of Leicester, who had for a
long time maintained an enviable place in the queen’s fa¬
vour, was invested with fresh honours. A new and un¬
precedented office was created for him, that of lord lieu¬
tenant of England and Ireland, which exalted him to an
authority only a little lower than that of sovereignty. But
the ink was scarcely dry upon the warrant which wanted
but the royal signature to complete the triumph of the fa¬
vourite, when he was cut off by a violent disease, which,
whether it arose from natural causes, or from poison being
administered, at all events speedily terminated his career.
Of this nobleman little need be said. He is one of a nu¬
merous class of historical characters who possess a degree
of notoriety, not on account of any brilliant endowments
which they themselves possessed, but from their proximi¬
ty to or connection with distinguished personages. He
possessed no intellectual or moral qualities which, de¬
prived of adventitious aid, would have thrown him into
the foreground of his country’s history ; whilst, if we listen
to the opinion of his contemporaries, he must be looked
upon as dissolute and unprincipled, notwithstanding his
affectation of piety. He is asateliite only conspicuous from
the light which is reflected upon him by his sovereign.
The English navy, emboldened by its late triumph, now
made several very successful descents upon the Spanish
coast, not so much for the purpose of obtaining perma¬
nent conquest, as of harassing the enemy. These expe¬
ditions were conducted by the most able commanders,
amongst whom were some of the brightest names in the
history of maritime discovery and enterprise, such as those
of Raleigh, Drake, Cavendish, Hawkins, and Howard. It
was then that the English navy assumed the empire of
the sea, which it has ever since maintained with triumph¬
ant heroism.
On the death of Leicester, the young Earl of Essex
succeeded him as prime favourite of the queen. But
the desire of glory or the hope of plunder induced this
volatile young nobleman to join the armament preparing
to sail for Spain. The expedition was unfortunate, and
when Essex returned to England, he found two rival can¬
didates for royal favour, Sir Walter Raleigh and Sir
Charles Blount. By the superior influence of these no¬
blemen, the former was driven to cultivate a portion of
land which had been granted to him in Ireland; and with
the latter Essex fought a duel, in which he was wounded.
But by the queen’s command they were reconciled to
each other, and in process of time they became sincere
and attached friends.
In the year 1596, a new expedition was fitted out for
Spain, which was completely successful. The Spanish
fleet was defeated, and lost thirteen men-of-war. Cadiz
was taken, and its defences, which rendered the town the
strongest fortress in the country, were razed to the ground.
This was the severest blow which the king of -Spain re¬
ceived from his daring enemy subsequent to the repulse of
the Armada. Matters might have been still worse with him
had not dissension sprung up amongst the English com¬
manders, the majority of whom, against the suggestion of
Essex, who was one of the leaders, declared for an imme¬
diate return to England. The town, with the exception
of the churches, was reduced to ashes; and the troops,
taking with them the most valuable portion of the plun¬
der, re-embarked, and the fleet returned to Plymouth in less
than ten weeks after it had set sail. Essex, on his arri-
ENGLAND.
; tistics. val in England, was compelled to appear before the queen
in council, and answer to several charges connected with
the late enterprise. These charges merely related to
pecuniary matters, and the favourite was acquitted; but
this was the commencement of numerous subsequent
quarrels which he had with his sovereign, none of which
are important to history except the last. Having been
appointed lord deputy of Ireland, he suddenly left his
command in that country and returned to England. He
was committed a prisoner, and called upon to account for
his extraordinary conduct. The queen, however, was un¬
willing to carry matters too far against her favourite. He
was allowed to go about as a prisoner on parole; but this
high-spirited and aspiring nobleman could not remain con¬
tent with the humiliating circumstances to which he was
now reduced. He attempted to excite the city of London
to revolt against the queen’s authority; but the rebel was
taken prisoner, tried for high treason, condemned, and exe¬
cuted. This proved a severe blow to Elizabeth, who was
now tottering upon the brink of the grave. She had been
all her life subject to fits of indisposition, which were
occasionally violent; but it was not till the beginning of
March 1603 that her mortal illness came on. Her mind
became depressed with gloomy recollections, especially
those connected with the shedding of Essex’s blood ; and
her nervous melancholy and general decline increased,
accompanied by symptoms which indicated a disease of
the heart, and by a laboured and convulsive respiration.
She was questioned by her confidential advisers as to her
successor, and signified her desire that the king of Scot¬
land should succeed to the throne. Her speech soon
afterwards failed entirely, and all hope of her recovery
vanished. She tranquilly breathed her last, about three
hours after midnight, on the 21th of March 1603, in the
sixty-seventh year of her age and forty-fifth of her reign.
In the opinion of her contemporaries, whose judgment
has been ratified by posterity, Elizabeth ranks amongst
the greatest and the most fortunate of English sove-
759
reigns. The domestic tranquillity which signalized her Statistics,
rule during nearly half a century; her triumphant re-
pulse of the Spanish monarch, and the severe retaliation
which she inflicted upon that lord of empires ; the spirit
displayed by her navy in its numerous warlike expedi¬
tions by sea, and also by her army on land, are indica¬
tions of uncommon vigour on the part of the sovereign,
and of sagacity on that of her counsellors. She found
England comparatively inferior to other nations of Europe,
but she left it amongst the proudest and the most powerful.
It was during her reign and that of her successor, that
the human intellect sprung up at once to full maturity,
and produced those works which are the peculiar glory of
English literature. Hers was the Augustan age of poetry,
the age of Spenser, Shakspeare, and others; and during
her reign Bacon began to put forth those gigantic ener¬
gies of mind which were destined to change the whole as¬
pect of science, and even the condition of man as a civi¬
lized being. The human failings ascribed to Elizabeth
are, excessive vanity, love of popularity which is part of
it, parsimony, and a leaning towards despotism. But those
whose interest it has been to vaunt the glory of her sis¬
ter’s reign, and the purity of her life, have not failed to
charge Elizabeth with great personal depravity; yet if we
discredit every defamatory story which can be clearly
traced to her enemies, the imputations will not have much
weight, or attach any grave stigma to her name.1 She is
not, however, free from the stain of blood, the shedding
of which cannot be justified, however it may be palliated
by taking into account the circumstances of the times, and
the critical situation in which she stood; but in this re¬
spect her conduct is almost purity itself compared either
with that of her sister or of her father. For an account
of the private life and literary character of this great queen,
see the article Elizabeth. »
She was succeeded by James the Sixth of Scotland and
First of England. From that period, the history of the
countries is given under the article Britain.
PART II.
STATISTICS.
I.—Situation, Extent, Face of the Country, Soil, and
Climate.
Nation England, the southern, and by far the most fertile divi-
'*ex- sion of Britain, corresponds in latitude with Holland and
the north of Germany, extending from 50° to 55° 4iy N.
Its figure is nearly triangular, and its extent of coast is
very great, both from being much indented, and from the
sea bounding it on all sides except along a width of seven¬
ty miles on the Scottish border. The adjacent seas are
the German Ocean on the east, St George’s Channel on
the west, and the English Channel on the south. No
country can be more fortunately situated; its climate is
temperate ; its extent is sufficient for its political security ;
whilst its insular position not only presents the greatest
capabilities of aggrandisement in a commercial sense, but
has, by rendering a great military force unnecessary, in
all probability been the chief cause of preventing the exe¬
cutive branch from usurping absolute power, as in the
countries of the Continent.
Its superficial extent had long been a question of con¬
siderable doubt, and the different estimates varied no less
than ten millions of acres. Mr Pitt, on the authority of
Arthur Young, assumed, in 1798, the superficial extent of
England and Wales to be nearly 47,000,000 of acres; a
later calculation by Dr Beeke, approaching more to accu¬
racy than any. preceding one, fixed it at 38,500,000 acres ;z
but, according to Arrowsmith’s map, which, as it is prin¬
cipally founded on the trigonometrical survey, cannot in¬
volve any material error, the area of England and Wales
amounts to 57,960 square miles of 69Y5 to the degree, or
to 37,094,400 imperial acres. This is the measure that
is now adopted in all the parliamentary reports.
England is, in general, a level country. In the north, Face of the
Westmoreland, and a considerable part of Cumberland,country.
Lancashire, and Yorkshire, are mountainous ; but most of
the other counties present a succession rather of pictu¬
resque eminences than of great elevations, forming a strik¬
ing contrast to the barren ridges of the northern part of
the island, and still more to the abrupt and awful scenery
of Switzerland or the south of Germany. The highest
mountains of England are in the north-west, where there
are several exceeding 3000 feet in height; of these, the
most noted, if not the highest, is Skiddaw. Between Lan-
1 See Turner’s Elizabeth, vol. iv. p. 5G4.
2 Observations on the Produce of the Income Tax, &c. 1800.
760
ENGLAND.
Statistics, cashire and Yorkshire there is a range of nearly equal al-
v—titude; in Shropshire there are various hills; also in So¬
merset, Devon, and Cornwall, none of which, however,
reaches the height of2000 feet. There is a long hilly range
which traverses the southern counties, in a line nearly due
east and west from Dorsetshire to Kent; and another that
stretches in a north-east direction fromWiltshire to the East
Riding of Yorkshire; but both are of inconsiderable ele¬
vation. The traveller who proceeds northward from Lon¬
don to York meets very few hills, and hardly one moun¬
tain, in a distance of 200 miles. To the east of this road,
the country, particularly Cambridgeshire, Lincolnshire,
and part of the East Riding of Yorkshire, is almost en¬
tirely level, and bears a great resemblance to Holland;
consisting of fens apparently gained in a very remote age
from the sea. In Wales the face of the country is alto¬
gether different, being mountainous throughout, and some
of the hills, in particular Snowdon and Cader Idris, at¬
taining a height nearly 3600 feet above the level of the
sea.
Sea-coast. The sea-coast of England presents a very different as¬
pect in different situations; in some quarters, as in Corn¬
wall, Kent, part of Norfolk, and Wales, it is steep and
elevated; in other parts it is low, sandy, or marshy; ex¬
hibiting, oh the whole, a variety which hardly admits of
being brought under a uniform description, and which,
though partaking much more of a level than rugged cha¬
racter, still differs greatly from the opposite shore of Flan¬
ders, Holland, and Friesland, which is one continued flat
for more than 300 miles.
Rivers. Of the rivers of England, the largest are the Thames,
the Severn, and the Trent. The Thames has no preten¬
sions to romantic effect in any part of its course, nor is its
body of fresh water large; but it is navigable for more
than 120 miles, and, in the approach to London from the
Nore, presents to the admiring spectator a prospect which,
whether we consider the quantity of shipping, the thick¬
ening population, or the high state of improvement of its
banks, is wholly without parallel. The Severn, though
not equal to the Tay in quantity of fresh water, is supe¬
rior to the Thames, and during the first part of its course
preserves the characteristics of a mountain stream, being
clear, and at times bordered by picturesque scenery; but
on leaving Wales, and entering a more level country, it
assumes a different aspect, and becomes a full slow-flow¬
ing river, admitting of easy navigation, and facilitating
greatly the commerce of Shropshire, Worcestershire, and
Gloucestershire. Towards its mouth it receives the Wye,
a large navigable river from Wales. The Trent rises in
Staffordshire, and after a course, often tortuous, but gene¬
rally in a north-east direction, falls into the Humber, which
soon after becomes a broad estuary. The Mersey, as a
river, is of no great importance, but as an arm of the sea
it affords, from the west, a very capacious inlet to the
trade of Liverpool, and facilitates the conveyance of the
produce of the interior. The Tyne is a large stream,
having Newcastle on its banks, and Shields near its mouth.
The Medway, as a fresh-water river, is small and slug¬
gish, but acquires, by the influx of the tide, such a depth
of water at Chatham as to adapt it to the reception of
the largest men of war. Speaking generally, it is only the
rivers of Wales, Westmoreland, Cumberland, and a few
mountainous districts, that are rapid or transparent; the
great majority of English rivers, particularly in the east¬
ern and central part of the kingdom, are slow in their
course, and owe the degree of beauty which they possess,
less to the effect of the water or scenery, than to the
high cultivation and elegant disposition of the adjacent Statistics
grounds. '-'V'w
A similar remark applies to the lakes of England. No-Lakes and
thing can exceed the beauty of Winandermere, Keswick,forests,
and Ulleswater; whilst the unvaried and uninteresting col¬
lections of water, such as Whittleseameer, and others in
the fen district, are to be compared only to those in North
Holland or Friesland. In regard to wood, England is very
well provided, without having many of those extensive
forests which are met with on the Continent upon great
mountain ranges, such as on the Jura ridge between
France and Switzerland, and the Suabian Alps upon the
Upper Rhine. It is in private plantations of limited ex¬
tent, but of very frequent occurrence, and sometimes of
great beauty, that the chief stock of English timber is to
be found. Several very extensive tracts, such as the New
Forest in Hampshire, the Forest of Dean in Gloucester¬
shire, and Sherwood in Nottinghamshire, belong to the
crown.
The soil of England is suited to a great variety of pro-Soil and
ducts; but it has not the exuberant fertility of southern produce,
climates, much labour and vigilance being requisite to
obtain from it a grateful return. The quantity of mois¬
ture makes it admirably adapted for pasture; a characte¬
ristic which does not particularly strike those whose tra¬
vels have never extended beyond their own country, but
is of the highest importance in the view of those who
have visited the Continent, and have witnessed the parch¬
ed and arid state of the richest plains in the months of
autumn. In regard to husbandry, it happens, by a singu¬
lar coincidence, that in England, as in Scotland, the best
is practised in the east part of the island, particularly in
Norfolk and Northumberland. As to mineral treasures,
the eastern counties of England, to the south of Yorkshire,
are remarkable for containing no mines either of coal or
of metal: these valuable deposits are to be sought in the
more uneven districts of the north and west, viz. in North¬
umberland, Durham, Westmoreland, Lancashire, Shropr
shire, Worcestershire, Devon, and Cornwall, in Wales,
and in the midland counties of Warwick, Stafford, and
Derby. In the east, particularly in Lincoln and Cam¬
bridgeshire, vast improvements have been made in the
present age by draining; but there are still the means of
making further and valuable acquisitions. Much also re¬
mains to be done in bringing into culture extensive heaths
and moorlands in almost every county in the kingdom.
The soil of these is in general poor, but the tillage requir¬
ed would seldom be obstructed, as in many parts of Scot¬
land, by the ruggedness of the surface. Comparing the
soil of England with that of the adjacent countries, we
find it greatly superior to that of Scotland, except along
our eastern coast; it is perhaps better also than that of
Ireland, fertile as the latter naturally is; nor needs it, on
the whole, dread a comparison even with the soil of France,
where, amidst districts of great beauty and luxuriance,
the eye of the traveller is often struck with extensive
tracts of heath or marsh.
The following table exhibits the area of each county
in England and Wales, in acres and square miles, accord¬
ing to Arrowsmith’s map. It also gives an estimate, of
the extent of the arable, meadow, and pasture land in each
county; 2d/y, of the waste land in each capable of being
converted into arable, meadow, and pasture; and, Mly, of
the extent of surface in each susceptible of cultivation,
or of conversion into meadow or pasture, consisting of
unimprovable mountain and moor, lakes, rivers, roads,
canals, woods, fences, &c.
ENGLAND,
761
ENGLAND.
Counties.
Total Area in
Square Miles.
Bedford 
Berks  
Buckingham  
Cambridge  
Cheshire 
Cornwall 
Cumberland 
Derby 
Devon 
Dorset 
Durham 
Essex 
Gloucester 
Hants 
Hereford 
Hertford 
Huntingdon 
Kent 
Lancashire 
Leicester 
Lincoln 
Middlesex 
Monmouth 
Norfolk 
Northampton 
Northumberland.
Nottingham 
Oxford 
Rutland 
Salop 
Somerset 
Stafford 
Suffolk 
Surrey  
Sussex  
Warwick 
"Westmoreland...
Wilts 
Worcester  
Yorkshire  
Anglesey  
Brecknock....
Cardigan 
Carmarthen..
Carnarvon....
Denbigh 
Flint 
Glamorgan...
Merioneth ...
Montgomery.
Pembroke....
Radnor 
Total Area in
Statute Acres.
463
756
740
858
1,052
1,327
1,478
1,026
2,579
1,005
1,061
1,532
1,256
860
528
370
1,537
1,831
804
2,748
282
498
2,092
1,017
1,871
837
752
149
1,341
1,642
1,628
1,148
1,512
758
1,463
902
763
729
5,961
50,535
Acres.
296.320
483.840
473,600
549.120
673.280
849.280
945.920
656,640
1,650,560
643,200
679,040
980.480
803.840
1,041,920
550,400
337.920
236,800
983.680
1,171,840
514.560
1,758,720
180.480
318.720
1,338,880
650,880
1,197,440
535.680
481.280
95,360
858,240
1,050,880
734.720
967.680
485.120
936.320
577.280
488.320
882.560
466.560
3,815,040
Arable Mea¬
dow and
Pasture Land.
32,342,400
Acres.
248,000
380,000
440,000
500,000
594,000
550,000
670,000
500,000
1,200,000
573,000
500,000
900,000
750,000
900,000
495,000
310,000
220,000
900,000
850,000
480,000
1,465,000
155,000
270,000
1,180,000
555,000
900,000
470,000
403,000
89,000
790,000
900,000
560,000
820,000
400,000
625,000
510,000
180,000
500,000
400,000
2,500,000
Waste Land
capable of be¬
coming Arable
or Pasture.
25,632,000
Acres.
31,000
75,000
5,000
17,000
40,000
190,000
150,000
100,000
300,000
25,000
100,000
10,000
6,000
80,000
24,000
8,000
3,000
20,000
200,000
5,000
180,000
17,000
30,000
78,000
50,000
160,000
28,000
50,000
1,000
20,000
88,000
85,000
88,000
50,000
170,000
30,000
110,000
200,000
30,000
600,000
3,454,000
Surface inca¬
pable of be¬
coming Arable
or Pasture.
WALES.
271
754
675
974
544
633
244
792
663
839
610
426
7,425
173,440
482,560
432,000
623,360
348.160
405,120
156.160
506,880
424,320
536,960
390,400
272,640
4,752,000
150,000
300,000
245,000
342,000
160,000
360,000
130,000
305,000
350,000
240,000
300,000
235,000
3,117,000
10,000
80,000
80,000
60,000
60,000
20,000
10,000
60,000
20,000
100,000
20,000
10,000
530,000
ENGLAND AND WALES.
Totals  57,960 37,094,400 28,749,000 3,984,000 4,361,400
Acres.
17.320
28.840
28,600
32.120
39.280
109,280
125,920
56,640
150.560
45,200
79,040
70,480
47.840
61.920
31,400
19.920
13,800
63.680
121,840
29.560
113,720
8,480
18.720
80,880
45.880
137,440
37.680
28.280
5,360
48,240
62.880
89.720
59.680
35.120
141.320
37,280
198.320
182.560
36.560
715,040
3,256,400
13,440
102,560
107,000
221,360
128,160
25,120
16,160
141,880
54,320
196,960
70,400
27,640
1,105,000
This table, originally given in the Report of the Committee of the House of Commons on Emigration, was compiled by Mr
Couling, civil engineer. It can of course only be regarded as an approximation ; but as Mr Couling has bestowed great attention
to the subject, we do not suppose that it involves any material error.
VOL. VIII. ' 5 D
ENGLAND.
762
Statistics. The climate of England is that of an insular country of
limited extent, subject in consequence to rain, and exempt
Climate. from intensity of either heat or cold. Compared with the
adjacent countries, it is less humid than Ireland, which,
like Portugal, in a different latitude, is the first land to in¬
tercept the vapours of the Atlantic; but, on the other
hand, the climate of England is less dry than the opposite
shores of Holland and Germany, to which every wind but
the west arrives across a tract of continent. The climate
of the south of England resembles much that of the op¬
posite coast of Brittany, Normandy, and Flanders ; whilst
that of the north is very similar to the temperature of
Denmark, which, like the north of England, is a narrow
country inclosed on either side by the sea. In regard to
the relative degrees of heat or cold, if England have not so
much summer warmth as continental countries on the same
parallel, she generally escapes in winter that intensity of
frost, which in less than forty-eight hours of easterly
wind so frequently seals up their harbours. On the other
hand, our weather is much more variable than in the in¬
land part of the Continent, and our sky is less clear; still
it by no means follows that the balance of disadvantage is
on our side. The moderate heat and frequent returns of
rain preserve throughout the year that verdant pasture
which in autumn the Continent enjoys only in its maritime
districts; whilst those droughts in spring, which are so
noxious in the south of France and in similar latitudes of
the Continent, are hardly known among us. In point of
salubrity, also, we may fairly stand a comparison with
our neighbours; for, variable as is our atmosphere, no
country perhaps exhibits a larger proportion of examples
of longevity.
There exists, however, a considerable difference in the
climate of different parts of England. The west, exposed
to the Atlantic, and containing hills and mountains which
intercept the clouds, is much more rainy than the east,
where the aspect of the country is level, and the expanse
of adjacent water much less considerable. Another and
equally remarkable difference arises from latitude, the
season being a fortnight or three weeks later in the north
than in the south of England. Notwithstanding all the
skill of the Northumbrian farmers, the traveller who leaves
the harvest finished in the south of England in the first
week of September, and who sees the corn cut, if not car¬
ried, in the midland counties, will generally find it, in the
middle of that month, untouched and standing in most
parts of the country to the northward of York. In win¬
ter this difference in the temperature of the north and
south of England is less perceptible. As to the spring
months, March is proverbially raw and cold, from the pre¬
valence of easterly winds, particularly in that part of the
kingdom adjacent to the German Ocean. April is in ge¬
neral wet and favourable to vegetation ; but May, though
a pleasant month, can hardly be said with us to bring
more “ indulgent skies.” It is in June, July, and August,
that our climate assumes a more settled aspect; whilst, at
the same time, the power of taking exercise on almost any
day is indicative of a very gratifying advantage over the sul¬
try atmosphere of our southern neighbours on the Conti¬
nent. November, though frequently wet and foggy, is only
a prelude to winter ; even December does not often bring
intense frost, which is commonly reserved for January;
and during the last twenty years we have been repeat¬
edly without any frost of consequence, or heavy falls of
snow, until a considerable time after the days had length¬
ened.
Variations During the six winter months from October to March,
of tempera, mean temperature of the central part of England is
ture. commonly between 42° and 43° of Fahrenheit. In De¬
cember, January, and February, it is generally below 40°;
in July and August 62° to 65°. The variations of tem- Statistic
perature within the space of twenty-four hours are felt V-,’Y>
most strongly in the equinoctial months, March and Sep¬
tember. In these there is often a difference of 18° or
20° between the day and the night, whilst in the summer
months this difference seldom exceeds 12° or 15°, and in
December or January is only from 6° to 8°. The mean
annual temperature, noon and night, of the central part
of England, is about 50°. The greatest summer heat sel¬
dom exceeds 80°, and the cold of December or January
is rarely below 20° or 25°. In mild situations in Devon¬
shire and Cornwall, the winter temperature is 2°, 3°, 4°,
and even 5° higher than in London. Penzance is the
spot in England least visited by severe cold ; and it is con¬
sequently much recommended in pulmonary cases.
Of rain, the largest proportion falls in the north-west of
England, particularly in Westmoreland and Lancashire,
owing to the neighbourhood of the sea and the height of
the mountains. There the average quantity is found to
be forty-five, fifty, and, in some situations, sixty inches,
whilst the average of the kingdom at large is from thirty
to forty inches.
The prevalent winds in England are west and south- Prevailii
west. Our outward-bound merchantmen are often de-winds.
tained, from the want of a northerly or easterly wind; but
it rarely happens that our homeward bound are kept beat¬
ing in the channel by the want of a westerly breeze. In
these respects, also, the case is the same on the opposite
shores of the Continent; the Dutch and French outward-
bound vessels often experiencing detention from the con¬
tinuance of westerly winds.
II.—Divisions, Civil and Ecclesiastical.
The civil divisions of England are those of counties,
hundreds, and parishes. The county divisions, like seve¬
ral of our national improvements, date from the reign
of Alfred, and, though subsequently increased by the ac¬
quisition of the three northern counties from the Scotch,
have not, in other respects, experienced much alteration
since his time.
The twelve counties of Wales added to the forty coun- Civil div
ties of England, make a total of fifty-two. The name ofsions.
“ county corporate” is given to most of the cities of Eng¬
land, and to some of the towns; and this distinction, little
attended to by the public, and seldom mentioned but in
law papers, implies that the district in question is governed
by its own sheriffs and other magistrates, to the exclusion
of the officers of the county at large.
The division into hundreds must have originated in refe¬
rence to the existing population, and consequently implied
a district containing either a hundred able-bodied men or
a hundred families. As population increased very differ¬
ently in different situations, great inequality ensued in re¬
gard to these divisions; and, in the reign of Henry VIII.,
many of the larger hundreds were partitioned into smaller
districts. Hundreds were further subdivided in the time
of Alfred into tithings, or associations of ten men, for the
purpose of mutual defence. But both these subdivisions
were unknown in the northern counties, from their not
having been subject to the Saxon legislator: the latter,
on their subsequent annexation to the crown of England,
were divided into “ wards” and “ wapentakes;” terms
sufficiently expressive of the warlike character ol the age,
and of the exposed situation of a frontier province.
The ecclesiastical division of England is into two arch-j;cciesia!
bishoprics and twenty-four bishoprics. The archbishop- tical div
ric or “ province” of York, though by much the smaller sions.
of the two, comprises Northumberland, Durham, West¬
moreland, Cumberland, Cheshire, Lancashire, the chief
ENGL
Statistics, part of Yorkshire, and the Isle of Man ; and Canterbury
-'-Y'*"'' extends over all the rest of the kingdom, including even
Jersey and Guernsey. The bishoprics are very different
in extent of jurisdiction, as well as in annual emolument.
The third and most familiar of the ecclesiastical divisions
of England is into parishes. This mode of division seems
to have existed from a very remote period, and to have
continued during the last five centuries on the same foot¬
ing, with very slight variation, as at present. The total
number of parishes in England and Wales is 10,674.
III.—Harbours, Roads, Canals, Bridges.
larbours. Portsmouth, Milford Haven, and Plymouth, are the
finest harbours in England, and are surpassed by few if
any in the world. Of these, Portsmouth is entitled to the
pre-eminence. This noble harbour is about as wide at its
mouth as the Thames is’fct Westminster Bridge, expanding
within into a capacious basin, almost sufficient to contain
the whole navy of Great Britain. Its entrance is unob¬
structed by any bar or shallow; and it has throughout
water adequate to float the largest man-of-war at the low¬
est tides. The anchorage ground is excellent, and it is
entirely free from.sunken rocks, sand-banks, or any simi¬
lar obstructions. The western side of the harbour is form¬
ed by the island of Portsea; and on its south-western ex¬
tremity, at the entrance to the harbour, is situated the
town of Portsmouth, and its large and important suburb
of Portsea. Here are docks and other establishments for
the building, repair, and outfit of ships of war, construct¬
ed upon a very large scale, and furnished with every con-
veniency.
Portsmouth harbour has the additional and important
advantage of opening into the celebrated road of Spit-
head, lying between the Hampshire coast and the Isle of
Wight, and forming a safe and convenient retreat for the
largest fleets.
Milford Haven deeply indents the southern part of Pem¬
brokeshire. It is of great extent, and has within it many
bays, creeks, and roads. The water is deep and the an¬
chorage ground excellent; and being completely land¬
locked, ships lie as safely in it as if they were in dock.
Plymouth, which,after Portsmouth, is the principal naval
depot of England, has an admirable double harbour. The
roadstead in Plymouth Sound has recently been much
improved by the construction, at a vast expense, of a stu¬
pendous breakwater more than 1700 yards in length.
This bulwark protects the ships lying inside from the ef¬
fects of the heavy swell thrown into the Sound by south¬
erly and south-easterly winds.
London stands at the head of the river ports of Great Bri¬
tain. Considering the limited course of the Thames, there
is probably no river that is navigable for large ships to so
great a distance from the sea, or whose mouth is less ob¬
structed by banks. London is mainly indebted for the un¬
rivalled magnitude of her commerce to her favourable si¬
tuation on this noble river; which not only gives her all
the advantages of an excellent port, accessible at all times
to the largest ships, but renders her the emporium of the
extensive, rich, and populous country comprised in the
basin of the Thames.
The Mersey, now the second commercial river in the
empire, is more incommoded with banks than the Thames,
and is in all respects inferior, as a channel of navigation,
to the latter. Still, however, it gives to Liverpool
very great advantages; and the new channel which has
recently been discovered in the banks promises to be of
much importance in facilitating the access to and from
the port.
Bristol and Hull are both river ports. Owing to the
AND. 763
extraordinary rise of the tide in the Bristol Channel, the Statistics,
former is accessible even to the largest ships. The Hum-
ber is a good deal impeded by banks; but it also is navi¬
gable as far as Hull by very large vessels. The Tyne ad¬
mits vessels of very considerable burden as far as New¬
castle, which, next to London, is the most important ship¬
ping port in the empire.
It was not until after 1660 that the public took an ac-Roads,
tive part in regard to the highways. Turnpikes were at
that time placed on the great North Road, in the counties
of Hertford, Huntingdon, and Cambridge; but it was not
till after the peace of 1748 that adequate exertions were
made to redeem our public roads from their wretched con¬
dition. After 1760 the increasing price of agricultural pro¬
duce, and the general spirit of improvement, had the most
beneficial operation in this respect; and in the fourteen
years from that time to 1774, no less than 452 acts were
passed for the amelioration of our roads. It was then
also that our inland navigation assumed an aspect of acti¬
vity. The Bridgewater and Trent Canals were commenced;
yet the number of canal acts which passed between 1760
and 1774 was only nineteen. The American ~war inter¬
fered considerably with public improvement; and it is
only from the date of its cessation that we enter upon
an active and prosperous era.
The total length of paved streets and paved roads in
England and Wales may be taken, according to a parlia¬
mentary return in 1818, at about 20,000 miles; the total
length of all other roads at nearly 96,000 miles. In France
the highways are under the care of government, and are
kept in repair out of the general taxes, without any tolls
or turnpike dues; in England they are managed by the
respective counties, represented by commissioners, and
no part of the expense comes out of the public treasury.
It is defrayed partly by local imposts, partly by dues le¬
vied ; and the local impost is discharged either by labour
or by composition money, thus:
The value of labour in kind (on an average of
the years ending October 1812, 1813, and
1814) was L.535,423
The average amount of composition money.... 278,506
The average amount of dues or rents levied 601,954
Annual average of the expenditure on the
roads of England and Whales L.1,415,883
being at the rate of nearly L.12. 6s. 8d. per mile. In the
Highlands of Scotland, where the travelling is so much
less, one third of this allowance is sufficient for the annual
repair of the roads.
The canals of England are extremely numerous; in fact, Canals,
no country except Holland can enter into competition with
us in this respect. Amongst the principal are the Grand
Junction, advancing from London above 100 miles into
the midland counties; the Grand Trunk, extending from
the Severn northward into Staffordshire, a distance of 139
miles; the Liverpool and Leeds, extending 130 miles ; the
Oxford, ninety-one miles. To proceed with the enumera¬
tion would be almost endless; suffice it to observe, that the
English canals are of moderate size, being from twenty-five
to thirty, thirty-five, and forty feet in width, and, in ge¬
neral, from five to six feet in depth ; the barges navigating
them are very long, frequently seventy or eighty feet, on
a width of ten, twelve, or fourteen feet; but in many cases
their dimensions, at least their width, are necessarily
smaller, the less frequented canals being narrower than
those we have mentioned. Could the application of steam
to navigation have been foreseen, the canals of England
would probably have been made wider. For full details
with respect to the canals of England, and the recent
improvements in their construction, and in travelling by
ENGLAND.
764
Statistics, them, the reader is referred to the article Navigation
Inland.
Bridges. The principal bridges in the kingdom are the six erect¬
ed across the Thames at London, three of which have been
opened since 1817. Of these, two, the Southwark and
Vauxhall, are of cast iron, the one being of three very
large arches, and the other of nine arches, each of seven-
ty-eight feet span. The first example of an iron bridge on
a large scale, either in England or any other country, was
that erected in 1796 at Wearmouth in Durham, the span
of which was 240 feet. In the same year was finished at
Buildwas, near Colebrook Dale, over the Severn, an iron
bridge of 130 feet in span. See article Bridge, in this
work.
improvements which have been made during the last sixty Statist!
or seventy years in stock husbandry. But the indirect
influence of the augmented demand for butchers’ meat
has been equally conspicuous, and has proved of the ut¬
most advantage to arable husbandry, inasmuch as it
caused a corresponding increase in the demand for green
food, that is, for turnips, clover, &c. This did incompa¬
rably more than anything else to introduce that intermix¬
ture of green and culmiferous crops which is so essential
to good husbandry ; and it was the real cause of the great¬
est of all agricultural improvements, namely, the substi¬
tution of turnips for fallows on all light lands. This has
increased the productive power of the soil in a degree not
easy to be conceived ; and, coupled with the frequent sub¬
stitution of beans for naked fallows on stiff clay lands, has
in all probability more than doubled the available raw pro¬
duce of the kingdom.
For a lengthened series of years England exported large
quantities of corn. But notwithstanding the vast additions
made to the supplies of corn by the improvements allud¬
ed to, the still greater increase of wealth and population,
after occasioning, first a diminution, and next a cessation
of exportation, has for many years past made the balance
incline on the side of importation. It has been supposed
by some that this change was owing to the alterations ef¬
fected in the laws with respect to the importation of corn
in 1772; but we have elsewhere shown that there is no
room or ground for any such opinion. (See Corn Laws
and Corn Trade.) There cannot, indeed, be the sha¬
dow of a doubt that our having changed from being an
exporting to an importing country, is entirely owing to the
demand having shot a head of the supply, in despite of the
wonderful increase of the latter. If doubt should remain
in the mind of any one as to this being the real cause of
the change, it would be removed by attending to the pro¬
gress of the inclosure bills. The first act for effecting
an inclosure was passed in the reign of Charles II. Since
the revolution the progress has been as follows •
Number of Number of
Acts passed. Acres inclosed.
In Queen Anne’s reign 2 1,439
In George I.’s reign 16 17,660
In George II.’s reign 226 318,778
In George lil.’s reign to 1797...1532 2,804,197
According to this statement, taken from the report of
the committee on waste lands, it appears that each in¬
closure act passed during that period of the reign of
George III. which terminated with 1797, inclosed at an
average 1830 acres. Now it appears from the official re¬
turns, that from 1798 to 1833 both inclusive, 2103 inclo¬
sure acts had been passed; and supposing each to have
inclosed, as before, 1830 acres, the total would amount
to 3,848,490 acres, making, when added to the quantity
inclosed previous^ to 1798, an aggregate of no less than
6,652,687 acres inclosed since 1760. But as it seems
probable that the earlier acts would apply to a larger
extent of land than the later ones, we may perhaps esti¬
mate the total extent of land inclosed and divided by act
of parliament from 1760 to 1833 at from 5,500,000 to
5,800,000 acres. And it may be safely affirmed, that in
consequence of its inclosure, the produce of this immense
extent of land has been increased at least from four to five
fold.
As might be expected, a decidedly greater number of
inclosure acts were passed in 1802, and during the five
years ending with 1814, when prices were enormously
high, than in any other equal period of time.
IV.—Agriculture.
Of the state of English agriculture in former ages we
can form some idea from a reference to the acts of the
legislature. In these we find, at a very early date, the
traces of that policy which expects abundance and cheap¬
ness to result from discouraging the exportation of corn.
No permission to export seems to have been granted till
1394, and then only on the payment of certain duties ; in
1436 some additional latitude was given, and exportation
was allowed when the quarter of wheat did not exceed a
price corresponding to nearly 13s. of our present money.
The reign of Elizabeth was the epoch of a great rise in the
prices of Corn, originating, not, as was vulgarly asserted,
in the “ decay of tillage,” but in the sudden depreciation
of money, produced (as has been explained in the article
Corn Laws) partly by degradation of the coin, and part¬
ly by the influx of silver from the mines of America. The
complaints of the “ decay of tillage,” if they express any
thing more than the ordinary discontent of the ignorant
part of the consumers, are to be accounted for by the
gradual consolidation of small farms, and by inclosing land
for pasture, with a view to the exportation of wool. In these
days, however, government participated in the prejudices
of the people ; and the general purport of the acts pass¬
ed under Elizabeth and her successors was to shackle ex¬
portation and prevent a rise of price. It was not till the
reign of Charles II. (1670) that the exportation of corn
was exempted from taxation ; and it is from 1689 that we
are to date that fundamental change in our corn laws
which encouraged exportation by a bounty.
Clover, turnips, and potatoes were introduced into Eng¬
land in the seventeenth century. In the Improver Improv¬
ed, published by Blythe in 1649, we find the first traces of
what may be termed the modern system of husbandry;
that is, of a rotation of crops, and of the occasional sub¬
stitution of green for culmiferous crops. But the prac¬
tice, though thus early introduced, and though it lies at
the foundation of all good husbandry, made but little
progress for a very long period. The writings and the
example of the famous Jethro Tull, in the early part of
last century, notwithstanding he carried his theory to an
excess, did much to introduce the practice of drilling,
and had a very favourable influence on agriculture. No¬
thing, however, did half so much to accelerate the march
of improvement, as the wonderful increase of manufactures
and commerce, and consequently of the town population,
subsequently to the peace of Paris in 1763. The greater
number, and still more the improved circumstances, of the
people, occasioned, in particular, a very great increase in
the demand for butchers’ meat. And it is to this circum¬
stance that we are mainly indebted for the extraordinary
ENGLAND.
765
tatistics. Account of the Number of Inclosure Acts passed, and of the
average Price of Wheat, in England and Wales, each
Year from 1798 to 1833, both inclusive.
Years.
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
Acts.
52
65
63
80
122
96
104
52
71
76
91
92
122
107
133
119
120
81
47
34
46
44
40
36
15
13
19
23
20
22
17
25
20
10
10
15
Price of Wheat per
Quarter.
'
L
2
3
5
5
3
2
3
4
3
3
3
4
5
4
6
5
3
3
3 15 10
4 14 9
4 4
3 13
7
16
4
13
4
8
18
16
0
6
4
6
10
7
13
18
7
16
0
7
19
13
19
15
6
14
5
8
14
4
2 18
d.
3
6
7
3
5
6
1
10
0
3
0
7
2
6
5
9
0
4
1
0
11
2
7
5
0
7
9
9
5
3
3
4
8
The principal crops cultivated in England and Wales
are wheat, oats and beans, barley and rye, turnips and
potatoes, with clover, hops, flax, &c. It is to be regretted Statistics,
that no estimate has been formed on which much reliance
can be placed, either of the extent of land under different 9roPs cu^*
crops, or of the average product per acre. Mr Middle-
ton, in his Survey of Middlesex (vol. ii. p. 640), estimated
the whole land under tillage in England and Wales at der culti-
12,000,000 acres; and Mr Comber, in his Treatise owvation.
National Subsistence (p. 52), estimated it at 11,591,000
acres. We incline to think that these estimates are not
very wide of the mark as to the number of acres ; but in
both, the extent of land under wheat seems to be mate¬
rially underrated, whilst that under fallow seems to be
equally exaggerated. The following may, we believe, be
regarded as a pretty fair estimate of the extent of land
under the different species of crops, and in fallow, in Eng¬
land and Wales, on an average of the last half dozen years.
Acres.
Wheat 3,800,000
Barley and rye 900,000
Oats and beans 3,000,000
Clover 1,300,000
Roots (turnips, potatoes, &c.) 1,200,000
Hops, gardens of all sorts, &c 150,000
Fallow 1,650,000
12,000,000
In 1800 a committee of the House of Lords was ap- Quantity
pointed to inquire into the causes of the scarcity which then and value
prevailed. Under the directions of this committee the0* ^P5-
board of agriculture circulated queries, and investigated
with considerable minuteness the subject of the average
productiveness of the different species of crops in the dif¬
ferent countries of Great Britain. The result of these in¬
quiries are given in the appendix to the Report of the Com¬
mittee ; and from these it appears that the average pro¬
duce of wheat throughout England and Wales may be
taken at from two and a half to three quarters (Winches¬
ter measure) per acre, barley at four quarters per ditto,
oats four and a half, peas two and a half, beans three and
a half, and potatoes at 250 bushels. We have, however,
been assured that the wheat culture has since been so
much improved, that making due allowance for the greater
quantities produced in the best wheat counties, as Kent
and Essex, the average produce may be safely reckoned
at three quarters an acre; and taking these results, and
the average prices of the last ten or twelve years, we get
the quantity and value of the principal crops as follows :
Crops.
Acres.
Produce
per Acre.
Quarters.
Total Produce.
Quarters.
Price per
Quarter.
Value.
Wheat 
Barley and rye.
Oats and beans.
Roots 
Clover  
3,800,000
900,000
3,000,000
1,200,000 (
1,300,000J
3
4
41
£5 5 0)
per acre. J
Totals,.
11,400,000
3,600,000
13,500,000
60
30
25
28,500,000
L.
34,200,000
5,400,000
16,875,000
13,125,000
69,600,000
The oats and beans are here blended together and rec¬
koned at the price of oats; whereas beans are about 10s.
a quarter higher. Allowing for this, the two may be worth
together L.17,500 000. The grounds occupied as gardens,
hop-plantations, &c. may produce, at an average, about
L.15 an acre, or L.2,250,000 a year; making the total
value of the different crops raised in England and Wales
L.72,475,000.
Attempts have frequently been made to estimate the Expense
expenses attending the cultivation of land at different pe-of cultiva-
riods; but we have not seen any statement of the sort on don.
which we should be disposed to place much reliance. A
good deal of the expense is of a very fluctuating nature,
depending on the prices of grain and stock, the rate of
wages, amount of capital employed and interest thereon,
rent, public burdens, &c. It may probably be considered.
766
ENGLAND.
Statistics, and taking all things into account, that the expenses of
cultivation in England and Wales are at this moment
about thirty per cent, higher than in 1792.
Cattle and Owing to the improvements in the breed and in the
sheep, &c. feeding of cattle, the weight of those now annually slaugh¬
tered has increased from a third to a half above what it is
stated by Dr Davenant to have been at the beginning of
last century. Various discordant estimates have been
formed of the number of cattle in England and Wales;
but the best authorities seem to think that they may
amount to 4,000,000 or 4,500,000.
Horses. Horses are of course far less numerous than cattle, and
are proved by the tax returns not to exceed 1,400,000
or 1,500,000. (See M‘Culloch’s Commercial Dictionary,
art. Horses.')
Sheep. According to the elaborate tables of Mr Luccock, re¬
vised by Mr Hubbard, there appears to be in England
and Wales nearly 15,000,000 of short, and rather more
than 4,000,000 of long woolled sheep, with about 7,000,000
lambs. The weight and value of the fleece varies very
much according to breed, keep, &c. But, at an ave¬
rage, the weight of the fleeces of short-woolled sheep may
be taken at from three to four pounds, and those of the
long-woolled at from seven to nine pounds. The total
quantity of wool annually produced in England and Wales
is estimated by the same gentlemen at 385,000 packs, of
240 pounds each. Merinos were introduced about the
beginning of the present century, and were imported in
large numbers after our alliance with Spain in 1809. Opi¬
nions differ in regard to their utility, the carcass not hav¬
ing answered so well as the fleece. Considerable advan¬
tage, however, has been derived from crossing them with
our own breeds, and further experience may lead to more
beneficial results.
The great pasturage counties are Leicester, Northamp¬
ton, Lincoln, and Somerset. Of the counties producing
butter and cheese, the principal are Cheshire, Glouces¬
tershire, and Wiltshire. But notwithstanding the im¬
mense supplies of these articles produced at home, the
demand is such, that at an average we import about
130,000 cwts. a year of foreign butter, and about an equal
quantity of cheese, principally from Holland. The ave¬
rage annual infportation of Irish butter into England can¬
not be precisely ascertained; but in 1825 it amounted to
425,000 cwts. and may now (1834) be taken at 500,000.
Produce of The produce of grass-lands may be determined in two
grass-lands, ways ; either by ascertaining the quantity and value of the
different articles annually produced, or by taking a gene¬
ral rough average value per acre. The former would be
the most satisfactory mode ; but the details are too nume¬
rous and too loose to admit of their being put forward
with much confidence. We believe, however, that the
annual value of the various products derived from pas¬
ture-land may be estimated, on an average, at about
L.3.10s. an acre ; being equivalent, upon 17,000,000 acres,
to L.59,500,000.
This sum of L.59,500,000 consists, probably, of the fol¬
lowing items :—
Cattle 1,000,000, at L.20 each..., L.20,000,000
Calves 200,000, at L.3 600,000
Sheep and lambs 6,800,000, at L.l. 10s 10,200,000
Wool (exclusive of slaughtered sheep) 338,000
packs, at L.l2 4,056,000
Hogs and pigs 450,000, at L.L 10s 675,000
Horses 200,000, full grown, annually produced 3,000,000
Poultry, eggs, rabbits, &c 1,000,000
Meadow and grass for work and pleasure horses 10,000,000
Dairy produce, or milk, butter, and cheese 9,969,000
L.59,500,000
The total annual value of the agricultural produce of Statistii
England and Wales may, therefore, be estimated at about -y->
L. 132,000,000 (L.72,475,000 + L.59,500,000).
The rent of land in England and Wales is usually esti-Iient.
mated at from one fifth to one fourth of the value of the
produce, which, taking the latter at L.130,000,000, would
give from L.26,000,000 to L.32,500,000, or L.29,250,000
at an average, as the rent of the kingdom. We incline
to think that this is pretty near the real amount. In 1810
the rent of England and Wales, as ascertained by the
property-tax commissioners, was L.29,500,673; and the
general opinion amongst persons well informed as to such
matters seems to be, that the rent at present is about
equal to the rent in 1810 ; the rise that took place in the
four succeeding years having been balanced by the fall
that has taken place since.
The capital employed in the cultivation and stocking of Farmers
the land in England cannot be estimated, at the present capital,
prices, at less than from L.6 to L.7 an acre; which, ex-Pro^t5)‘
eluding waste land, would give a total capital of from
L.172,494,000 to L.201,243,000. It appears from the
property-tax returns for 1810, that the profits made by
the occupiers were almost identical with the rent. But
it will be observed, that, besides the interest on, or return
for, the capital employed in farming, the profits in ques¬
tion included all that the occupiers received on account
of their trouble in superintendence, and for the greater
part of their own labour and that of their families.
We have already, in the article Agriculture, treated Size of
of the points of superiority in our husbandry over that offarms.
the Continent; ascribing it to various causes, and to none
more than the medium size of our farms, which differ
equally from the large unmanageable tracts held by Po¬
lish noblemen, and the diminutive occupancies so common
amongst the French peasantry, particularly since the Re¬
volution.
The size of farms in England is greatest in the best
cultivated districts, that is, in the counties to the east of
the metropolis, viz. Kent, Essex, Suffolk, and Norfolk.
Farms are also extensive in Northumberland. In these
counties the engagements of farmers are for larger sums
than in East Lothian, Berwickshire, or any part of Scot¬
land, rents being frequently from L.800 to L.1200 and
L.1500 a year. In more retired districts, particularly in
Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Wales, the occupancies,
whether farmed or held in property, are in general very
small; and an average of all the farms of England and
Wales would not much exceed L.150 a year.
Leases in England are, with the exception of particular Leases,
districts, granted for seven years only; when the term is
longer the case is peculiar, and applies to land which evi¬
dently requires very extensive improvement. But by far
the largest portion of England is held by tenants at will,
or by tenants holding only from year to year. There is
in such cases something like an assurance, on the part of
the landlord, that the tenant shall not be removed for a
certain number of years, or that otherwise the improve¬
ments shall be considered and allowed for. When a ten¬
ant holds from year to year there is a written agreement,
with specified covenants, the tenant being subjected to
fines in the event of a deviation from them. Both me¬
thods are highly injudicious; and it is in the prevalence
of these, more than in the existence of tithes and poor’s
rates, that we are to look for the backward state of agri¬
culture in many of our finest counties. No class of men
have more liberality than the English landholders; but it
would be in vain to expect a tenant to lay out much ca¬
pital on the improvement of a farm of which his tenure
comes to an end in seven years, or may be disturbed by
the commission of a trespass or the occurrence of a death*
ENGLAND.
Sistics. A tenant so situated loses the habit of reflecting on im-
provements, and even of carrying into effect those which
he is aware would in time be advantageous. If he suc¬
ceed in saving money, he is much more likely to place it
out at interest than to employ it in his own business.
C ipari- In Scotland the rent bears a higher proportion to the
S( with gross produce than in England, being in general not less
S .than from one fourth to one third. This is owing notcer-
t tinent. ta'ntyto greater capital, and still less to superior soil, but
to an exemption from tithe and poor’s rate, the use of long
leases, and partly, and principally, we.believe, to greater
economy, particularly in the number of and expenditure
upon horses. It is in tillage, not in pasturage, that the
Scotch farmers lay claim to superiority. On comparing
English agriculture with that of the Continent, we find
that our chief superiority consists in machinery and in live
stock. Thrashing machines are in a manner unknown on
the Continent, and all iron manufacture is of inferior qua¬
lity. In regard to live stock, the countries which approach
nearest to us are Jutland, Holstein, Holland, Flanders,
and Normandy, all evidently indebted for their extensive
pasturages to the vicinity of the sea; in the interior of
the Continent, pasturage is, in general, very indifferent.
Even in these maritime provinces, the cattle, though fre¬
quently large, are not fattened in the same gradual man¬
ner as in our grazing counties ; and the meat, consequent¬
ly, is not of equal flavour. In horses the inferiority is
more apparent to the eye, and holds both as to size and
shape. Flemish horses are large, but heavy; whilst the
Norman breed, though capable of much labour, is small
in size when compared with the English. Nowhere are
horses seen of such bulk and strength as the drays in Lon¬
don. If they are, as is supposed, of foreign origin, they
have greatly surpassed the primitive stock, since neither
the Netherlands nor Holstein can now match them.
We cannot close this part of our subject without a few
remarks on the connection between the state of our agri¬
culture and the extent of our financial burdens. Those
who compare the heavy pressure of our taxes with the
lighter burdens of our continental neighbours, have in ge¬
neral the satisfaction of finding some counterpoise in the
superior dexterity of our people, and the productiveness
ol our capital. This holds true in regard to our naviga¬
tors, our merchants, and our manufacturers ; and it holds
in agriculture in regard to grazing, because in grazing
little personal labour is requisite, whilst capital and active
habits of business are of the most beneficial operation.
But, in the department of tillage, much remains to be done
ere England can claim any great superiority. Farms are
yet too small in more than two thirds of England, and
leases are generally too short. The course of husbandry
is frequently injudicious, the ploughs are on a bad con¬
struction, and there exists a gross misapplication of animal
strength. However light the soil, and however strong the
horses, it is still customary to put three, four, and fre¬
quently five, in a plough, throughout almost all the west
and south-west counties. These are the main causes of
the comparative unproductiveness of our finest counties,
and of our being obliged to pay so heavy a premium in
the shape of corn laws to support our agriculture. With¬
out the corn laws, our lower classes would be supported
on nearly the same terms as their continental neighbours ;
and there would be no occasion, with all our taxes, to
dread the competition of foreigners in almost any branch
of industry; but if the manufacturers of England are
obliged to pay for their support thirty per cent, more than
those of Fi ance and Germany, whilst their wages are very
little higher, what other prospect have we than that of
increasing emigration and the augmentation of the poor’s
rates ?
767
The quantity of land still remaining uncultivated in the Statistics,
shape of wastes and commons is a frequent topic of ani- '-—y'w'
madversion; persons unacquainted with agricultural cal¬
culation calling loudly for this island being brought into
culture, whilst the landed interest object to passing a ge¬
neral inclosure act, or, in other words, to giving unlimited
scope to speculative cultivation. We by no means par¬
ticipate in the apprehensions of the latter; but we would
abstain from giving any artificial stimulus to this, more
than to any other branch of industry. Let the progress
of inclosure be regulated by the gradual increase of our
population, and the discovery of better methods of turning
such land to account. No benefit can be derived from
applying to this purpose any more capital than would go
to it voluntarily; and every experienced farmer is aware,
that the best prospect of profit lies, not in reclaiming new
soils, but in bestowing further labour and expense upon
the land already under culture.
V.—Mines—Quarries—Iron, Copper, Tin, and Salt
Works.
In regard to minerals, England does not yield to any
country in Europe in natural abundance, and takes the
lead of all in the extent to which these rude treasures
have been converted to purposes of utility. Our great
superiority lies in our coal-mines, which are not only more
productive, but much more advantageously situated, than
those of the Continent. To the mines along the coast a
ready conveyance is afforded by our insular position, and
to those in the interior b}’’ our inland navigation. The
consumption of coal in England for domestic use has
been estimated at 20,000,000 tons annually. Large as
this quantity is, and larger as it must be when we add to
it the vast consumption of manufactories, such as iron¬
works, copper-works, salt-works, glass-houses, and the
like, there is no reason to apprehend the exhaustion of
this precious mineral; the depth of the coal beds being
very great, and the extent of ground containing them
amounting to many hundred thousand acres. The prin¬
cipal coal-beds lie in Northumberland, Durham, Derby¬
shire, Staffordshire, and Glamorganshire. The ports for
shipping coal in large quantities are Newcastle, Sunder¬
land, Swansea, and Whitehaven. The motive of the tax
on coal exported to foreign countries is thus neither an
apprehension of eventual scarcity, nor even a calculation
of revenue, so much as a dread of giving our continental
neighbours the means of rivalling our manufactures. Coal
is not wanting in France and Germany, but the mines are
at a distance from water carriage, and as yet very imper¬
fectly wrought • whilst for the purpose of domestic fuel
the inhabitants give a preference to wood.
A material advantage was conferred on the coal trade,
and on all the southern parts of the empire, by the late
abolition of the tax of six shillings a chaldron on all sea¬
borne coal. Mr M‘Culloch, founding upon the calcula¬
tions of Mr Ruddle and other eminent practical authori¬
ties, estimates the total number of persons engaged in
the coal trade at from 160,000 to 180,000. (Commercial
Dictionary, art. Coal.) The conveyance of coal from the
Tyne and the Wear to London, and other southern coun¬
ties, constitutes by far the most important part of the fo¬
reign trade of the empire.
In 1832 the exports of coal to foreign countries amount¬
ed to 588,446 tons, of the real or declared value of
L.228,615, producing a revenue of L.56,706. We subjoin
an account of the quantity of coal brought coastwise and
by inland navigation into the port of London in 1831 and
1832, specifying the ships employed and the quantities
furnished by each of the shipping ports:—
ENGLAND.
768
Statistics.
Ships.
1831.
3845
2041
337
223
167
121
272
7006
1832.
3627
2145
783
190
199
195
389
7528
Ports whence Shipped.
From the port of Newcastle 
From the port of Sunderland 
From the port of Stockton 
From the ports of Blythe and Seaton Sluice  —
f From Leith, Inverkeithing, Kirkaldy, and other ports in)
^ Scotland 1
From Swansea, Llanelly, Milford, and other places in Wales....
From Hull, Goole, Gainsbro’, and other places in Yorkshire 
Quantity which passed the Boundary Stones on the Grand 4
Junction Canal at Grove Park, Herts, and on the River V
Thames, at Staines  )
Tons.
1831.
1,151,851
561,234
62,749
59,862
39,337
26,302
43,957
8,381
2,053,673
1832.
1,171,227
600,217
172,930
48,938
49,579
45,065
51,122
10,742
2,149,820
Statist
V—"-y /
Quarries. In quarries, whether of stone or slate, England is not rich,
particularly the eastern half of the kingdom; and hence the
almost universal use of brick in ordinary buildings. It is
not till the traveller reaches Durham that he finds stone
commonly used. In the northern counties quarriesoceur fre¬
quently ; in the southern, those of Portland and Bath are the
most considerable. Still the annual profits of the whole are
small when contrasted with the product of ourines.
Iron mines No branch of our industry has increased more rapidly
and works. in the present age than our iron-works. A century ago
it was computed that we required an annual importation
of 20,000 tons of foreign iron ; an importation which for
many years seems to have been on the increase, so as,
after the middle of last century, to carry the quantity re¬
quired to 30,000, 40,000, and even to 50,000 tons. This
supply was brought to us'from Sweden and Russia, and,
though burdened with duty, it was in quantity more than
double our native produce. But fortunately, after the
year 1780, discoveries were made which increased greatly
our supply at home. Bar iron had been manufactured in
England, as on the Continent, with charcoal fuel only,
coal being deemed inapplicable to that purpose. Under
that impression, the rapid consumption of the wood in the
neighbourhood of our different iron-works had necessi¬
tated a removal, at a great expense, of materials from one
spot to another, and was on the point of causing an alarm¬
ing decay in the business, when our iron-masters, after
long perseverance, succeeded in applying coal to their
manufacture. They had to contend with various preju¬
dices, particularly the supposed inferiority of iron so made ;
but, in the course of years, the manufacture acquired such
an extent that there were, in 1805, two hundred and twenty
blast-furnaces, making 250,000 tons of pig iron.
The transition from war to peace did a good deal of
injury to some branches of the iron trade; but the effect
of the change was not of long duration, and the produc¬
tion of iron has since been astonishingly increased. In
1820 the produce was calculated at 400,000 tons. The
excitement and speculation of 1824 and 1825 had a won¬
derful influence on this department. According to careful
inquiries made at the time, the furnaces at work in Eng¬
land and Wales in 1827, with their produce, were as under :
Staffordshire 95 furnaces...216,000 tons.
Shropshire 31  78,000
South Wales 90 272,000
North Wales 12   24,000
Yorkshire 24  43,000
Derbyshire 14..  20,500
Totals 266 653,500
Owing to the failure of various rail-road and other pro¬
jects set on foot in 1825 and 1826, the supply of iron
seems to have greatly exceeded the demand; and there
was a very heavy fall of prices in 1828, 1829, and 1830.
But within the last two years prices have again risen to
more than their former level; and the iron trade is at this
moment in a state of great activity. The produce of the
various furnaces of England and Wales may be estimated
at 650,000 tons, worth at an average L.6. 10s. a ton, mak¬
ing a grand total of L.4,225,000. For more ample details,
the reader is referred to the article Iron.
Copper-mines have long been known in England, but Coppj
they were wrought with very little skill or effect until
towards the year 1700. Even at that time the annual
produce, after smelting the metal from the ore, was only
a few hundred tons of copper; and it hardly exceed¬
ed 1000 tons annually down to the middle of last cen¬
tury. From that time forwards the increase became con¬
siderable, as well in Cornwall as in Devon, North Wales,
and Derbyshire; in all of which copper-mines were dis¬
covered and wrought. In North Wales there were two
mines, Parys and Mona, which, for some time after the
year 1780, yielded annually a large quantity of ore, but
they are no longer so productive: the mines of Devon
and Derbyshire continue to be wrought, but the great
product is from Cornwall, the mines of which yield 145,000
tons of ore annually; the metal obtained, varying from
five to fifteen in the hundred parts, may be stated at 12,000
tons of copper. It is the Welsh collieries which afford to
Cornwall, as to Devonshire, the means of smelting; and
as the ore is less heavy than the coal required for this
operation (one ton of ore requiring from two to two and
a half tons of coal), the practice is to convey the ore^ in
vast quantities to Wales, particularly to Swansea. The
total quantity of coal consumed for this purpose at Swan¬
sea is nearly 350,000 tons a year, exclusive of a fur¬
ther consumption of coal at the copper-mines of Corn¬
wall, in wmrking the ponderous steam-engines used in
throwing out the water from the pits. In this, as in other
minerals, France is greatly behind England. She has va¬
rious copper-mines, but her coal-mines, at least those hi¬
therto wrought, are at too great a distance to make such
undertakings profitable ; and she consequently requires
an annual importation from England.
The entire produce of the copper-mines of England
and Wales is at present about 14,000 tons a year of pure
metal; and taking the price at L.100 a ton, its aggre¬
gate value will be L. 1,400,000.
In 1831 there were exported brass and copper manu¬
factures of the value of L.803,124, of which India, China,
at is tics.
Lead.
Salt.
and Ceylon took L.348,045, the United States L. 169,533,
France L.91,580, &c.
Cornwall is also the great seat of the tin-mines of Eng¬
land. A century ago the average produce of our tin
mines hardly exceeded 1500 tons.
From 1720 to 1740 the average produce was 2100
1740 to 1760 2570
1760 to 1780 2740
1780 to 1800 3100
1826 to 1829 ; 4677
The produce of the mines at present does not materially
differ from the last of these averages. From abroad we
receive tin from one quarter only, viz. the East Indies, in
particular from the island of Banca. Of this we imported,
in 1831, 776 tons, the chief part of which was re-exported
to the Continent of Europe. Of our own tin, about the
half is used at home, and the other half finds its way to
foreign countries, particularly Russia, France, and Italy.
The lead-mines of England are principally in Cumber¬
land, Northumberland, and Derbyshire ; the whole being
calculated to produce from 12,000 to 15,000 tons annually.
Black lead is found in abundance in Cumberland, in the
romantic district of Borrowdale ; but the mine is opened
only periodically, in order that the market may not be
overstocked.
Salt is already a very important product in England,
and is likely to become much more so from the measures
urged of late years on the legislature, part of which have
been adopted, whilst a further part seems only to wait a
season of less financial pressure. {Report of Committee
on the Salt Duties, June 1818.) Salt is obtained in seve¬
ral ways ; partly from brine springs, partly from the rock,
partly from sea water. In the last manner it is manu¬
factured in various salt-pans along the coast, viz. in Hamp¬
shire, Kent, and Essex; also in the northern counties
of Durham and Northumberland, where the abundance
of coal reduces materially the expense of the process.
But the great supply is from the rock salt and brine
springs of Cheshire, situated in the southern part of the
county, near Northwich. From these springs it is ob¬
tained (see the article Cheshire) at the rate of one gal¬
lon of solid salt from four gallons of liquid, whilst common
sea water does not yield above one in twenty-eight. The
consumption of salt in this country is immense. Necker
estimated its consumption in those provinces of France
which had purchased an exemption from the gabelle
{pays francs redimees) at about 19,} lbs. (Eng.) for each
individual. {Administration des Finances, tome ii. p. 12.)
From all that we have been able to learn on the subject,
we believe that the consumption of the people of this
country may be estimated a little higher, or at 22 lbs.;
the difference in our food and habits, as compared with
those of the French, fully accounting for this increased
allowance. On this supposition, and taking the popula¬
tion at 16,000,000, the entire consumption will amount to
352,000,000, or 144,200 tons.
Exclusive of this immense home consumption, we an¬
nually export about 10,000,000 bushels, which, at 56 lbs.
a bushel, are equivalent to 250,000 tons. The Ameri¬
cans are the largest consumers of British salt, the ex¬
ports to the United States in 1829 having amounted to
3,515,924 bushels. During the same year we exported
to the Netherlands 1,583,517 bushels, to the British North
American colonies 1,472,000 ditto, to Russia 1,388,490
ditto, to Prussia 949,834 ditto, &e.
The cheapness of this important necessary of life is not
less remarkable than its diffusion. Its present cost may
be estimated, at a medium, at from 14s. to 16s. a ton.
Salt has been at all times a favourite subject of taxa¬
tion. In this country it was first taxed in the reign of
VOL. vm.
William III. In 1798 the duties amounted to 5s. a bushel, Statistics,
but they were subsequently increased to 15s. a bushel, or
about forty times the cost of the salt. So exorbitant a
duty was productive of the worst effects, and, in parti¬
cular, occasioned a great deal of smuggling. The duty
having in consequence become exceedingly unpopular,
was finally repealed in 1823.
VI.—Fisheries.
A season of peace is always favourable to the exten¬
sion of our fisheries ; and, if we may judge from the pro¬
gress lately made, this branch of our national industry is
likely to be carried further than at any former period of
our history. Of this we shall treat more fully under the
article Fishery. At present our space allows no more
than a brief notice of the principal branches of our fish¬
eries.
The mackerel fishery is strictly English, and is carried Mackerel,
on with great vigour on the coasts of Kent and Sussex,
in May, June, and July. Large as the supply is, it would
still admit of augmentation ; and herrings also might be
caught in vast quantities on the coast of Kent in October
and November. The desideratum with the fishermen,
now that peace has reduced their expense, is not so much
a high price as a certain market; and the most effectual
way to procure that is, to quicken, by every possible
means, the conveyance to Londoft, which has been ac¬
complished by the employment of steam-boats. The con¬
veyance of fish by land-carriage from Brighton, and other
parts of the Sussex coast, to London, has also been ac¬
complished by improvements in the roads.
The pilchard fishery takes place chiefly on the coast of Pilchards.
Devonshire and Cornwall, and, though subject to great
fluctuations, as well from the seasons as from our political
situation relatively to the Continent, forms on the whole
an important branch, employing a number of seamen both
in catching the fish and in carrying it to foreign markets.
Its season is generally from June to September.
The herring, the most important of all our fisheries, is Herrings,
happily now in a state of rapid extension. It formed,
during the seventeenth century, the great employment
of the Dutch seamen, and was contemplated by their
neighbours with very jealous eyes. Accordingly, in the
reign of Charles II., particularly after the rupture with
Holland in 1672, several acts were passed for the encou¬
ragement of our fishermen, and in a spirit of hostility to
the Dutch. The subsequent accession of William to our
throne, and the long friendship between the two coun¬
tries, relaxed the exertions of government; and it was not
till alter the peace of 1748 that a large bounty was given
on the tonnage of the busses, or masted vessels, so em¬
ployed. Still our fishermen proved unable to compete
with the experience and patient perseverance of the
Dutch, and it was found necessary to raise the bounty
from 30s. to 50s. per ton. This had the desired effect,
and the number of busses increased; but the additional
20s. being withdrawn in 1771, the fishery again declined.
Ihe American war, and, subsequently, the wars of the
French revolution, proved extremely adverse to its ex¬
tension. At last, in 1808, an act was passed carrying the
bounty to L.3 a ton on the busses, with a further grant of
2s. per barrel on all herrings caught, whether in busses or
boats. This act was further confirmed in 1815, and the
bounty per barrel raised to 4s. with the qualification that
the herrings should be gutted before curing.
In consequence of the encouragement thus afforded, the
fishery was materially extended; but this was effected at
a great expense, and had, besides, several bad consequen¬
ces. The bounties given by government tempted persons
5 E
770
ENGLAND.
Statistics, without capital or skill to enter into the business, to the
great injury of the regular fishermen; so that notwith¬
standing the extension of the business, it was found, as is
invariably the case with all departments carried on by
means of a bounty, to be in a very unhealthy state. In
consequence partly of the circumstances now stated, and
partly in consideration of the real and substantial relief
given to the fishery by the abolition of the duties on salt,
it was resolved gradually to withdraw the bounty, which
totally ceased in 1830. And we are happy to have to state, Statistic
that though the fishery fell off whilst the bounty was in the
course of being withdrawn, it has since been materially
increased, and is now in a better situation than at any
former period.
The curing of herring in Scotland is still subjected to
the supervision of a public board; but we are not aware
that its interference has been or can be productive of any
good effect; and it will, we hope, be dispensed with.
Account of the Quantity of Herrings Cured, Branded for Bounty, and Exported, from 1811 to 1831 both inclusive.
Years
ending
5th April.
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
Total Quantity of Herrings Cured.
Gutted.
65,430
72,5151
89,900-f
52,93l|
105,372}
135,981
155,776
204,2701
203,7771
347,1901
413,308“
291,6261
225,037“
335,450
303,397
340,118
259,171£
339,360
300,2421
280,9331
371,096“
Ungutted.
26,3971
39,004“
63,5871
57,611“
54,767
26,670f
36,5671
23,420f
37,1161
35,301
28,887f
24,897f
23,832
56,740f
44,2681
39,U5f
29,324
60,418
55,737
48,6231
68,274
Total.
91,8271
111,5191
153,488|
110.5421
160,1391
162,651f
192,3431
227,691“
340,894
382,4911
442,195|
316.5421
248,869
392,190!
347,6651
379,2333
288,4951
399,778
355,9791
329,557
439,370
Total Quantity
of Herrings
Branded for
Bounty.
55,6621
58,430
70,0271
38,1841
83,376
116,436
140,0181
183,0891
363,872
263,2051
203,110
299,631
270,8444
294,4221-
223,606“
279,317£
234,827
218,418^
237,085
Total Quantity of Herrings Exported.
Gutted.
18,880
27,564
40,1001
34,929“
68,938
81,5441
115,4801
148,1471
212,30l|
244,096
289,4451
212,8901-
169,4591
238,5051
201,8821
217,0531
165,741
210,766
202,8134
177,776“
260,976
Ungutted.
19,253
35,256
69,625
83,4744
72,3671
26,1434
23,148
14,192
14,8601-
9,420
5,360
2,0654
9854
1,125
134
20
695
893
3,062
3,878L
3,927
Total.
38,133
62,820
109,7251
118,4031
141,305|
107,688
138,6284
162,3391
227,162
253,516
294,8054
214,956
170,445
239,6304
202,0161
217,0731
166,406
211,659
205,8751
181,6541
264,903
Whale
fishery.
Greenland was first discovered by the English ; but in
this, as in other branches of navigation, we long allow¬
ed the Dutch to take a lead. It was not till after 1750
that, government having granted a bounty of 40s. a ton
on every vessel employed in the whale fishery, a consider¬
able increase took place in this branch.
In 1750, the vessels employed were only nineteen; in
1756 they had increased to sixty-seven. The war soon
caused a decrease of one half; but at the return of peace
in 1763 this fishery revived, and in 1770 the vessels em¬
ployed amounted to fifty, in 1773 to fifty-five, in 1775 to
ninety-six. The American war again caused a decrease,
and in 1782 the vessels so employed were only thirty eight.
In 1784 they increased to eighty-nine, and in 1785 to
140. After this they exceeded 200 annually till 1793;
but the long continuance of the late wars reduced them
below the half, and the advantages of peace have been
counteracted by causes which have as yet prevented the
English vessels from regaining the number employed pre¬
viously to 1793. In 1832, the whale fishery employed thir¬
ty-nine English and forty-two Scotch ships, of the aggre¬
gate burden of 26,393 tons.
The Newfoundland fishery has been considerable for
fully a century past. As a nursery for seamen, it is ac¬
counted of such consequence as to have formed the ob¬
ject of a specific article in most of our treaties of peace.
The fish caught, particularly in time of peace, is sent less
to Britain than to the Catholic countries in the south of
Europe; a market subject to all the interruptions attendant
on a change of political relations. The number of vessels
employed in this fishery at different times was as follows:
In 1731  70
1764 140
1774   .254
The American war caused a diminution; but in
1784 the number was 236
1785    292
At this rate the fishery continued until the war of 1793,
after which, particularly after our rupture with Spain in
1797, it fell off greatly; the fishing vessels in 1798 being
only 140.
The continuance of war, and the aggrandisement of the
French in Italy, occasioned additional depression; so that
in 1810 the number of our vessels employed at Newfound¬
land did not exceed ninety-two. The peace seemed to
promise a revival of this important nursery of seamen;
and in the year 1816 the number of vessels which arrived
in Newfoundland was 795, manned by 6000 seamen (/?e-
jxirt of Committee in June 1817, p. 7); but the trade,
both then and in 1817 and 1818, proved unprofitable, in
consequence of indifferent seasons, of the high duty im¬
posed on fish imported in British vessels into Naples, and
of the competition of the French fishermen, supported by
a high bounty from their government. Of late years very
few British ships have gone to the Banks; but we carry
on an extensive fishing along the coast of Labrador, and
on the shores of Newfoundland. But the more convenient
situation of the New Englanders, who are very expert
fishermen, give them advantages with which the British
find it very difficult to contend ; and, partly from this cause,
and partly from the forcing system of the French, and the
greater duties laid on the importation of salted fish into
Statistics, most Catholic countries, the business appears to be rather
-''Y"-' in a depressed state. Mr M‘Gregor estimates the total
produce of the British fisheries in the seas and islands of
America, on an average of the five years ending with
1832, at L.857,210 a year.
It is matter of surprise to foreigners that a maritime
nation should not have more effectually cultivated this
great means of facilitating the support of our population.
The ample supply which might have been afforded by the
Nymph Bank, on the south-east coast of Ireland, has been
avowedly neglected; and it was only in 1818 that we
made the discovery of a bank of almost equal productive¬
ness in the vicinity of Orkney. Fish is little known to the
mass of the people in our inland counties. Whilst the value
of butcher’s meat annually consumed in England exceeds
L.30,000,000 sterling, the value of the fish caught upon
our coasts and in our rivers hardly exceeds L.2,000,000.
Yet its price, with the economy and improved arrange¬
ments attendant on a state of peace, would not exceed 20s.
a cwt., whilst other animal food costs more than twice that
sum. But the truth is, that fish has never been a favou¬
rite article of food with the bulk of the English people;
and, notwithstanding all that has been said to the contra¬
ry, we are by no means satisfied that they would gain ma¬
terially by a change in this respect.
VII.—Manufactures.
Voollen In this great department of our productive industry we
nanufac- begin with woollens, which, although no longer the largest
I01"-7, of our manufactures in point of exportation, nor even in
the value annually made, is entitled to the first place from
the priority of its establishment, as well as from the sub¬
stantial basis on which it rests. England, from the ex¬
tent of her pastures, abounded in wool from a very remote
age, and the inhabitants were doubtless capable of manu¬
facturing it into rude clothing; each weaver working in
his separate cottage, and with very little aid from machi¬
nery. In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries we appear
to have had only the most humble fabrics, and to have im¬
ported all cloth of finer texture ; sending abroad our wool
in quantities to Flanders, a country the inhabitants of
which were at that period much further advanced than the
rest of Europe, with the exception of Italy. It was in the
middle of the fourteenth century that a better system was
introduced. Flemish manufacturers were invited over to
England, and improved greatly the quality of our home¬
made woollens. The seats of this branch of industry ap- Statistics,
pear at that time to have been Kent and Essex; after-
wards Gloucestershire, and subsequently the West Riding
of Yorkshire. It occupied at first the southern and more
improved districts, and spread afterwards to the north¬
ward, on account of the cheapness of labour, the abun¬
dance of coal, and the convenience of waterfalls for the
machinery. The general character of the woollen manu¬
facture of England has been that of slow progress, but of
little fluctuation ; the latter evidently a consequence of its
depending more on home consumption than on exportation.
In the long period from 1700 to 1780, the exports expe- -
rienced a regular but not rapid rise, amounting in the lat¬
ter years to about L.3,500,000, whilst our home consump¬
tion increased in proportion to our augmenting numbers.
More recently the manufacture has been materially im¬
proved by the adoption of various important mechanical
inventions in the spinning, weaving, and dressing depart¬
ments. On the whole, however, improvement has been
much less rapid in it than in the cotton manufacture ; so
that whilst our exports of cotton stuffs and yarn have in¬
creased beyond all precedent, those of woollens have been
comparatively stationary.
As we shall enter fully, in the article Woollen Ma¬
nufacture, into the details connected with its history,
progress, and present state, it would be useless, even if
our limits permitted, to anticipate these here. We shall
only observe, therefore, that the entire value of the manu¬
facture is estimated by the best authorities at L.18,000,000,
which is believed to be distributed nearly as follows:
Raw material (wool) L.6,000,000
Oil, dye-stuffs, soap, &c 1,200,000
Wear and tear of capital and profit....3,500,000
Wages 7,300,000
Total L.18,000,000
Now, supposing that each person, young and old, male
and female, engaged in the manufacture, earns, at an
average, L.20 a year, the total number employed will be
365,000.
By far the largest proportion of the raw material of the
manufacture is the produce of our own flocks; but for
many years past, and especially since the peace, we have
imported large quantities of wool, principally from Ger¬
many. The subjoined accounts give a full view of the
state of the foreign woollen trade in 1831, the last year
for which the details have been published.
Account specifying the Countries to ivhich Woollen Goods were exported in 1831, exhibiting the Quantity and declared
Value of those sent to each. (Parliamentary Paper, No. 550, September 1833.)
Countries to which Exported.
Woollen Manufactures, viz.
Entered by the Piece.
Quantity.
Declared
Value.
Entered by the Yard.
Hosiery and
Small Wares
Quantity.
Declared
Value.
Declared
Value.
Northern Europi
Russia 
Sweden 
Norway 
Denmark  
Prussia 
Germany 
The Netherlands 
Carry forward.
Pieces.
31,796
1,935
4,774
1,094
95
337,183
90,011
L.
94,599
1,903
12,807
1,827
323
359,482
161,101
Yards.
112,320
2,702
3,364
10,851
528
728,044
392,775
L.
6,609
254
236
489
59
56,572
24,579
L.
478
251
733
358
10
8,938
14,525
466,888
L.632,042
1,250,584
L.88,798
L.25,293
772
ENGLAND.
Countries to which Exported.
Woollen Manufactures, viz.
Brought forward.
Southern Europe.
France 
Portugal, Proper 
 Azores 
 Madeira 
Spain and the Balearic Islands.
 Canaries  
Gibraltar 
Italy and the Italian Islands 
Malta 
Ionian Islands 
Turkey and Continental Greece.
Morea and Greek Islands 
Africa.
Egypt (Ports on the Mediterranean)
Tripoli, Barbary, and Morocco 
Western coast of Africa 
Cape of Good Hope 
St Helena 
Mauritius 
Asia.
East India Company’s Territories, Ceylon
and China 
Sumatra, Java, and other islands of the
Indian Seas 
Philippine Islands 
New South Wales, Van Diemen’s Land
and Swan River 
New Zealand and South Sea Islands.
America.
British Northern Colonies 
British West Indies 
Hayti  
Cuba and other Foreign West Indies.
United States of America 
:}
States of Central and Southern
America, viz.
Mexico 
Colombia  
Brazil 
States of the Rio de la Plata 
Chili 
Peru 
Isles of Guernsey, Jersey, Alderney,'
Man, &c 
Entered by the Piece.
Quantity.
Total export.
Pieces.
466,888
5,034
51,011
2,336
1,153
47,885
1,314
5,251
97,091
1,853
175
5,117
72
2,623
8,253
128
2,865
224,641
11,216
240
3,918
138
89,203
23,072
1,454
8,737
833,110
15,094
3,244
24,175
14.910
21,282
15.911
7,954
Declared
Value.
1,997,348
L.
632,042
9,090
138,914
8,659
4,912
97,017
3,832
12,376
196,126
7,576
681
17,275
380
4,620
23,274
936
6,939
634,074
. 25,115
455
16,145
483
271,484
62,009
5,156
31,263
1,890,838
61,938
16,835
76,865
58,137
137,307
101,333
26,816
L.4,580,902
Entered by the Yard.
Hosiery and
Small Wares
Quantity.
Yards.
1,250,584
24,999
50,930
7,700
2,612
64,710
10,799
23,267
87,915
6,713
1,510
8,633
356
80
5,082
60,035
7,538
3,427
105,398
3,660
7,776
93,774
13,500
900,124
149,952
675
74,077
2,586,409
15,467
18,109
71,323
49,119
18,315
19,385
52,693
5,797,546
Declared
Value.
L.
88,798
2,144
4,739
564
200
6,296
715
2,102
5,877
623
151
898
26
10
339
3,726
581
294
8,945
232
518
8,404
1,220
58,226
10,439
87
5,065
266,198
2,080
1,810
5,407
5,077
1,353
2,488
5,324
L.500,956
Declared
Value.
L.
25,293
279
2,975
56
109
1,381
134
981
2,183
108
192
125
50
2,217
1,208
32
340
2,563
1,711
19,281
3,521
990
75,143
473
595
1,063
1,705
759
2,164
1,524
L. 150,155
Imports of Wool.—During the year 1831 we imported
31,652,029 lbs. of wool, of which 22,437,022 lbs. came
from Germany, 3,474,823 lbs. from Spain, 2,493,337 lbs.
from New South Wales and Van Diemen’s Land, with
smaller quantities from France, Portugal, Prussia, &c.
For an account of the prices and qualities of wool, &c.
the reader is referred to article Wool in this work, or in
M‘Culloch’s Commercial Dictionary.
Our cotton manufacture is entitled to the greatest at¬
tention on different accounts. Of all our manufactures, it
affords the largest export, and exhibits the most rapid im¬
provements in machinery. Its introduction, though not
remote, is less recent than is commonly supposed. It ap¬
pears to have taken place about two centuries ago, when
it was established at Manchester; but it was long con¬
ducted upon a very limited scale. The raw material, im¬
ported at first only from the Levant, in particular from
Smyrna, began, after 1660, to be supplied by our West
India colonies. The quantity imported amounted, about
the year 1700, to 3500 bales ; but, increasing with the ex-
ENGLAND.
773
Statistics, tended cultivation of our colonies, it averaged, about the
year 1720, something more than 7000 bales. From the
colonial conquests of the war of 1756, our import of cot¬
ton received a further augmentation; but the manufac¬
ture increased very slowly, a great part of our cotton being
re-exported to Holland, for the supply of Dutch and Ger¬
man weavers. It was not till after the peace of 1763, and
the invention, first of the carding machine, and next of
the spinning jenny, that this manufacture became con¬
siderably extended. In 1775, the average import of cot¬
ton approached to 18,000 bales. A variety of inventions,
unequalled in the history of manufacturing industry, were
now made (see our article on the Cotton Manufac¬
ture), which gave an astonishing stimulus to the business.
Fine calicoes and muslins were introduced ; the work¬
men were withdrawn from their detached dwellings, and
collected into large factories, and the price of the finished
article experienced a reduction, notwithstanding a rise in
the raw material, and in the wages of labour. The period
which followed the peace of 1783 is perhaps unexampled
for the reduction of price and the consequent extension
of sale that took place in regard to cotton goods. The
commencement of hostilities in 1793 gave a pretty severe
shock to the business ; but the improvements in machinery
continuing, the manufacture soon recovered, and has gone
on increasing, under many vicissitudes, with a rapidity
unparalleled by any other business, either in this or any
other country. Neither does there seem to be any ground
for fearing that this progress will be speedily checked. On
the contrary, our superiority in all that contributes to the
advancement of the manufacture is so very decided, that,
provided the public tranquillity be preserved unimpaired,
we have nothing to fear from the competition of others.
The reader is referred to the article Cotton Manu¬
facture in this work for an account of the rise and pro¬
gress of this great branch of national industry. But the
following tabular statements are interesting, as exhibiting
the present magnitude and importance of the trade, the
sources whence the raw cotton is derived, and the foreign
markets for the finished articles.
Mr M‘Culloch gives, in the second edition of his Die- Statistics.
tionary, the following estimate of the total value of the
cotton manufacture of Great Britain, and of the amount
of capital, and the number of persons employed in it.
Total value of every description of cotton goods annually
manufactured in Great Britain L.34,000,000
Raw material, 240,000,000 lbs. at 7d. per
lb L.7,000,000
Wages of 800,000 weavers,
spinners, bleachers, &c. at
L.22. 10s. a year each 18,000,000
Wages of 100,000 engineers,
machine-makers, smiths,
masons, joiners, &c. at L.30
a year each   3,000,000
Profits of the manufacturers,
wages of superintendence,
sums to purchase the mate¬
rials of machinery, coals, &c 6,000,000 
L.34,000,000
The capital employed may be estimated as follows:
Capital employed in the purchase of raw material 4,000,000
Capital employed in payment of wages.. 10,000,000
Capital vested in spinning-mills, power and
hand-looms, workshops, warehouses, stocks
on hand, &c   20,000,000
L.34,000,000
Of 288,674,000 lbs. of cotton wool imported into the united
kingdom in 1831, 219,333,000 lbs. were from the United
States, 31,695,000 lbs. from Brazil, 25,805,000 from the
East Indies, 7,714,000 lbs. from Egypt, 2,401,000 lbs.
from the British West Indies, 334,000 lbs. from Colombia,
366,000 lbs. from Turkey and Continental Greece, 344,000
lbs. from Malta, &c. (Pari. Paper, No. 550, Sess. 1833.)
Burns’ Glance, a tabular statement, annually published
at Manchester, and admitted to be drawn up with great
care, contains an account of the cotton spun in Great
Britain in 1832, and how that spun in England was dis¬
posed of, with several other interesting particulars.
Statement of Cotton spun in England and Scotland in 1832, and the Quantity of Yarn produced; shoiving also the
Quantity spun in England, and how disposed of.
American cotton 
Brazil ditto 
Egyptian ditto 
West India ditto 
East India ditto 
Taken from inland stock.
Total number of bags consumed.
N umber of Bags
consumed.
615,402
135,298
45,864
6,454
55,416
33,160
891,594
Average Weight
of Bags in lbs.
345
180
220
300
330
310
Allowed for loss in spinning, If oz. per lb 
Total quantity of yarn spun in England and Scotland.
Deduct yarn spun in Scotland  
Total quantity of yarn spun in England.
HOW DISPOSED OF.
Exported in yarn during the year 
■— thread 
 — manufactured goods 
Estimated quantity of yarn sent to Scotland and Ireland  
Exported in mixed manufactures not stated in the above named articles, con¬
sumed in cotton banding, healds, candle and lampwick, wadding, and loss in
manufacturing goods ,
Balance left for home consumption and stock 
Total Weight
in lbs.
212,313,690
24,353,640
10,090,080
1,936,200
18,287,280
10,279,600
277,260,490
30,325,366
71,662,850
1,041,273
61,251,380
5,700,000
12,000,000
70,941,404
Weekly Con¬
sumption of Bags.
11,834-34
2,601-46
882-00
124-06
1,065-36
637-36
17,146-20
lbs.
246,935,124
24,338,217
222,596,907
222,596,907
♦
774
ENGLAND.
Statistics. This annual quantity of 222,596,907 lbs. gives a weekly
supply of 4,280,709 lbs. Mr Burns estimates the quan*
tity spun per spindle, per week, at oz. making the total
number of spindles employed in England and Wales, in
1832, amount to 7,949,208. Those employed in Scotland
during the same year are estimated, in the same way, at
881,020. Mr Burns further calculates the number of looms
employed in England and Wales at 203,703. The con- Statistic
sumption of flour in the manufacture is much greater than v-i,'y>«
any one not pretty well acquainted with it would really
suppose. The average quantity required for each loom is
estimated at 4 lbs. per week; making the total annual con¬
sumption in England and Wales 42,301,584 lbs» or 215,824
barrels of 196 lbs. each.
Account of the Export of Cotton Goods and Yarn in 1831, specifying the Countries to which they were sent, and the
Quantity and Value of those sent to each. (Pari. Paper, No. 550, September 1833.)
Countries to which Exported.
Northern Europe, Russia...
Sweden 
Norway...,  
Denmark 
Prussia  
Germany   .....
The Netherlands 
Southern Europe.—France.
Portugal Proper..., 
 -Azores 
 ——Madeira 
Spain and the Balearic Islands.
 Canaries 
Gibraltar 
Italy and the Italian Islands  
Malta 
Ionian Islands ....
Turkey and Continental Greece 
Morea and Greek Islands   
Africa.—Egypt, ports on the Mediterranean...,
Tripoli, Barbary, and Morocco 
Western coast of Africa.... 
Cape of Good Hope 
St Helena 
Mauritius  
Asia.—East India Company’s territories, Cey-1
Ion and China  J
Sumatra, Java, and other islands of the In- (
dian Seas j
Philippine Islands 
New South Wales, Van Diemen’s Land, and (
Swan River J
New Zealand and South Sea Islands 
America—British Northern Colonies 
British West Indies 
Hayti  
Cuba and other Foreign West Indies  
United States of America 
States of Central and Southern America, viz,
Mexico 
Colombia 
Brazil 
States of the Rio de la Plata 
Chili 
dz.
Peru    
Isles of Guernsey, Jersey, Alderney, Man, &c.
Total export.
Cotton Manufactures.
Entered by the Yard.
Quantity.
Yards.
1,960,634
18,280
434,744
312,461
1,456
41,520,616
13,285,524
946,660
23,377,245
780,099
569,794
4,756,652
631,079
9,909,009
38,164,564
1,967,953
216,159
24,565,580
344,893
2,354,628
7,810
2,384,000
2,904,106
73,371
2,432,894
43,385,852
5,915,088
1,132,583
1,905,428
5,014
15,618,106
21,975,459
6,828,576
11,569,441
68,587,893
12,150,426
5,757,562
26,271,527
6,242,134
12,793,220
6,312,931
1,013,852
421,385,303
Declared
Value.
L.
68,412
615
13,704
6,213
80
940,441
383,127
35,357
373,916
17,126
14,577
129,778
15,646
238,732
1,035,748
49,594
5,210
585,473
6,540
56,088
123
75,058
83,612
2,173
65,185
1,182,574
194,889
33,639
61,567
135
413,737
606,923
178,743
364,547
2,518,824
471,208
177,559
681,461
176,874
431,323
222,708
44,364
12,163,513
Hosiery,
Lace, and
Small Wares
Declared
Value.
L.
7,252
216
1,829
992
20
205,527
214,123
13,613
13,454
383
677
9,503
515
6,158
44,172
1,403
615
3,335
26
446
3,807
254
3,400
13,972
1,730
13
8,380
25,536
31,568
4,731
11,329
344,427
23,712
9,060
20,540
9,743
26,851
19,605
35,755
1,118,672
Cotton Twist and Yam.
Quantity.
Lbs.
13,959,666
708,510
34,440
118,316
19,448
20,435,442
9,091,238
2,616
281,096
3,240
36,170
2,500
39,196
8,444,518
342,740
62,450
1,735,760
11,000
93,600
280
193
6,624,823
312,000
18,800
7,233
307,997
14,416
320
200
317,392
784,215
28,880
2,740
800
4,800
4,405
63,821,440
Declared
Value.
L.
790,371
34,885
1,553
5,716
1,556
1,195,718
794,536
1,127
17,534
149
3,147
131
3,178
438,834
13,468
3,643
90,015
600
6,000
34
19
467,861
22,653
1,796
380
10,376
835
30
10
19,063
37,972
1,580
334
30
130
755
3,975,091
atistics. Such being the vast extent and importance of the cot-
ton manufacture, the probability of our preserving our as¬
cendency in it becomes a very interesting topic of inquiry.
But it is obvious that a great deal of conjecture must al¬
ways insinuate itself into our reasonings with respect to
the future state of any branch of manufacturing industry.
They are all liable to be affected by so many contingent
and unforeseen circumstances, that it is impossible to pre¬
dicate, with any thing like certainty, what may be their
condition a few years hence. But abstracting the effects
of national struggles and commotions, which can neither
be foreseen nor calculated, we do not think there is any
thing in our state, or in that of the different commercial
and manufacturing countries of the world, which should
lead us to anticipate that the gfoomy forebodings of those
who contend that the cotton manufacture of England has
reached its zenith, and that it must now begin to decline,
will be realized. The natural capabilities we possess for
carrying on the business of manufacturing are, all things
considered, decidedly superior to those of any other peo¬
ple. But the superiority to which we have already arriv¬
ed is perhaps the greatest advantage in our favour. Our
master manufacturers, engineers, and artisans, are more
intelligent, skilful, and enterprising, than those of any
other country ; and the extraordinary inventions they have
already made, and their familiarity with all the principles
and details of the business, will not only enable them to
perfect the processes already in use, but can hardly fail to
lead to the discovery of others. Our establishments for
spinning, weaving, printing, bleaching, &c. are infinitely
more complete and perfect than any that exist elsewhere ;
the division of labour in these is carried to an extent incom¬
parably greater; the workmen are trained from infancy to
industrious habits, and have attained that peculiar dex¬
terity and sleight of hand in the performance of their se¬
parate tasks, which can only be acquired by long and un¬
remitting application to the same employment. Why, then,
having all these advantages upon our side, should we
not keep the start which we have already gained ? Every
other people who attempt to set up manufactures must
obviously labour under the greatest difficulties as com¬
pared with us. Their establishments cannot at first be
sufficiently large to allow the division of employments to
be carried to any considerable extent, at the same time
that expertness in manipulation, and in the details of the
various processes, can only be attained by slow degrees.
It appears, therefore, reasonable to conclude that such
new beginners, having to withstand the competition of
those who have already arrived at a very high degree of
perfection in the art, must be immediately driven out of
every market equally accessible to both parties ; and that
nothing but the aid derived from restrictive regulations
and prohibitions will be effectual to prevent the total de¬
struction of their establishments in the countries where
these are set up. (M‘Culloch’s Commercial Dictionary,
article Cotton Manufacture.)
The seats of the cotton manufacture of England are,
first, Manchester, which takes decidedly the lead of all
other places; and, secondly, Preston, Bolton, Blackburn,
and Wigan, all situated in Lancashire. After these come
several other places, partly in Lancashire, in Cumberland,
and the West Riding of Yorkshire. The introduction of
cotton works into the last, the great seat ot the woollen
manufacture, is owing to the practicability ot the same
workmen turning, in case of need, from wool to cotton,
and vice versa.
hardware. We have already noticed the surprising increase in the
produce of our iron mines since 1780. I his increase ot
the raw material, joined in some cases to the command ot
coal in the vicinity, and in all to a facility of conveyance
of coal and iron by canals, has, in the last forty years, given
a great extension to our hardware manufacture. In it we
take the lead of foreigners as decidedly as in our cottons;
and if the ratio of increase has not been altogether so ra¬
pid, it is owing, not to inferior ingenuity in the wmrkmen,
but to radical differences in the two manufactures. In no
department has the subdivision of employment been car¬
ried to so great a length; in none are its effects in cheap¬
ening production so conspicuous. Birmingham and Shef¬
field are the two great w ork-shops for our hardware ; the
latter is confined to iron and steel; whilst, in the former,
not only iron and steel, but copper and brass, constitute
the materials of labour. Sheffield fabricates articles which
are less for ornament than utility, and which possess, in
general, a certain bulk, such as grates, spades, sickles,
files, knives, fenders, fire-irons; whilst in Birmingham there
is, in addition to articles of solidity, a surprising variety
of toys, fancy goods, and petty manufactures ; each trifling
when considered separately, but the whole forming an ag¬
gregate of great value. The most insignificant of these,
such as a brass cock or a button shank, passes through a
number of hands; and each artisan performs only a single
operation. He thus acquires an extraordinary dexterity
in his limited department, and, in the course of a day, dis¬
patches several hundred, perhaps even a thousand articles,
through his particular stage; the result of all which is,
that the price, when sold in quantities, is incredibly low.
Another and very interesting feature in the situation of
Birmingham, is the populousness of its neighbourhood.
Yet in none of our large towns is living less expensive;
an advantage owing partly to the abundance of coal, partly
to the ready supply of milk and vegetables from the wide
space occupied by the population.
The nail trade is carried on, not in the town of Birming¬
ham, but in a part of the surrounding district: it is com¬
puted to employ 30,000 men, women, and children; for
even this heavy article admits of a subdivision of employ¬
ment, which lightens the labour, and enables the workman
to avail himself of the aid of his family. Of the two towns,
Sheffield is by much the more ancient; the command of
coal and iron in the same neighbourhood having rendered
it, so far back as the thirteenth or fourteenth century, a
place for the fabrication of the homely articles used in
these days by our ancestors. It is about a century since
its razors, knives, and files began to take a more delicate
shape. Birmingham, however, embraced a wider range,
and advanced with much greater rapidity; but Sheffield
also has its adjacent district inhabited by manufacturers,
though to a much less extent than the vicinity of Bir¬
mingham. This district, called Hallamshire, extends six
or seven miles to the west of Sheffield.
Hardware is made in several other places, such as Bil-
ston, Wolverhampton, Dudley, and Walsall. Each of these
towns is situated in Staffordshire, and, in point of manu¬
facture, is small only in comparison with Birmingham or
Sheffield. Articles apparently very trifling are manufac¬
tured to a surprising extent in different places, such as pins
at Gloucester, needles at Red-ditch in Worcestershire,
watch movements and main springs at Prescott in Lanca¬
shire. The total value of our articles of iron, steel, brass, and
copper, including the manufacture from its earliest to its
most finished stage, is necessarily fluctuating, but may be
computed at L.l(5,000,000 annually; two thirds of which
appear to be consumed amongst ourselves, whilst the other
third is exported to two great markets, the Continent of
Europe and the United States of America. A return du¬
ring three years of peace, but of unequal mercantile pros¬
perity, will suffice to show the average of annual export.
ENGLAND.
776
Statistics.
Quantity and Real Value of Metals and Hardware exported from Britain in 1831.
Statist!
Linen
manufac¬
ture.
1. Metals, as a raw material, or in the first stage of manufacture.
Iron and steel, wrought and unwrought 
Lead and shot (partly from Scotland) 
Tin, unwrought 
2. Manufactures in a finished state.
Hardware and cutlery 
Brass and copper manufactures 
Plate, plated ware, jewellery, and watches 
Tin and pewter wares, and tin plates 
Quantity.
Tons 124,312
6,777
Cwts. 21,763
Real Value.
L.1,123,372
96,333
77,718
... 336,194
... 181,951
1,622,429
803,124
188,144
230,143
The number of persons, young and old, employed in the
hardware manufacture, is reckoned at between 300,000
and 400,000. In no branch of industry is the transition
front war to peace more sensibly felt; government, the great
customer for arms and artillery, withdraws entirely from
the market; whilst the stagnation of commerce, the post¬
ponement of new buildings and new machinery, in short,
the various evils inseparable from a sudden and general
change, which have been so cruelly felt throughout Bri¬
tain since the peace, all operate most materially against
the sale of the heavier and more useful articles. Similar
causes cast a damp over the purchase of ornamental and
fancy goods; so that in no department of our population
have the sufferings of the labouring classes or the augmen¬
tation of the poor’s rate been greater. But there is hap¬
pily a point beyond which depression cannot go; the re¬
duced price of a commodity rendering it applicable to
more extended uses, and adapting it to the means of
humbler customers. Iron has not been found suitable as
a substitute for stone in paving the streets of the metro¬
polis; but, if its price continue low, it is likely to supplant
timber for a variety of purposes, of which the public at
large are not as yet aware. Reduction of price will lead
also to a demand from the Continent for our hardware;
the article in which of all others the French and Germans
are most behind us. Their mines of iron are seldom ad¬
jacent to their mines of coal, and, with the exception of
a few places, such as Liege in the Netherlands, and St
Etienne near Lyons, the hardware workmen are not col¬
lected in such large associations as to admit of the neces¬
sary subdivision of labour. As improvement advances,
and a taste for comfort becomes diffused, the inhabitants
of the Continent will extend their purchases; they will
see in the keys, the locks, and other neat and convenient
articles of English fabric, a substitute for the bolts, the
latches, and other coarse contrivances, with which they
have hitherto been obliged to content themselves. In the
United States, iron and coal are found, it is said (Mellish’s
Travels in America, chap. 67), in abundance, in a quarter
(Pittsburgh in Pennsylvania) where land and provisions
are certainly much cheaper than in Britain; but the scat¬
tered state of American population must, during several
ages, oppose serious obstacles to the division of employ¬
ment necessary in all the nicer branches of the hardware
manufacture ; particularly as the ease with which the Mis¬
sissippi and Ohio are navigated by steam opens even the
western states to the importation of British goods. Upon
the whole, therefore, we look on our hardware manufac¬
tures, notwithstanding their present depression, as resting
on a solid basis, because in them we combine several ad¬
vantages;—the raw material, the command of cheap fuel,
and the use of machinery, which, the more it is adopted,
will bring a greater proportion of the work within the
compass of women and boys, and thus lessen the propor¬
tion borne by wages in the cost of the finished article.
Linen has never formed one of the staple manufactures
of England, flax having been less cultivated amongst us
than on the opposite shore of the Netherlands; a country
which, in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, supplied
the rest of Europe with the finest linens and woollens.
When England subsequently advanced in manufacturing
arts, the abundant supply of wool pointed out the most
suitable branch; and we were contented to continue our
imports of linen from the Netherlands, from France, and
from Germany, or to favour the manufacture of the sister
island in a department which did not excite our jealousy.
In Ireland, the linen manufacture dates about two centu¬
ries ago, and is said to have owed much of its extension
to the measures of the unfortunate Wentworth in the
reign of Charles I. The annual consumption of linen in
England a century ago was probably not far below that
of her double population at present, owing to the very
general substitution in our time of cotton articles. Then,
as at present, the linen manufacture of England was esta¬
blished chiefly in Lancashire, in Cumberland, and in a coun¬
ty very remote from these, namely, Dorsetshire. In 1745
government, apprised of the extension of the manufacture
of coarse linen in Silesia and other parts of Germany, and
actuated by the fallacious notion of making a monopoly of
all kinds of productive industry, granted a bounty of l td.
per yard on the exportation of all British linen of a value
from 6d. to 18d. per yard ; in other words, a premium of
20 or 25 per cent, on the prime cost of all inferior qualities
exported. So large a grant soon augmented the manu¬
facture of osnaburgs and other coarse cloths, particularly
in Scotland, although the ratio of increase was infinitely
smaller than in the case of cotton, where there was no
premium, but a rapid improvement of machinery. The
demand for bounty, in the ten years ending in 1785, was
about L.33,000 annually. More recently these impolitic
issues were greatly increased; but at length the impolicy
of forcing a manufacture in this way having become obvi¬
ous to every one, the bounties, after being gradually re¬
duced, ceased finally in 1830.
Ireland and Scotland, particularly Dundee, are both su¬
perior to England in the manufacture of linen. But some
of the flax mills established at Hull are on a more exten¬
sive scale than any other in the empire. The reader will
find under the head of Linen, in this work, an account of
the value of the manufacture in each division of the em¬
pire, of the amount of capital, and the number of hands
employed in it, &c.
In the silk manufacture, as in linen, we have had to con-Silk main
tend with a formidable opposition in other countries, par-facture.
ticuiarly in France and Italy; and we have also had to im¬
port the whole of the raw material. It would therefore
hardly have been attempted by our countrymen, but for the
great profits expected from an article of general use amongst
the higher classes. Its introduction amongst us goes back
to the fifteenth century. About the beginning of the seven¬
teenth it seems to have been carried to a considerable
extent, owing certainly not to the luxury of the age, nor to
any great proportion of affluent persons in the community,
but to silk being almost the only article of apparel in which
the vanity of dress could display itself. Towards the end
of the reign of Charles II., about the year 1680, raw silk
ENGLAND.
atistics. began to be imported in quantities from India ; and the
English manufacture received a substantial addition by
the numbers and ingenuity of the Frenchmen who settled
in this country after the revocation of the edict of Nantes
in 1683. Various circumstances thus contributed to pre- >
serve and extend the manufacture, which continued rather
upon the increase till the general substitution of cottons for
silks about 1790. This gave a serious shock to the manu¬
facture, from which it recovered only by slow degrees. Its
situation had not indeed been at any time prosperous ; and
the continued complaints of the manufacturers occasioned
within these few years a fundamental change in the policy
under which it had previously been conducted.
From the first introduction of the manufacture into
England down to 1825, foreign silks were either positively
or virtually excluded. But the monopoly which was thus
secured to the manufacturers produced, what all mono¬
polies invariably do, an indifference to improvement. In¬
stead of trusting to the ingenuity or to the superior skill
which they might have called to their aid for preserving
their ascendency in the market, the manufacturers de¬
pended upon custom-house regulations, and additional
penalties on smuggling. In consequence, invention was
quite at a stand. Such indeed was the influence of the
system in this respect, that in 1826 the member for Co¬
ventry (Mr Edward Ellice) affirmed in his place in the
House of Commons that the improved silk looms in use in
various parts of the Continent enabled the workman to
execute Jive times as much work as he could do here ;
whilst in every business not protected by a monopoly the
result was precisely opposite. At length, after a great
deal of discussion, it was resolved to adopt a more liberal
system. In 1825 a bill was in consequence passed, allow¬
ing the importation of foreign silks on payment of an ad
valorem duty of 30 per cent., accompanied, however, by
the effectual reduction of the singularly oppressive duties
which had previously been imposed on the imports of raw
and thrown silk. This measure, though vehemently opposed
at the time, has proved most successful. We are quite
sure that we are within the mark when we affirm that the
silk trade has made more progress since 1826, when the
new system was introduced, than it did during the whole
of the preceding century. The following is an account of
the raw and thrown silk imported since 1820:—
Tears.
Raw and Thrown Silk,
lbs.
1820  2,641,866
1821  2,542,195
1822  2,680,568
1823   2,880,634
1824  3,477,648
1825  3,894,770
1826  2,665,225
Years.
Raw and Thrown Silk,
lbs.
1827  3,610,727
1828  4,765,241
1829  3,805,933
1830  4,318,181
1831  4,621,874
1832  4,224,897
Years. Declared Value.
1826  L. 168,801
1827  236,344
1828  250,870
1829  267,931
77/
Years. Declared Value. Statistics.
1830  L.521,010
1831  578,874
1832  529,990
This table shows conclusively that the manufacture has
increased nearly 50 per cent, since the adoption of those
sound and liberal measures which have been the theme of
so much ignorant invective. It is of importance too to
observe, that not only our imports of raw silk, but also
our exports of manufactured silk goods, are rapidly in¬
creasing. The following table shows this.
Declared Value of all Sorts of British Manufactured Silk
Goods exported each Year since 1820.
Years. Declared Value. Years. Declared Value.
1820  L.371,775 1823 L.251,409
1821  374,473 1824 442,596
1822  381,703 1825 296,736
VOL VIII.
It is plain, therefore, that the manufacture is not in¬
creasing merely by reason of an increased demand in the
home market, but because we are rapidly gaining on our
rivals in the markets of foreign countries. This affords un¬
questionable evidence of the improvement as well as the
extension of the manufacture. In 1832 our exports of
wrought silks to France itself amounted to about L.75,000.
Leather, however little it may figure as an article ofLeather
export, is necessarily one of extensive home consumption manufac-
in every civilized country, particularly in such a climateture”
as ours, and where there are so many rich and sumptuous
equipages. It is matter of regret that we should have so
very few data, official or otherwise, on which to form an
estimate of the export or import of hides in former ages.
Such an estimate would possess interest, as indicating the
extent of our pasturage and the number of our cattle in
comparison with our population. Whatever may have
been the case at a remote date, the custom-house returns,
for many years past, show, by the annual imports, that the
demand for leather has greatly exceeded the home supply
of hides. For a long time this importation took place from
the Continent of Europe, and from the least civilized quar¬
ters ; from countries, such as Lithuania and Poland, where
the quantity of hides furnished by the cattle materially
exceeds that of the leather required by the inhabitants.
But since the opening of the trade to South America, it
has been found more advantageous to import hides from
that continent, where the herds of wild cattle are so nu¬
merous as to meet the eye of the traveller in almost every
point of the horizon.
On an average of the two years ending with 1832 there
were imported 199,033 cwts. of untanned, and 24,334
cwts. of tanned hides. The quantity of leather annually
made in England and Wales may be estimated at about
45,000,000 lbs. The largest tanneries are at Bermond¬
sey in Southwark ; but there are also very extensive esta¬
blishments of the kind in the country, as in Cheshire, Lan¬
cashire, Westmoreland, Cumberland ; and also in Lincoln¬
shire. The late war, by its long continuance, and the
magnitude of our army and navy, produced great orders
from government for our leather manufacture. Shoes
were and still are made wholesale in several towns of
Staffordshire, Cheshire, and Northamptonshire ; but those
made in London, by the principal dealers, are, though ex¬
pensive, by far the best.
Of the annual value of the leather manufactured into
shoes, boots, harness, saddlery, &e. there are no means of
forming a correct estimate ; but we have merely to con¬
sider the population of England, and the unavoidable ex¬
tent of their wants, to be satisfied that from ten to twelve
millions sterling are rather below than above the mark.
But whilst our home consumption is so considerable, our
export is comparatively small, and does not exceed half a
million sterling. To Ireland, the leather we ship is mere¬
ly tanned; to other countries our exports are in a manu¬
factured shape. The duty on leather was wholly abolish¬
ed in 1830.
Connected with our general manufacture of leather is Glove
the glove trade, a branch of no inconsiderable extent, trade,
being carried on in several of the midland and western
counties, viz. at Woodstock, Worcester, Ludlow, Here¬
ford, Yeovil in Somersetshire, &c. This branch of indus¬
try enjoyed for a lengthened period the protection of mo¬
nopoly, which, however, was abolished in 1825. Many
5 F
778
ENGLAND.
Statistics, contradictory statements have been made as to the effects
of this measure. We believe, however, that the depres¬
sion so much complained of has not been produced by it,
but by the substitution of cotton gloves for those of leather;
and we have no doubt that, had it not been for the greater
cheapness and improved quality of leather gloves, caused
by the abolition of the monopoly, this substitution would
have been carried much farther than it has been. The
increased imports of the lamb and kid skins used in the
manufacture show conclusively that it is not declining.
Brewery. We come next to a branch of industry of a very different
description, namely, the brewery. The amount of capi¬
tal and labour invested in brewing establishments in Eng¬
land is very large, and particularly striking to those who
have lived on the Continent, and have contrasted our si- Statistic
tuation with that of the wine countries of the south of'—'V''.
Europe. It is only in Flanders and Germany that breweries
are numerous ; and, in the latter, from the limited capital,
and the scattered state of their population, there are hard¬
ly any of those large establishments which exist in our
metropolis. In London this important branch of business
is chiefly in the hands of about a dozen great houses, who,
conjunctly with the smaller establishments, brew at an
average 1,800,000 barrels of porter.
The following account exhibits within a brief compass
all the information that can be desired with respect to the
consumption of malt and beer in England, and the duties
thereon.
Account of the Quarters of Malt charged ivith Duty in England and Wales, with the Amount and Rate of such Duty ;
of the Malt used by Brewers and Victuallers in the same ; of the Number of Barrels of each sort of Beer, and the
Duties thereon; in each year from the bth January 1821 to the bth January 1833. .
c §
^ n
» a
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
Malt in England.
Quarters
charged with
Duty.
2,985,530
3,267,304
3,336,064
3,105,644
3,451,922
3,696,592
3,416,996
3,137,042
3,814,727
2,928,509
3,362,613
4,120,436
3,958,721
Bate per
Quarter.
28 10|/V
20 8
Amount of Duty.
Quarters used
by Brewers
and
Victuallers.
L.
4,311,446
4,718,360
3,624,242
3,203,502
3,560,693
3,813,072
3,586,084
3,241,610
3,941,884
3,026,126
3,474,699
4,257,781
4,090,678
s. d.
2 6
10 0
8 0
17 6
0 0
7 6
19 8
6 0
19 1
6 9
16 10
10 10
9 11
2,704,514
2,820,946
2,629,626
2,571,879
2,640,621
2,406,991
2,364,939
2,284,949
3,235,519
Beer in England.
Strong, at
9s. IGd.
per Barrel.
Barrels.
5,666,817
5,969,891
6,306,981
6,395,835
6,660,968
7,014,395
6,697,133
6,403,302
6,570,310
5,961,048
3,570,332
Table, at
Is. IHd.
per Barrel.
Barrels.
1,518,696
1,528,575
1,570,043
1,483,045
1,544,048
1,606,899
1,603,653
1,532,308
1,530,419
1,380,469
1,066,262
Interme¬
diate, at
4s. lid.
per Barrel.
Barrels.
7,018
15,660
6,160
7,707
17,158
62,617
55,498
41,834
Amount of Duty.
2,838,149 1
2,987,366 8
3.153.661 5
3,190,908 12
3,326,277 14
3,495,597
3,268,655
3.131.662
3,222,807
2,923,118
The duty on beer having ceased on the 10th of Octo¬
ber 1830, there are no subsequent accounts of the quan¬
tities brewed. There can be no doubt, however, from the
increased quantity of malt, that the production of beer
has been materially increased.
Spirituous liquors form one of the branches of manufac¬
ture in which England is dependent on her neighbours,
as she imports an annual supply of corn spirit from Scot¬
land and Ireland, rum from the West Indies, and brandy
from France. It has been generally supposed that the
consumption of gin has increased materially in England
since 1825, when the duties were reduced. We are, how¬
ever, inclined to doubt whether such be really the case,
and are disposed to believe that the effect is more ap¬
parent than real; in fact, that it has resulted rather from a
diminution of smuggling than from a positive increase of
consumption. That such has been the case in Scotland
and Ireland is beyond all question ; and there seems no
reason to conclude that it is otherwise in England. We
subjoin a statement of the quantity of the different sorts
of spirits entered for home consumption in England in
1832, and of the duties thereon. The consumption of
British spirits has declined about 500,000 gallons during
the last three years. The annual average consumption of
brandy is about 1,200,000 gallons. Its increase in 1832 is
to be ascribed to the notion then prevalent, but since ex¬
ploded, that brandy potations formed one of the best anti¬
dotes to cholera.
Consumption of and Duty on Spirits in England in 1832.
Brandy 
Geneva 
Rum 
Home made Spirits.
Total....
Gallons.
1,508,924
13,833
3,377,507
7,259,287
12,159,551
1,697,095
15,567
1,518,994
2,722,233
5,953,889
To the remaining manufactures our limits allow of littleLesserm
space, though several of them would be accounted ofnufaetun
great importance in any other country than England. TheS
extent to which such articles as soap and paper are madeP
among us is amply shown by the excise returns; but the
list of our exports is of more consequence to the political
economist, not from the vulgar notion that it is by export
only that national profit is realized, but as indicative of
those commodities for which we possess, in our soil, our
climate, or our colonial possessions, advantages that give
us a superiority over our neighbours. Thus, in the case
of glass, the abundance and cheapness of our coal out¬
weigh the disadvantages arising from the duty, and enable
us to make an annual export of between L.400,000 and
L.500,000. In the manufacture of hats, likewise, our com¬
mand of wool for the coarser kind, and of furs from our
North American colonies for beaver hats, enables us to ship
ENGLAND.
779
Statistics, to an extent of nearly L.200,000 real value a year. In
earthenware we have the advantage of clay, of fuel, and
of ready communication by canals. These, joined to the
taste and ingenuity of individuals engaged in the manu¬
facture, carried it, in the course of the eighteenth century,
to an extent which has rendered it a national object; a
tract of seven or eight miles in Staffordshire, called the
Pottery District, being almost entirely appropriated to it.
The population of this tract is about 60,000. The great
outlet is Liverpool, and the shipments take place partly to
the United States, partly to the continent of Europe. Our
exports, comprising porcelain, average from L.400,000 to
L.500,000 real value.
The stocking manufacture is carried on chiefly in the
counties of Nottingham, Derby, and Leicester. It former¬
ly employed vast numbers of women in knitting; but in
this, as in most other branches, machinery has greatly su¬
perseded manual labour. Lace is made in vast quantities
in the midland counties ; and here also machinery has of
late years been extensively applied. And so extraordi¬
nary has been the progress of invention in this depart¬
ment, that British lace at present commands a ready sale
in all foreign markets, and is largely smuggled even into
France.
We shall give, in a subsequent section, an account of the
number of persons supposed to be employed in trade and
manufacture, according to the returns obtained under the
population act for 1821.
VIII.— Commerce and Shipping.
Much of what relates to the commerce of England has
been already treated of under the preceding section, and
the colonial part of our trade shall be noticed in the next.
At present we are to exhibit a brief sketch of our com¬
mercial intercourse with Ireland and the continents of
Europe and America.
With Ireland the intercourse of England is very great,
that country sending us grain, salted and fresh provisions,
live cattle, butter, &c. t» the amount of six or seven mil¬
lions annually, and taking largely in return our manufac¬
tures, particularly cotton, woollen, and hardware.
North of Europe.—From Russia our chief imports are
tallow, hemp, flax, corn, linen, timber, pitch, &c.; from
the Swedish dominions, iron and timber; from Poland,
wheat, timber, and potash ; from Prussia, wheat, timber,
and flax. All these countries take our cottons, hardware,
and colonial produce.
Central part of Europe.—From Holland our imports are
not foreign merchandise, as in the seventeenth century,
when the Dutch were the carriers of Europe, but agricul¬
tural produce, as oats, wheat, seeds, hemp, cheese, butter;
also gin ; the whole to a large amount; in return for which
the Dutch take our hardware, cottons, and woollens. From
France our imports have long been burdened with heavy
duties, but still they are large and increasing; consisting
chiefly of wine and brandy, and also of silk, lace, and gloves. Statistics.
With Germany our chief intercourse is through the me- ’'-'■'V'*-'
dium of Holland and Hamburg. Our exports are large,
particularly in cottons, hardware, and colonial produce.
Our imports are also very various and large, consisting of
wool, corn, flax, timber, linen, and wine, from the vicinity
of the Rhine.
South of Europe.—Here we enter on countries of much
less industry. From Portugal we take wine in very large,
and fruit in smaller quantities, in return for our cottons,
our woollens, and our hardware. From Spain we receive
wool, wine, brandy, oil, fruits, barilla, &c. Italy, without
any commercial treaty, takes annually a large quantity
of our manufactures, and gives in return silk, oil, and
fruit. With the Levant our traffic is similar; consisting
of an export of manufactures, particularly printed cot¬
tons and hardware, and of an import of silk, fruit, and
drugs.
The United States are, notwithstanding their tariff, our
best customers, receiving from us manufactures of almost
every kind to a great amount, and sending us in return
vast quantities of cotton, tobacco, rice, and flour; but the
merchandise received from them being far inferior to the
value of our exports, the difference is paid by remittances
in money from the Continent of Europe, arising from Ame¬
rican merchandise sold there. With South America a
wide field of commercial intercourse has been opened ; at
present, however, the chief articles received from that
vast region are bullion, hides, skins, indigo, and cochineal.
The trade is, and will long be, subject to the various dis¬
advantages of a newly-settled country, bare of capital,
deficient in industry, and possessing but a small number
of consumers of European commodities in proportion to
its extent and fertility.
From Asia we import tea, indigo,.cotton, coffee, sugar,
piece goods, ivory, drugs, &c. Our principal article of
export is cotton goods, for which, how singular soever it
may appear, India has, since the opening of the trade in
1814, become one of our very best markets. Besides cot¬
ton stuffs and yarn, we send to Asia woollen goods, cop¬
per, and a great variety of other article^.
From Africa we import drugs, ivory, teak wood, hides,
&c. Our exports are but inconsiderable, consisting prin¬
cipally of cotton and linen manufactures. The hopes so
frequently entertained, of opening an advantageous trade
with the interior of Africa, have hitherto been altogether
disappointed, and we do not suppose that they are des¬
tined to be more successful in future.
The following accounts refer to the trade of Great Bri-Foreign
tain. It appears, however, from the statement of the trade,
customs duties collected in the different parts of the em¬
pire in 1831, and which are given in a subsequent part of
this article, that the foreign trade of Scotland does not,
on an average, exceed an eleventh or twelfth part of that
of England. The trade of Ireland is about as great as that
of Scotland.
780
ENGLAND,
I. Official and Declared1 Value of Exports of British and Irish Produce and Manufacture, and Official Value of
Exports of Foreign and Colonial Merchandise from Great Britain, and Official Value of Imports into the same
for the following Years.—(¥&v\. Paper, No. 243, Sess. 1830; and Finance Accounts.)
Year ending the 5th
of J anuary.
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
18142
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
Exports.
British and Irish Produce and Manufac¬
tures from Great Britain.
Official Value.
L.18,556,891
22,284,941
22,831,936
24,501,608
25,195,893
20,042,596
22,132,367
22,907,371
25,266,546
22,963,772
24,179,854
32,916,858
33,299,408
21,723,532
28,447,912
32,200,580
41,712,002
34,774,521
39,233,467
41,960,555
32,983,689
37,820,293
40,194,681
43,558,488
43,166,039
48,024,952
46,453,022
40,332,854
51,279,102
52,019,728
55,465,723
60,492,637
60,090,123
64,582,037
Declared Value.
L.31,252,836
35,903,850
36,929,007
39,730,659
45,102,230
36,127,787
37,135,746
37,234,396
39,746,581
36,394,443
36,306,385
46,049,777
47,000,926
30,850,618
39,334,526
43,447,373
49,653,245
40,328,940
40,349,235
45,180,150
34,252,251
35,569,077
35,823,127
36,176,897
34,589,410
37,600,021
38,077,330
30,847,528
36,394,817
36,150,379
35,212,873
37,691,302
36,652,694
36,046,027
Foreign and Colonial
Merchandise from
Great Britain.
Official Value.
L.8,760,196
7,271,696
11,549,681
10,336,966
12,677,431
8,032,643
8,938,741
7,643,120
7,717,555
7,624,312
5,776,775
12,750,358
9,357,435
6,117,720
9,533,065
19,157,818
15,708,435
13,441,665
10,269,271
10,835,800
9,879,236
10,525,026
10,602,090
9,211,928
8,588,996
10,188,596
9,155,305
10,066,503
9,806,343
9,928,655
10,606,441
8,535,786
10,729,943
11,036,759
Imports.
Into Great Britain.
Official Value.
L.25,122,203
24,066,700
28,257,781
30,435,268
28,308,373
25,104,541
26,454,281
27,334,020
25,554,478
25,326,845
25,660,953
30,170,292
37,613,294
25,240,904
24,923,922
32,620,771
31,822,053
26,374,921
29,910,502
35,845,340
29,681,640
31,515,222
29,769,122
29,432,376
34,591,264
36,056,551
42,660,954
36,174,350
43,489,346
43,536,187
42,311,649
44,815,397
48,161,661
43,237,417
1 For an explanation of the difference between official and real value, see Exchange.
been^nduded ii^the^eufrifs1 ofArishnmhice^c11!!-11^ t]le ,5tl1 JailuarJ 1«15 inclusive, British produce and manufactures have
headed Exports, Foreign,
781
ENGLAND.
II-—Account of the Official Value of the Imports into the United Kingdom, and of the Exports of British and Irish
Produce and Manufactures, and of Foreign and Colonial Merchandise, in the year 1831, specifying the Imports
from and Exports to each Country.—(Pari. Paper, No. 336, Sess. 1833.)
Countries.
United Kingdom.
Official Value of
Imports.
Europe—Russia 
Sweden 
Norway 
Denmark 
Prussia  
Gei'many  
Netherlands 
France 
Portugal, Azores and Ma-1
deira J
Spain and the Canaries 
Gibraltar C  
Italy  
Malta 
Ionian Islands 
Turkey and Continental |
Greece j
Morea and Greek Islands..,
Isles Guernsey, Jersey, Al-1
derney, and Man J
Africa—Egypt, ports on the!
Mediterranean J
Tripoli, Barbary, and Mo-1
rocco J
Western coast of Africa 
Cape of Good Hope 
Eastern coast of Africa 
Cape Verde Islands 
St Helena 
Mauritius 
Asia—East Indies and China
New South Wales, Van^
Diemen’s Land, & Swan
River )
New Zealand and South '
Sea Islands 
America—British Northern
Colonies 
British West Indies 
Foreign West Indies  
United States 
Mexico   
Guatemala 
Colombia... 
States of Rio de la Plata.
Chili 
Peru  
Brazil  
The Whale Fisheries  
Total.
.L.
L. s. d.
4,696,368 17 11
212,639 13 1
91,678 10 1
410,981 7 2
1,200,102 7 5
1,684,165 8 3
1,276,081 12 3
3,056,154 12 4
520,616 18 8
1,293,924 0 4
19,668 7 0
1,475,304 6 10
63,550 2 10
187,185 11 4
759,797 19 1
29,273 6 9
202,940 14 7
17,180,433 15 11
275,547 19 7
45,986 5 9
299,105 0 5
183,481 14 2
2,328 17 0
44,512 3 8
724,285 8 2
7,920,182 3 9
191,841 3 2
6,442 10 0
1,532,582 19 0
8,448,839 8 7
615,594 7 2
8,970,342 8 3
160,751 12 3
8,065 4 6
25,243 14 1
476,272 J4 10
21,030 16 11
42,377 9 3
2,278,059 18 4
273,800 19 9
49,727,108 14 6
Official Value of Exports.
British and Irish
Produce
and Manufactures.
L.
1,746,972
94,587
92,599
173,280
264,618
7,667,147
3,179,298
635,927
2,251,584
1,036,623
879,382
4,528,154
257,537
71,592
2,113,928
28,563
445,410
s. d.
12 5
5 1
1 1
1 11
2 1
0 3
13
13
3 0
17 8
3 7
10 4
8 8
13
9
12 0
2 4
25,467,207 9 8
236,189 15 3
759 10 0
352,182 17
351,107 13
123 17 6
28,439 6 3
268,963 16 4
6,521,532 19 7
427,378 18 8
4,056 12 6
2,858,514 19 9
3,729,521 14 3
2,186,482 5 7
12,007,208 8 11
1,112,916 12 11
Foreign and Colonial
Merchandise.
856,856 14 8
67,788 12 8
58,225 5 6
83,423 8 3
564,684 12 10
1,806,480 8 9
3,270,927 0 11
256,081 19 7
68,197 17 1
318,038 7 8
121,340 18 3
820,651 1 0
20,485 2 6
13,383 8 7
95,777 3 2
1,743 11 10
126,435 1 2
8,550,520 14 5
2,068 9 9
4,950 16 11
155,275 19 7
28,940 6 1
476,768 0
582,086 6
1,057,621 17
624,639 11
2,392,662 8
0
4
2
10
4
60,686,364 12 10
75 3 8
3,030 9 10
11,984 17 9
426,068 0 7
149,735 11 9
815 8 3
271,975 9 3
258,764 6 4
48,762 14 11
588,965 9 0
138,852 4 10
22,964 17 4
8,224 8 10
10,842 2 8
21,392 9 3
39,002 8 7
1,914 0 0
10,745,126 9 7
Total Exports.
2,603,829 7 1
162,375 17 9
150,824 6 7
256,703 10 2
829,302 14 11
9,473,627 9 0
6,450,225 14 5
892,009 13 0
2,319,782 0 1
1,354,662 5 4
1,000,723 1 10
5,348,805 11 4
278,022 11 2
84,976 1 9
2,209,705 12 4
30,307 3 10
571,845 3 6
34,017,728 4 1
238,258 5 0
5,710 6 11
507,458 17 4
380,047 19 4
199 1 2
31,469 16 1
280,948 14 1
6,947,600 11 2
577,114 10 5
4,872 0 9
3,130,490 9 0
3,988,286 0 7
2,235,245 0 6
12,596,173 17 11
1,251,768 17 9
499,732 17 4
590,310 15 2
1,068,463 19 10
646,032 1 1
2,431,664 16 11
1,914 0 0
71,431,491 2 5
782
IIL-
ENGLAND.
■Value of the Produce and Manufactures of the United Kingdom, exported from Great Britain and Ireland to
Foreign Parts, according to the Real or Declared Value thereof, specifying the Amount sent from each.
Species of Exports.
Great Britain.
Alum     
Apparel, slops and Negro clothing 
Arms and ammunition    
Bacon and hams  
Beef and pork, salted  
Beer and ale 
Books, printed  
Brass and copper manufactures 
Bread and biscuit 
Butter and cheese 
Cabinet and upholstery wares 
Coals and culm 
Cordage 
Corn, grain, meal, and flour 
Cotton manufactures 
Cotton yarn 
Cows and oxen 
Earthenware of all sorts 
Fish of all sorts 
Glass of all sorts 
Haberdashery and millinery 
Hardwares and cutlery 
Hats, beaver and felt 
Hats of all other sorts  
Hops 
Horses    
Iron and steel, wrought and unwrought.
Lard 
Lead and shot 
Leather, wrought and unwrought 
Leather, saddlery and harness 
Linen manufactures 
Machinery and mill-work   
Mathematical and optical instruments 
Mules 
Musical instruments 
Oil, train, of Greenland fishery 
Painters’ colours 
Plate, plated ware, jewellery, and watches.
Potatoes...  
Salt 
Saltpetre, British refined..., 
Seeds of all sorts 
Silk manufactures 
Soap and candles   
Spirits 
Stationery of all sorts 
Sugar, refined 
Tin, unwrought 
Tin and pewter wares, and tin plates.
Tobacco (manufactured) and snuff,....
Tongues  
Umbrellas and parasols 
Whalebone    
Wool, sheep’s 
Wool of other sorts 
Woollen manufactures 
All other articles 
Years ending the 5th of January.
1831.
Total real or declared value of the pro¬
duce and manufactures of the United
Kingdom, exported from Great Bri¬
tain to foreign parts 
Ireland.
Total real or declared value of the pro¬
duce and manufactures of the United
Kingdom, exported from Ireland to
foreign parts   
United Kingdom.
Total real or declared value of the pro¬
duce and manufactures of the United
Kingdom, exported from the same to
foreign parts, 
L.
3,008
384,213
241,623
31,833
85,859
206,876
93,851
863,313
9,654
123,792
55,567
182,862
78,441
35,842
15,203,713
4,132,258
2,348
439,566
245,750
396,662
384,701
1,410,936
208,497
15,672
6,614
49,243
1,076,186
4,326
106,768
243,142
78,071
1,926,256
208,736
21,446
7,248
51,784
45,063
99,985
190,207
5,451
181,209
8,682
4,510
519,919
220,315
5,841
167,679
1.287,887
106,134
249,619
21,734
1,345
32,508
41,893
144,712
33,460
4,847,398
859,063
s. d.
7 6
13 6
0 10
18 1
15 9
16 1
3 7
6 8
0 2
8 9
19 2
10 9
10 10
4 11
7 2
17 7
10 o
19 2
3
1
7
5
5
9
8
10 0
11 3
15 0
15 5
16 6
18 10
15 1
17 2
12 11
0 0
11 4
3 8
3 0
15 9
17 4
9 2
9 0
13 0
9 4
9 2
13 6
15 11
14 10
7 2
12 2
10 2
11 0
15 9
5 0
11 3
2 6
9 6
19 0
1832.
L.
5,855
368,545
562,729
20.834
83,428
157,350
100,770
802,879
10,072
130,603
41,316
198,242
75,821
37,026
13,207,947
3,974,989
1,726
458,965
184,031
423,828
414,716
1,620,236
169,076
15,148
11,284
29,212
1,119,967
3,390
96,215
234,491
60,950
2,301,803
105,505
17,103
2,715
88,372
21,170
101,986
187,930
6,106
162,706
20,683
5,257
578,260
210,170
5,218
177,698
1,237,774
77,718
230,004
16,258
1,500
47,512
8,287
173,103
66.835
5,385,811
843,542
s. d.
5 11
3 9
1 2
6 10
3 9
14 11
14 4
16 9
6 3
17 0
0 0
11 11
18 0
19 4
17 3
11 6
0 0
3 1
15 0
17 0
6 10
8 9
7 3
15 3
7 8
10 0
5 9
11 3
12 6
15 0
8 0
3 9
10 6
18 4
10 0
8 7
18 0
0 2
6 6
7 2
10 10
12 9
8 0
18 0
10 0
19 6
4 0
5 4
17 0
37,694,302 5 4
560,200 4 11
36,652,694 17 9
510,952 16 1
38,251,502 10 3 ( 37,163,647 13 10
1833.
L.
4,771
376,091
274,950
17,970
66,180
198,715
92,809
916,226
12,877
185,346
43,907
226,772
95,030
27,407
12,622,880
4,721,796
510
489,980
213,607
396,407
332,429
1.433.297
144,111
15,189
71,067
57,886
1,189,250
5,529
144,598
235,505
54,229
1,655,478
92,714
16,430
1,056
36,601
33,394
115,910
173,617
7,707
147,176
24,482
4,996
529,808
288,674
7,193
176,497
1,038,519
111,797
243,191
15,133
1,550
40,490
16,975
219,650
24,088
5.475.298
880,255
s. d.
15 9
16 5
17 0
17 9
10 2
2 10
3 6
6 0
17 7
10 0
5 0
9 6
17 5
3 5
14 0
19 0
0 0
10 2
3 0
10 10
1 0
6 11
16 8
11 1
18 5
0 0
13 10
4 1
8 0
13 1
10 0
12 0
0 10
0 5
3 10
0 0
11 6
9 7
16 0
7 10
5 10
9 6
13 0
8 2
15 O
1 0
0 0
12 2
0 6
36,046,027 11 5
398,497 7 2
36,444,524 18 7
783
IV.-
E N G L A N D.
-Account of the Quantities of the Principal Articles of Foreign and Colonial Merchandize imported and retained
for Home Consumption, and also the Quantity exported, in the year 1829 (fractional quantities omitted).
Quantities Im¬
ported.
Retained for Home
Consumption.
Quantities Ex¬
ported.
Ashes, pearl and pot   cwts.
Barilla ditto
Bark, oak, and cork tree ditto
Brimstone, rough ditto
Bristles.... lbs.
Butter cwts.
Cassia lignea lbs.
Cheese cwts.
Cinnamon lbs.
Cloves ditto
Cochineal ditto
Cocoa-nuts.... ditto
Coffee ditto
Copper, unwrought cwts.
Cork, unmanufactured ditto
Corn :—
Wheat qrs.
Barley ditto
Oats ditto
Rye ditto
Peas and beans ditto
Wheat-meal and flour cwts.
Cortex Peruvianus or Jesuits’ bark lbs.
Cotton, piece goods of India, not printed pieces
Cottons, printed sq. yds.
Currants cwts.
Dye and hard woods :—
Fustic tons
Logwood ditto
Mahogany ditto
Elephants’ teeth cwts.
Figs  ditto
Flax and tow, and codilla of hemp, &c ditto
Furs:—
Bear number
Beaver ditto
Fitch ditto
Marten ditto
Mink  ditto
Musquash ditto
Nutria ditto
Gitter ditto
Onger cwts.
Gum:—
Arabic ditto
Lac-dye lbs.
Shell-lac ditto
Hats, straw number
Hemp, undressed cwts.
Hides, untanned ditto
Indigo lbs.
Iron in bars tons
Lead, pig ditto
Leather gloves pairs
Lemons and oranges :—
Packages not exceeding 5000 cubic inches 
Ditto above 5000, and not exceeding 7300 
Ditto above 7300, and not exceeding 14,000 
Linens,—Cambrics, &c pieces
Linens, plain and diaper :—
Entered by the ell ells
Entered by the piece pieces
Entered by the square yard sq. yds.
102,258
165,338
1,009,816
302,038
1,715,488
148,139
817,968
168,900
544,225
36,071
288,456
3,209,933
39,071,215
10,267
46,494
1,544,969
281,713
541,858
65,910
82,139
461,895
405,552
1,403,397
131,420
119,927
7,364
13,893
19.335
4,345
21,938
922,039
12,583
76.427
278,740
151,937
77,361
1,070,016
618,187
14,862
11,007
8,232
594,494
703,886
160,195
374,932
286,416
6,748,281
15,720
1,508
865,157
53,215
130,946
67.336
40,778
372,697
31,638
138,458
143,657
236,563
1,004,070
313,766
1,695,083
147,951
62,252
166,484
29,720
48,638
127,954
393,847
19,466,028
14
45,636
1,267,914
202,405
192,889
65,331
96,513
337,065
103,695
value L.44,883
2,873
114,076
6,006
8,851
16,546
3,605
19,702
909,709
884
68,665
278,846
121,741
34,109
491,978
629,170
857
5,947
17,249
462,988
316,070
234,254
422,121
231,874
2,113,830
13,067
35
837,208
48,921
130,348
65,669
41,224
19,780
795,242
386,108
57,904
153,738
1,674,613
23,023,410
13,743
52,190
10,297
58,635
7,861
2,345
70,652
296,382
614,085
171,969
6,226
14,227
49,712
28T,347
14,751
11,209
2,049
26,763
446,598
4,286,605
3,024
1,700
692
451,533
30,175
124,200
784
ENGLAND.
Account of the Quantities of the Principal Articles of Foreign and Colonial Merchandise, fyc. continued.
Linens, plain and diaper—entered at value L.
Liquorice juice cwts.
Mace lbs.
Madder cvvts.
Madder root     ditto
Molasses   ditto
Nutmegs lbs.
Oil:—•
Castor lbs.
Olive gallons
Palm cwts.
Train—Blubber tuns.
Spermaceti ditto
Not blubber or spermaceti ditto
Opium lbs.
Pepper  ditto
Pimento '. ditto
Prunes cwts.
Quicksilver lbs.
Raisins   cwts.
Rhubarb lbs.
Rice cwts.
Rice in the husk, bushels
Safflower cwts.
Sago ditto
Saltpetre ditto
Sarsaparilla lbs.
Seeds:—
Clover cwts.
Flax and Linseed bushels
Rape ditto
Tares ditto
Senna lbs.
Shumac cwts.
Silk:—
Raw and waste   lbs.
Thrown ditto
Manufactures of Europe ditto
Manufactures of India, viz.
Bandanas, Romals, &c pieces
Crape in pieces ditto
Crape scarfs, shawls, &c number
Taffaties, damasks, &c pieces
Skins:—
Calf and kid, untanned cwts.
Deer, undressed number
Goat, undressed ditto
Kid, undressed ditto
Kid, dressed ditto
Lamb, undressed ditto
Seal, undressed..  ditto
Smalts   lbs.
Spelter cwts.
Spirits:—
Rum proof gallons
Brandy   ditto
Geneva   ditto
Sugar, unrefined cwts.
Tallow ditto
Tar lasts
Tea;..,   lbs.
Timber:—
Battens and batten ends great hundreds
Quantities Im¬
ported.
4,031
4,440
6,841
70,017
33,541
394,432
38,868
396,104
1,153,834
179,945
5,754
5,571
11,974
48,634
2,015,184
3,599,268
6,283
635,905
145,750
146,881
222,547
293,354
4,623
486
176,489
228,164
40,529
2,052,258
378,304
87,101
187,492
80,191
3,594,754
211,179
132,313
99,393
53
70,299
9,052
43,764
123,276
306,579
106,319
591,094
1,888,487
289,541
376,675
84,603
6,938,426
1,994,649
177,847
4,856,393
1,177,908
5,812
30,544,404
11,149
Retained for Home
Consumption.
6,674
5,795
14,254
69,658
39,804
386,142
113,273
293,028
1,334,758
175,393
5,754
5,694
9,047
23,970
1,933,641
339,013
6,245
162,816
121,737
33,673
116,854
222,472
4,370
4,026
155,095
104,679
88,662
1,899,936
375,162
101,160
122,601
78,874
2,601,516
168,985
121,584
67,465
Before July 5.
) lbs. 7,675
After July 5.
) L.5,926
43,046
36,314
182,062
107,513
591,091
1,887,891
262,446
353,468
12,430
3,375,866
1,300,746
37,146
3,539,821
1,024,993
6,492
29,495,205
11,065
Quantities Ex¬
ported.
1,144
26,106
47,913
41,919
2,962,063
2,732,493
575,552
91,738
95,584
34,537
221,412
26,715
6,909
79,886
602
13,981
4,064
101,387
113,724
79,279
1,644,663
661,097
148,176
297,912
251,971
Statistics.
Mine in
lie real va-
je of the
sports.
ENGLAND.
785
Account of the Quantities of the Principal Articles of Foreign and Colonial Merchandise, fyc. concluded. Statistics.
Timber:—Deals and deal ends great hundreds
Lath wood fathoms
Masts, yards, &c. under 12 inches diameter...number
Ditto, 12 inches and above ditto
Oak plank, two inches thick or upwards loads
Staves great hundreds
Teak loads
Timber, eight inches square or upwards ditto
Wainscot logs, ditto ditto
Tin cwts.
Tobacco, unmanufactured lbs.
Tobacco, manufactured, and snuff ditto
Turpentine, not worth more than 12s. per cwt cwts.
Valonia ditto
Wax, bees’   ditto
Whale-fins ditto
Wool, cotton lbs.
Wool, sheeps’ ditto
Wine :—
Lape gallons
French ditto
Portugal ditto
Spanish ditto
Madeira ditto
Canary ditto
Rhenish ditto
Other sorts ditto
Yarn, linen, raw cwts.
Zaffre lbs.
Quantities Im¬
ported.
51,587
10.386
13,475
4,803
1,433
95,953
16,924
549,259
4,221
2,674
22,399,335
169,634
262,832
111,391
11,699
13,305
222,767,767
21,525,542
967,363
498,320
2,405,342
2,841,030
320,581
199,026
85,858
300,677
29,646
158,026
Retained for Home
Consumption.
51,890
10,282
13,676
5,591
1,551
89,009
16,835
541,565
3,407
2
18,819,021
66,743
277,509
110,773
6,568
12,876
204,097,037
22,614,550
579,744
365,336
2,682,084
1,964,162
229,392
101,699
76,396
218,839
29,645
157,085
Quantities Ex¬
ported.
2,581
7,369,749
27,813
30,289,115
406,566
20,162
109,292
246,670
442,881
168,446
115,640
9,153
85,366
The increase in the official, and the decline in the real
or declared value of the exports, since 1815, has given rise
to a great deal of irrelevant discussion. It has been look¬
ed upon as a proof that our commerce is daily becoming
less prosperous, whereas, in point of fact, a precisely op¬
posite conclusion should be drawn from it. We have al¬
ready stated, that the rates according to which the offi¬
cial values of the exports are determined, were fixed as
far back as 1696; so that they have long ceased to be of
importance as affording any criterion of the actual va¬
lue, their only use being to show the fluctuations in the
quantities exported. To remedy this defect, a plan was
formed during the early part of Mr Pitt’s administration,
for keeping an account of the real value of the exports, as
ascertained by the declarations of the exporters. Those
who contend that our trade is getting into a bad condi¬
tion, argue that the great increase in the official value of
the exports since 1815 shows that the quantity of the ar¬
ticles exported has been proportionally augmented, whilst
the fall in their real value shows that we are selling this
larger quantity for a smaller price, a result which, they af¬
firm, is most injurious. But the circumstance of a manu¬
facturer or a merchant selling a large or a small quantity
of produce at the same price, affords no criterion by which
to judge as to the advantage or disadvantage of the sale ;
for if, in consequence of improvements in the arts or other¬
wise, a particular article may now be produced for half
the expense that its production cost ten or twenty years
ago, it is obvious that double the quantity of it may be af¬
forded at the same price without injury to the producers.
Now this is the case with some of the most important arti¬
cles which arc exported from England. Cottqns and cot¬
ton-twist form a full half or more of our entire exports;
and since 1814 there has been an extraordinary fall in the
price of these articles, occasioned partly by cotton wool
having fallen from about Is. 6d. per lb. to about 7d. per
lb., but more by improvements in the manufacture. To
such an extent have these causes operated, that yarn No.
40, which in 1812 cost 2s. 6d., in 1830 cost Is. 21d.; in
1812 No. 60 cost 3s. 6d., in 1830 it cost Is. lO^d.; in 1812
No. 80 cost 4s. 4d., in 1830 it cost 2s. 6|d., and so on;
and in the weaving department the reduction has.been
similar. Hence, whilst the official value of the exports
of cotton goods and twist has increased from about
L.18,000,000 in 1814, to about L.37,000,000 in 1830,
their declared value has sunk from about L.20,000,000 at
the former period to about L.16,000,000 at the latter.
Surely, however, this is, if any thing can be, a proof of
increasing prosperity; it shows that we can now export
and sell with a profit (for unless such were the case, does
any one imagine the exportation would continue ?) nearly
double the quantity of cotton goods and yarn which we
exported in 1814 for about the same price. In as far,
therefore, as an abundant and cheap supply of cottons
may be supposed to increase the comforts of society, it is
plain that they must be about double, not in this coun¬
try only, but in all those countries to which we export.
(M‘Culloch’s Commercial Dictionary, art. Cotton?)
The subjoined tables give a complete view of the ship- shipping,
ping belonging to the different ports of the British empire,
and of the navigation with foreign countries, in 1829 and
1830, since which time there has been no sensible variation.
5 G
VOL. VIII.
786
ENGLAND,
I.—Number of Ships and Vessels belonging to the different Ports or Places of the British Empire in 1829, stated in suc¬
cession, agreeably to the Amount of Tonnage belonging to each.
England.
Ships. Tons.
London 2,663 572,835
Newcastle  987 202,379
Liverpool  805 161,780
Sunderland 624 107,628
Whitehaven  496 72,967
Hull  579 72,248
Bristol  316 49,535
Yarmouth  585 44,134
Whitby  258 41,576
Scarborough—... 169 28,070
Plymouth  302 24,838
Dartmouth  349 24,114
Beaumaris  389 22,076
Poole :  168 17,860
Exeter  196 17,166
Lynn  118 14,659
Cardigan  281 14,643
Gloucester  247 13,026
Rochester  255 10,816
Bideford  116 10,182
Lancaster  107 9,410
Ipswich  138 8,532
Portsmouth  184 8,485
Southampton  178 8,120
Milford  116 8,104
Boston  152 8,059
Swansea  122 7,772
Faversham  217 7,392
Mai don  190 7,373
Stockton  74 7,296
Weymouth  85 7,175
Colchester  235 6,745
Falmouth  78 6,614
Aberystwith  120 6,423
Bridlingtop  40 6,290
Cowes  151 6,015
Chepstow  72 5,805
St Ives    87 5,570
Dover  120 5,525
Harwich  96 5,513
Fowey  81 5,470
Penzance  92 4,981
Chester  74 4,816
Ships.
Berwick  57
Ramsgate  70
Ilfracombe....  64
Wells  66
Newport  50
Rye  68
Goole  50
Padstow  68
Blaokney and Clay 50
Lyme  39
Llanelly  69
Bridgewater  46
Carlisle  40
Chichester  62
Cardiff...  38
Arundel    25
Aldborough  49
Woodbridge  38
Southwold  37
Wisbech  43
Shoreham  42
Barnstaple  40
Truro  25
Grimsby  39
Newhaven  21
Minehead  20
Scilly  22
Deal.....  19
Gweek  8
Tons.
4,784
4,397
4,095
3,962
3,824
3,704
3,625
3,587
3,380
3,335
3,264
2,921
2,886
2,805
2,742
2,711
2,698
2,659
2,638
2,487
2,272
2,087
1,727
1,390
1,205
957
792
557
557
Total 13,977 1,758,065
Scotland.
Aberdeen  350
Glasgow  235
Greenock  371
Dundee  299
Leith  263
Grangemouth 204
Montrose  173
Kirkaldy  192
Irvine  135
Dumfries  183
Bo’ness  123
46,201
41,121
36,241
31,986
26,362
24,327
16,179
14,802
13,379
12,192
9,108
Ships.
Inverness  136
Port Glasgow  46
Banff   133
Lerwick  94
Kirkwall  68
Stornoway  74
Campbeltown  68
Thurso  39
Stranraer  42
Ireland.
Belfast 247
Dublin 289
Cork   256
Newry  161
Waterford  26
Wexford  135
Londonderry  32
Baltimore  86
Drogheda  30
Limerick  39
Sligo  20
Galway  19
Coleraine  10
Dundalk  6
Westport  7
Tons.
7,338
6,807
5,818
3,314
3,312
3,093
2,779
2,441
1,497
3,228 308,297
24,989
23,904
17,093
8,281
6,942
6,701
4,306
2,478
2,387
1,874
1,219
864
409
339
208
1,413 101,994
Isle of Jersey  200
Isle of Guernsey.. 75
Isle of Man 217
18,217
7,672
5,714
Total of the
United King¬
dom and Bri¬
tish Islands... 19,110
Plantations  4,343
2,199,959
317,041
Grand Total... 23,453 2,517,000
Number of men belonging to ships of United Kingdom and British Islands ^90 992
Number of men belonging to ships of Plantations  ^ ’
Total of men belonging, in 1829, to the mercantile navy of the United Kingdom and Plantations, 154,808
Mercantile Navy in 1830.
Vessels. Tons. Men.
Great Britain and Plantations, 23,721 2,531,819 154,812
787
ENGLAND.
II.— General Statement of the Shipping employed in the Trade of the United Kingdom in the Year 1830, exhibiting the
Number and Tonnage of Vessels entered Inwards and cleared Outwards {including their repeated Voyages), with the
Number of their Crews; separating British from Foreign Ships, and distinguishing the Trade with each Country.
(Pari. Paper, No. 350, Sess. 1831.) * * "V-
Countries, &c.
Russia 
Sweden  
Norway 
Denmark 
Prussia 
Germany 
United Netherlands..
France 
Portugal, Proper 
 the Azores.
 Madeira....
Spain and the Balearic Islands
 Canaries....
Gibraltar.   
Italy and the Italian Islands.
Malta 
Ionian Islands 
Turkey and Continental
Greece 
Morea and Greek Islands ....
Egypt (Ports on the Medi¬
terranean)  
Tripoli, Barbary, and Morocco
Coast of Africa, from Morocco
to the Cape of Good Hope.
Cape of Good Hope 
Cape Verde Islands 
St Helena and Ascension 
Isle of Bourbon 
Mauritius 
East India Company’s Terri¬
tories and Ceylon 
China 
Sumatra and Java 
Philippine Islands 
Other islands of the Indian
Seas 
New South Wales and Van
Diemen’s Land 
Swan River 
New Guinea 
New Zealand and South Sea
Islands.. 
British North American Colo-
Inwards.
British.
Ships.
mes 
British West Indies 
Hayti 
Cuba and other Foreign West
Indies 
United States of America 
Mexico   
Colombia 
Brazil 
States of the Rio de la Plata.
Chili 
Peru 
The Whale Fisheries 
The Isles of Guernsey, Jer¬
sey, Alderney, and Man...
Foreign Parts, not otherwise
described 
1,6G1
82
G6
111
GG6
986
1,156
1,367
395
*161
8
428
42
30
353
17
32
95
7
14
11
126
23
1
55
148
22
3
6
26
1,709
911
21
25
197
35
17
168
51
7
11
97
2,199
Tons.
321,426
32,116
6,459
12,210
102,758
150,997
120,301
110,766
43,336
12,906
1,339
46,508
4,793
4,196
51,512
2,162
4,304
13,610
1,055
3,853
1,127
34,763
4,276
142
17,189
65,498
27,782
1,189
2,486
8,668
431
452.397
253,872
3,719
4,637
65,130
6,236
3,268
38,322
9,784
1,242
2,085
31,897
117,298
Men.
14,698
583
395
608
4,920
7,516
7,030
10,029
2,542
836
73
2,645
258
239
2,848
118
240
780
55
188
63
1,852
230
13
893
4,525
2,700
59
121
502
26
21,338
13,782
198
238
2.948
351
186
1,968
531
78
116
3,835
8.949
Total, all parts of the world.. 13,548' 2,180,042 122,103 | 5,359 i 758,828
Foreign.
Outwards.
Ships.
90
127
556
655
720
616
863
933
78
2
61
12
609
20
Tons.
26,905
23,158
84,585
51,420
139,646
54,869
92,811
47,940
8,394
185
5,639
2,253
225
370
3,111
214,166
270
320
2,561
Men.
1,280
1.175
4,570
3.175
6,132
3,018
5,096
6,369
705
18
450
157
10
20
139
9,189
141
41,670
British.
Ships.
1,231
55
53
540
341
876
887
1,330
339
105
7
353
46
83
418
38
38
95
11
22
3
137
38
2
3
33
141
16
2
1
1
65
2
1
1,714
868
46
67
281
51
16
254
36
14
10
123
1,897
34
12,747
Tons.
240,638
8,020
5,148
85,981
50,931
133,847
87-559
111,779
36,930
8,332
1,327
37,412
5,590
10,677
58,307
9,306
5,513
13,424
1,607
4,281
331
38,661
7,737
307
615
8,036
59,605
21,033
577
237
369
22,587
764
405
728
450,987
240,664
7,642
12,584
91,551
8,574
3,108
57,682
6,294
2,510
1,899
40,166
95,547
4,338
Men.
2,102,147
11,253
412
326
4,133
2,539
6,724
5,301
9,968
2,313
571
90
2,230
324
606
3,347
512
292
783
98
236
19
2,192
463
19
33
481
4,043
2,169
53
16
31
1,633
42
30
71
22,045
13,647
472
741
4,344
503
178
3,044
373
152
118
5,044
7,829
202
Foreign.
Ships.. Tons. Men.
88
67
582
926
380
612
783
642
99
4
1
58
2
8
14
1
122,025
16
611
2
22,858
9,624
93,176
98,694
73,133
52,118
82,557
33,955
14,724
489
194
6,751
641
968
2,407
160
1,613
250
5,158
85
407
789
459
393
4,636
211,714
483
569
44,771
758,368
1,036
526
4,780
5,377
3,251
2,824
4,657
3,847
894
28
11
485
40
64
159
8
110
11
28
41
22
32
214
9,439
22
41
1,822
39,796
Steam-Boats belonging to Great Britain in 1829, and to Ireland in 1828.
Tons.
20,611
Vessels.
England 241
Scotland  75.
Ireland  26.
5,953
4,791
788
ENGLAND.
Statistics.
IX.—Establishments for Religion and Education.
Rank of The church of England has two archbishops and twen-
the clergy, ty-four bishops, all peers of the realm, and all indebted
for their appointment to the crown. The bishop of the Isle
of Man, formerly appointed by the Duke of Atholl, is now
also appointed by the crown, but has no seat in the House
of Lords. The province of York comprises four bishop¬
rics, viz. Durham, Carlisle, Chester, and the Isle of Man;
all the rest, to the number of twenty-one, are in the pro¬
vince of Canterbury. The clerical dignitary next to the
bishop is the archdeacon, whose duty, though very dif¬
ferent in different dioceses, may be termed that of a re¬
presentative of the bishop in several of his less important
functions. The number of archdeacons in England is
about sixty. The name of Dean IJDecanus') was pro¬
bably derived from his originally superintending ten ca¬
nons or prebendaries. Each bishop has a chapter or
council appointed to assist him, and each chapter has a
dean as its president; but there are in the church of Eng¬
land many deaneries of other descriptions. Rector is, in
general, the title of a clergyman holding a living, of which
the tithes are entire ; vicar is understood of a living where
the great tithes have passed into secular hands. The
very general name of curate signifies sometimes (as cure
in France) a clergyman in possession of a living, but more
frequently one exercising the spiritual office in a parish
under the rector or vicar. The latter are temporary cu¬
rates, their appointment being a matter of arrangement
with the rector or vicar; the former, being more perma¬
nent, are called perpetual curates, and are appointed by
the impropriator of the tithe in a parish which lias neither
rector nor vicar. The name of priest is, in general, con¬
fined to the clergy of the church of Rome; in the church
of England the corresponding term is a clerk in orders.
A parson (persona ecclesice) denotes a clergyman in pos¬
session of a parochial church. Deacon is, in England, not
a layman, as in Calvinist countries, but a clergyman of
limited qualifications, entitled to preach, baptize, marry,
and bury, but not to give the sacrament. Readers are
not regular clergymen, but laymen of good character, li¬
censed by the bishop to read prayers in churches or cha¬
pels where there is no clergyman. (See Adolphus the
British Empire, vol. i.)
A clerical education in England is of much less length
than in Calvinist countries ; in Scotland, Holland, Swit¬
zerland, or the north of Germany, after going through a
course of classics and philosophy, a second course is re¬
quired for theology solely; but in England the former is
sufficient. The degree of bachelor of arts requires an ex¬
amination and a university residence of three or four years ;
but to qualify for the acceptance of a curacy, a certificate
of attending, a single course of lectures in divinity is all
that is necessary.
Livings. The number of church livings in England and Wales is
very great, being fully 10,500. From this multiplicity of
benefices, and from the general smallness of the incomes,
have arisen two great irregularities, pluralities and non¬
residence, both forbidden by the ancient statutes of the
church, but both long sanctioned by usage. Many cler¬
gymen hold livings without doing duty at any of them ;
others do duty in one or in two which are adjacent to each
other, and have a curate for the more distant; whilst cu¬
rates frequently do duty at two and sometimes at three
distinct places of worship. To prevent, or at least to les¬
sen, the abuse of non-residence, an act of parliament was
passed in 1813, directing that every non-resident incum¬
bent should nominate a curate at a salary of not less than
L.80 a year, unless the entire living should be less. The
effect of this act was to reduce the number of non-resi¬
dent clergymen by 800 fully ; they had previously been Statistic:
about 4700; but in 1815 the official return to parliament
of the incumbents in England and Wales was as follows:
Non-resident from the following causes:
Sinecures   52
Vacancies 164
Sequestrations 40
Recent Institutions 87
Dilapidated Churches 32
Held by Bishops 22
Law-suits, absence on the Continent, &c 122
Livings from which no report 279
798
Incumbents non-resident from other causes 3,856
Incumbents resident 5,847
10,501
The rental of England and Wales was, by a late return, Tithes,
scriminated as follows in regard to tithes:
Tithe-free in toto L.7,904,379
Tithe-free in part 856,185
Free on payment of a modus 498,823
Subject to tithe 20,217,467
Total L.29,476,854
A part, and by no means an inconsiderable one, of the
tithes of England, is held by laymen ; but as the church
has other sources of income, its total revenue is comput¬
ed at nearly L.3,000,000; but the absorption of large sums
by several of the prelates, as the Bishops of Durham,
Winchester, and London, and the accumulation of the
best livings amongst a few individuals of influence, reduce
the annual average income of the curates, or most nume¬
rous class, to little more than L.100 a year.
Tithes necessarily fluctuate with the state of agricul¬
ture, and, during the distress of 1815, the deficiency in
this respect became alarming. It was then that the clergy
felt what they should have felt long before, that tithe was
an unsuitable and impolitic source of revenue. Applica¬
tion was made to parliament, and the subject was for some
time under serious discussion ; but the rise of corn in 1816
and 1817 prevented any other measure than an act found¬
ed on a committee report of 18th June 1816, authorizing
the possessors of tithes, laymen as well as clergymen, to
grant leases of them for a term not exceeding fourteen
years. The dissatisfaction with tithes has now, however,
become so very general that we have no doubt a commu¬
tation of some sort or other must shortly take place.
A return to parliament, in June 1817, has specified the
incomes of those benefices where there is no parsonage-
house, or at least none that forms a suitable residence.
Livings.
From L.10 to L.100 615
L.100 to L.150 442
L.150 and upwards 793
1850
A prior and more comprehensive return had stated theCkurche
number of churches and chapels for the established faith
at 2533; and as these were inadequate (the members of
the established church being about five millions, or half
the population of England and Wales), an act was passed
in 1818, and even pecuniary aid given by government, for
the erection of a number of additional churches. The
previous attempts to raise the requisite funds by the issue
of briefs and voluntary subscriptions had exhibited a
miserable specimen of misapplied labour, the expenses of
ENGLAND. 789
•atistics. the collection, and of the patent and stamps, absorbing
more than half the money received from the subscribing
parties.1
erical A prebend is a provision in land or money given to a
'ms• church in prcebendum, that is, for the support of a clergy¬
man whose title may be either prebendary or canon. Ad-
vowson (advocatio) is the right of presentation to a living,
and was first vested in those laymen who were founders
of or benefactors to livings. A living is held in commen-
dam when, to prevent its becoming void, it is committed
(commendatur) until it can be conveniently provided with
a pastor. The modus {modus decimandi) is a composition
for tithes; it may be either perpetual or during the lives
of the contracting parties. The lay impropriators of tithe,
so frequent in England, date from the dissolution of the mo¬
nasteries in the reign of Henry VIII.; patrons were then
allowed to retain the tithes and glebe in their own hands,
without appointing a clergyman ; in cases of such appoint¬
ment, the clergyman was called vicarius or representative
of the patron.
issenters. The dissenters in England are, first, the Presbyterians,
who nearly coincide with the church of England as to
doctrine, but differ in church-government, allowing no
hierarchy in individuals; next the Independents, who go
further, and disclaim hierarchy in synods and other col¬
lective assemblies; thirdly, the well-known sect of Quak¬
ers, who date from the middle of the seventeenth century ;
and, lastly, the more numerous Methodists, who date
from 1729. Of the Anabaptists, the chief characteristic
is their not receiving baptism till they become adults.
The Catholics in England are not numerous, but comprise
a large proportion of wealthy families.
ducation. In regard to the mode of education in England, there
is much .both to commend and to censure. Scotland has
for a century past been in possession of a larger propor¬
tion of parish schools; but the utility of these is much
lessened by an established routine of teaching Latin to
almost all youths, whatever be their intended line of life.
In England this absurdity is less prevalent, because most
of the schools are private undertakings, the managers of
which are necessarily guided by considerations of utility.
The youth destined for a life of business are thus saved a
serious waste of time ; their education, if imperfect, is not
supererogatory; but, on examining the higher seminaries
of England, we find much ground for disappointment,
and many marks of a blind adherence to ancient usage.
Two universities are evidently inadequate for the educa¬
tion of the nobility, the gentry, and the clergy of so po¬
pulous a country. Their course of study, also, is quite
unsuitable to the future occupations of many of the stu¬
dents. They were originally designed for the education
of churchmen; and, to this day, Latin, Greek, and ma¬
thematics form the chief objects of instruction. Under
a government which has so long borne the representa¬
tive form, there are no classes for the study of political
science and legislation. In the country of Locke there
are no classes devoted to the study of the philosophy of
the mind. In short, there are scarcely any of those
public lectures which, in the rest of Europe, constitute
the grand characteristic of a university, and distinguish
it from schools ; all, or nearly all, is done by private tui¬
tion. Again, in point of constitution, whilst in other coun¬
tries a university forms, in general, one large association,
in England each college is a distinct body, having its
head, its fellows, and its students, who, as far as education
is concerned, have very little connection with the rest of
the university. In one point, however, these venerable
seminaries redeem their faults, and assert the dignity of Statistics,
their character; we mean in their public examinations.
These, since the early part of the present century, have
been put on an admirable footing, both at Oxford and
Cambridge; distinguishing the relative degrees of pro¬
ficiency with great accuracy, and converting into a full
and impartial trial that which in other universities is al¬
most always a mere matter of form.
No country rivals England in the magnificence of her Education
academical buildings. Whilst in France, Germany, or0UheP00r-
Holland, an university possesses only a single pile of build¬
ing, Oxford and Cambridge can boast for every college
a large, commodious, and generally an elegant structure.
The endowments appropriated to them are very various,
both in their origin and destination, but these arise chief¬
ly from land, and, having increased with the rise of rents,
are in many cases very ample. The destination of these
funds is regulated by the bequest of the donors and the
established usage of the colleges; part going to the stu¬
dents under the name of exhibitions or scholarships ; part
to the head and fellows; and a further part consisting in
livings, which devolve in succession on the fellows, and
lead to their removal from the university. A hall is an
inferior college ; an academical establishment not incor¬
porated or endowed, but possessed of exhibitions or other
provisions for students. Oxford has nineteen colleges
and five halls; Cambridge has twelve colleges and four
halls.
Within these few years two institutions of a novel kind,
the London University and King’s College, have been
founded in the metropolis, in the view of obviating the
defects complained of at Oxford and Cambridge, and of
cheapening and diffusing the advantages of an academi¬
cal education ; but their success has not corresponded
with the expectations of their projectors. Their consti¬
tution appears ill fitted to attain the objects in view; and
it is very questionable, unless they be materially modified,
whether they will ever be of any material service. The
education which they afford is neither very good nor very
cheap.
Boys in England are taught the classics, either in the
lesser schools established at every town of consequence
throughout the kingdom, or at the great public schools.
Of the latter, the principal are Eton, Westminster, Win¬
chester, and Harrow ; also the Charter-house, St Paul’s,
and Merchant Tailors’ School. These seminaries, at
present so expensive, and attended by youths of the first
family, had their origin in a fund or provision set apart
for scholars of humbler birth. This has served as the
basis of a stately superstructure, each school having at¬
tracted, by the advantage of situation or the repute of
the teachers, a much greater number of pupils in indepen¬
dent circumstances. But in each a proportion of the
scholars are still on the foundation. At Eton there are
seventy thus provided for ; and the same number at Win¬
chester.'2 This subject will be resumed, and treated in de¬
tail, under the articles National Education, Schools,
and Universities.
X.—Establishments for purposes of Charity.—Poor-Rates.
The public charities of England are very numerous;
the bequests of benevolent founders in this country ex¬
ceeding those of the zealous Catholics of France or Spain,
as well as those of the once affluent Protestants of Hol¬
land. Our limits admit of the notice of only a few of the
foundations in the metropolis and its neighbourhood.
, .See Return of Briefs delivered to Parliament, 19th May 1819.
Reports of the Education Committee, 1817 and 1818.
790
ENGLAND.
Statistics. Amongst the principal Hospitals are,
Bethlem Hospital.
St Luke’s, Old Street.
St Bartholomew’s, West Smithfield.
Guy’s, in Southwark.
The Lock Hospital, Hyde-Park-Corner.
The London Hospital, Whitechapel Road.
The Magdalen Hospital, St George’s Road.
The Middlesex Hospital, Berner’s Street.
The Foundling Llospital.
Amongst the Dispensaries and medical charities are,
The General Dispensary, Aldersgate Street.
City Dispensary in the Poultry.
Finsbury Dispensary.
Various Vaccine Dispensaries.
The Fever Hospital, instituted in 1801.
A College, in the sense of a charity, is an alms-house
on an enlarged scale, under the direction of a master and
other incorporate officers. There are only three in the
neighbourhood of London, namely, Bromley, Morden, and
Dulwich Colleges.
Alms Houses.—These are very numerous, viz. the Ha¬
berdashers’, Mercers’, Skinners’, East India Company’s,
&c.
School Charities.—These institutions are also very nu¬
merous. Amongst the most remarkable are,
Christ’s Hospital, or the Blue Coat School.
Marine Society.
School for the Indigent Blind.
Deaf and Dumb Asylum. Statistic
Debtors’ Children.
Ladies’ Charity School.
Masonic Charity.
Raines’ Charities.
Miscellaneous Charities.—Under this head are compre¬
hended several extensive and well-known associations.
The African Institution.
The British and Foreign Bible Society.
Society for Bettering the Condition of the Poor.
Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge.
The Missionary Society.
The Literary Fund.
A compulsory provision for the support of the poor lias Poor-rate
existed in England for a lengthened period. Its intro¬
duction dates from the reign of Henry VIII., and it was
perfected in that of Elizabeth; the famous statute of the
43d Eliz. cap. 2, having embodied all the principles, with
many of the regulations, still to be found in the system.
The law has, however, been repeatedly modified, and
very great alterations have taken place in its administra¬
tion. These changes will be fully detailed in our article
on the Poor-Laws ; and in it also the reader will find
an examination of the important and difficult question as
to the policy of a compulsory provision for the support of
the unemployed poor. Here we have only to state what
has been the amount of the rates levied on account of the
poor, from what sources they have been derived, and how
they have been distributed.
Account of Monies levied for Poors Rates and County Rates in England and Wales; of the* Payments thereout for
other purposes than the Relief of the Poor, at all the several periods for which Returns have been required by Parlia¬
ment ; also the Average Price of Wheat at every such period, and the Amount of Population.
Years.
(Average.)
1748-49-50
1775-6
(Average.)
1783-4-5
(Average.)
1801-2-3
1812- 13
1813- 14
1814- 15
1815- 16
1816- 17
1817- 18
1818- 19
1819- 20
1820- 21
1821-22
1822- 23
1823- 24
1824- 25
1825- 26
1826- 27
1827- 28
1828- 29
1829- 30
1830- 31
1831- 32
Total Sum
levied for
Poor’s Rates
and County
Rates.
Payments
thereout for
other pur¬
poses than the
Relief of the
Poor.
L.
730,135
1,720,316
2,167,749
5,348,205
8,646,841
8,388,974
7,457,676
6,937,425
8,128,418
9.320.440
8,932,185
8,719,655
8,411,893
7.761.441
6,898,153
6,836,505
6,972,323
6,965,051
7,784,351
7,715,055
7,642,171
8,279,218
8,622,920
Expended
in Law
Removals
and similar
Incidents.
L.
40,164
137,072
163,511
1,034,105
1,860,347
1,880,817
1,762,406
1,214,071
1,210,720
1,432,332
1,408,905
1,342.658
1,375,868
1,336,533
1,148,230
1,137,598
1,212,199
1,246,145
1,362,377
1,372,433
1,280,328
1,540,198
1,646,493
35,072
91,998
190,072
324,957
332,663
324,596
Expended for
the Relief of
the Poor.
Average Price of Wheat
per Quarter.
Total
Expenditure.
L.
689,971
1,530,800
2,004,239
4,077,891
6,656,106
6,294,581
5,418,846
5,724,839
6,910,925
7,870,801
7.516.704
7,330,254
6,959,251
6.358.704
5,772,962
5,736,900
5,786,989
5,928,505
6,441,089
6,298,003
6,332,411
6,829,042
6,798,888
7,036,969
L.
730,135
1,703,528
2,259,748
5,302,068
8,841,410
8,508,061
7,505,848
6,938,910
8,121,645
9,303,133
8,925,609
8,672,912
8,335,119
7,695,237
6,921,192
6,874,498
6,999,188
7,174,650
7,803,466
7,670,436
7,612,739
8,339,087
8,683,461
By the
Winchester
Bushel of
Eight Galls.
s. d.
27 11
45 0
46 6£
64 8
125 5
108 9
73 11
64 4
75 10
94 9
84 1
73 0
7
5
3
9
62 0
66 6
65
54
43
51
By the
Imperial
Bushel of
Eight
Gallons.
s. d.
58
56
60
66 3
64 3
66 4
Population.
6,467,000
7,690,000
8,260,000
9,000,000
10,284,000
11,978,000
13,894,000
ENGLAND.
791
atistks. The following account for 1825-26 shows the sources whence the poor-rates are derived, and the amount furnish- Statistics,
ed by each.
Account of Monies levied by Assessment for Poors Rate and County Rate in each County of England and Wales, in
the year ending 2bth March 1826 ; distinguishing the amount, and showing the proportion of amount levied in each
County on Land, on Dwelling-Houses, on Mills and Factories, and on Manerial Profits and Incidentals*
ivment
wages
if of
Counties.
Bedford 
Berks 
Bucks 
Cambridge 
Chester 
Cornwall 
Cumberland 
Derby 
Devon 
Dorset 
Durham 
Essex 
Gloucester 
Hereford 
Hertford 
Huntingdon 
Kent 
Lancaster.  
Leicester 
Lincoln 
Middlesex 
Monmouth 
Norfolk 
Northampton 
Northumberland...
Nottingham 
Oxford 
Rutland 
Salop 
Somerset 
Southampton 
Stafford 
Suffolk 
Surrey 
Sussex 
Warwick 
Westmoreland 
Wilts 
Worcester 
York, East Riding
York,NorthRiding
York, West Riding
England,
Wales....
Total of England 1
and Wales.... I
Land.
L.
77,920
89,596
123,470
85,612
88,606
85,979
40,765
71,376
180,873
74,811
63,297
243,112
100,117
58,623
74,927
38,912
253,375
168,422
93,882
174,766
57,221
25,662
240,526
131,644
50,834
52,625
109,306
10,960
72,763
141,247
165,602
85,670
221,332
80,357
214,304
94,842
24,186
157,231
62,888
71,530
83,523
180,597
4,523,288
272,194
4,795,482
Parts of
1000.
917
787
858
846
762
787
741
814
766
799
666
827
644
895
740
863
681
482
834
862
95
805
797
904
653
658
823
922
"802
’798
767
637
842
321
818
600
876
843
749
652
892
627
679
893
688
Dwelling Houses.
6,298
21,014
17,495
14,427
20,592
14,016
12,378
12,735
47,898
17,170
16,668
42,761
49,017
6,736
23,110
5,504
103,584
118,261
17,634
23.306
509,365
4,206
49,085
12,372
15,233
24,124
21,863
847
14,515
30.306
46,174
34,963
36,525
144,064
42,752
49,393
2,831
24,662
15.892
32,414
8,205
78,472
1,788,865
25,363
1,814,228
Parts of
1000.
74
185
121
143
177
128
225
145
202
183
175
145
315
103
228
122
279
338
156
115
844
132
163
85
196
301
165
71
160
171
214
261
139
576
163
313
102
132
189
295
88
272
269
83
261
Mills, Factories, &c. I Manerial Profits, &c.
L.
568
2,446
2,702
1,049
5,315
1,858
714
2,128
3,925
750
3,924
6,829
4,962
86
2,756
570
11,660
50,461
782
3,887
36,353
791
8,097
536
8,774
2,971
1,149
75
1,227
2,380
3,374
6,655
4,398
22,983
4.610
10,674
496
3,234
3,111
2,338
1,208
23,269
255,775
3,790
259,565
Parts of
1000.
7
21
19
10
46
17
13
24
17
8
38
23
32
1
27
13
31
144
7
19
60
25
27
4
113
37
9
6
13
14
16
49
17
92
17
68
18
18
37
21
13
81
38
13
37
L.
183
839
248
143
1,752
7,408
1.129
1.455
3,396
914
11,442
1,369
1.456
35
512
97
3,327
12,525
310
887
787
1,214
3,924
1,022
2,981
291
469
7
2,247
3,042
666
7.129
712
2,645
466
3,082
103
1,321
2,092
3,478
669
5,782
93,559
3,323
96,882
Parts of
1000.
2
7
2
1
15
68
21
17
14
10
120
5
9
1
5
2
9
36
3
4
1
38
13
7
38
4
3
1
25
17
3
53
2
11
2
19
4
7
25
32
7
20
14
10
14
Total Levied.
L.
84,969
113,895
143,915
101,231
116,265
109,261
54,986
87,694
236,092
93,645
95,031
294,071
155,552
65,480
101,305
45,083
371,946
349,669
112,608
202,846
603,726
31,873
301,632
145,574
77,822
80,011
132,787
11,889
90,752
176,975
215,816
134,417
262,967
250,049
262,132
157,991
27,616
186,448
83,983
109,760
93,605
288,120
6,661,487
304,670
6,966,157
It is obvious, from the preceding tables, that, allowing
for the increase of population, the increase of the rates
or-rates. ^as not been nearly so great as is commonly supposed.
In point of fact, too, more than half the rates really form
part of the wages of labour. The pernicious practice
of ekeing out wages by means of contributions from the
rates began in 1795 ; and as it forms at this moment one
of the principal evils in the state of the English poor, we
may be excused, perhaps, for subjoining the following
statements illustrative of its tendency.
“ The price of corn, which had, upon an average of the
three preceding years, averaged 54s., rose in 1795 to 74s.
As wages continued stationary at their former elevation,
the distress of the poor was very great; and many able-
bodied labourers, who had rarely before applied for parish
assistance, became claimlmts for relief. But instead of
meeting this emergency as it ought to have been met, by
temporary expedients, and by grants of relief proportion¬
ed to the exigency of every given case, one uniform sys¬
tem was adopted. The magistrates of Berks, and some
ENGLAND.
792
Statistics, other southern counties, issued tables, showing the wages
which, as they affirmed, every labouring man ought to re¬
ceive, according to the variations in the number of his fa¬
mily, and the price of bread ; and they accompanied these
tables with an order, directing the parish officers to make
up the deficit to the labourer, in the event of the wages
paid him by his employers falling short of the tabular al¬
lowance. An act was at the same time passed to allow
the justices to administer relief out of the workhouse, and
also to relieve such poor persons as had property of their
own. As might have been expected, this system did not
cease with the temporary circumstances which gave it
birth, but has ever since been acted upon. It is now al¬
most universally established in the southern half of Eng¬
land, and has been productive of an extent of mischief
that could hardly have been conceived possible.
“ It is needless to dwell on the folly of attempting to
make the wages of labour vary directly and immediately
with every change in the price of bread. Every one must
see, that if this system were bona fide acted upon, if the
poor were always supplied with the power of purchasing
an equal quantity of corn, whether it happened to be
abundant and cheap, or scarce and dear, they could have
no motive to lessen their consumption in seasons when the
supply is deficient, so that the whole pressure of the scar¬
city would, in such cases, be removed from them and
thrown entirely upon the other, and chiefly the middle
classes. But, not to insist on this point, let us look at the
practical operation of this system as it affects the labour¬
er and his employers. The allowance scales now issued
from time to time by the magistrates are usually framed
on the principle that every labourer should have a gallon
loaf of standard wheaten bread weekly for every member
of his family and one over ; that is, four loaves for three
persons, five for four, six for five, and so on. Suppose,
now, that the gallon loaf costs Is. 6d., and that the ave¬
rage rate of wages in any particular district is 8s. a week,
A, an industrious unmarried labourer, will get 8s.; but B
has a wife and four children, hence he claims seven gal¬
lon loaves, or 10s. 6d. a week ; and as wages are only 8s.,
he gets 2s. 6d. a week from the parish. C, again, has a
wife and six children ; he consequently requires nine gal¬
lon loaves, or 13s. 6d. a week, and gets of course a pen¬
sion, over and above his wages, of 5s. fid. D is so idle
and disorderly that no one will employ him, but he has a
wife and five children, and is in consequence entitled to
eight gallon loaves for their support, so that he must have
a pension of 12s. a week to support him in his dissolute
mode of life.
“ It is clear that this system, by making the parish al¬
lowance to labourers increase with every increase in the
number of their children, acts as a bounty on marriage,
and that, by increasing the supply of labourers beyond
the demand, it necessarily depresses the rate of wages.
And it is further clear, that by giving the same allowance
to the idle and disorderly as to the industrious and well-
behaved workman, it operates as a premium on idleness
and profligacy, and takes away some of the most power¬
ful motives to industry and good conduct. These, how¬
ever, are not the only effects of this system. Under its
operation a labourer dares not venture to earn beyond a
certain amount; for if he did, his allowance from the pa¬
rish would either be withheld altogether, or proportion¬
ally reduced. In consequence, working by the piece is
now comparatively unknown in the southern counties of
England; and the whole labouring population are re¬
duced to the condition of paupers, deprived of the means
and almost of the desire to emerge from the state of he- Statistic;
lotism in which they are sunk.
“ It must be obvious to every one, that if we would
avert the plague of universal poverty from the land, a vi¬
gorous effort must be made to counteract this system;
and we have experience to teach us how this may be
done. All, in fact, that is necessary, is to revert to the
regulations established previously to 1795, to abolish
every vestige of the allowance system, and to enact that
henceforth no able-bodied labourer shall have a legal claim
for relief, unless he consent to accept it in a workhouse.
This condition would go far to prevent relief from being
claimed by any except the really necessitous; for there
is nothing of which the idle and disorderly are so much
afraid, as of the strict discipline, scanty fare, and hard la¬
bour that ought to be enforced in every workhouse,. It is
not, however, meant to recommend that relief should in all
cases be refused except to the inmates of such establish¬
ments. In the great majority of instances, that temporary
assistance which the able-bodied poor only require maybe
more advantageously afforded at their own houses. But
to prevent its being abused, it is indispensable that autho¬
rity to refuse it, except under condition of residence in a
workhouse, and of unconditional submission to all its re¬
gulations, should be vested in the administrators of the
law. The maimed and impotent poor may, in all cases, be
more cheaply and better provided for in their own houses
than in workhouses.
“ Were the change now proposed effected, most of the
inconveniences attached to the poor-laws would be re¬
moved, and their salutary and sustaining influence would
alone remain.” (iVECulloch’s Principles of Political Eco¬
nomy, 2d edit. pp. 418-421.)
XI.—Establishments for the purposes of War and Defence.
These consist, of course, principally of the army and
navy. But as detailed accounts, derived from the very
best sources, are given, under the articles Army and
Navy in this work, of all the most important particulars
relating to the history and present state of each of these
grand departments of the public force, it would be quite
superfluous to enter into any details with respect to them
in this place. The subjoined accounts of revenue and
expenditure during the three years ended with 1831, con
tain statements of the number of troops and seamen,
and of the expense incurred on account of each branch
of the service, in each of these years. They seem, there
fore, to include every thing to which it is necessary to
direct the reader’s attention in this place.
Exclusively of the army and navy, great numbers of in
dividuals in all parts of the country are enrolled as spe¬
cial constables, who may be called upon by the magis¬
trates and other civil authorities to assist in suppressing
disorders, and in preserving the public peace. In Lon¬
don and in other great towns strong bodies of police are
also employed, constituting, as it were, a half military and
half civil force.
i. Revenue and Expenditure.
The various taxes, the produce of which forms the pub¬
lic revenue of the kingdom, will be described in the article
Taxation in this work, where also their real incidence
and practical operation will be pointed out. The subjoined
tables give an account of the income and expenditure of
the empire during each of the three years ending with 1831.
ENGLAND.
793
Account of tlte Public Income of the United Kingdom during each of the three years ending with the bth of January 1832, specifying the
different Taxes, and the produce of each.
Heads of Income.
Customs and Excise.
{Foreign 
Hum 
British 
Malt 
Beer* 
Hops 
Mine 
Sugar and Molasses 
Tea 
Coffee 
Tobacco and Snuff.  
Yeabs.
1830.
Butter 
Cheese 
Currants and Raisins 
Corn 
Cotton Wool,* and Sheep’s, im-)
ported  f
Silks 
Printed Goods* 
Hides and Skins* 
Paper 
Soapf 
Candles and Tallow* 
Coals, sea-borne* 
Glass 
Bricks, Tiles,* and Slates* 
Timber 
Auctions.. 
Excise Licenses 
Miscellaneous Duties of Cus-)
toms and Excise j
Ij. s. d.
1,519,572 8 7
1,434,782 13 1
4,783,951 2 1
3,814,305 1 51
3,055,453 15 111
242,058 0 10|
1,473,007 11 4'
5,089,315 0 3
3,321,722 2 0
498,951 8 1
2,849,700 7 8
147,839 3 4
87,122 14 4
388,102 2 0
898,793 15 2
317,074 10 5
Total of Customs and Excise.
Stamps.
Deeds and other Instruments 
Probates and Legacies 
Insurance j ^arinet 
(lire 
Bills of Exchange, Bankers’ 1
Notes, &c   j
Newspapers and Advertise- |
mentsf  f
Stage Coaches 
Post Horses 
Receipts 
Other Stamp Duties 
Assessed and Land Taxes.
hand Taxes 
Houses 
B indows 
Servants ”
Horses 
Carriages 
Dogs 
Other Assessed Taxes 
Rost OfBce 
Crown Lands 
Other Ordinary Revenues and )
other Resources J'
205,015
552,270
452,708
084,563
1,152,245
052,971
983,919
070,494
398,145
1,394,407
251,502
845,390
9 0
12 44
15 7
10 Ilf
11 U
10 114
9 2|
12 9f
14 8J
19 Ilf
19 Of
18 3|
L.
s. d.
28,084,025 11 lOJ
1831.
L. s. d.
1,480,507 3 2
1,599,445 0 11
5,185,574 4
3,430,272 14
2,345,122 10
118,912 5
1,524,177 18
4,927,025 7
3,387,097 18
579,303 10
L.
2,924,204 13 11
1,892,008 2 4
40,059,983 10 5
1,603,145 14 61
2,035,719 0 4*
226,897
764,939
593,485
0 64
0 114
1 H
433,385 5 101
426,472 1
252,772 2
225,990 2
11,975,957 18 Of
102,752 3 8
54,870 19 5
420,217 0 3
790,109 17 8
482,274 11 11
209,047
570,330
255,278
690,010
1,251,021
062,944
1,021,862
567,032
383,985
1,319,233
234,854
848,469
7 3
15 04
3 10
1 H
12 iif
18 84
5 11
18 11
5 7
9 11
2 11
14 114
27,507,763 14 1
1,971,223 8 34
603,164 5 9i
1,200,159 10 114
1,324,327 18 9f
1,103,700 17
280,552 7
405,678 1
374,677 14
183,060 8
268,175 2
Grand Total.
7,285,976 1 74
5,206,392 1
2,184,067 2
465,481 4
1,621,427 l 8 4
2,084,432 15 3
219,565 6 1
760,931 3 114
568,546 1 84
613,848 2 2f
418,598 5 94
220,357 12 10
223,660 6 2f
516,716 18
11,830,718 18 7
39,344,482 12 8
1,184,790 12
1,301,625 0
2,185,283 7
295,087 5
425,125 17
397,013 10
186,102 2
259,242 11
H
54
10;
0
0
0
0
7
622,302 0 04
55,824,802 0 LJ
7,248,083 14 0
5,294,870
2,212,200
303,742
6 104
5 Of
0 4
376,805 0 6
54,840,190 0 4f
1832.
L. s.
1,432,179 8
1,029,881 9
5,195,125 5
4,359,333 16
6,888 19
148,594 19
1,537,484 2
4,807,472 5
3,344,918 12
583,751 5
2,960,325 7
121,256 4 11
68,250 16 0
503,440 9 1
544,792 4 3
476,082 17 7
26,005,950 11 7f
213,847
58,968
52,134
080,140
1,139,313
015,554
125,745
548,050
366,418
1,278,905
218.085
919,175
14 0
4 Of
17 Of
5 44
3 54
12 3
15 Ilf
5 6f
11 Of
14 lOf
4 71
4 9
L.
s. d.
1,743,795 0 14
1,512,107 3 1
2,001,932 4 74
248,150 11 8f
764,755 11 11
606,704 14 94
655,724 10 3
422,580 14 9f
231,863 3 4
218,847 6 lOf
410,066 15 04
1,161,312 7 14
1,357,041 13 Ilf
1,178,344 2 34
295,111 18 6
417,841 2 0
392,947 4 0
181,m 1 0
239,117 19 3
9,674,653 12 5J
35,680,009 4 1
7,133,638 16 5f
5,222,718 8 If
2,227,364 4 Ilf
373,770 10 24
347,214 6 54
50,990,315 10 3f
5 11
VOL. vili.
IV. e,—The duties marked * are now repealed; those marked f are reduced.
794 E N GLAND;
There are no means by which it is possible to assign to each portion of the empire what may be considered its proper share
of the total expenditure. But the following table shows how much each contributes to the revenue:—
. - —  . ' ■sauTutK.iixii 40 eaAvii.i
Return of the Revenue collected in 1831, in England, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland, respectively ; distinguishing the Customs,
Excise, Stamps, and Assessed Taxes. " j--—    ■ - ■ ■ •
' - 'ft r* j & •v\ -t :W A*. i .IS,
    ■■    
Places.
England.,
Wales....
Scotland.
Ireland..,
Total L.
Customs.
1. s. d.
16,515,911 0 0
26,139 0 0
1,478,231 0 0
1,463,624 0 0
19,483,905 0 0
Excise.
14,147,252
176,046
2,576,965
2,193,079
19,093,342 19 7
Stamps.
L. s. d.
6,410,573 6 10
 i
534,985 15 0
482,040 19 8
7,427,600 1 6
Land and
Assessed Taxes.
L. 3. d.
4,804,829 5 4
105,530 0 0
318,578 0 7
5,228,937 5 11
Post Office.
L. 3. d.
1,031,715 0 0
40,995 0 0
204,593 6 9
253,356 16 5
1,530,660 3 2
Total.
!->• 3. d.
42,910,280 18 7
348,710 4 6
5,113,353 6 5
4,392,101 0 8
52,764,445 10 2
Account of the Public Expenditure of the United Kingdom during each of the three years ending with the bth of January 1832,
specifying each separate item, ivith the number of Troops, Seamen, fyc.
Heads of Expenditure.
Years.
1830.
Revenue Charges of Collection.
r, . ( Civil Departments. 
ustoms | preventive Service 
Total ..j,
Excise 
Stamps  
Assessed and Land Taxes 
Other Ordinary Revenues (ex¬
cept the Post Office),....... 
Total Revenue 
Public Debt.
L81
1,100,050 8 10f
268,478 10 3|
M
d.
L.
ono,^\i
a 8 aoa.oe
1,368,528 19
1,240,948 12 0
193,279 13 9
287,183 2 2
28,162 10 6i
in
Interest of Permanent Debt
Actual Payment of Terminable
Annuities*..
Actual Payment for Life Annui¬
ties and Annuities for Terms
of Years*. .  
Interest of Exchequer Bills 
Management 
Total Debt
(1 ;
25,318,866 10 74
1,854,695 8 4
826,402 13 10
878,494 1 3f
275,143 7 1-|
Civil Government.
Civil List; Privy Purse; Trades¬
men’s Bills ;: Salaries of the
Household.,
The Allowances to the Junior
Branches of the Royal Fami¬
ly, and to H. R. H. Leopold
George Frederick Prince of Co-1
burg 
The Lord Lieutenant of Ire¬
land’s Establishment
The Salaries and other Expen¬
ses of the Houses of Parliament
(including Printing),
Civil departments in Great Bri¬
tain, exclusive of those in the
Army, Navy, and Ordnance Es
timates...,   
Pensions on the Consolidated
Fund and Gross Revenue,
Ditto on Civil List 
Total Civil Government 
Carry forward.
3,118,102 17 8
ri 049,
1831.
L. s. d.
1,027,870 17 H
260,043 I 44
1,287,913 18 6
1,225,429 10 94
190,157 7 1|
281,939 12 1
28,782 2 10
L.
8 s oee
29,153,602 1
24,091,750 7 10
1,843,106 11 7
1,453,269 2 5
813,300 16 5
275,179 3 4
i|i oi 3oe,Yos
i I 0
409,700 0 0
it 3 looses
247,974 4 e\
67,935 1 8
141,599 18 5
328,706 0 1|
204,870 7 9
196,114 4 11
et8t9o;
jfO €
i * 8
8R8t9«
008.0C
3,014,224 11 4|
1832.
L. s. d.
1,002,251 6 94
313,674 13 7i
L.
1,315,926 0 5
1,144,150 5 44
185,109 19 14
281,304 2 4
29,355 16 24
28,476,606 1 7
24,027,666 2 6|
1,844,498 4 1
1,501,991 5 6
655,329 11 3
273,296 8 9|
401,628 16 10|
;j3 S 8I0et
245,923 1
32,749 9
1,596,899 17 44.
144,374 6 5
320,045 1 84
264,247 3 24
170,000 0 0
33,868,604 16 341
8 G0t
1,578,967 19
33,069,798 12
411,800 0 0
a<nJ9$U6D’'il
212.375 0 0
16,379 14 1
238,037 19 11
339.376 9 84
348,275 2 34
75,000 0 0
2,955,846 3 5}
28,302,781 12 2
■ 0 btsti
ho 7/oil W
-.lasir
1,641,244 6 0
32,899,872 1
1 This item of Welsh revenue cannot be discriminated.
0 U o ti <• .STTT, .1 [
ENGLAND.
795
Heads of Expenditure.
Brought forward..
J ustice.
Courts of Justice in England,
Scotland, and Ireland.......
Police, aftd Criminal Prosecu¬
tions...'   «...
, f Convicts at Home and
gel Abroad..... 
5-2 1 Convicts New S. Wales...
W LOther Expenses 
Total Justice 
Diplomatic.
Salaries and Itetired Allowances
of Foreign Ministers 
Ditto ditto Consuls  
Civil Contingencies, Diplomatic
Total Diplomatic..,
Forces.
El Non- (Number of Men
^ [.Effective ( Charge 
Total Army 
o fi-m 4- (Number of Men
c 1 Effective <
b J (Charge 
| I Non- (Number of Men
0 L Effective ( Charge 
Total Ordnance.
((
Effective -j (
Number of Men
Charge   
Non- ( Number of Men
(Effective ( Charge 
Total Navy 
Total Forces..
Bounties for promoting Fisher¬
ies, Linen Manufactures, &c.
paid out of the Gross Reve¬
nue 
Public 'Works 
Payments out of the Revenue
of Crown Lands, for Improve¬
ments and various Public Ser¬
vices   
Post-Office Charges of Collection
and other Payments 
Quarantine and Warehousing
Establishments 
Spanish Claims, as granted by
Parliament 
Miscellaneous Services, not class¬
ed under the aforegoing heads,
consisting of Grants of Parlia¬
ment, Payments out of the
Consolidated Fund and of Civil
List 
rioiLt ridut
Years.
1830.
;'W:
L.
426,828 16 2
203,639 11 3
145,925 18 3
167,500 0 0
60,704 12 8
224,950 0
192,470 0
59,118 5
(85,721.)
4,829,282 12 4|
(96,595.)
2,939,896 0 0
7,769,178 12 4|
(8,879.)
1,363,282 0
(12,494.)
365,626 0
1,728,908 0 0
L. s. d.
33,868,604 16 3£
08,.b!
01 d
0 Si
1,004,598 13 4
Vj 'vi&suim uM
403,538 5
VI
, a ax erefv8
iifi o.i
;
1831.
A. d.
33,069,798 12 0
407,801 9 9^
222,450 9 4
140,305 16 1
167,500 0 0
53,620 6 Ilf
220,930 15 Of
117,575 0 0
37,097 7 l
(84,172.)
4,492,688 5 7|
(96,081.)
2,939,606 9 6
7,432,294 15 li
(8,878.)
1,332,354 0 0
28V.8S
357,090
0
(32,458.)
4,299,645 11 11
(30,467.)
1,579,149 0 0
5,878,794 11 11
Grand Total,
Terminable and Life Annui¬
ties paid as above 
Corresponding Perpetuities, as
estimated by Mr Finlaison....
Difference.
1,689,444 0 0
- =
II 30LKM
15,376,881 4 3(
236,898 3 Of
606,396 8 4
:0.( 91 8G3J0I
427,015 2 51
696,801 16 Ilf
191,852 18 2i
200,000 0 0
1,336,287 16 7
54,348,875 9 81
2,681,098 2 2
1,811,529 15 9
869,568 6 5
(31,444.)
4,063,308 7 8f
(29,922.)
1,531,646 17 Ilf
5,594,955 5 8
scs-vr-t r.*;:
j
GTtEBCM.S 1
993,678 2 2f
i«V3 V>
$ btwt'vJ.V
375,625 2 lOf
■ j|OI • 8 060,00
W 01 0VL80
!|§ Of 8Sdt8b;
o si 8m: ot.
o ci ere,£fi
S s £81{t8:
|9 01 S9f(8S
|V 01 998(8If
I1 8 609,165
S'G3,C6l,8S|
31 SOl.OS;
t 101,871
14,716,694 O' 9.1
006,!
207,966 10 4
474,242 0 1
‘ 0 0 ooteoi
j 252,601 5 71
718,359 8 61
214,037 14 6f
81 OObJi
1,988,530 7 8^
1832.
L.
415,953
210,523
5,129,587
3,167,500
63,184
L. s.
32,899,872 1
7 6f
4 u
(WW
141,437 15
112,195 0
45,193 3
(78,498.)
4,808,362 16 2
(94,024.)
2,924,604 17 4
7,732,967 13 6
(12,791.)
1,062,913 0
(13,052.)
355,904 0
986,747 17 6f
298,825 18 11
1,418,817 0 0
(33,749.)
4,243,846 7
’ (32,021.)
1,626,704 14
5,870,551 0
.3d?
-ofunT ; seioT
I'idi lo asxueliig
1-toirr.e‘t isrff oJ
MnteT fu/oH 9f
173,955 18 9£
825,210 8 3
53,011,533 4 5^
3,296,375 14
2,143,685 13
1,152,689 O 6
i :h
M io
15,022,335 15 2
254,433 11 9f
673,317 5 3(
203,734 0 6^
1,236,875 18 5‘
52,575,308 16 3;
3,346,489 9
2,104,507 18
1,241,981 11 5
796
ENGLAND.
Statistics.
XIII.—National Debt.
The national debt consists, as every one knows, of
sums borrowed to make up deficiencies of revenue. It
originated during the wars carried on by William III.
against France. Its contraction was then not a matter
of choice, but of necessity; for, owing to the numerous
adherents the exiled family of Stuart had in the country,
it would have been impossible to have imposed such an
amount of taxes as would have sufficed to defray the ex¬
penses of the war, without inflaming the popular discon¬
tent to such a degree as would most probably have been
subversive of the new government. At first it was usual
to fund the amount of stock equal to the sums borrowed;
but since the reign of George II. a different practice has
Debt at the accession of Queen Anne in 1702 
Debt at the accession of George I. in 1714 
Debt at the accession of George II. in 1727 
Debt in 1763 
Debt at the commencement of the American war in 1775 
Debt at the conclusion of the American war in 1784 
Debt at the commencement of the French war in 1793 
Debt 5th January 1817, when the English and Irish exchequers were {
consolidated J
Principal.
L.16,394,702
54,145,363
52,092,238
138,865,430
128,583,635
249,851,628
239,350,148
848,282,477
Interest.
L. 1,310,942
3,351,358
2,217,551
4,852,051
4,471,571
9,451,772
9,208,495
33,854,466
Since 1817 a deduction has been made of about sixty-
four millions from the principal of the debt, and about 5|-
millions from the interest on its account. This diminu¬
tion has been principally effected by taking advantage of
the fall in the rate of interest since the peace, and offer¬
ing to pay off the holders of the different stocks unless they
Great Britain.
Debt due to the South Sea Company, at 3 per cent.
Old South Sea annuities 
New South Sea annuities 
South Sea annuities, 1751 
Debt due to the Bank of England
Bank annuities created in 1726....
Consolidated annuities 
Reduced annuities 
Total bearing interest at 3 per cent.
Annuities at 31 per cent, anno 1818 
Reduced annuities, ditto 
New 31 per cent, annuities 
L.4 per cent, annuities created in 1826 
New 5 per cent, annuities 
Ireland.
Irish consolidated annuities at 3 per cent.
Irish reduced annuities ditto 
Great Britain.
L.3. 10s. per cent, debentures and stock 
Reduced 3^ per cent, annuities  
New 31 per cent, annuities 
Debt due to the Bank of Ireland at 4 per cent.
New 5 per cent, annuities 
Debt due to the Bank of Ireland at 5 per cent.
Ireland.
Total united kingdom.
Capital of Unredeemed
Debt.
L.3,662,784 8 6^
3,497,870 2 7~
2,460,830 2 10
523,100 0 0
14,686,800 0 0
874,949 19 0
347,458,931 7 04
123,029,913 5 3
L.496,195,179
12,350,801
63,453,824
137,613,820
10,796,340
5
16
2
7
0
462,736 13
21
1
1
2
0
4
L.720,872,702 3 10£
2,803,780 18
162,062 6
14,605,670 3
1,234,509 4
11,784,394 14
1,615,384 12
6,661 1
1,015,384 12
4
2
11
3
0
4
0
4
L.33,227,847
754,100,549
6
10
4
Exchequer bills outstanding 5th January 1833   27,278,000 0 0
Total funded and unfunded debt 5th January 1833.
L.781,378,549 10 2f
obtained ; and it has been judged advisable to fund gene¬
rally in a stock bearing a low rate of interest, by propor¬
tionally increasing its amount. Thus suppose interest
were five per cent, and that government wished to bor¬
row in three per cent, stock; in such a case they would
give L.166f of stock for every L.100 money paid into the
exchequer. By affording, in consequence of the increase
of the stock, greater scope for speculation, this practice
is supposed to have enabled government to borrow on ra¬
ther lower terms at the time ; but, by disabling them from
reducing the interest on such loans at the close of a war,
when the market rate of interest uniformly falls, it has
proved most signally injurious. It is not going too far
to say that this blunder costs the public at this moment
L.7,000,000 a year.
Statist
consented to accept of a reduced payment; and had it not
been for the highly objectionable practice already advert¬
ed to, of funding large capitals at a low rate of interest,
the saving in this way would have been incomparably
larger. We subjoin an account of the funded and unfunded
debt of Great Britain and Ireland as at 5th January 1833.
atistics.
ENGLAND.
Annual Charge on Account of Public Debt.
S3
a
Cm
"Annual interest on unredeemed capital 
' Long annuities, expire 1860 
Annuities per 4 Geo. IV. c. 22, expire 1867,
Annuities per 10 Geo. IV. c. 24, expire at (
various period j
Annuities to the trustees of the Waterloo!
Subscription Fund, per 59 Geo. III. c. 34, -
expire 5th of July 1833 
Payable f Life Annuities, per 48 Geo. IH.f
at the | c. 148, and 10 Geo. IV. c. 24. j
National ^ Tontines and other! E lish 
Debt | Life Annuities, .
Office. I per various acts,) ^ris“ 
Interest of funded debt.
Management of debt....
Annual charge on account of public funded debt,
Interest on exchequer bills (1832) 
Total annual charge on account of funded and 1
unfunded debt  j
In Great Britain.
£ s. d.
22,810,491 8 71
1,192,943 4 10
585,740 0 0
870,998 2 0
7,900 0 0
717,529 5 0
22,371 13 3
34,230 8 7
26,242,204 2 3|-
In Ireland.
£ s. d.
1,171,553 0 Ilf
73 19 3
6,823 7 3
1,178,450 7 54
Total Annual Charge.
27,420,654 9 91
271,533 1 101
27,692,187 11 1}
659,165 6 6
28,351,352 18 IV
iking
id.
A sinking fund for the extinction of the public debt
was established by Sir Robert Walpole as early as 1716;
but it was virtually subverted in 1733. It was again in¬
stituted by Mr Pitt in 1786; and, singular as it may now
appear, it was for a lengthened period supposed, that by
means of the legerdemain operation of compound interest,
the public debt might be reduced by borrowing money to
pay it off. Dr Hamilton of Aberdeen has the merit of
having dissipated this extraordinary delusion, the gross¬
est, certainly, by which any civilized nation ever suffered
itself to be imposed upon. He showed that the excess
of revenue over expenditure is the only real sinking fund,
—the only means by which any portion of the public debt
had ever been, or ever could be, paid off; and that all
sinking funds operating at compound interest, or other¬
wise, excepting in as far as they happened to be founded
on this principle, were mere quackery and delusion. In
fact, upon examining into the matter, it was found that the
public debt would have been decidedly less had the sink¬
ing fund never been heard of. After such an exposition,
the existence of the sinking fund was impossible; and
having undergone various modifications, it was finally abo¬
lished by the 10th Geo. IV. cap. 27, which enacts, that the
sum thenceforth annually applicable to the reduction of
the public debt shall consist of the actual surplus revenue
beyond the expenditure. In 1832 this surplus amounted to
L.614,758. 18s. 8d.
XIV.—Population.
Ihe population of England and Wales at periods ante¬
cedent to 1801, can only be determined by computations
founded on the returns obtained under poll and hearth
Years.
Population of
England and Wales.
1700 5,475,000
1710 5,240,000
1720 5,565,000
1730 5,796,000
1740 6,064,000
1750 6,467,000
The population for 1801 was determined by actual
enumeration ; and since then censuses have been taken
in 1811, 1821, and 1831, the results of which are embo¬
died in the following comprehensive table.
taxes, and on the registers of births and deaths. Un¬
fortunately, however, none of these affords data from
which the amount of population can be accurately de¬
duced. During the latter part of last century the uncer¬
tainty in which this subject was involved afforded materials
fora keen controversy, which was carried on by Dr Price
on the one hand, and by Mr Hewlett, vicar of Dunmow
in Essex, and Mr Hales, on the other. The former con¬
tended that population had been declining in England
from the Revolution downwards, and that it did not in
1777 exceed 4,763,000. Mr Hewlett, however, showed
conclusively that no reliance could be placed on either
Dr Price’s facts or arguments; and that there could be
no reasonable doubt that the population had materially in¬
creased in the interval between 1700 and 1780. The re¬
turns obtained under the population acts put an end to
this controversy, and proved the general accuracy of Mr
Hewlett’s conclusions. The population, as deduced from
them, after allowing for their defects and inaccuracies, is
as follows:—
Vpar* Population of
England and Wales.
1760 6,736,000
1770 ....7,428,000
1780 7,953,000
1790 8,675,000
1801 8,872,000
1 Exclusive of L.34,521. 7s. lOd. the annual charge on capitals and long annuities, standing in the names of the National Debt
Commissioners, on account of stock unclaimed ten years or upwards, and of unclaimed dividends; and also on account of donations
and bequests.
798
ENGLAND.
Papulation of England and Wales.
Counties.
1801.
Increase
per cent.
1811.
Increase
per cent.
1821.
Increase
per cent.
1831.
England.
Bedford   
Berks  
Buckingham    
Cambridge .....
Chester..  
Cornwall   
Cumberland 
Derby 
Devon 
Dorset     
Durham 
Essex.....,..., 
Gloucester "...,
Hereford   
Hertford  
Huntingdon  
Kent 
Lancaster   
Leicester 
Lincoln 
Middlesex 
Monmouth   
Norfolk 
Northampton 
Northumberland  
Nottingham 
Oxford 
Rutland 
Salop 
Somerset.... 
Southampton 
Stafford 
Suffolk 
Surrey   
Sussex    
Warwick   
Westmoreland 
Wilts 
Worcester 
York (East Riding)  
City of York and Ainstey
York (North Riding) 
York (West Riding)  
Wales.
Anglesey 
Brecon 
Cardigan 
Carmarthen 
Carnarvon 
Denbigh 
Flint 
Glamorgan 
Merioneth 
Montgomery 
Pembroke 
Radnor 
Great Britain.
England 
Wales     
Scotland  
Army, Navy, &c 
63.393
109,215
107.444
' 89,346
191,751
188,269
117,230
161,142
343,001
115,319
160,361
226,437
250,809
89,191
97,577
37,568
307,624
672,731
130,081
208,557
818,129
45,582
273,371
131,757
157,101
140,350
109,620
16,356
167,639
273,750
219,656
239,153
210,431
269,043
159,311
208,190
41,617
185,107
139,333
110,992
24.393
158,225
565,282
8,331,434
33,806
31,633
42,956
67,317
41,521
60,352
39,622
71,525
27,506
47,978
56,280
19,050
541,546
8,334,434
541,546
1,599,068
470,598
11
8
9
13
18
15
14
15
12
8
11
11
12
5
14
12
21
23
16
14
17
36
7
7
9
16
9
16
12
12
21
11
20
19
10
10
5
15
16
12
7
16
10
19
17
15
19
6
17
18
4
8
7
9
10,942,646
13
14f
13
14
70,213
118,277
117,650
101,109
227,031
216,667
133,744
185,487
383.308
124,693
177,625
252,473
285,514
94,073
111,654
42,208
373,095
828.309
150,419
237,891
953,276
62,127
291,999
141,353
172,161
162,900
119,191
16,380
194,298
303,180
245,080
295,153
234,211
323,851
190,083
228,735
45,922
193,828
160,546
134,437
27,304
169,391
655,042
19
11
14
20
19
19
17
15
15
16
17
15
18
10
16
15
14
27
16
19
20
15
18
15
15
15
15
13
6
17
i54
17
15
23
22
20
12
15
15
14
12
11
22
9,538,827
37,045
37,735
50,260
77,217
49,336
64,240
46,518
85,067
30,924
51,931
60,615
20,900
'U
21
16
15
17
17
19
15
19
11
15
22
7
611,788
9,551,888
611,788
1,805,688
640,500
12,609,864
17
m
17
16
83,716
131,977
134,068
121,909
270,098
257,447
156,124
313,333
439,040
144,499
207,673
289.424
835,843
103,243
129,714
48,771
426,016
1,052,859
174,571
283,058
1,144,531
71,833
344,368
162,483
198,965
186,873
136,971
18,487
206,153
355,314
283,298
345,895
270,542
398,658
233,019
274,392
51,359
222,157
184.424
154,010
30,451
187,452
801,274
14
10
9
18
24
17
10
11
13
10
22
10
15
7
10
9
12
27
13
12
19
36
13
10
12
20
11
5
8
13
11
19
9
22
17
23
7
8
15
10
17
2
22
95,383
145,289
146,529
143,955
334,410
302,440
169,681
237,170
494,168
159,252
253,827
317,233
386,904
110,976
143,341
53,149
479,155
1,336,854
197,003
317,244
1,358,541
98,130
390,054
179,276
222,912
225,320
151,726
19,385
222,503
403,908
314,313
410,485
296,304
486,326
272,328
336,988
55,041
239,181
211,356
168,646 v g
35,362
190,873 f t~
976,415) It
11,261,437
45,063
43,603
57.784
90,239
57,958
76,511
53.784
101,737
34,382
59,899
74,009
22,459
16
7
10
10
12
15
8
11
24
3
9
9
9
717,438
11,261,437
717,438
2,093,456
319,300
14
14,391,631
12
16
12
13
15
13,089,338
48,325
47,763
64,780
100,655
65,753
83,167
60,012
126,612
35,609
66,485
81,424
24,651
805,236
13,089,338
805,236
2,365,807
277,017
16,537,398
ENGLAND.
799
Statistics. The following table contains an account of the houses
inhabited, building, and uninhabited, the number of fami-
Houses; ]jes> the distribution of families according to their occupa-
occupa- tions, with the number of males and the number of fe-
scxes* males, in England and Wales in the year 1821. It is neces¬
sary, however, to observe that the classification of employ¬
ments is not in any degree to be depended upon; but Statistics,
as it has been frequently referred to, we think it right to
lay it before the reader. A much more scientific and ela¬
borate classification of employments was made under the
census of 1831; but the results have not hitherto been
published.
COUNTIES.
Summary of Houses, Families, Occupations, and Persons, in 1821.
England.
Bedford 
Berks 
Bucks 
Cambridge  
Chester  
Cornwall 
Cumberland  
Derby  
Devon 
Dorset... 
Durham 
Essex  
Gloucester 
Hereford    
Hertford 
Huntingdon  
Kent 
Lancaster  
Leicester 
Lincoln 
Middlesex  
Monmouth 
Norfolk   
Northampton 
Northumberland 
Nottingham 
Oxford 
Rutland 
Salop 
Somerset 
Southampton 
e Stafford  
Suffolk..., 
Surrey 
[Sussex 
Warwick 
Westmoreland 
(Wilts 
Worcester 
}York (East Hiding)....
York (North Riding).
|York (West Riding)..
Total 
Wales.....
I Total of England 1
and Wales...... j
HOUSES.
Inhabited.
15,412
24,705
24,876
20,869
47,094
43,873
27,246
40,054
71,486
25,926
32,793
49,978
60,881
20,061
23,178
8,879
70,507
176,449
34,775
53,813
152,969
13,211
62,274
32,503
31,526
35,022
25,594
3,589
38,663
61,852
49,516
63,319
42,773
64,790
36,283
55,082
9,243
41,702
34,738
34,390
35,765
154,314
1,951,973
136,183
By how many
Families oc¬
cupied.
17,373
27,709
28.867
25.603
52.024
51,202
31,804
42,404
90,714
30,312
45,940
59,629
72,156
21,917
26,170
10,397
85,399
203,173
36.806
58,760
261,871
14.122
74,497
35,552
43,128
38.603
28,841
3,936
41,636
73,537
57,942
68,780
55,064
88.806
43,565
60.123
10,438
47,684
39,006
40,499
38,731
161,466
Building.
2,346,717
146,706
2,088,156 2,493,423
105
154
148
217
414
535
155
305
756
278
257
298
705
132
172
46
511
1,735
225
302
2,879
166
525
179
190
288
245
25
179
850
287
429
270
1,096
576
403,
113
294
232
190
148
1,275
Uninha¬
bited.
18,289
985
202
622
549
247
1,212
1,820
908
1,072
3,082
766
966
1,164
2,555
804
509
168
3,186
5,759
1,141
979
7,327
520
1,269
527
1,166
859
531
61
1,012
1,974
1,943
2,326
656
2,741
1,272
2,408
301
1,129
980
1,277
835
7,230
OCCUPATIONS.
Families
chiefly em'
ployed in
Agriculture.
66,055
3,652
19,274 69,707 847,957
10,754
14,769
16,640
15,536
18,120
19.302
11,297
14,582
37,037
14,821
9,427
33,206
23,170
13,558
13,485
6,435
30,869
22,723
13,028
34,900
9,393
6,020
36,368
18,974
11,567
13,664
15,965
2,410
18,414
31,448
24.303
18,285
30,795
14,944
21,920
16,779
5,096
24,97£
14,926
15,480
16,737
31,613
773,732
74,225
Families
chiefly em¬
ployed In
Trade, Manu¬
factures, or
Handicraft.
4,827
8,773
8,318
6,964
27,105
15,543
13,146
20,505
33,985
10,811
20,212
17,160
35,907
5,633
7,935
2,937
30,180
152,271
20,297
15,845
161,356
6,14?
26*201
11,695
20.565
21,832
18*971
1,034
17,485
27,132
19.810
42,435
17*418
46.811
15,463
39,189
3,801
16,982
18.566
16,637
11,570
108,841
AH other
Families not
comprised in
the two pre¬
ceding
Classes.
1,118,295
41,680
1,159,975
1,792
4,158
3,909
3,103
6,799
16,357
7,361
7,317
19,692
; 4,680
16,301
9,263
13,079
2,726
4,750
1,025
24,890
28,179
3,481
8,015
91,122
1,955
11,928
4,883
10,996
3,107
3,905
492
5,737
14,957
13,829
8,060
6,851
27,051
6,182
4,155
1,541
5,730
5,514
8,382
10,424
21,012
Males.
40,385
65,546
64,867
60,301
132,952
124.817
75,600
105,873
208,229
68,934
99,100
144,909
160,451
51,552
64,121
24,020
209,833
512,476
86,390
141,570
533,573
27,278
166,892
79,575
95,354
91,491
68.817
9,223
102,056
170,199
138,373
171,668
132,410
189,871
116,705
133,827
25,513
108,213
90,259
92,761
90,153
397,542
Females.
454,6905,483,679
- 30,801 350,487
485,491
43,331
66,431
69,201
61,608
137,146
132,630
80,524
107,460
230,811
75,565
108,573
144,515
175,392
51,691
65,593
24,751
216,183
540,383
88,181
141,488
610,958
34,555
177,476
82,908
103,611
95,382
68,154
9,264
104,097
185,115
144,925
169,372
138,132
208,787
116,314
140,565
25,846
113,944
94,165
97,688
93,228
401,815
Total of
Persons.
5,777,758
366,951
5,834,166 6,144,709
83,716
131,977
134,068
121,909
270,098
257,447
156,124
213,333
439,040
144,499
207,673
289.4241
335,843
103,243
129,714
48,771
426,016
1,052,859
174,571
283,058
1,144,531
71,833
344,368
162,483
198,965
186,873
136,971
18,487
206,153
355,314
283,298
341,040
270,542
398,658
233,019,
274,392
51,359(
222,157
184,424'
190,449,
183,3811
799,357j
11,261,437
717,498*
11,978,875
L"
Kateof Notwithstanding the defective state of the registers of the healthiness of the mass of the people. Although
Mortality,* marriages, births, and deaths, the results deduced from about 919,000 Were added to the population of England
&c‘ ' them are such as to establish beyond all question the fact and Wales in the interval between 1780 and 1800, the
of an extraordinary improvement having taken place in annual average number of burials did not differ materially
800
ENGLAND.
Statistics, during that period.1 It appears from the returns, that in
1780 the rate of mortality in England and Wales was one
in forty; meaning by this, that one fortieth part of the
whole population died annually. In 1790 the rate of mor¬
tality was reduced to one in forty-five. During the five
years ending with 1800, it was one in forty-eight; during
the five years ending with 1810, one in fifty-one ; and dur¬
ing the five years ending with 1820, it had sunk to one in
fifty-seven. During the five years ending with 1830, it
seems to have slightly increased ; having been, at an aver¬
age of that period, one in fifty-four. See the subjoined table.
This extraordinary decrease of mortality is no doubt
owing to a variety of causes ; such as, the greater preva-1
lence of habits of sobriety and cleanliness; the better
lodging, feeding, and clothing of the labouring classes;
improvements in medical science, &c. But to whatever it
may be owing, it affords unquestionable evidence of the
signally improved condition of the population.
The increase of longevity has been particularly conspi¬
cuous in London and other great towns. During the first Statistii
half of last century, the mortality in the metropolis is >
believed to have been as high as one in twenty-four; and
it required, down to the American war, large supplies of
recruits from the country to keep up its numbers. But
from 1770 the rate of mortality has been gradually di¬
minishing. In 1790 the births for the first time exceed¬
ed the burials; and since then the city would have gone
on increasing, though it had not been indebted to the
country for a single immigrant. In Manchester, Bristol,
&c. the improvement has been equally striking.
The proportion of births and marriages to the popula¬
tion has continued pretty nearly stationary since 1790.
We subjoin a table of the annual proportion of baptisms,
burials, and marriages, to the population of England; cal¬
culated upon an average of the totals of such baptisms,
burials, and marriages in the five years preceding the
several enumerations of 1801, 1811, 1821, and 1831, and
distinguishing the several counties.
COUNTIES.
Bedford 
Berks 
Bucks 
Cambridge  
Chester 
Cornwall 
Cumberland 
Derby 
Devon 
Dorset 
Durham 
Essex 
Gloucester 
Hereford 
Hertford 
Huntingdon 
Kent 
Lancaster : 
Leicester 
Lincoln 
Middlesex 
Monmouth 
Norfolk 
Northampton 
Northumberland 
Nottingham 
Oxford 
Rutland 
Salop 
Somerset 
Southampton 
Stafford 
Suffolk 
Surrey 
Sussex 
Warwick 
Westmoreland 
Wilts 
Worcester 
York (East Riding) 
York (North Riding)...
York (West Riding) 
Summary of England, 1
not including Wales J
1796—1800.
Bap¬
tisms.
35
33
37
33
39
33
38
35
36
41
38
35
37
40
38
33
30
34
35
32
39
56
32
42
47
32
35
33
34
39
34
34
34
37
31
35
35
41
34
39
36
34
36
Burials.
50
51
50
45
51
58
53
52
49
62
42
44
55
65
54
46
41
47
49
49
37
72
47
50
57
51
53
50
54
55
46
49
56
42
55
52
50
60
46
55
53
49
48
Mar-
riaaes.
113
148
129
118
130
120
145
138
109
142
116
125
127
183
161
104
116
114
130
117
95
168
126
130
138
116
139
131
142
139
104
124
129
134
126
116
142
142
137
129
142
124
123
1806—1810.
Bap¬
tisms.
34
33
33
31
39
32
35
34
33
35
34
34
36
36
34
35
29
31
38
31
40
50
31
38
43
33
34
34
35
35
30
31
33
37
29
35
32
36
32
30
31
33
34
Burials.
Mar-
51
53
51
44
51
62
53
61
52
56
50
46
65
61
58
50
38
51
59
50
46
70
50
55
55
53
56
55
60
55
46
53
55
46
53
45
55
58
52
49
51
54
51
1816—1820.
1826—1831.
Bap-
tisms.
131
144
129
130
132
142
132
139
113
139
133
130
120
144
168
134
115
115
134
125
94
145
134
132
141
119
141
161
142
128
102
118
132
129
129
119
137
138
129
108
124
123
122
35
33
35
31
35
33
34
36
34
36
34
36
36
36
35
35
31
37
36
31
41
53
32
37
41
33
33
35
36
35
32
32
34
39
33
36
33
36
34
34
35
36
Burials.
Mar¬
riages.
35
56
55
55
56
52
70
55
61
60
64
54
60
62
60
58
63
51
55
59
60
51
72
59
57
65
55
57
62
55
61
61
52
66
51
69
48
52
64
53
55
61
61
57
124
140
139
117
127
146
152
146
132
144
134
146
111
171
171
127
130
116
127
134
101
151
130
129
149
124
148
142
148
140
128
123
134
139
142
118
149
134
140
122
147
124
Bap¬
tisms.
37
33
36
32
43
34
36
36
35
35
35
37
35
37
36
36
34
38
38
31
40
59
33
37
40
31
32
34
35
38
35
32
37
38
33
36
33
35
31
35
35
38
Burials.
127
37
57
52
55
46
57
65
56
56
60
58
54
54
62
56
59
47
49
57
56
51
45
83
54
53
63
51
52
53
54
60
56
51
60
50
58
60
57
57
52
50
56
57
Mar¬
riages.
129
149
144
124
142
147
168
134
134
138
148
154
116
149
127
131
141
117
127
135
102
131
142
135
141
120
120
138
140
147
131
125
137
129
140
119
152
145
127
116
146
136
54
129
1 Preliminary Remarks to Census of 1821. p. 26.
ENGLAND.
801
itistics.
XV.— Crimes in England and Wales.
Crimes of violence have greatly decreased in England
during the last half century. Highway robbery, once so
prevalent, is now almost unknown; and though murders
are occasionally perpetrated, they are not numerous com¬
pared with the amount of population. Latterly, however,
the crime of arson has made a great and alarming pro¬
gress ; and, from the facility with which it may be com¬
mitted, the difficulty of detection, and the destruction of
property and life it is almost sure to occasion, no means
should be left untried which may tend to arrest its progress.
There would seem, from the accounts laid before parlia¬
ment, to be of late years a very great increase in the of- Statistics,
fences against property. We believe, however, that much v'—
of this increase is apparent only, resulting from the esta¬
blishment of a police force in most great towns, and from
the consequent commitment and punishment of numerous
culprits who were formerly allowed to escape. The law of
England as to capital punishments has recently been much
modified ; and various opinions are entertained as to what
will be the effect of the change. It has, however, been
too recently effected, to allow of any inferences being
drawn as to its practical operation. The subjoined tables
give a very complete view of the state of crime in England
and Wales during the seven years ending with 1832.
I.—Number of Persons Committed, Convicted, Sentenced, Acquitted, fyc. in England and Wales.
In the Years
Committed for Trial.
Viz. Males 
Females 
Total.
Convicted and Sentenced.
To death 
Transportation for life 
 35 years....
• 28 years...
  21 years....
W— 14 years....
i- 10 years...,
  9 years 
  7 years  
5 years  
4 years 
3 years 
2years and
above 1
1826.
Number
of
Persons.
13,472
2,692
1827.
’Number
of
Persons.
16,164
Imprisonment,
and severally
to be whip¬
ped, fined, ^
kept to hard
labour, &c....
Whipping, and fine
year....
1 year and
above 6
months
6 months 1
and un- r
der j
Total convicted 
acquitted 
no bills found, and not)
prosecuted J
Total.
Of whom were executed 
1,203
133
185
1,945
’ll
297
1,204
5,819
310
11,107
3,271
1,786
16,164
57
15,154
2,770
17,924
1,529
198
’ 1
1
293
2,232
1
11
296
1,433
6,251
321
1828.
Number
of
Persons.
13,832
2,732
16,564
1,165
317
508
1
2,046
1
11
243
1,117
'5,991
322
12,567
3,407
1,950
17,942
73
11,723
3,169
1,672
16,564
58
1829.
Number
of
Persons.
15,556
3,119
18,675
1,385
396
1
'”2
691
2,285
7
235
1,277
6,646
336
1830.
Number
of
Persons.
1831.
Number
of
Persons.
15,135
2,971
18,107
13,261
3,614
1,800
18,675
74
1,397
405
2
659
*1
2,169
1
209
1,220
6,458
284
12,805
3,470
1,832
18,107
46
16,600
3,047
19,647
1832.
Number
of
Persons.
17,486
3,343
20,829
1,601
334
1
1
638
I
2,340
5
226
1,311
7,012
360
13,830
3,723
2,094
19,647
52
1,449
546
764
1
2,603
3
230
1,304
7,644
402
14,947
3,716
2,166
20,829
54
Total
Number
in the
Seven
Years.
107,235
20,675
127,910
9,729
2,330
1
6
' 4
3.736
3
1
15,620
1
1
49
1.736
8,866
45,821
2,334
90,240
24,370
13,300
127,910
414
5 1
VOL. VIII.
802
ENGLAND.
II.—Specification of the Crimes of which Persons were convicted in England and Wales in 1826-1832, and of the
Numbers annually convicted of such Crimes.
Nature of the Crimes of which Persons were
Convicted in the years 
1826.
1827.
1828.
1829.
1830.
T4>
1831.
1832.
Number
of
Persons.
Number
of
Persons.
Number
of
Persons.
Arson, and other wilful burning 
Bigamy..   
Burglary 
Breaking into a dwelling-house, and lar¬
ceny 
Breaking into a building, shop, &c. (not'
communicating with dwelling-house),
and larceny.,
Cattle stealing.
 feloniously killing, and maiming....
Child stealing 
Coining   
Coin, counterfeit, putting off, uttering, |
and having, &c. J
Embezzlement (by servants) 
Forgery of and uttering forged instru-I
ments, other than Bank of England V
notes )
Forgery of and uttering forged Bank '
of England notes 
Forged Bank of England notes, having
in possession, &c 
Fraudulent offences........   
Game laws, offences against  
Horse stealing 
Larceny...   
 in a dwelling-house, &c 
   from the person... 
Letters, containing bank notes, &c.I
secreting and stealing j
 sending threatening 
Manslaughter 
Murder  
shooting
at, stabbing, wound¬
ing, and administering poison, with in
tent to murder, &c
concealing the birth of their infants
Perjury.
Piracy 
Rape, &c  
assault with intent to commit 
Riot and felony
Robbery of the person, on the highway 1
and other places j
Sacrilege   
Sheep stealing, and killing with intent )
to steal j
Sodomy    
 assault with intent to commit, (
and other unnatural offences L
Stolen goods, receiving 
Transports being at large, &c 
Treason, high 
Felony, transferring a stamp, to defraud...
 trafficking in slaves  
 armed to assist smugglers, &c 
breaking thrashing machines, &c.
Felony, and misdemeanour (not other- )
wise described)   J
3
35
311
125
21
’ *1
7
210
91
8
15
157
128
121
8,089
222
658
2
62
13
14.
7
6
’"4.
83
48
144
- 4
127
1
20
157
12
1
196
3
23
368
240
31
1
5
14
223
101
20
26
206
212
147
8,858
223
722
83
12
35
5
6
11
64
201
8
156
1
23
235
12
16
273
2
38
171
353
151
28
2
3
6
205
135
32
10
215
306
135
8,199
69
682
1
72
20
20
5
7
5
78
2
158
7
122
2
27
229
7
11
207
Number
of
Persons.
8
31
108
561
164
25
2
3
256
130
24
13
282
174
147
9,444
81
724
2
56
13
65
23
4
7
69
147
11
155
1
14
277
8
Number
of
Persons.
231
15
27
104
535
208
25
2
4
243
122
17
290
108
131
8,969
100
759
I
82
16
28
23
9
4
9
41
166
8
213
5
28
277
8
3
2
33
186
Number
of
Persons.
26
26
99
517
163
20
7
4
7
257
127
29
266
83
125
9,059
113
906
24
79
14
44
22
6
”9
68
105
297
A 5
162
2
14
271
10
665
189
Number
of
Persons.
35
27
118
583
203
42
8
2
1
349
154
50
280
163
155
10,130
127
1,151
2
4
66
20
52
29
6
16
80
44
223
13
219
2
36
347
4
1
17
181
Total number of persons convicted )
in each year J
11,107
12,567
11,723
13,261
12,805
13,830
14,947
803
ENGLAND.
III.—Specification of the Crimes for which Persons were Executed in England and Wales in the years 1826-1832,
and of the Numbers annually executed for such Crimes.
Crimes for which Persons were Exe- j
cuted, who were Sentenced to
Death, in the Years J
1826.
1827.
1828.
1829.
1830.
1831.
1832.
Total
Number
in the
Seven
Years.
Number
of
Persons.
Number
of
Persons.
Number
of
Persons.
Number
of
Persons.
Arson, and other wilful burning....
Burglary 
Breaking into a dwelling-house, 1
and larcenj' j
Coining 
Forgery of and uttering forged}
instruments, other than Bank >
of England notes 3
Forgery of and uttering forged 1
Bank of England notes J
Horse stealing 
Larceny in a dwelling-house, &c...
Letters containing bank notes, 1
secreting and stealing J
Murder 
 shooting at, stabbing,^
wounding, and admi- {
nistering poison,with
intent to murder, &c. J
Piracy.... 
Rape, &c 
Riot and felony 
Robbery of the person, on the ^
highway and other places /
Sheep stealing 
Sodomy 
1
10
10
1
2
15
3
1
10
4?
2
10
4
1
11
17
3
1
3
11
2
17
5
3
4
10
13
10
12
5
Number
of
Persons.
Total number of persons exe- 1
cuted in each year J
57
73
58
74
14
1
2
3
Number
of
Persons.
46
16
4
12
3
52
Number
of
Persons.
16
1
1
15
54
42
34
32
7
11
29
14
2
92
28
2
24
6
65
14
7
414
END OF VOLUME EIGHTH.
Printed and Stereotyped by Thomas Allan & Co.
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PLATE (L.XXXIX.
Kf.lMGERT’S DIVING APPARATUS.
Rowe's diving chest.
TRIE WALD'S DIVING BELL
IIALIEVS DIVING BELL.
Spalding's Diving Beu.
A.iknuw. Edin'
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DRAWING
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Eng* by GELkman..ELnr
DRAWING
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Fig. JO.
DRAWING
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Engdby G.JUk/nun. Edin
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Fig-2.
Fig.l.
Fig. 3.
Eng? by G. Aik.man.L'din’i
DRAWING.
PLATE f'XCIV.
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DRAWING*
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PLATE CC.
DRAWING.
Specimens oe landscape Sketching by Claude.
PLATE CC
Seamd J^vgressioTi.
•/.A I ''/./ ‘ » X I AV \ M Cl
Itramz by R. Gibb. S.A. R.IAL. Eng*by R.M.Tfodgatts.
Second Pnegression. Ji/usked-Zandscape.
* -
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PLATE CCII.
8 Drawn bu W.Ediic.
Eng ■ by (r. Alkmaji, Ed in C
—
DOC IvS.
PLAT/; CCIH.
El .KVA non
PL.W AArD ELEVATION OF THE ENTRANCE TO THE ROCK WITH A FLOATING RAM. OF THE ENTRANCE TO THE ROCK WITH SWINGING GATES.
Fig. G.
PLAN AND ELEVATION OF THE ENTRANCE TO THE ROCK WITH WICKET GATES. SECTIONAL ELEVATION OF THE ROCK.
Fig. 7.
Fig. 8.
TRANSVERSE SECTION OF A ROOF OVER THE HEAR OF THE DOUBLE BOCK AT FLFMOUTH, EKECTER IN 1817. RESIGNED BY SIR R.SEFPIKGS, SCKVEWR OF THE NAVI'.
Eng*by G. AiJurum,Edinr
Section of Vessel acid Elevation of Steam Ermine and Bucket Frame.
Eng*by G. Aikman,Edinr
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D . ANIMALS
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// //:/{ O GL YI’/I/(S .
PLATE C(XI.
F. ATTRIBUTES AND ACTIONS
1
n
08. LIFE
COlVr'.
109. ETERNITY
ENE2
111). IMMORTAL
ETONC t'NEC
111. JOY
11?. POWER
YDM.
113. STABILITY
TAXpD
114. ESTABLISHED
TAXpHOTT
115. STRENGTH
ASS.&2I
116. MIGHTY
YOp
117. VICTORY
Yp O
118. FORTUNE
U9 . SPLENDOUR
tt) OY, DY(V) IIVI
120. BEARING
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121. ILLUSTRIOUS Cl
$Ep(U)OT “gf
122. HONOUR
tmo
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127 . FATHER
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128 . MOTHER
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129. SON
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46 . ASSEMBLY
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146 . SACRED
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147 . CONSECRATED
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148 . GIVE
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149. OFFER
EN.INl
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132 . SONS
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133 . CHILD
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134 . DIRECTOR
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135 STEERSMAN
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150. DEDICATE
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155. GREAT
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156. OTHERS
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158 . DECLARATION J
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159. MANIFEST
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